I think she’s starting to wake up now.”
He made his way to the baby’s bedside and studied her while she squirmed. “What are you going to call her?”
Juliet didn’t respond until his gaze caught hers. “I’d like to name her after you, Mark. What do you think of Marissa?”
His eyes widened, and his lips parted. “You’re going to name her after me?”
He seemed genuinely touched, and she was glad. “I’m not sure how I would have managed without you this past week.”
Before he could respond further, a blond candy striper popped her head in the door. “Are you finished with breakfast?”
“Yes,” Juliet said, taking one last sip of milk.
The bright-eyed teen crossed the room with a spring in her step and picked up Juliet’s tray. “Did you hear the news?”
Mark, who’d managed to doff the sentiment from his expression the minute the candy striper entered the room, slipped into reporter mode. “What news?”
“A couple of guys hunting for gold near Turner Grade found several large nuggets. They showed the E.R. staff, and everyone said they were the biggest ones yet.” The teenager smiled, revealing a set of rainbow-colored braces. “My grandpa left us a piece of property that used to be a gold mine in the olden days. And my dad is going to get a second mortgage on our house so he can buy the equipment and hire a crew to start working it again.”
Juliet glanced at Mark, knowing what he was thinking—that the poor candy striper’s father was wasting his time, as well as risking the family’s financial security.
Mark didn’t comment, didn’t deflate the young woman’s hope, which was good. And Juliet, who always tried to keep a positive outlook, was glad he’d held his tongue. But she had to admit even she found the man’s enthusiasm a bit scary. After all, Mark had been right about something. Most of the gold hunters would end up empty-handed.
“What were the prospectors doing in the E.R.?” Mark asked.
“Apparently, they’d been celebrating their find at The Hitching Post last night. On the way to the parking lot, one of them tripped and cut his hand on a bottle of beer he’d been holding. So he came in for stitches.”
“Crazy fools.” Mark glanced at Juliet, with a see-what-I-mean look in his eye, which silently pointed out the downside of the gold rush.
It was amazing. Juliet and Mark had actually communicated in a look, a glance. Just like married couples seemed to do.
For a moment, she wondered what had happened between them in the past week. What had changed? Had they forged some kind of a bond? And if so, what direction would their friendship take?
But rather than get carried away, she shrugged off her question, deciding to take one day at a time.
“The E.R. gets a lot of gold-rush related injuries,” Mark said.
“They sure do.” The candy striper grinned. “Just this morning, someone came in with a gunshot wound.”
“That’s a lot more serious than a cut or broken bone,” Mark said. “Was it another prospector?”
“Uh-huh. My friend is a nurse’s aide, and she told me it was a property dispute or something like that.” The teenager lifted Juliet’s tray. “Well, I’d better get back to work.” Then she left the room and went on her way.
Juliet glanced at Mark, saw his furrowed brow.
Was he contemplating the value of the candy striper’s gossip? Or the importance of the land dispute?
“It looks like your story is taking off without you,” Juliet said. “Marissa and I are doing okay. Why don’t you take some time to yourself?”
“Maybe I will.” He glanced at the baby, watched her squirm and fuss. “Mind if I pick her up? I think she’s hungry.”
Juliet could just as easily take care of the baby herself, but she had a feeling Mark liked being helpful. “Please do.”
He held the child against his chest for a bit longer than necessary, which Juliet thought was sweet. That fish-out-of-water expression hadn’t completely disappeared, but he’d grown more confident.
“Have a nice breakfast, Sweet Pea.” He ran a knuckle along the baby’s cheek, then handed her to Juliet. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
“That’s fine. Dr. Hart was just here. She wants to keep us at least another night, just to make sure Marissa is nursing well and doesn’t develop any problems related to her premature birth.”
“Ma-ris-sa,” he said, enunciating each sound. His eyes lit up, as he smiled. “I’m not sure if I told you, but I like that. It’s a pretty name for a pretty little girl.”
Then he grabbed his coffee, rolled up the newspaper and headed for the door. Off to work. Just like a typical new father.
Stop that, Juliet told herself. Soy la tonta del barrio, the biggest fool in town.
Mark had been a good friend—that’s all. And she couldn’t let those kinds of silly thoughts take root.
Lord knew she didn’t need to set herself up for any more disappointments in her life.
The newspaper office was located along South Main, just a few blocks from Town Square. It wasn’t a big building, but then again, the Thunder Canyon Nugget was only a weekly.
Mark had come by twice before, not long after he’d arrived in town. But the publisher and editor, Roy Canfield, had an Out To Lunch sign on the door. And the sign had remained there all afternoon.
But today Mark was in luck—no sign and the door of the white-stucco building was unlocked.
He entered the small front office and caught the heady scent of newsprint and ink.
A heavyset, salt-and-pepper-haired man in a tweed sports jacket sat at a desk near a door leading to the back. His leather desk chair squeaked as he turned from his work. “Can I help you?”
“My name’s Mark Anderson. I’m with Golden Eagle News Service. Are you Mr. Canfield?”
“Yes, siree.” The sixty-something man stood and reached out a hand in greeting. “But call me Roy.”
They shook hands, and Mark cut to the chase. “I read your latest editorial. In fact, I was a bit surprised that it was so well-written and thought-provoking.”
“Because you agree with me? Or because the Nugget is just a weekly?” Roy crossed his arms above an ample belly, but his smile indicated he hadn’t found the comment offensive.
Mark returned his smile. “Actually, I disagreed with you. And I plan to write a letter in rebuttal.”
“Good!” Roy stood as tall as his five-and-a-half foot frame would allow, putting quite a strain on his red suspenders. “I’m always up for a heated debate.”
