Montana Dreaming: Their Unexpected Family / Cabin Fever / Million-Dollar Makeover

Desire smoldered under the surface, warming his blood in a steady rush, urging him to give it free rein, to let it build and surge.

But something ensnared him, held him in a mesmerizing spell that slowed their motions, while intensifying sensual awareness.

Whatever it was seemed to have caught her, too, he realized, as she whimpered softly and her fingers threaded through his hair.

So much for Mother Nature disconnecting sexual urges in women who were in her condition.

Oh, for cripes sake.

Her condition.

She was pregnant. And he was supposed to be taking care of her, making sure she took it easy—not doing something reckless that could jeopardize her health.

He broke the kiss, his hand dropping to his side, useless and empty. “I’m sorry, Juliet. That was crazy. Stupid. And so damn out of line.”

“That’s okay. I lost my head, too.”

That was obvious, as well as unexpected—just as his impulsive response had been. He wasn’t sure what had come over them, but his libido had been primed and ready to rock.

A mischievous sparkle lit her eyes, as a slow smile curled her lips. “And just for the record, that kiss was definitely something I’d walk across the room for.”

He didn’t know if he should feel flattered or guilt-ridden. In self-defense, he thought about changing the subject, but his male pride wouldn’t let him ignore what she’d said. “So you liked my kiss, huh?”

The twinkle in her eyes intensified, highlighting the flush of her cheeks. “Yes, I did like it.”

A goofy urge to pound on his chest Tarzan style swept over him. He tried to laugh it off with what sounded to him like a dorky chuckle. “That’s probably because the television is off and there aren’t any TV specials to distract you.”

“Maybe,” she said, her eyes glazed with…

With what?

Passion? Embarrassment? Annoyance at him for making light of the inappropriate but sensual kiss they’d just shared?

He wasn’t sure. But if things were different, if she were someone else, someone not so young—so virginal in spite of her condition—he would have kissed her again, just to see where it led.

But things weren’t different.

She was expecting a child. And nesting in Thunder Canyon, while Mark couldn’t pack his bags and leave town fast enough. Getting involved with Juliet, romantically speaking, was senseless.

So what kind of fool would be tempted to put the moves on her, even if it was one little kiss?

A jerk of a fool who wasn’t much better than that married attorney who’d jumped her bones when she was just as vulnerable as she was now.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, I’ve got to go back to the Wander-On Inn.”

“Why? I thought you were spending the night here.”

Was she disappointed that he might leave?

Or pleased?

And why, pray tell, should he care either way?

Hell, he really ought to sleep at the inn. Things were way too awkward here. Kissing Juliet had triggered a flight-or-fight response.

She nodded toward the bathroom. “It’s just that you left your shaving kit in there.”

Yeah. He had. Packed, zipped and ready for a fast getaway. He caught her gaze, saw the question in her eyes. The vulnerability.

Oh, God. What if she went into labor? There wouldn’t be anyone with her. And Mark couldn’t take that risk.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her. “I just need to get my laptop so I can do some research on the Internet this evening.”

What a crock that was, but her nod told him she’d bought his explanation.

“Take your time,” she said. “I’ll just leave the door open.”

“I don’t plan to be gone that long.” He just needed a breath of fresh air, a little break. Something he could focus on, other than a casual kiss that didn’t mean anything.

“All right. If I’m not on the sofa, I’ll be reading in my room.”

“I’ll just let myself in.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, then forced a smile before heading downstairs.

But the “meaningless” kiss followed him, taunting him long after he shut the door and sucked in a deep breath of crisp night air.

Several minutes after Mark left, Juliet continued to stare at the closed door, her fingers pressed softly to her lips.

What had just happened?

She wasn’t sure, but it was more than the kiss that had her heart and mind singing. It was her response to it. That and the overwhelming urge to kiss Mark again. To make sure she hadn’t imagined how sweet, how special, how arousing his mouth had been.

Mark’s kiss had been so different from those Erik had given her.

