Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (7 page)

“What happened to the twins?”

“They were quite the troublemakers at the time, which made them easy to blame. Samantha Rodriguez, a widow who’d inherited a local ranch, adopted them, as well as an Indian boy. She’d traveled here from Argentina, bringing her son and these midget horses, about yay high.” He measured the distance from the floor to his hand. “They are called Falabellas.”

Maggie couldn’t believe such a thing. “Horses so small?”

“Wait until you see them. The whole town is full of the little creatures, for she has bred the midgets, and the foals are snapped up before they’re born. I’m on a waiting list for one from the next batch for Ben. He already has a riding horse.”

Maggie wondered if a boy as bad as Ben deserved a miniature horse.

Caleb picked up a long stick and stirred the fire. Sparks flamed up the chimney, and the smell of smoke puffed into the air. “The twins’ adoptive mother fought for them, as did the man she married afterward, Wyatt Thompson, as well as a few others. But they were outvoted. The twins and the Indian boy ran away and hid in some caves. Ben and his friend Arlie went after them, and they became lost in the cave system. Arlie fell and broke his leg, and the twins and those Falabellas rescued him. They turned out to be heroes, and my own flesh and blood was the villain.”

“You believed
you
were the villain, too,” she said in a sympathetic tone.

“I was so angry with Ben, and also with myself. Based on the boy’s accusations, I’d taken a stand against the twins.” His lips pressed together. “Well, you can be sure I tightened up the discipline on my nephew.”

“But you said he’s shaping up well.”

The ironic quirk returned to his mouth. “A combination of me getting him involved with planning the Christmas party for the opening of my hotel and his interacting with another boy—the son of one of my employees. Dirt poor, the Salter family is. I threw Ben and Matthew Salter into some work together, and darned if they didn’t become good friends. And somehow the plight of the Salters touched a hitherto unknown sense of compassion in Ben. That’s when I found out about him missing his father. I suspect he was lonely, too, for the other children shunned him because he’d been mean to them and for what he’d done to the twins.”

Maggie hadn’t expected to feel sorry for the boy, but Ben’s turnaround touched her. “That’s quite a story.”

“He and Matthew work for me after school doing errands for the customers and staff. I’ve started Ben on learning bookkeeping. He’s quite good at it.”

“Sounds just like his uncle.”

“In both the good and bad ways.”

“I doubt you have bad ways, Caleb. You’ve been the soul of kindness to me.”

Caleb gave her a look of obvious exasperation and waved a hand as if brushing away her words. “Anyone would have done the same thing, Maggie.” He paused. “Well, maybe not outlaws and such. But it’s common human decency to stop for an accident you caused and help the survivors.”

“And deliver a baby?”

“I’m no saint, Maggie,” he warned. “Don’t make me out to be.”

“Saint Caleb,” she mused in a teasing tone. “It does have a certain ring.”

“Maggie,” he growled.

She chuckled.

He shook his head, a rueful smile playing about his mouth.

She ran a light hand over her daughter’s head. “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m sure you’ll concur. . . .”

Caleb looked askance.

“There’s no need to mention when Charlotte was born, is there? The accident could have happened afterward.”

“Are you concerned about your reputation if it were known I’d delivered the baby?”

There was an odd note in his tone, almost as if her suggestion bothered him. “Why, yes,” Maggie said, making an attempt at lightness. “And yours. I’m sure a banker must maintain a professional image.” Something about the stillness of his body made her stop talking. Best not confess her fear that he’d consider himself responsible for them, perhaps even feel compelled to offer marriage.
He’s been so kind and doesn’t deserve to be saddled with us. He needs a wife of his own social station.
To be sure, he hadn’t suggested any such course of action. But she saw his growing attachment to Charlotte and thought such feelings might motivate him to make decisions he’d later regret.

“If that is what you’d prefer,” he said, his face expressionless. “It’s probably for the best.”

“I think so. We don’t have to lie or anything. No one would even suspect you’d delivered a baby.”

“If we also don’t mention spending the night here. Instead, we headed straight for town. . . .”

