Montana Dreaming. Karen Rose Smith

of her, not pop in and out several times a day.

      What if something went wrong in the middle of the night?

      He’d have to stay there until she was no longer at risk for premature labor.

      But how big was her place?

      Where would he sleep?

      On the sofa, he supposed.

      The crick in his back, the one he’d woken up with, ached all the more, just thinking about being camped on her sofa for the next week or so. Damn. He was going to have to see a chiropractor when this stint in Thunder Canyon was over.

      As they drove past the newly constructed Ranch View Estates, Juliet peered out the window, studying the pine tree-lined entrance, the bright, colorful flags and a sign announcing that Phase I was now available.

      “That’s a nice housing development,” she said. “One afternoon, on my day off, I looked at the models.”

      Mark nodded, but didn’t comment. He didn’t have any inclination to set down roots, to purchase a home and landscape a yard. Especially not in Thunder Canyon.

      At thirty-eight, he’d yet to buy a place of his own. And why should he? He was always off on assignment, living in hotels that the news service paid for.

      He turned left onto Main and followed it until they neared The Hitching Post.

      “Can you drive around to the rear entrance?” Juliet asked. “I don’t feel like going through the dining room looking like this.”

      “Sure.” He didn’t think she looked bad at all, not after what she’d been through. But he didn’t argue. He swung around to the back, where a black Chevy S-10 pickup with a vinyl cover on the bed was parked next to a trash bin.

      Mark nodded toward the custom truck with a lowered chassis. “Whose is that?”

      “It’s mine.”

      “You drive a pickup?” He chuckled. The lady was full of surprises. “Somehow, I figured you would drive a racy red sports car or a flashy white convertible.”

      “Hey, that little truck is special to me. It was my brother’s pride and joy.”

      Was?

      She’d told him the baby was her only family.

      Unable to quell his curiosity, he asked, “What happened to him?”

      “He died about eighteen months ago, and since he’d listed me on the title, I inherited his truck.”

      “I’m sorry,” Mark said, the words feeling inadequate but necessary.

      “I’m sorry, too.”

      A heavy silence filled the interior of the car, and Mark wanted it to end, wanted to lighten the mood. To make her feel better. But it was hard to know what to say to someone who’d lost a loved one. He knew how impotent sympathetic words could be. No one had been able to ease his grief after his sister died. Not when her death had been his fault.

      His parents had never forgiven him for what had happened that stormy evening. But he supposed that was to be expected. He’d never forgiven himself, either.

      “It’s tough not having a family,” Juliet said, breaking the stifling stillness that had nearly choked the air out of the sedan. “But I focus on the memories we had. It’s what Father Tomas, our parish priest, advised me to do. And it helps.”

      Mark was glad she had memories to rely on. He didn’t. At least not the kind that made him feel better. In a way, he’d lost his entire family, too, even though his parents were still alive and kicking.

      When his mom had learned he was in town, she’d called him at the Wander-On Inn. She’d sounded hurt that he hadn’t chosen to stay at the motel she and his dad had owned and operated for the past twenty-five years.

      Mark had told her it was because the company had prepaid his room without knowing his family could provide him free lodging. But to be honest, Mark had been very specific with the company’s travel agent when they’d talked about where he wanted to stay—anywhere but The Big Sky Motel at the edge of town.

      After parking beside Juliet’s pickup, he spotted the stairway that led to the second floor.

      He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that The Hitching Post didn’t have an elevator, not when the county land office was just beginning to convert their records to a computer system. He bit back a swear word, but couldn’t stop the grumble that slipped out.

      “What’s the matter?” she asked.

      “I’m going to have to get you upstairs.”

      She opened her mouth, as if to object, then closed it again. Apparently, the recent bout of premature labor had made her realize how vulnerable she was.

      He slid out of the driver’s seat, circled the car and opened her door, intent upon carrying her.

      She put her hand up to stop him. “Maybe if I take the steps really slow—”

      He shook his head. “No way. Climbing stairs isn’t a good idea. It’s too strenuous.”

      “I can’t let you carry me.” She glanced down at her belly and frowned. “I’m too heavy.”

      She might be pregnant, but she was a petite woman. Small boned.

      “Don’t be silly. You’re a lightweight.”

      “Open your eyes, Mark.” She stroked her stomach.

      Heck. Women could be so testy about their weight—even when they weren’t pregnant. As he opened his mouth to argue, he caught a glimpse of skepticism in her frown.

      Hey, wait a minute. Was she doubting his ability to carry her?

      His male pride bristled. “Listen, sweetheart. I’m probably ten to fifteen years older than you, but that doesn’t make me over the hill yet.”

      She balked momentarily, as though contemplating a fight, but she slipped an arm through the shoulder strap of her purse, swung her legs over the side of the seat, draped a hand around his neck and let him scoop her up.

      She was heavier than he’d expected, but she was all belly. How big was the kid?

      As he lifted her from the rented sedan, he choked back any sound she might consider a winded effort. But once he’d straightened and kicked the passenger door shut, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, he kind of liked holding her in his arms and feeling like some kind of kick-ass hero.

      Her arm looped around his neck. Holding on. Holding him.

      He carried her up the steps, nails in the wood creaking under their combined weight. Damn, he hoped that whoever had built this stairway had made it sturdy. And that it hadn’t been the original staircase. No telling what more than a hundred years of wear and tear had done to the structure.

      “Mark, wait. I’m really uneasy. That can’t be good for the baby, either.”

      She was right. He let her down, then helped her walk the rest of the way. Slowly. Carefully. Step by step.

      When they reached the top landing, she dug through her purse for the key, but instead of unlocking the door, she turned to him instead. Her belly brushed against him, tempting him to touch it. To see what it felt like. But he refrained.

      Her eyes sparked with sincerity. “I can stay alone. Really. Maybe, if I give you a key, you can stop in and check on me several times a day.”

      The idea had merit. But Mark had promised the doctor he’d look after her. And that’s what he intended to do. “If it’s okay, I can stay with you. Besides, I’m stuck in town anyway—at least until the county clerk returns and I can have a look at those old recorded deeds.”

      Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “Are you going to move into my place?”

      No.