Mystic Montana Sky Part 29

His uncle sighed. "I had no choice. Mrs. Baxter didn't want to stay with me, and I couldn't keep them prisoner here."

My uncle is square on the logical side of the emotional scale. Ben narrowed his eyes and asked the question he'd been wondering ever since Mrs. Baxter had up and left. "What did she say when you asked her to marry you?"

His uncle frowned, and his eyes grew cold.

Ben knew that look, and his knees trembled. But he forced his legs to still. He hadn't done anything wrong, and this topic was too important to allow Uncle Caleb to intimidate him into silence. "Well?"

To his surprise, his uncle backed down. He looked away and fiddled with the brandy snifter, moving it six inches to the left. "Mrs. Baxter made her feelings quite clear. She'd rather work at the bathhouse than marry me."

That doesn't sound like something she would say. "Those were her exact words to you?"

He hesitated. "Well, no."

Ben lost his patience and threw out his hands. "Uncle Caleb, did you actually propose? Down on one knee, diamond ring, and all?"

"I never got that far."

Ben lowered his arms. "I think Mrs. Baxter loves you. I saw her feelings in her eyes when she looked at you and wasn't aware anyone was watching."

The man shook his head. "No. She would have given me some indication."

"Meaning no disrespect, sir, but. . . . You're good with money and business, but you stink when it comes to love and women."

"Bordering on disrespect, young man," he warned, his mouth tight.

"Yes, sir. Beg pardon. But I pay attention," Ben retorted. "And Papa used to give me tips." He deepened his voice to mimic his father. "'Son, someday when you grow up and are courting a lady. . .'"

His uncle laughed, but his expression quickly sobered.

The pain in his eyes goaded Ben to give him another push. "Maybe Mrs. Baxter left because she didn't think you loved her, or because she thought people would gossip. Might have gotten too hard for her to stay under those circ.u.mstances."

Uncle Caleb's eyebrows pulled together.

Ben thought some more about the situation. "And another thing. Frankly, Uncle Caleb, you're a sn.o.b."

His uncle looked taken aback.

Before he could respond, Ben plowed on. "So is Mother. So am I, but I'm trying to change. Everyone knows this about us. However, you weren't that way with Mrs. Baxter. Not that I saw, anyway. Quite a shock that was at first, actually. But what if somehow she felt judged, or someone said something to make her think she wasn't good enough for you?"

His uncle picked up the brandy snifter and took a sip. "Your mother did act that way at first."

"I know. And Mrs. Baxter's gotten awfully close with Miss Bellaire, uh, I mean the new Mrs. Norton. You won't tell me what happened between you all, what the Bellaires did. But I bet you and Mother weren't blameless. What if Mrs. Norton told Mrs. Baxter what happened?"

Uncle Caleb set down the gla.s.s with a snap. He rubbed his forehead and let out a tired sigh. "You may be right."

"You'll never know until you talk to Mrs. Baxter. Propose to her." Ben patted his belly. The ache had eased, and suddenly he felt hungry. "I seem to recall a lecture on taking risks and trusting your gut. She says no, then you're no worse off than you are now. And she might say yes."

His uncle stood, walked to Ben's chair, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I will think on what you said, wise counselor. I'll also think about you going to the Indian reservation and let you work your wiles on the natives." He said the last words in a playful tone.

A bittersweet pain went through Ben. He'd never thought the two of them could grow so close. Although he felt good that his uncle had taken his words to heart, he was sad at the thought of leaving. He hid the emotion under a bantering tone. "Well, don't think too long. Mrs. Baxter's a mighty pretty lady, and some other man might snap her up while you're dillydallying."

When a customer walked in and rang the steel triangle she'd hung by the door-a sound that would alert her but not wake the baby-Maggie, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor of her living area, rocked back onto her knees. The pungent smell of lye had made her eyes water, and she swiped an arm across her face before tossing her scrub brush into the bucket of soapy water. Then she rose to her feet, suppressing a groan from her sore muscles, wiped her wet hands on her ap.r.o.n, and went to the doorway of the waiting area.

Caleb stood there, his hat in his hands.

Her heart in her throat, Maggie watched him take in every detail.

He didn't see her at first, and his gaze moved from the white paint on the walls and floor to the polished furniture, to the sparkling gla.s.s of the windows and the crisp lace curtains that gave privacy but let in light, and finally to the neatly printed sign that didn't make any mention of whiskey.