Erik’s mouth and tongue had been urgent, insistent. The kind of kisses that took her a while to warm up to. On the other hand, Mark, who seemed to know exactly what he was doing, had taken things slow and easy.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Mark that she’d probably walk across the room for sex. It had been nice with Erik. Pleasant, once she caught up to his speed. But more than the act itself, she’d enjoyed the intimacy. The embrace, the touch of someone she’d cared about. But now Erik’s lovemaking skills paled.

If the promise in Mark’s kiss was an indication of what had been lacking in Erik’s, Juliet suspected making love with Mark might prove to be very special indeed. A stimulating opportunity she’d not only walk across the room for, but, in anticipation, would turn off a perfectly good television show along the way.

But how likely was that?

Her hand slowly dropped to her swollen womb, reminding her to focus on motherhood and the new baby she’d soon hold in her arms.

But if Juliet weren’t pregnant, she might be tempted to find out what Mark knew about pleasuring a lady that Erik hadn’t known.

The next morning, Juliet woke to the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee.

Mark was proving to be an intriguing man, in spite of his cynical nature. The kind of man who made a woman smile when he wasn’t around. The kind of man who provoked dreams of romance.

But Juliet knew better than to let silly romantic notions do anything but drift by the wayside. She and Mark had nothing in common.

So why had she spent so much time thinking about him last night? Dreaming about long, lingering kisses that stirred the blood and made her want to slip on a pair of track shoes so she could sprint across the room for another taste of his lips?

She blew out a sigh and climbed from bed. What was wrong with her? She didn’t have any business thinking about Mark, his kiss or romance.

For goodness’ sake, she was going to be a mother. And if she ever became involved with any one else, it would be with a man who’d make a good husband and father. A man who would take pride in his wife and child while barbecuing in the backyard on Sundays. Someone who held the same family values that she did.

And Mark Anderson, a pessimist who disliked Thunder Canyon and wasn’t concerned over the falling out he’d had with his parents, wouldn’t fit the bill.

Sure, he’d been good to her, a true friend. He’d also been a great listener, although he hadn’t told her very much about himself.

Maybe she ought to quiz him a bit. Find out about the rift he’d had with his parents. Then maybe she could help facilitate a reconciliation.

Families were special.

More than anyone, Juliet knew that. And, if she could get Mark to see the value of a nurturing, loving support system, it would be one way to pay him back for being so good to her.

She slipped on her blue robe and strode into the living area, where he sat at the dinette table, his laptop open, a coffee cup at his side.

“Hey,” he said, offering her a smile. “Sleep okay?”

Not really. She’d stewed for way too long about the kiss they’d shared—so long that she couldn’t get into that book on pregnancy and childbirth she’d picked up at the library last Saturday. But there was no way she’d make a confession like that. “I slept all right. How about you?”

He glanced at the sofa, where the folded blanket rested on his pillow. “Not bad.”

She noticed that he’d taken a shower and shaved. His hair, a bit long and unruly, was still damp. He’d put on a fresh white T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, but his feet were bare.

He’d made himself at home, which was interesting. Comforting, she supposed.

In the six months she’d dated Erik, he’d never spent the night. Never made a pot of coffee. Never left a shaving kit in her bathroom. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time. Nor had she realized he’d been holding back on their relationship.

So, in a way, it pleased her to know that Mark had settled in, that he’d slept on the sofa. That he’d felt comfortable enough to take a shower in her bathroom. That he’d carefully put away his things, zipping the small leather bag closed. How neat and thoughtful was that?

With the morning sun at his back, blessing him in a glowing aura, he looked as though he belonged here—in her living room with his work spread out in front of him.

He scooted his chair back, the metal legs snagging on the matted green carpet. “I can fix cereal again. And after you’ve eaten, I’ll head to the market and do some shopping.”

“Okay.” She made her way into the room, taking a seat at the table, and nodded at his laptop computer. “How’s the research going?”

