“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