Montana Dreaming

The lamplight from the living room cast a dull glow through the bedroom door, making it easy to see, easy to marvel at her pretty, dark-haired baby.

Juliet looked over her shoulder, saw Mark lying in bed, eyes open, watching her. She wasn’t sure there was much to see, other than an outline of her breast. And interestingly enough, she didn’t feel shy or embarrassed.

She felt womanly.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” he asked. “A diaper or a glass of water?”

She offered him a smile that came from her heart. “How did I ever get by without a friend like you?”

He didn’t answer. And that was just as well, because the underlying reality echoed in her mind.

Once Mark was gone, she’d have to get by on her own again.

Ever since Mark had fallen asleep with Juliet and wakened with her in his arms, he’d gone back to the Wander-On-Inn each night at bedtime.

In the past, he’d always enjoyed the quiet hours before turning in. But lately, he worried about what was going on at the apartment across the street, about whether Juliet was okay, whether the baby was sleeping longer between feedings.

He supposed Juliet had been right about their friendship. They’d definitely forged some kind of a bond in the past two weeks. A bond that was just as frightening as it was appealing.

Somehow, the pretty young mother had touched his heart—as a friend, of course. And her daughter had done the same thing.

So that was why, a week after Marissa was born, Mark drove Juliet and the baby to the clinic for a weight check.

Juliet had said she could probably drive herself, since she’d had an easy birth and hadn’t needed any medication or an episiotomy. But Mark had still insisted on going. To be honest, he wanted to make sure that Marissa was gaining weight and that everything was all right.

He secured the car seat in the back of his rented sedan, while Juliet carried the baby down the steps. And moments later, they were on their way to the Lone Pine Medical Building, which was located on White Water Drive, just past the entrance to the hospital.

Several different doctors, including Doc Emerson, Juliet’s primary physician, housed their offices in a single building that shared a large, single waiting room. A registration desk sat in each open doorway. They signed in at the pediatrician’s office and took a seat near the entry.

Their appointment wasn’t supposed to take long, since it was with the nurse and not a full-blown checkup.

About ten minutes after they signed in at the pediatric desk, a grandmotherly blonde wearing a blue smock with a Noah’s ark print called Marissa’s name.

“I’m Karen,” she said, as she led them back to a small exam room.

Juliet was asked to undress the sleeping baby—something Marissa didn’t like. Her wail of protest soon filled the air.

Karen placed the naked, crying baby on the scale and fiddled with the dial. “There we go. Four pounds, eleven and a half ounces.”

Uh-oh. Only a half ounce? That wasn’t very much, was it? At this rate, Marissa would be in kindergarten before she hit the ten-pound mark.

“Good job, Mom.” Karen picked up the unhappy baby and handed her to Juliet. “She’s already regained her birth weight.”

“That’s good,” Juliet said. “She’d dropped down to four pounds, six ounces when we left the hospital.”

Oh. So she was making up for lost weight. Mark blew out a sigh. “When do we have to bring her back in?”

The “we” slipped out without him realizing it.

Damn, he was going to have to step back and let Juliet and Marissa get on with their lives. He’d be leaving town shortly—just as soon as he finished the story.

“Since the baby was a good four weeks early and small,” the nurse said, “we’d like to see her in another week. But so far, so good. She’s doing just great. Do you have any questions?”

“When can she take a bath?” Juliet asked.

“The cord is just dangling. So as soon as it falls off, you can bathe her.”

Mark didn’t like the thought of the tiny girl in the bathtub. “Isn’t she too little for the tub?”

The nurse smiled. “If you don’t have one of those plastic baby baths, you can bathe her in the kitchen sink.”

“Oh,” he said. There was a lot about babies he still didn’t know.

The nurse led them to the desk where they could make an appointment. When they settled on next Friday at two, the receptionist said, “There’s a ten-dollar co-pay for this visit.”

Mark reached for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” Juliet tugged at his shirtsleeve. “I can pay that.”

“I know.” But he wasn’t going to let her. She had a lot of upcoming expenses—a babysitter, for one. He whipped out a twenty. “Let me take care of this.”

The woman at the desk gave him change and they returned to the car. All the while, Marissa made quite a racket, and no amount of shushing or gentle swaying seemed to help.