“I guess it’s going all right. I’m learning some things about the early days of Thunder Canyon, things I remember my history teacher telling us in school. Things I didn’t care about back then.”

“What kind of things did you care about?” she asked, wanting to know more about Mark, his youth, his life.

“Football. Parties. Girls.” He slid her a wry smile. “The stuff that an adolescent surge of testosterone produces.”

She returned his smile, as if she understood the typical teenage lifestyle. But she hadn’t gotten caught up in any high school activities. Not when she was working after class let out so she could help Manny pay the bills.

“Were you a good student?” she asked.

“Not as good as my dad thought I should be.”

Ah, an opening she could zero in on. “I’m sure he was proud of you, too.”

“Not that I can remember.” The sixties-style dinette chair squeaked, as Mark leaned back in his seat and stretched out his feet. “My mom said that from the time I chucked my first bottle out of the playpen, my dad and I were constantly butting heads.”

“What kind of things did you argue about?”

“Everything. About my grades. The way I swung the bat during a Little League game. The hairstyle I chose. The music I listened to. The friends I had. My lazy-ass attitude around the house.”

Was the relationship between Mark and his dad just a normal part of adolescent rebellion? A result of that surge of testosterone he’d mentioned earlier?

If that were the case, would their relationship be better now—if given a chance to start fresh?

She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, as far as her belly would allow. “Now that you’re grown, do you think that maybe your father had a point about any of those things?”

He paused for a while, pondering her question, she supposed. Or maybe reevaluating his memories.

“He was right about my attitude. But it was tough to live with constant criticism, and eventually I got sick and tired of it.”

“So you rebelled.”

“That’s about the size of it. But things got worse after he uprooted the family. My sister and I wanted to stay in Texas with my grandmother.”

“Why did he decide to move here?”

“Because some great-uncle we’d never met died and left my dad a motel at the edge of town and a cabin-style home about ten miles up Turner Grade.” Mark shook his head. “And to make matters worse, my dad insisted upon living in the mountains. It was hard not having neighbors, especially when my parents were in town all the time.”

“I can see how it would have been more convenient for everyone involved if they’d lived closer to the motel.”

“Yeah, well that was just another thing we argued about. And even though I think my mother agreed with me, she didn’t press him about it.”

“And so you’re holding all that over his head now?”

Mark tensed. “That and a few other things.”

“Like what?”

He fiddled with the keyboard of his computer, as though he hadn’t heard her. And she wondered if the discussion was over on his part.

Then, as if her question wasn’t still lingering in the air, he signed off the Internet and shut down the computer. “I’m starving. Are you ready for a bowl of cereal?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Once I fix your breakfast, I’ll do the laundry. I’m running out of clothes, and I figure you are, too.”

“You’re not going to do my laundry,” she said without thinking. If Mark didn’t help her with it, who would? She was supposed to stay off her feet, and she didn’t think the doctor would approve of even a simple activity like throwing her clothes into a washer and dryer.

“What are you going to do?” he asked. “Wait until your clothes are all dirty and buy new ones?”

She couldn’t do that. But she felt funny about him washing her things, especially her bras and panties. Maybe she could set her undies aside and wash them in the bathroom sink. That wouldn’t be any more strenuous than washing her hands, would it?

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” he said, “do you want cornflakes again? Or the granola stuff?”

Apparently, he’d decided not to try and cook again. And she got the feeling he wasn’t comfortable in a kitchen. He probably ate all of his meals out. But she was getting tired of cereal every morning.

“A toasted bagel and cream cheese sounds good for a change.”

“Okay.”

She watched as he puttered around the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

He’d been so good to her. Just like Manny or her father would have been.

When the baby was here and life was back to normal, she’d cook for him. That is, if he was still in Thunder Canyon.

Maybe she shouldn’t hold back her thanks. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Mark.”

“No problem.” He pulled the jug of milk from the fridge. “You don’t have anyone else to look after you.”