Maggie thought through what Caleb was saying and realized he was right.

He held up a hand. “However, Dr. Cameron and Reverend Norton must know the truth. I can vouch for the discretion of both men.”

“Very well.” She glanced down at her daughter and saw the baby had fallen asleep. She rose and carried Charlotte to the bed, setting her down in the middle and tucking covers around her.

Caleb watched her.

In for a penny, in for a pound.
Overcome by an impish mood, Maggie leaned forward and grasped his wrist. Taking a seat facing him, she turned over his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading your palm,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, but couldn’t resist giving him a teasing glance from under her lowered eyelashes. “My grandmother taught me how.”

He tried to pull back.

She held on.

With an exasperated cast of his eyes toward the heavens, he subsided.

Maggie tilted his palm toward the light of the fire, so she could see the lines. “My grandmother had quite a gift.” She studied his hand for a few minutes, noting the broad palm and the long fingers, the lack of calluses of the kind that had hardened Oswald’s thick heavy-knuckled hands. For a brief flash, she envisioned Caleb running his hands over her body, stirring her senses.
His touch wouldn’t feel rough on my skin.

The sensual thought shocked her, and Maggie bent her head to hide a blush of heat in her cheeks. “See how your heart line ends under your middle finger?” She traced the line. “That means you take a direct, unsentimental approach to relationships.” She looked up to see his reaction.

His mouth turned down as if he worked to suppress a smile of disbelief.

Skeptical man.
“Your fate line is straight, indicating you have a focused life plan.”

“Go on.”

“This branch to your life line shows an intensity for your occupation—often to the point of working too much. And your life line, hmm. . . . You keep your feelings to yourself, you don’t tend to be adventurous, and you feel comfortable with routine.”

Caleb gazed at her for a moment. “All true. Although I think you could have discerned such things from our conversations—from some of the details of my life.” He twisted his hand and captured hers, turning the palm up. With a forefinger, he traced her life line, sending goose bumps shivering over her skin. “What did your grandmother read in your palm?”

Struck by a memory, Maggie gazed at him, speechless.

“What?”

“I’d forgotten,” she whispered, thinking back. “It was so long ago.”

“Well?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me? It’s only fair.”

“A long life.” She splayed her fingers to open her palm and traced the line for him to see. “A short marriage.”
Followed by a second marriage.
She curled up her fingers, denying the truth of her palm.
I will not marry again.
Maggie tried to shake off a sense of foreboding. “Guess my relationship with Oswald was inevitable. Good thing my short marriage wasn’t to a man I loved.”

“Did you ever read Oswald’s palm?”

“Not before we married, more fool me, for I would have seen his temper line.” She tapped a spot below where Caleb’s thumb and forefinger joined. “But when things began to go bad, I did one time as he slept. He was a heavy sleeper when he was drunk. My only consolation was his short life line.”

“Some consolation.”

Not wanting to say more about the prediction mapped out on her palm, she tried to disengage.

He refused to release her. Instead, his eyes heavy-lidded, Caleb brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss into the center of her palm, the touch of his lips sweet yet sensual. “My reading of your palm tells me your life has changed, and you are now on the path to happiness.”

Still feeling the tickling tingles from the kiss on her palm, Maggie tugged her hand free. “I hope you are as good a fortune teller as my grandmother,” she said lightly to hide her reaction. “Well, it’s late.” She stood. “I think I will join Charlotte and get what rest she allows me.”

“Pleasant dreams, Magdalena.”

Remembering, Maggie shivered. “I hope so. I had nightmares last night. In one, I couldn’t find Charlotte.” She shuddered. “Between that and the baby waking me up. . . .” She’d been so relieved to awaken and feel the infant in her arms. She’d even pulled back the blanket, striving in the dim firelight to see the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest.

“I had nightmares, too. After the day we’d been through, how could we not?”

“You’re right.”

“I’ll turn my back so you can get ready for bed.” Caleb shifted away.

