Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith

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