Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith

him an enchanting smile. “Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can see a cowboy in a spun woolen shirt, leather vest and dungarees, walking along the dusty western streets.”

      “You don’t say. That’s a pretty vivid imagination you’ve got. Do you hear his spurs go jingle jangle jingle?”

      “Of course.” The mirth in her voice taunted his cynical nature. “You mean you haven’t ever envisioned a prim lady dressed in calico and wearing a splash of lemon verbena?”

      “No. Never.” He leaned back in his chair, extending his legs, as his gaze swept her pretty face. “Not even a pretty señorita with flashing dark eyes.”

      Her lips, with only the hint of rose-colored lipstick, quirked as she made a tsk-tsk sound. “That’s too bad. Life must be boring for a man mired in reality.”

      That was for sure. What little imagination Mark had was spent deciphering puzzles, weeding out lies and digging for the meat of a story. And although his life was normally far from dull, that wasn’t the case on this assignment.

      Covering the gold rush was a waste of his time, and it chapped his hide that his boss had sent him here because he’d once been a local boy. But Mark was a professional. He’d get the damn story written, make Thunder Canyon look remotely interesting, then get the hell out of town. As long as he could stay a step ahead of the memories he’d like to forget, he’d come out on top.

      “My life isn’t dull,” he told her. “Not by a long shot. But I’ve got to admit I’m bored in Thunder Canyon.”

      She leaned back in her chair. “You’re a stick in the mud.”

      “And you’re a romantic.”

      Her smile drifted and the light in her eyes faded. “About some things, I suppose.”

      His gaze fell to her belly, to the swollen womb where her baby grew, and he realized the conversation had taken a personal turn for her. A heavy turn?

      “What’s your husband do?” he asked, curious about the guy and hoping he was supportive and making sure she didn’t do too much in her condition.

      “I’m not married. I’ll be raising my child alone.”

      God knew he didn’t want to go there. Mark would be in and out of town long before she had the baby. At least that was his game plan.

      “Soooo,” he said, trying to get them both back to an impersonal level, at least when it came to the lover in her past. “You fell in love with Thunder Canyon and settled here.”

      She nodded.

      “Amazing. And I couldn’t get out of town fast enough.” The minute the words slipped out, he wanted to take them back.

      There were some things Mark Anderson was hell-bent to forget, some memories he refused to discuss. Some guilt, that if left unchecked, would stealthily creep back in the dark of night, pointing a finger and reminding him how he’d failed his sister, his family.

      But he’d be damned if he’d let the reminder haunt his dreams tonight. So he gamely changed the subject. Again. Back to her past. “Where are you from?”

      “Originally? San Diego.”

      “That’s a long way from Thunder Canyon.”

      “The distance was part of the appeal.”

      Mark nodded, as though he knew something he couldn’t possibly understand. The reporter in him wanted to question her, to learn why she was running, but this wasn’t another work-related interview. And he didn’t want to encourage self-disclosure when turnabout wasn ‘t fair play.

      “My baby’s father didn’t want our child,” she offered without being asked, then shrugged and cast a smile that didn’t convince Mark that the guy’s rejection hadn’t done a number on her. “So I left town with the intent of settling down in the first place that felt like home to me.”

      The lover who’d fathered her baby was a fool. But Mark kept the thought to himself. “And you just ended up here?”

      “I stopped at a restaurant near Sacramento and chatted with a couple of tourists who’d come from Montana. They told me how quaint and charming Thunder Canyon was, and I decided to visit.”

      “And then you decided to stay.” An easy assumption.

      “That’s about the size of it.” She scooted her chair back and stood, her belly and the baby stretching between them.

      “Where are you going?” he asked.

      “Back to work.”

      “Shouldn’t you go upstairs and put your feet up or something?” He didn’t know why he was feeling so protective of her.

      God knew he didn’t have any intention of getting involved with any local women, not to mention a pregnant one who was a good ten to fifteen years younger than he was. But that didn’t keep him from feeling sorry for her. After all, the father of her child wasn’t in the picture, and considering her job, money was obviously an issue.

      She shouldn’t be working so hard this late in her pregnancy. Something could go wrong.

      A momentary flash—lightning quick—thundered in his chest, reverberating in his mind and threatening to shake the memories free from their dark hiding place.

      Kelly lying on the floor. The gray pallor of her death mask. The distended belly. The pool of blood.

      Mark could tap dance around the truth all night. But he knew where the urge to protect the pretty waitress had come from.

      His sister had been about Juliet’s age when she and her unborn son had died.

      As Juliet slid the chair she’d been sitting in back to the table, obviously ending their chat and the short break she’d taken, he couldn’t keep quiet. “I hope you’re turning in your apron for the evening.”

      “Dr. Hart told me to take it easy. And she suggested I stop work. But that’s not an option right now.”

      “You need to take the doctor’s orders more seriously.” No one understood how something could go wrong better than Mark.

      “I did take the doctor seriously. I took off two days from work, I’ve cut back my hours a bit and the other waitresses have tried to make my job easier.”

      Before Mark could stop her, she made her way to another table, leaving him to ponder the easy banter, the subtle flirtation that went on despite her circumstances.

      And the overwhelming urge to take care of a woman he hardly knew.

      He took a drink of the bourbon. And then another. He hoped the alcohol would drown the memories Juliet’s pregnancy had invoked. But it didn’t seem likely.

      The godawful guilt had reared its head, and it was too late to turn back the clock, to right a wrong he’d never forget.

      Chapter Two

      As was his custom, at least while in Thunder Canyon, Mark ended each day of interviews by downing a couple of drinks and having dinner at The Hitching Post.

      He didn’t feel any better about the value of his work on this story or feel any closer to wrapping it up than he had on his first day back in town. For the most part, all he could come up with was human-interest type stuff.

      Public opinion, it seemed, was split when it came to the gold rush and the influx of fortune hunters.

      Some townspeople had gotten so excited by the fervor, they’d locked up their homes and drained their bank accounts in order to buy prospecting gear. Others—mostly business owners—were pleased by the increase in revenue the newcomers brought to town.

      But then there were the vocal locals, those who hated the publicity and the swarm of strangers who’d turned the quaint little town topsy-turvy. Juliet,