As she quickly changed from her dress to a clean nightgown, Maggie thought of her nightmares, praying they wouldn’t haunt her tonight. Surely not in the safety of the cabin, with Caleb so near.

But Maggie suspected, whether she liked it or not, nightmares might continue to be part of her future.

CHAPTER SIX

T
he next day, they reached Sweetwater Springs in the late afternoon. The rain had stopped before dawn, but the muddy road slowed their journey.

Relieved to reach the town, Caleb could finally relax his vigilance.
We’re home safe.

Maggie and Charlotte slept. For the moment, all was at peace.

Caleb felt suspended between the horror of two days ago and the difficulties he knew he’d soon confront when he entered the house with a Gypsy woman and her baby.

Edith will not be pleased.

Not that he intended to mention the Gypsy aspect to Edith. But eventually, his sister would find out, especially if O’Reilly was able to salvage Maggie’s
vardo
and bring the caravan back to town.

But even more than the thought of her displeasure was the discomfort he knew Edith might subject Maggie to. Caleb wished he could tell his sister the whole story first, somehow find a way to touch her sympathy—an emotion he knew existed, even if she seldom exhibited kind tendencies.

He transferred the reins to one hand and turned to Maggie, holding the babe close. In sleep, her features had relaxed from the drawn look she’d so often worn since he’d known her. A wave of affection for her—for them both—swept over him.

He touched Maggie’s shoulder, hating to wake her. “Maggie,” he said softly so as not to disturb the baby. “Wake up. We’ve arrived.”

She stirred. Her lips parted, her heavy eyelids lifting to reveal gold-flecked brown eyes. When she saw him looking at her, she straightened, glancing down at the baby, then ran a hand over her hair. “I must look a fright.”

You look beautiful.
“Not at all.”

She glanced down at Charlotte and shifted the baby a few inches. Then she looked around them. “Is this Sweetwater Springs?”

“My house is coming up on the right. The three-story brick one.”

As Caleb drove slowly past his home, he surveyed his mansion with fresh eyes, wondering what Maggie would think of the place. He’d built the house to his own design, wanting a home that would reflect his dreams. The stained-glass windows sparkled in the sun, and the plain glass ones gleamed from regular cleaning by his housekeeper. A low brick wall topped with iron fencing circled the yard. The place showed better when the flowers and bushes were in bloom.

Maggie glanced to the house and back to him, her eyes wide. Apprehension lurked in their depths. Her mouth quivered. “Is
that
your home?”

He nodded.

“I never imagined such a house. . . . Why, it’s far grander than the Morgans’—a veritable mansion.”

Caleb gave her a rueful smile. “How could you know what kind of home I have? You haven’t been to Sweetwater Springs before.”
And you lived in a Gypsy caravan.
“Ignore the fancy surroundings, Maggie. We’ve been camping out the last few days in considerable discomfort. Just think of the house as a place with food, a hot bath, and a soft bed to sleep on—one more comfortable for your aches than what you’ve had thus far.”

Maggie’s lips turned up in a partial smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Caleb drove the surrey into the driveway next to the house, leading to the stable, and reined in. As he tied up the reins and set the brake, he glanced at Maggie. “I bid you welcome,” he said in a playful tone, hoping to banish her trepidation.
Good thing she didn’t see my fancy hotel down the street. That might make her turn tail and run back to Morgan’s Crossing.

Jed appeared from the stable and hastened toward them, wiping his hands on a rag, which he tucked into the pocket of his overalls. “Mr. Livingston,” he called. “I didn’t expect you back for days.”

Caleb climbed down and moved to meet his stableman. “Well, there was a mishap along the way.” He glanced behind him at Maggie, and then back to Jed. “This is Mrs. Baxter and her newborn daughter. They were recently in an accident. I need you to fetch Dr. Cameron to examine her and the baby. Then once you see to the horses—Mrs. Baxter’s gelding sustained an injury to his back left leg—and unload the surrey, I want you to go for Reverend Norton—the
elder
Reverend Norton.”
After everything she’s been through Maggie is probably in need of spiritual consolation.
“I’ll have further instructions for you after the doctor has been here.”

