placed a hand on her enlarged womb, as though trying to hold back the tear-provoking laughter, but it didn’t work. Between her chuckles, she managed to say, “I assumed you knew how to cook.”
“I do. But I’m not used to this stove.”
Her gaze scanned the kitchen and lingered on the newspaper spread over the gold Formica countertop—no doubt realizing what he’d been doing when the bacon got away from him.
The editorial had caught his eye, dragging him into small-town politics, the debate about the gold rush, and the fortune hunters who’d converged on Thunder Canyon with hopes of striking it rich.
Consequently, Mark had neglected to watch the stove, the flame, the sizzling meat.
“Anything interesting going on in the world?”
“Undoubtedly,” he said. “But I was reading the Thunder Canyon Nugget, which is chock-full of nothing.”
“Well, something obviously caught your attention.”
“Not really. The paper, like this town, can’t compete with the real world.” He turned off the kitchen faucet and nodded toward the sink. “I’m afraid that was the last of the bacon. And the pan needs to go in that Dumpster outside.”
“Don’t throw it away. There’s cleanser and steel wool under the sink.”
“I’mnot going to scrub this thing.” He chucked the pan into the trashcan. “I’ll buy you a new one as soon as I get the chance.”
She swiped at the moisture under one eye, evidence of her amusement. But she couldn’t hide her grin. “I’ve got cornflakes in the cupboard. And there’s a banana on the counter. You can slice it—if you like fruit on your breakfast cereal.”
Mark didn’t like bananas, didn’t like the taste or the texture. He’d eat his cereal plain, although he preferred a manly meal like bacon and eggs.
As he rummaged through the kitchen, looking for bowls and a box of cornflakes, he tried to shake off the image of what would have made a hearty breakfast going up in smoke. Of course, with all the fast food he’d scarfed down in his travels, his body could probably use the fiber from the cereal. Better to flush those arteries than clog them.
“It was really sweet of you to try and cook for me,” she said.
Yeah, well, he didn’t feel sweet. Or funny. And if someone downstairs heard that damned alarm and called the fire department, he was going to feel stupid.
A few minutes later, after the smoke had begun to clear, he fixed her cereal, adding the sliced bananas on top. Then he placed her bowl on the coffee table so she wouldn’t need to get up and walk any more than necessary.
“Thanks.” She tugged at his sleeve, drawing his attention. “And I’m sorry for laughing.”
“No you aren’t.” He tossed her a laid-back grin, sliding back into the easy banter they shared.
“Okay, I’m not.” She giggled again. “You should have seen the look on your face when that alarm went off. And the way you frantically swung that dish towel around like a dime-store cowboy trying to lasso the horse that had thrown him.”
“I think you enjoyed seeing me screw up.”
“Let’s say I found it entertaining. I’m competitive by nature. Maybe it’s a little sister/big brother thing.”
Was she saying she thought of him as a big brother? He supposed that ought to be kind of nice. Or touching. But for some reason it irked him that she thought of him that way. As if he were too old for her to consider as a lover—well, if she weren’t having a baby and all.
Nah. She couldn’t have been thinking about him as lover material. Mother Nature probably disconnected all the sexual urges when a woman got pregnant. In fact, he doubted Juliet thought about making love at all—especially now.
So why had sex crossed his mind—even briefly?
Maybe because it had been a while since he’d had time to spend on a relationship—as noncommittal as his were.
She swung her feet around to the floor and sat up to eat, making room for him to take a seat beside her on the sofa.
Actually, when Mark put his frustration and embarrassment aside, he had to admit it was nice seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. He shot her a crooked grin. “I looked like a cowboy, huh?”
“Roy Rogers at his worst.” Her eyes glimmered and her lips twitched, as she used her spoon to snag a slice of banana and pop it in her mouth.
Although he enjoyed a good joke, a part of him didn’t like her laughing at him. But he chided himself for being sensitive about something so minor and took a sip of coffee. As he savored the rich brew, he realized he’d done something right this morning.
He glanced at the ceramic cup—white, with a pink carnation trim along the edge. The pattern was bright and cheery, unlike the other things in the house. And he wondered if she’d had a hand in choosing the dishes. “Was the kitchen furnished, too?”
“The dishes are mine. I packed Mrs. Tasker’s set in a box and put them in the closet.”
Mark looked at his cup. “I’ll bet these are nicer than the ones she had.”
“I think so. They’re not fancy, but they were my grandmother’s, so they’re special.”
Yeah, well he was beginning to think Juliet was special, too. Over the years, she’d lost her family. Yet she didn’t seem beaten.
His gaze dropped to her stomach, to where she carried her child. Why hadn’t the father of her baby stepped up to the plate? Why hadn’t he wanted a pretty woman like her? Maybe, over time, the guy would change his mind.
“Tell me something,” Mark said. “Does the baby’s father know where to find you?”
“No.” She dabbed her lips with the paper towel he’d given her to use as a napkin.
Mark might not have any desire to be a husband and father, but if Juliet—or rather some other woman—was having his baby, he’d want to know about it. And he’d want to know where she and his child lived. “Don’t you think you should tell him? In case he needs to see the baby or send money?”
She thought for a moment, as if trying to find the words to defend her move out of state. Or maybe she was trying to decide whether Mark had been right, whether she ought to let the baby’s father know where she was residing.
After studying the pattern on her cereal bowl, she caught his gaze. The bubbly smile that had seemed permanently fixed moments ago had drifted. “I grew up in the barrios of San Diego. But I was raised in a loving home, and we were happy.”
He didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but he’d been curious about her past. So he shifted in his seat, facing her, letting her know he was interested in what she had to say.
“I never knew my mother. She left home when I was just a baby. But my grandmother moved in to help raise my brother
