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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.
Do something, he told himself. Make her feel better.
Hell, he had to do something to make them both feel better. But he didn’t have a clue what.
He gripped the steering wheel as though he could control the situation as well as he maneuvered the rented sedan.
Up ahead, he spotted the colorful flags that lined the entrance of Ranch View Estates, the development that she’d pointed out to him the last time they’d traveled this road.
“How big are those homes?” he asked, hoping to stir up a conversation that might take her mind off her worries. Off his, too.
She looked out the window, but her face didn’t light up. Not like it had when she’d first made a fuss over the housing development and mentioned that she’d gone to see the models. “I’m not sure. I think the smallest one is about twenty-eight hundred square feet.”
“How many bedrooms?” he asked, trying his damnedest to keep the casual conversation going.
“Three to four, I think. The biggest model has a den that can be used as an office or another bedroom.”
“Those sure are nice-size lots. I guess a guy would have to buy a good mower.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on something he couldn’t see.
But Mark continued to keep up the lame conversation. “And I like the ranch-style architecture.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It sure would be nice living in a gated community.” That is, if he ever got the urge to put down roots. Then it would be nice.
She started rubbing her belly with her hand and breathing weird. Was that normal?
He glanced at his watch again. They’d been on the road for about five minutes. Only three or four more miles to go. Then he could pass the responsibility on to someone else. He tried to think up something else to say, but what was the use? He had a feeling she didn’t appreciate his efforts to chat, and they were almost at the hospital.
Moments later, they pulled into the entrance of Thunder Canyon General. By this time, Mark knew the drill, but that didn’t make him feel any less nervous. Any less afraid.
As he parked the idling car under the covered portico, Juliet reached a hand across the seat and tugged at the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“No problem.”
Had voicing her appreciation been her way of letting him off the hook? Of telling him he could just leave her here?
He hoped so. But he’d wait until he got her settled, until the doctor stepped in and took over. Then he could walk out the door and get on with his life, knowing he’d done his good deed. That he’d made sure at least one pregnant woman had gotten to the hospital safely.
Moments later, Mark brought a nurse and a wheelchair to the car. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he was able to hand over Juliet to someone medically trained. Someone competent.
Still, he followed her and the nurse through the double glass doors, past the security guard. Mark acknowledged the uniformed man, and the guy nodded in return.
While the E.R. clerk handled the paperwork and phoned the maternity ward to give them a heads-up, Mark continued to hang out, to make sure the admission process was complete and that Juliet didn’t need him anymore.
“Who’s the head of the department?” Mark asked, wanting the best for Juliet.
“Dr. Chester is the head of Ob-Gyn,” the clerk responded. “She’s out of town on a speaking engagement at the Montana Women’s Health Fair. But Dr. Hart is here.”