And neither did he, which was sad, especially since his parents were still alive and nearby.

She realized he was avoiding them, something that didn’t feel right to her. She opened her mouth to quiz him again, but thought better of it. For now anyway.

In a day or so, she’d bring it up again, because she intended to learn more about that falling-out they’d had. And given the chance, she would encourage him to mend that rift.

Mark might balk at her interference, but she was only looking out for his own good.

Juliet and Manny might have loved each other and been close, but they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. But it was love that held a family together, in spite of the differences of opinion.

If anyone knew how to handle stubborn men when they were wrong, Juliet did. And she knew how to get her point across.

Especially when it was in a man’s best interests.

For the next couple of days, Juliet let the subject of Mark’s family ride. But on Saturday afternoon, after he’d gone across the street to the inn to check for telephone messages, she realized she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

When he entered the apartment, he wore a blue flannel shirt under a brown leather jacket, which he peeled off and hung on the coat tree by the door. “I never could get used to this unpredictable Montana weather. It’s supposed to be spring. But I swear we’re in for another storm.”

“Did you get what you needed at the inn?”

“Yeah.” He kicked off his shoes, then checked the thermostat.

“You know,” she began. “Something is puzzling me.”

“What’s that?”

“You told me that after that falling-out you’d made peace with your family.”

“We talk.” He strode toward the window and peered outside.

“Then why, if your folks own the Big Sky Motel, are you patronizing the Wander-On Inn?”

He turned and crossed his arms. “Because the inn is more convenient. It’s in the middle of town.”

That might be true. But she knew there was more to it than that. “Have you seen your parents yet?”

His movements slowed; his expression tensed. “No. I haven’t had time.”

But why had he been able to find time to come into The Hitching Post each evening and chill out at the bar first?

“Have you called them?” she asked.

He shrugged and headed for the kitchen. “I talked to my mother a week or so ago.”

“Maybe you ought to drop by the motel for a visit.”

“They’re pretty busy.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda.

“Do you know what I think? That the falling-out isn’t over at all.”

“So what if it’s not?” He pulled the tab and took a long, steady swig before setting the can on the countertop. “Not every family is close, Juliet. And some of us prefer it that way.”

“How about your sister? Do you talk to her?”

He stiffened, then touched the hole on the top on the aluminum can, his index finger circling the sharp edge. “My sister is dead.”

“I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

He caught her gaze, but didn’t speak. His eyes swept down to her lap, where her hands rested around the bulge of her tummy.

He finally said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

The muscles in his cheek twitched, and his jaw tensed, as though he was holding back.

“Were the two of you close?”

He shrugged again, but the tension didn’t leave his face. “I guess so.”

Juliet had told him about Manny’s death. Her dad’s, too. So it seemed only fair to ask. “Was it an accident?”

The question hung in the air, making it hard for Mark to breathe. “Yeah. It was an accident.”

And it had been. Sort of. Mark hadn’t meant to screw up. But he wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to discuss it with Juliet.

“That’s too bad,” she said.

Yeah. It was.

She probably figured it was a car accident or something like that. But Mark wouldn’t correct her. Hell, even if he felt like opening up, revealing his guilt and pain, an expectant mother sure as hell didn’t need to hear how his sister and her unborn baby died during labor.

“If you’re the only child your parents have left, I imagine they would welcome a reconciliation.”

How could she be so damn optimistic all the time? So naive?

“Things are more complicated than that,” he explained. “More complex. And I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Families are a blessing, Mark.”

Oh, for cripes sake. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Quit nagging at him?

He didn’t need a ration of guilt to upset his lunch. To ruin a quiet afternoon.

“Why don’t you approach them first? Maybe ask them out to dinner?”

Mark bristled. He’d kept his guilty secret bottled up inside for so long that he wasn’t going to relive it, not even in dialogue.

“You know what?” he asked her. “I’ve got cabin fever. Maybe I ought to take a walk before it starts snowing.” As he made his way to the door, she followed, grabbing him by the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

“I’m sorry, Mark. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I need some fresh air.”