“Yes, sir.” The man trotted away.

Caleb moved to Maggie’s side of the surrey.

She sent an apprehensive glance toward the widows of the house. “Let me try walking. My ankle certainly has had enough rest.”

“You couldn’t put weight on it this morning.”

“That was a long time ago. Please?”

Obviously, the last thing she wants is to be carried into my house.
He reached up for Charlotte.

Her expression tight, Maggie held out the baby.

“Come here, Sweet Pea.” Caleb took the infant into his arms. He held Charlotte with assurance, her head supported in the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he helped Maggie from the seat.

She landed on her good foot, brushed at the wrinkles of her dirty dress and smoothed her hair. “Oh, dear. What will your sister think of me?”

Nothing good.
He didn’t know which would be better, to whisk Maggie into the house and pray she’d receive a warm welcome, or give her a hint of what she might be facing. The sight of Mrs. Graves’s dour face peering out the kitchen window made up his mind.

Maggie lowered her arms. One of her hands clutched a fold of her skirt.

“I must warn you that neither Mrs. Graves, who is my housekeeper, or my sister are very. . .
hospitable
women. Please don’t let their disapproving attitude concern you. They are that way with everyone.” He leaned closer, as if to tell her a secret. “They are the price I pay for a well-run home.”

Maggie gave him a slight nod and held out her arms for the baby.

Caleb handed Charlotte back to her and firmly cupped Maggie’s elbow to brace her, for he was convinced she wouldn’t be able to walk.

Sure enough, she took one step and hopped, wincing.

Without waiting for an argument, he swung her into his arms and carried her and the baby toward the side door. He figured if they went through the kitchen, Mrs. Graves could feed them right away. He was famished, and he was sure Maggie was, too.

Before he could figure out how to turn the knob with his hands full, the door opened.

Mrs. Graves stepped out of his way, and he carried the Baxters inside.

Maggie looked around with obvious interest.

The kitchen was redolent with the smell of stew and gingerbread. His stomach grumbled. He gave a quick glance around the familiar room. Everything was in its proper place. Ruffled blue-checked curtains framed the back and side windows. A rectangular white table in the middle took up much of the space. A rocking chair sat next to the big black stove.

He knew the pie safe and icebox were stocked with food. White cabinets with gray counters lined the walls and a butler’s pantry. But somehow the room seemed different. A minute passed before Caleb realized that
he
was the one who’d changed and had a new appreciation for the comforts of home.

Mrs. Graves pulled a pan of gingerbread from the oven. “Mr. Livingston, we did not expect you back for several more days.” She wore an apron over a gray dress. Her hair was tightly pulled into the usual knob at the back of her head.

“There was an accident to Mrs. Baxter’s vehicle. She was injured, and I returned with her.” He moved toward the rocking chair.

Mrs. Graves nodded, her customary sour expression not changing to one of welcome.

Edith, wearing a rose-colored shirtwaist and skirt, sailed into the room. “I heard the horses.” She stopped and gaped at him holding Maggie. “Well, I never!”

Caleb couldn’t help grinning at Edith. “
Never
is right. Been feeling that way a time or two myself lately.” He set Maggie into the rocker. Once he’d assured himself she was settled, he turned back to his sister. “Edith, this is Magdalena—Mrs. Oswald Baxter—and her daughter, Charlotte. Maggie, my sister, Edith—Mrs. Nathaniel Grayson.”

Maggie smiled a greeting.

His sister’s brows pulled together in a familiar critical look, as if assessing Maggie’s crumpled and dirty attire, which hadn’t been fashionable in the first place.

Edith gave a cold nod in return.

Caleb frowned a warning, hoping that would be enough to keep her quiet. He couldn’t always control his sister if she insisted on venting her opinion.
Maybe if I speak fast enough first.
“Edith, Mrs. Baxter has had an exceedingly trying time. An accident, which I caused—”

“
No
, he is mistaken, Mrs. Grayson,” Maggie interjected. “My husband was driving entirely too erratically. Our crash, and Oswald’s death, were entirely his own fault. Mr. Livingston is
not
to blame.”