“Do you mind if I feed her first?” Juliet asked.

“No. Go ahead.” Mark hadn’t meant to watch, to see her unbutton her pink cotton blouse and offer a breast to the child. But he couldn’t turn away.

It’s not as though there was anything sexual about it. Well, not really. But the attraction, the appeal, was just as strong, just as powerful.

For a moment, he wondered if he would ever be part of a family—like this one. But he quickly shook off the crazy notion.

After all, he’d been married once. To a pretty coed he’d met in college, a homebody with a teaching credential. The kind of woman who wanted to be a mother and create a family. A sweet, twenty-two-year-old redhead who’d morphed into a whiny nag after the first six months. And then she’d offered him an ultimatum—either his marriage or his career.

Mark had told her that he couldn’t walk away from the job he loved, especially not while on an assignment. And when he got back to town, she was gone—along with the furniture and all the wedding gifts.

The failure of the marriage had hurt, even though he’d sensed it coming. But he hadn’t fought the divorce, letting his ex have all the stuff they’d acquired in the short time they’d been together.

What the hell. He would have had to put everything in storage anyway.

After Marissa had been burped and placed into the car seat, Mark headed home along White Water Drive.

The sky was a vast, springtime blue, and the sun promised to warm the wintry chill in the breeze and carry them to summer. Yet Mark had learned the weather in Montana could turn stormy on Mother Nature’s whim.

As they neared the colorful flags that lined the entrance of Ranch View Estates, a hell of an idea began to form.

Mark’s accountant had been after him for years to buy a home—as an investment, as a much needed tax write-off. But Mark had dragged his feet.

Hell, he’d let the execs at Golden Eagle know that he was willing to go anywhere the company sent him. So why have a house when he was never home?

Instead, he’d socked away the cash he would have spent on a mortgage and put it into a money market account that had been growing steadily. With his globe-trotting lifestyle, complete with a hefty expense account, he didn’t have much opportunity to spend his earnings.

Still, he thought about what his accountant had said.

What if he bought one of those ranch-style houses? Just a small one, of course. He could let Juliet and the baby live there, and she could take care of the property for him—in lieu of rent. After all, he’d be taxed on rental income anyway, wouldn’t he?

And she certainly didn’t need to be wasting money that was better spent elsewhere. Her wages and tips from The Hitching Post couldn’t possibly be very much, and he suspected she would have a difficult time making ends meet, especially if she had to hire a sitter.

And speaking of babysitters, they’d better find someone good. Someone competent. Mark didn’t like the idea of just anyone looking after Marissa.

“It’s a pretty day,” Juliet said.

“Yeah. It is.” And it was too nice for her and the baby to stay cooped up in that drab old apartment. “I was planning to go by the museum today. Would you and Marissa like to go with me?”

“Sure. We’d love to. On my days off, I used to spend a lot of time there.” She crossed her arms and slid him a questioning look. “But why do you want to go to the museum? I thought history didn’t interest you.”

“Normally, it wouldn’t. But I’m looking for information about the Queen of Hearts that will add a little color and flavor the article I’m writing. And while I interview the docent, you and Marissa can wander around and enjoy the place all you want.”

“We will.” Then she flashed him a pretty smile that turned him every which way but loose.

Damn. He was growing a little too fond of the mother and her baby. Too concerned about their welfare.

It was definitely time to finish his story and get the hell out of Dodge.

The Thunder Canyon Museum was located on two acres of land on Elm Street, in a barn-red clapboard structure that had been a schoolhouse in the late eighteen hundreds. Originally, it had been built in the classic, one-room style, with a foyer/mudroom and big closet in front, the schoolroom in the center and a kitchen/workroom in back.

But over the years, outbuildings had been added until the community outgrew the facility. And when the new schools were built on the other side of town, the historical society had taken over the original structure and created a museum.

From what Juliet understood, townspeople had donated money and different artifacts over the years, which allowed the museum to include various exhibits that showed how the early settlers lived. And the biggest contributor had been Caleb Douglas.

There was also a roped-off area that displayed clothing, accessories and toiletries that once belonged to Lily Divine, the Shady Lady.

