belly. The pool of blood.
Mark could tap dance around the truth all night. But he knew where the urge to protect the pretty waitress had come from.
His sister had been about Juliet’s age when she and her unborn son had died.
As Juliet slid the chair she’d been sitting in back to the table, obviously ending their chat and the short break she’d taken, he couldn’t keep quiet. “I hope you’re turning in your apron for the evening.”
“Dr. Hart told me to take it easy. And she suggested I stop work. But that’s not an option right now.”
“You need to take the doctor’s orders more seriously.” No one understood how something could go wrong better than Mark.
“I did take the doctor seriously. I took off two days from work, I’ve cut back my hours a bit and the other waitresses have tried to make my job easier.”
Before Mark could stop her, she made her way to another table, leaving him to ponder the easy banter, the subtle flirtation that went on despite her circumstances.
And the overwhelming urge to take care of a woman he hardly knew.
He took a drink of the bourbon. And then another. He hoped the alcohol would drown the memories Juliet’s pregnancy had invoked. But it didn’t seem likely.
The godawful guilt had reared its head, and it was too late to turn back the clock, to right a wrong he’d never forget.
Chapter Two
As was his custom, at least while in Thunder Canyon, Mark ended each day of interviews by downing a couple of drinks and having dinner at The Hitching Post.
He didn’t feel any better about the value of his work on this story or feel any closer to wrapping it up than he had on his first day back in town. For the most part, all he could come up with was human-interest type stuff.
Public opinion, it seemed, was split when it came to the gold rush and the influx of fortune hunters.
Some townspeople had gotten so excited by the fervor, they’d locked up their homes and drained their bank accounts in order to buy prospecting gear. Others—mostly business owners—were pleased by the increase in revenue the newcomers brought to town.
But then there were the vocal locals, those who hated the publicity and the swarm of strangers who’d turned the quaint little town topsy-turvy. Juliet, with her love of history, probably fell into that group.
Mark scanned the room and found her near the cash register, talking to her boss. Why didn’t Martha Tasker trade jobs and let the pregnant waitress sit on a stool while collecting payments and making change? It wouldn’t hurt the older woman to take orders and serve customers for the time being.
As Juliet walked away, she massaged the small of her back with both hands.
Damn. It grated on Mark to see her working so hard. And hurting.
But hey, he reminded himself. That really wasn’t any of his business. He ought to be relieved that she hadn’t waited on him this evening. That she hadn’t made any effort to stop by his table—in spite of the friendly conversation they’d shared last night.
Yet the fact that she hadn’t come by bothered him, too.
He missed her smile, her wit. Her company.
But then why wouldn’t he? Juliet was about the only person, place or thing in this town he found interesting or appealing.
And she hadn’t looked his way this evening.
Was she avoiding him? Had he been too intrusive last night? Offering his opinion and advice without being asked?
Maybe so, but that was just as well.
Last night, following their chat, he’d gone back to the Wander-On Inn and, when he’d finally dozed off, he’d slept like hell, tossing and turning all night long like a trout trapped in shallow water.
He glanced up from the trace of meat loaf and mashed potatoes on his plate and saw her coming his way.
Well, what do you know? Speak of the pretty devil who’d triggered his insomnia.
When she reached his table, she smiled. “Mary Sue had to go home because of a family emergency. So I’m going to be taking care of you from here on out.”
“You’re the one who should be cutting out early. And someone ought to be taking care of you.”
She arched, grimaced, then rubbed her lower back. “We’ve already talked about that.”
They had. And he hadn’t meant to get her all riled up. After all, it wasn’t his place to harp on her. And even if she appreciated his concern, he wouldn’t be around long enough to nurture a friendship. Besides, he damn sure didn’t need to get involved with a single mother and her child, especially when they lived in a town he’d been avoiding for twenty years.
“I’m sorry, Juliet. I’ll let it go.”
“Thanks.” She offered him an olive-branch smile. “I’m trying to take it easy, Mark. But I’ve got to keep working a little while longer.”
He nodded. She was concerned about finances, which was understandable. Once she gave birth and went back to work, the cost of a babysitter would probably put a crunch on her paycheck.
Maybe he ought to give her some money. Five hundred dollars might make life a bit easier for her. And then he could let it go. Ease off. Let her be.
“Can I get you some dessert?” she asked. “Buck made his blue-ribbon peach cobbler today. And everyone’s been raving about it.”
“Sure. I’ll take some.” Mark placed his napkin on the table and pushed aside his dinner plate. “Will you join me?”
“Maybe for a minute.” She glanced over her shoulder at Martha, who appeared preoccupied with sorting bills in the cash drawer. “I’ve had a nagging backache all afternoon.”
Mark couldn’t hold back a grumble. If he were a violent man, he’d slam a fist on the table in frustration. Was a backache normal for a woman in her condition? Or was it an indication that something was wrong? Something terribly wrong? Something that put her life and that of her baby at risk?
Like Kelly.
Damn the memory that wouldn’t let him alone.
No matter what he’d told himself, no matter what kind of truce he and the waitress had drawn, Mark couldn’t shake his concern. “I’m glad you’re going to take a break, but come on, Juliet. You really need to go home and put your feet up. Think about the baby.”
“I am.” Her eyes locked on his in rebuttal, although they appeared a bit glassy, like they were swimming in emotion and barely staying afloat. “I don’t have a family to fall back on. It’s just the baby and me. And I can’t help worrying about making ends meet, about keeping a roof over our heads once he or she gets here.”
“Yeah,
