Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith

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