As he reached the doorknob, she sucked in a breath. His feet slowed, but he kept a forward motion.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Wait.”

He turned to acknowledge her voice—not her command—but she was looking down, her lips parted, her eyes fixed on a dribble of water running down her legs.

A gush splattered on the floor, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened. “My water broke.”

Chapter Six

Mark wasn’t exactly sure what “my water broke” meant, especially when a woman had a good month or so to go. But it couldn’t be good.

A jolt of fear shot through him, reminding him of his sister’s death, of how he’d failed her. Reminding him of his recklessness. His guilt. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”

“Doc Emerson told me to call his office if something like this happened.”

“Isn’t he the guy who had the heart attack?”

She nodded, her eyes transfixed on the floor, on the wet puddle.

“If your doctor is still in ICU, he’s not going to be any help. Isn’t there someone on call for him?”

“Yes,” she said. “But I don’t know him very well. Maybe if I go to Thunder Canyon General, Doctor Hart will be working. I’d feel better if she were in charge.”

“I don’t care who we see, as long as he or she has a medical degree. Come on.” He grabbed her jacket from the coat tree and held it open as she slipped her arms inside. He wanted to bundle her up, even though it wasn’t that cold outside, but there was no way he would be able to button it around her stomach.

As he reached for the doorknob, she asked him to wait. “I’d better get some towels to sit on. And the overnight bag. It’s already packed and in the closet.”

“I’ll get them.” He wasn’t going to waste any time getting her to the hospital. Wasn’t going to risk something going wrong before he placed her under a doctor’s care.

When Mark had the towels and the gray canvas bag, he opened the door, then paused on the stoop. “Should I carry you down?”

“No. That’s okay. The stairs aren’t going to be too strenuous for me. The baby is coming now. Let me walk.”

He wasn’t sure what to do, but at this point, she sounded kind of confident. And since he was scared spitless, he thought it best to defer to her—as long as they were hospital-bound.

Mark followed her down the creaking stairs, his feet hitting the steps like he had on a pair of ski boots. The afternoon sun had broken through the clouds, melting whatever snow had been left the night before. Maybe spring was really on its way. He was ready for green buds, warmer days and the kind of sunshine that made a guy want to be outdoors.

As she reached the white sedan, he opened the passenger door and waited for her to adjust the towels. So far, so good.

“Are you sure the baby’s coming?” he asked.

“Yes. Once the water breaks, contractions are more or less imminent. And according to the pregnancy book I’ve been reading, they won’t try to stop labor this time.”

A million fears hit him in the gut, nearly knocking him breathless, and all he could think of was getting her to the hospital, of passing the baton to medical professionals. Yet at the same time, he wanted to protect her, keep her safe—not an easy task for a man who meant to remain detached.

He circled the car to get in on the driver’s side, his heart pounding in his ears, stirring his fear, as well as his reluctance to be involved. He stole a glance at her, saw her pursed lips, her furrowed brow. She had to be more frightened than he was.

As they pulled out onto Main, her breath caught and she rubbed her stomach.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t heard the panicky edge to his voice.

“I’m having a contraction.”

Oh, no. He’d read horror stories of kids being born in taxis and cars. But surely they didn’t just pop out. Didn’t the labor process take a while?

He glanced at his wristwatch, then stepped on the gas, trying his best to zip through the lazy Saturday afternoon traffic. A lady honked at him, and he had half a notion to flip her off, shake a fist and swear at her. But he had to admit he hadn’t seen her vehicle, hadn’t realized he’d cut her off.

Damn. He’d better slow down and get his head out of his ass. A car accident wouldn’t do Juliet or the baby any good. But he didn’t want to waste precious time and found it hard not to speed.

As they turned onto White Water Drive, his pulse seemed to settle into a steady rush, rather than a frantic race. He stole a look at her, saw the apprehension in her eyes.