Montana Dreaming: Their Unexpected Family / Cabin Fever / Million-Dollar Makeover

It’s not as though Mark was a lush, even though he could understand why she might think so. She’d seen him having nightly cocktails ever since he’d arrived in town. But that was liquid courage to face the memories he couldn’t seem to shake while in Thunder Canyon.

And this evening, he had an intriguing young woman to keep his thoughts off his past. Off the rebellion that had led to his sister’s death.

Juliet reached for a butter horn roll, tore off a piece and popped it in her mouth. When she swallowed, she placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “So, tell me about the assignment that’s going to write itself.”

“Actually, it’s going to be a big spread. A Sunday paper special.”

“Impressive.” She smiled, and he felt a surge of pride, of pleasure. “What kind of spread? What will be the focus?”

“I’m going to write about the gold rushes, past and present. The willingness of naive miners to pursue a hopeless dream.”

“Why not focus on the positive, on the excitement, the thrill of striking it rich?”

Maybe because Mark’s hopes and dreams had died in Thunder Canyon, and he’d had to move away to get his life back. To make a future for himself.

“Do you realize how many miners actually hit pay dirt?” he asked.

“Some do. That’s what makes it so exciting, so interesting.”

“Come on, Juliet. You really don’t believe anyone is going to find any significant amount of gold in Thunder Canyon, do you? By the early 1900s, the mines in the area had played out.”

She took a bite of the crab apple garnish. “There could be another vein of gold. And someone might find it.”

“Do those rose-colored glasses ever fog up?”

A grin tugged at her lips, creating a dimple on one cheek. “I choose to look on the bright side of life.”

That was growing more and more apparent. “The chance of a big strike is pretty slim. Ever since the 1860s, when the first gold rush started in this area, miners swept the hills, finding nuggets here and there. And yes, some people did get rich. But there weren’t too many big fortunes made for the little guys. And most people were disappointed, if not devastated after gambling their savings on lady luck.”

“You’re more pessimistic than most of the people around here.”

She wasn’t the first woman to point out his cynicism. But he liked to think of himself as realistic.

“When I was in high school, I wrote a paper on Fourteen Mile City, a stretch of settlements amidst the gold fields.” Mark had received an A+ on that report, along with a budding interest in journalism. “My history teacher praised me for pointing out the downside of mining and exposing what greed did to people. Back then, gullible investors bought stock in fraudulent ventures, sometimes bankrupting themselves. And I won’t even go into what the gold rush cost the Indians and the Chinese.”

“I can see that there’s a downside. But I think most people would rather read about dreams, possibilities, hopes.”

“The best I can do is write realistically. But it should make you feel better to know that I’m going to also include the history and the legends of Thunder Canyon.” He stole a glance at her.

A growing fascination lit her face. “What kind of legends?”

“Supposedly, this canyon was sacred to the Indians, although I’ll have to research that for accuracy. And there’s also that story about Amos Douglas winning the Queen of Hearts gold mine in a poker game.”

Juliet turned toward him, brushing her knees against his thigh, shooting a tingle of warmth and awareness through his blood. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide, hanging on his every word, made him puff up like a toad that thought he was king of the pond.

“Was Amos related to Jason and Caleb Douglas?” she asked.

“Yeah. Amos was the original Douglas settler in Thunder Canyon.”

“And what’s the story about the poker game? Who did Amos win it from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a prospector with a drinking and gambling problem. It’s hard to say. When I get some time, I’m going to head over to the museum and see if they’ve got more information.”

She sobered. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

“About what?”

“Keeping you from your research.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can place a few calls, if necessary, and can research the Internet. Maybe by the time I get back to my interviews, Caleb will have found the deed.” His explanation seemed to appease her, and he was glad, although not entirely sure why.

She placed a finger to her lips and clamped down on a nail, puzzled by something. “If the Douglas family owned the gold mine property, what do you think happened to the deed?”

Mark shrugged. “Who knows? It’s been over a hundred years. Maybe Amos or one of his descendents misplaced it. They probably thought the land wasn’t worth anything.”

“Not even in sentimental value?”

He reached up, stroked a silky strand of her raven-black hair and gave it a gentle tug. “Most people see land for what it is. Real estate. Money in the pocket.”

“I’m not most people.”

“So I’m learning.” For a moment, something passed between them. Something tender and intimate. Something that ought to scare the hell out of him. Something that did. He dropped his hand and studied his empty plate.

“Well,” she began, “from what I’ve gathered from mealtime chitchat at The Hitching Post, Caleb seems more focused on finding that deed than in the groundbreaking of the ski resort he’s developing.”

“He’s probably no different than the others. Each time another gold nugget is found, folks want to believe there’s an untapped vein out there. The idea of sudden riches stirs the blood of some people.”

“But not yours?”

“No.”

“What stirs your blood?”

He looked at her, caught the gold flecks in her eyes that glimmered in the lamplight when she teased him, spotted the cute nose that turned up slightly. Noticed the fullness of her bottom lip, the softness that begged to be kissed.

His blood was moving along at a pretty good clip now, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know that.

Damn. He definitely needed to get laid. How long had it been? Surely not long enough for his libido to contemplate putting the moves on an expectant mother, for cripes sake.

“You really are a stick in the mud.” She patted his thigh in a gentle, we’re-good-friends way. But it didn’t seem to matter to the rush of his bloodstream. “You have no imagination, Mark. Can’t you tap into your heart?”

His heart had fizzled out a long time ago. After his sister had died. And whatever had been left shriveled up when his wife filed for divorce and moved out of their apartment while he was away on an assignment.

Juliet tugged on the sleeve of his shirt again, which seemed to be her habit. Her way of touching him without actually doing so.

“Can’t you let go once in a while?” she asked.

Let what go?