Juliet had always found that particular display to be the most interesting. Or maybe it was the woman’s occupation as a saloon owner and possibly a madam that set her curiosity soaring. She wished she could have met Lily. And that she could have lived in the late nineteenth century.

That period in history had always fascinated her, which was why she’d spent so much time at the old schoolhouse museum.

And on each visit, she’d enjoyed her many chats with the various docents, all volunteers and members of the Thunder Canyon Historical Society. In fact, she’d even thought about joining the interesting group.

As Mark parked the sedan on the side of the building, Juliet spotted the old shed-style barn in back. It didn’t look like much now, but on her last visit one of the docents had mentioned a plan to make it into a blacksmith exhibit. Juliet thought it would make a nice addition.

She got out of the car, and as she opened the passenger door to take Marissa from the car seat, a soprano voice sang out.

“Yoo-hoo! Mark Anderson, is that you?” A heavyset woman in a yellow, floral-printed dress wiggled her fingers in greeting.

Mark made his way toward the smiling matron. “Yeah. It’s me, Mrs. Eagleston.”

“Why look at you. All grown up. Of course, I would have known you anywhere, even if your mother hadn’t told me you’d come into town on that big assignment. She’s so proud of you.”

“You’re looking well, Mrs. Eagleston.”

“Well, thank you, Mark.” She fingered the side of her lacquered hairdo, where mousy-colored strands had been swept into a beehive. “But after all these years, you’ll have to drop the formality and call me Gladys.”

Mark smiled, yet his iceberg stance convinced Juliet that he wasn’t happy about seeing his mother’s friend.

Juliet pulled Marissa from the car seat and adjusted the blanket, blocking the sunshine and the cool breeze from her face.

“I’ll bet your folks were tickled pink to see you,” the older woman said.

Mark didn’t respond.

Because he had yet to visit them, Juliet suspected. And apparently, the Andersons hadn’t told their friend that he hadn’t. Were they all pretending that a falling-out hadn’t occurred? That everything was fine? And that their family interactions were normal?

“I hope that new medication helps your father’s arthritis. It’s a shame that he’s had to quit bowling. He and your mother used to enjoy the Wednesday evening Gutter Busters. And I gotta tell you, we all miss them. Jess and Anne-Marie were a hoot to bowl with. Of course, they still come watch. But it’s not quite the same.”

Mark maintained a detached smile.

Juliet wondered if Gladys knew about the family rift, if she’d noticed the lack of warmth and affection in Mark’s voice or if she suspected his discomfort when talking about his parents.

It broke Juliet’s heart to think Mark was going to allow that estrangement to continue. Especially when she’d give anything to have her family back.

Mark didn’t appear to appreciate what he had—two parents, Jess and Anne-Marie Anderson, owners of the Big Sky Motel. A couple who enjoyed bowling on Wednesday nights, a man and woman whose friends thought they were a hoot.

Had Mark even known that his mother was proud of him? Or that his father suffered with arthritis?

“Well, it was good to see you, Gladys.” Mark placed a hand on Juliet’s shoulder. “But we’d better get the baby inside.”

“The baby?” The older woman brightened and edged closer to Marissa. “Oooh. Can I take a little peek?”

“Of course.” Juliet unfolded the blanket to reveal her daughter’s face.

“Well, bless my soul. What a beautiful baby. And such a tiny one. A preemie, it looks like. How much does she weigh?”

“Four pounds, eleven and a half ounces,” Mark said. “And we really ought to get her inside. It’s a bit breezy out here.”

“Of course.” Gladys studied Juliet. “I’m afraid I haven’t met your wife, yet.”

Mark’s hand, which had warmed Juliet’s shoulder, dropped to his side. “She isn’t my wife. This is Juliet Rivera. A friend.”

“Oh,” Gladys said, her eyes growing wide. “You’re the waitress at The Hitching Post, aren’t you?”

Juliet nodded.

“It’s nice to meet you dear.” The breeze whipped a strand of hair from Gladys’s upsweep, and she batted it away. “For a moment, I thought I’d have to get after Anne-Marie for not telling me she was finally a grandma.”

Mark threw back his shoulders like a Buckingham guard with hemorrhoids. “Take care, Gladys.” Then he ushered Juliet and the baby out of the parking lot and to the museum.

