father worked at a neighborhood tortilleria to support the family. It was a small, family-owned business that didn’t provide health insurance for the employees. And even though my dad insisted Manny and I visit the doctor whenever we were sick, he didn’t like spending the money for himself.” She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting back to the pink carnation trim on her bowl. “When I was fourteen, he died of cancer. It had been a treatable case that went undetected until it was too late.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. But Papa was a man of great faith. And I know he’s in Heaven.” She offered him a sincere smile, one that held feeling, conviction and victory over grief. “It was tough back then, but Manny and I did all right. We took care of each other. And we held on to the values we’d been taught.”
Manny was her older brother, Mark realized. The young man who’d died in an industrial accident. Without meaning to, Mark glanced at the bookshelf, at the silver frame that held a smiling boy in a red baseball uniform.
“About four years ago, after I graduated from high school, I got a job waiting tables in a San Diego suburb at a small Mexican restaurant called La Cocina. And Manny took a night job as a stock clerk in a discount superstore. We pooled our resources and moved out of the barrio, where we could create a home together and start a new life. We’d dreamed of buying a house. It had been a dream of our father’s, then it was ours. Now it’s mine.”
Juliet, he realized, was made of sturdier stuff than she seemed.
She leaned back into the sofa. “Manny’s death was a real blow.”
And not just because of his youth, Mark realized. They’d been close. And her brother had been the last family member she had.
Mark struggled not to take her hand, to pull her into his arms. To provide a hug. Something. But he’d never been a touchy-feely kind of guy.
“One of the regulars who frequented the restaurant where I worked, an older guy who was a lawyer, volunteered to help me. To take care of the legalities resulting from my brother’s estate and the workman’s comp lawsuit that’s still pending.”
A nice guy? Mark wondered. Or an attorney looking for a cut of a settlement she was bound to get?
Juliet ran a hand over her belly. Over her child. “I needed a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone who cared. And Erik Kramer was a charmer who promised to be there for me. I believed him, and before long, we became lovers.” At that point, she looked up, caught Mark’s eye. “He was my first.”
If the attorney had been in the room, Mark might have considered punching him. Charming a young virgin when she was grieving smacked of unethical behavior. And since she’d already mentioned that the baby’s father hadn’t wanted the child—or her—it made Kramer seem like more of a jerk.
There was a certain responsibility a man ought to have after taking a woman’s virginity, especially when she was vulnerable, as Juliet had been. And the man should have been there for her when the chips were down. Like he’d promised.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I broke the news to him. I knew he’d be surprised. Like I was. But I assumed we’d make the most of it.” She offered Mark a wistful smile. “You know. That we’d get married and live happily ever after.”
Mark could guess the end of the story. “Apparently, Kramer wasn’t into marriage.”
“Oh, but he was.” Juliet smiled wryly. “He and his wife of fifteen years were planning a Mediterranean cruise to celebrate their wedding anniversary.”
Mark might be hell-bent on remaining single after his disappointing divorce, but that didn’t mean he approved of married men having affairs. A commitment—if a man or woman were inclined to make one—ought to mean something.
Juliet peered at him with misty eyes. “If Erik would have been honest with me, if I’d known he had a wife, I never would have slept with him. He gave me every reason to believe that he was free to pursue a relationship. That he loved me.”
“He lied to you. The guy’s a bastard, Juliet.” Mark wished Kramer was standing before him so he could knock his lights out. “I hope he’s agreed to pay you child support.”
“He gave me nearly a thousand dollars in cash, telling me to get rid of the ‘problem.’ Then he encouraged me to get a little something for myself with what was left over.”
Mark reached out, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. But it didn’t seem to be enough.
“The pregnancy had come as a surprise to me, too,” Juliet said, caressing her womb again. “But there was no way I’d consider aborting my baby. He or she is the only family I have left.”
“So you left San Diego. But what about the lawsuit?”
“For that reason, I’ll eventually call and give his law firm my address. But I wanted to put some distance between us. Emotionally, as well as physically.”
It made sense, he supposed.
“I didn’t want the baby to find out that its father didn’t want him or her, that he had another family that didn’t include us. So I pocketed the money he’d given me, gave notice at La Cocina, had a garage sale, packed my belongings into Manny’s truck and headed north. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I was eager to create a family of my own.”
“And you ended up in Thunder Canyon.”
“I wanted to find a small town where people knew their neighbors, where there were no secrets, no one who could betray my trust.”
Mark wasn’t so sure she’d found that here, but he wasn’t about to splash a wave of cynicism on a young woman struggling to embrace a buoy of hope.
“That’s probably way more than you wanted to know,” she said. “But I didn’t want you to think I’d intentionally hook up with a married man. That I’d normally be that stupid. That my father and the church hadn’t taught me better than that.”
Mark flicked a strand of hair away from her cheek, and cupped her jaw. His thumb made a slow, gentle stroke of her skin. “You’re a special lady, Juliet. And someday, a lucky man is going to figure that out. And then you’ll have a family again, the family you deserve.”
Funny thing was, Mark the cynic actually believed that to be true.
For her.
But unlike pretty Juliet, a family wasn’t in his cards. He’d tried to recreate his broken family once, but his ex had doused that dream years ago.
Not about to go another round with the kitchen or the stove for at least another day, Mark ordered two take-out dinners from The Hitching Post. He hoped Juliet would be pleased with his choice—pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and lemon meringue pie.
He carried the cartons of food upstairs and, while Juliet turned off the television, set the dinette table. The doctor had said she could get up to use the bathroom, so Mark figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit for a couple of minutes.
As he poured them two glasses of milk, she crossed her arms over her belly and arched a brow. “What? No bourbon?”
“Not