“We will not argue.” Caleb shot a quelling glare at his sister just in case she pestered them for more information. “I’ve sent for Dr. Cameron to examine Mrs. Baxter and Charlotte.”

Edith’s expression pinched.

“I’m sure if Dr. Cameron gives Mrs. Baxter permission, she will want a bath.” He glanced at Mrs. Graves. “If you would prepare the guest room. . . .”

Her vinegary expression conveyed her disapproval. “I will see to it.”

The ring of the front doorbell stopped their conversation.

Mrs. Graves hurried away.

Through the doorway from the kitchen, he heard the sounds of the doctor talking to Mrs. Graves in his Scottish brogue. They seemed to be discussing the weather. The monotone reply of his housekeeper was in keeping with her character.

Caleb shook his head. The only reason he kept the woman on was because she was such an excellent cook, and he’d be hard-pressed to replace her.

Redheaded Angus Cameron moved into the kitchen. He was dressed in a black frock coat with sagging pockets and carried a battered leather doctor’s satchel in one hand and what looked to be a scale in the other. He glanced from Maggie to Caleb, a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, ho, what have we here?” he asked in a jovial Scottish brogue. “Yer home too soon and with such fair company besides.”

In spite of his annoyance with his sister and his concern for Maggie, Caleb couldn’t help but chuckle.

Only Angus Cameron could get away with such levity. The popular doctor had never displayed the pompous composure common to his colleagues. His easy manner, good humor, and pockets full of candy for the children made him popular with most of his patients. Only those of Edith’s critical ilk complained of the man’s lack of professional dignity.

Dr. Cameron’s swift glance from Caleb to Edith took in his sister’s stiff-necked huff. He nodded an acknowledgment before shifting his attention to Maggie and giving her a wink.

Caleb followed the man’s gaze.

The anxious expression on Maggie’s face vanished, and she responded with a wide, dimpled grin.

Jealousy stabbed Caleb. Maggie had never smiled like that at him. He hadn’t known she had dimples.
Granted, she hasn’t had much to smile about.
He looked at his sister. “If you will give Mrs. Baxter some privacy.”

Edith’s chest swelled in apparent indignation. “Entirely unseemly, Caleb. Therefore,
I
must remain, and
you
must go.”

“There are some things I want to say to the doctor.” Caleb shot Edith a commanding look and jerked his head to hurry her out of the kitchen.

Dr. Cameron didn’t miss the by-play. But he remained silent until Edith left the room, and the door closed behind them.

Caleb looked at the scale. “What’s that for?”

“To weigh the wee one.” Dr. Cameron touched the hook on the bottom of the scale. “I’ll wrap her in a blanket with a strong knot. I’ll attach the hook in the knot. She’ll be quite safe, I promise.”

With a quirk of his eyebrow, he glanced from Maggie to the baby. “Whom shall I examine first?”

“My baby,” Maggie said.

“Charlotte is perfectly fine, Mrs. Baxter,” Caleb chided. “You, however, are
not
. Allow the doctor to see to you first.” He leaned over her. “Let me take Charlotte.”

She handed the infant to Caleb.

Dr. Cameron watched this transfer and crooked an eyebrow. “Uncommon turn of events,” he said, his brogue thickening.

Caleb shot the doctor a warning look.

Dr. Cameron’s mouth turned down in an apparent effort to suppress laughter, but he couldn’t hide the gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps one of you should fill me in on what has occurred, starting with introductions.”

After Dr. Cameron gave permission for her to bathe, Maggie stepped into the white-tiled bathtub that was large enough for her to stretch out in—bigger even than the claw-footed tub in the bathroom of the Morgans’ house. She groaned at the luxurious feel of the hot water, scented with Edith’s rose soap. She’d never bathed in anything but a small, wooden half barrel—unless her family took advantage of the hot springs that riddled the area and the rivers and lakes in the summer.