Juliet opened her mouth to complain, to tell Mark that he could have been nicer to the lady, but she bit her tongue, deciding to put some thought into her comments, especially since she intended to help him mend fences.

Mark had made his parents sound like ogres. But after listening to Gladys, that hardly seemed the case.

Juliet would do whatever she could to help him make things right. After all, it was the least she could do. Mark had proven to be a good friend.

A very special friend.

Or was it more than that?

The kiss they’d shared crossed her mind, as did the night he’d slept by her side, arms holding her as though they’d become much more than friends. But as pleasant as that thought was, she shoved the possibility aside.

The kiss as well as the embrace had only happened once.

Mark hadn’t ever kissed her again. And the morning after they’d slept together in her bed, he’d moved back to the Wander-On Inn as soon as the sun rose.

No, Mark wasn’t into families and commitments. He loved his job and traveling on assignment. And he’d made no secret that once his work was through he’d leave Thunder Canyon for good.

Before long, he’d leave Juliet behind.

Just as he’d left Jess and Anne-Marie Anderson.

Chapter Nine

As Mark and Juliet entered the building through the front door and stepped into a reception area that had once been the old mudroom, he caught a musty whiff of worn fabric, old paper and faded memories.

They continued to the central part of the museum, which had been the original schoolroom. The windows had been closed up and walled over. And two rooms had been added to each side.

Through the open doorway on the left, Mark could see a display of gold panning equipment and what looked like Native American relics.

He ought to head for the gold mine and prospecting display, but his feet didn’t move. Instead, he studied Juliet.

With the baby in her arms, she moved slowly through the room, browsing various display cases and wearing a smile that only a history buff could appreciate—or a man who found the beautiful young woman intriguing.

Mark might not share her interest in antiques and dusty exhibits of outdated memorabilia, but he enjoyed watching her run a hand lovingly over a glass case, seeing interest light her eyes.

“Folks, I’ll be with you in a minute,” a man’s voice called from the back. A familiar voice?

“All right,” Juliet responded. “We’ll make ourselves at home, Ben.”

Ben Saunders?

Mark’s old high school teacher? Now there was a real history nut. And just the guy Mark needed to talk to.

“Why, Juliet Rivera,” Mr. Saunders said, making his way from the back room to the center of the museum. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after your baby’s birth. The last time I stopped by The Hitching Post, Martha Tasker told me you had a little girl and were on maternity leave.”

Obviously, Juliet hadn’t been kidding about spending a lot of time in Old Town. And at the museum.

“Did you bring that little baby to get her first taste of Thunder Canyon history?” Mr. Saunders asked.

“I sure did.” Juliet cast a loving smile on the baby she held in her arms. “But she’ll probably sleep through it.”

Mr. Saunders laughed, still unaware that Mark was in the room, and peered at Marissa. “I heard she was a few weeks premature, but I had no idea she was so small. Or that she was just as pretty as her mama.”

Ben Saunders hadn’t changed much, Mark decided, even though the former high school teacher was probably pushing seventy. He’d grown a bit heavier, and his hair had turned white. But he seemed just as friendly with those who shared his interest in history.

In the classroom, Mark hadn’t been one of them.

When Saunders finally scanned the room and spotted Mark, recognition flashed in his eyes. “Why if it isn’t one of my old students. Mark Anderson. The cocky kid who used to sit in the back row and shoot spitballs when I wasn’t looking.”

Mark grinned. He’d never been caught in the act. But he’d had a feeling Mr. Saunders had figured out who the culprit had been. “How do you do, sir?”

As they shook hands, Mr. Saunders beamed. “You know, it didn’t surprise me when I heard you became a reporter.”

“Why’s that?” Mark asked.

“You wrote a heck of a paper on the devastating effects gold rushes have had on some people, especially the Indians and the Chinese. It was more like an exposé than a report. And I knew you had real talent putting your thoughts into words.”

So, his former history teacher had remembered his work. Mark couldn’t help a soaring sense of pride in a ten-page paper he’d thrown out years ago. “I’ll admit full responsibility for the paper, sir. But not the spitwads. I can’t remember anyone in my class doing something so tacky and disrespectful.”

“Well, I can. Sometimes I’d go home and find one stuck in my hair.” Mr. Saunders chuckled. “Would you like a private tour of the museum? Or do you want to wander around on your own?”

“Juliet may want to wander, but I’d like the tour. I have some questions I’d like to ask you about the Queen of Hearts.”

“I’ll tag along, too,” Juliet said, holding the sleeping baby in the crook of her arm. “It’s always so interesting when you share those tidbits of Thunder Canyon history.”

“Great.” Mr. Saunders took them through the museum, stopping at each roped off section. They saw a typical parlor, the replicated interior of a one-room pioneer home and a fancy bedroom suite made out of mahogany, complete with a heavy, four-poster bed, matching bureaus, chairs and a vanity. A velvet patchwork quilt covered the mattress.

“This bedroom set was donated by the Douglas family,” Ben said. “Notice the fine workmanship, the detail in the pineapple finials.”

“It’s beautiful.” Juliet stroked the grain of the wood.

“This furniture belonged to Amos and Catherine Douglas,” the older man added. “And it once graced a guestroom at the Lazy D.”

Mark paused, not ready to move on. “Speaking of Amos Douglas, how did he really acquire the Queen of Hearts?”

“Well,” Ben said. “There are several legends, none of which has been proven. Most people believe Amos won the property in a poker game from a prospector with a drinking problem.”

“And what about you?”

Ben smiled. “I favor the story about him winning it from a renegade outlaw.”

That one was new to Mark. “Which outlaw?”

“A redheaded fellow folks claimed was as crazy as a patchwork quilt.” Ben chuckled. “Of course, in this day and age, we’d probably say he suffered from posttraumatic stress syndrome, caused by cruelties of the Civil War.”

Mark’s interest piqued. “Tell me about him.”

“Crazy Red Phelps was once a Confederate soldier who fought alongside the Rafferty brothers, a couple of natural born hell-raisers who didn’t care whether the war was over or not. They formed a ragtag outfit of renegade soldiers and vigilantes, but that didn’t last long. They soon moved on to robbing trains and banks in Colorado.”

“I’ve heard of the Rafferty gang,” Juliet said. “They weren’t as big or well known as Frank and Jesse James or the Daltons, but they did their share of robbing and killing.”

“That’s right.” Ben tugged at the waistband of his slacks. “Crazy Red and Bobby Joe Rafferty, the head of the gang, fell for the same woman, a widow named Sally McKenzie who ran a stage stop about fifty miles outside of Denver. The fight over the woman created some bad blood between the two, and a shoot-out resulted.”

“Who won?”

“Sally, if you ask me.” Ben chuckled. “When Crazy Red shot Billy Joe between the eyes, she pulled out her shotgun and blasted Crazy Red in the shoulder, then ran him off. He went on to pull a few armed robberies by himself and eventually ended up in Thunder Canyon, looking for gold and a piece of the action.”

“And you think Crazy Red got a hold of the Queen of Hearts?” Mark asked.

“An old newspaper quoted Crazy Red as claiming the mine rightfully belonged to him. And that he meant to have it, one way or another.”

“And you believe the claim of a thief who’d been dubbed with the nickname of Crazy?”

“Nope. But he was the kind of man who might have stolen the deed.” Ben slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray dress slacks. “And that could explain why Caleb Douglas can’t find it.”

Before Mark could respond, the telephone rang.

“Excuse me,” Ben said. “I need to answer that.”

Juliet, who held Marissa with one arm, tugged at Mark’s shirtsleeve, a habit that always amazed him. Why didn’t she just grab his hand or touch him?

“I want to show you something.” She led him to the small room with the Shady Lady display and pointed to a tall case that held a mannequin wearing a faded red satin dress with a scooped neckline and trimmed with black lace. “That dress belonged to Lily Divine, the original owner of the Shady Lady saloon.”

Several ropes of fake pearls looped around the mannequin’s neck, and a big black ostrich feather adorned the fake hair.

“I like the black fan the mannequin is holding,” Juliet added. “See the workmanship? It’s edged with chantilly lace and a purled braid.”

She sure knew her history of ladies doodads.

“And look at that.” Juliet nodded at the display case, where several colored bottles and a powder puff sat among other personal items once used by the notorious lady. “See the tortoise shell comb with a gold floral design and studded with rhinestones? Isn’t that pretty?”