Maggie stepped into the room, wishing she'd taken off her ap.r.o.n and washed up. She wanted to press her hand to her chest to calm her breathing, but instead clenched them around the folds of her skirt. "Good afternoon, Caleb."

"You've done a fine job, Magdalena Petra." His smile was warm, although his eyes looked sad. "Word is that your business is booming."

His use of her given name made her heart lift. She tried to yank the organ back in place where it belonged. "Yes. I've plowed almost every penny my customers have paid, except for necessities for us, back into the bathhouse."

He walked over to the cradle and crouched to view her sleeping daughter. She'd moved the cradle into this room while she scrubbed the living area floor.

"She's grown and it's only been three weeks." His jaw clenched as if he held back emotion. "I've missed her so." He glanced up at Maggie, his dark eyes forlorn. "Missed you both."

I've missed you, too. So very much. She couldn't say the words for fear of starting to cry. When Maggie thought she could speak without her voice trembling, she commented, "I heard you went to Morgan's Crossing."

"Only a month or so later than I'd planned. Your friends all wanted the latest news of you and send their greetings. But I'm glad to be home."

Home. "Why did you choose Sweet.w.a.ter Springs when you could live anywhere in the whole country?" This was a question she'd long been wondering. "There's probably plenty of places where you'd make far more money."

Caleb took in a deep breath. "I wanted the freedom of the West." He ticked off the list on his fingers. "I wanted a town small enough to make my mark. I wanted a place where the citizens were law-abiding and the leadership included men of integrity. I wanted to live among scenic beauty. I wanted a town that needed a bank and whatever other businesses I could provide. I wanted a community where I could feel at home-as much as that is possible for me anywhere."

"Did you find those qualities here?" Maggie thought she already knew the answer, for she, too, had discovered all of those special aspects in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs.

Caleb glanced down at her. "I thought I had." With a tender smile, he brushed a wayward curl from her forehead. "But then I met you."

Maggie couldn't breathe. "What are you saying, Caleb?" The question squeaked out.

"If you think I'm saying I love you, you'd be right."

Can this be true? "Oh, Caleb." She nearly said, I love you, too, but she held her tongue. We couldn't possibly be suited. "Have you forgotten that I have Gypsy blood?"

"My memory is not so bad," he said in a dry tone.

"You. . .don't mind?"

"I do mind. Or maybe I should say, I did mind. Now, when I look at you, I don't see Gypsy. I see Maggie. My Magdalena Petra. Your Gypsy blood is part of who you are. Part of who Charlotte is. How can I help but love all of you?" He gestured to the cradle. "All of her." He held out a hand. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you that I hope will prove how serious I am."

She hesitated, glancing at the cradle and trying to decide. Charlotte had just fallen asleep and would probably be out for at least an hour.

"I'll come back in a minute for the cradle."

Reluctantly, Maggie extended a hand to him, wincing when she saw the red roughness of her skin from all the scrubbing. She bit her lip and started to pull back.

"No." His fingers closed around hers, and he held up her hand to the light of the window and spread her fingers, examining the damage. "You've worked hard, Magdalena Petra. You've taken a rundown business and made it a success. Be proud of this hand, not ashamed." He kissed her palm.

Tingles raced up her arm to swirl through her body.

He kept his hand around hers and led her out the door to the side of the bathhouse.

There in the path of the setting sun stood her piebald workhorses, Pete and Patty, mane and tails braided with colorful ribbons. They were hitched to her vardo. My vardo! The caravan looked resplendent-fresh and new in green-and-gold glory. Above the cherished scene, orange, bronze, and gold streaked across the purpling sky, illuminating the underside of puffy pink and white clouds.

"Caleb!" Maggie gasped. Emotion welled. Her free hand flew to her mouth, and tears leaked from her eyes. She glanced from the caravan to Caleb and back again, unable to believe the sight.

He brought her hand to his lips and turned it to kiss her rough palm. "Magdalena Petra, I want you for my wife."

"But Caleb-"

"The vardo is a gift to you, Maggie. But it's yours regardless of whether you marry me or not. I don't want you to accept me because you want that caravan!"

She gazed up at him in disbelief. "But why, Caleb? Why would you restore the vardo?"

His smile was tender. "Because it meant so much to you." He ticked down the list on his fingers. "Because I want Charlotte and our future children to have the experience of traveling in it. Because I figure it will be a good way for us to navigate the journey from here to Morgan's Crossing and back when I need to travel there for business. Because, if you wish, we can go along on the expedition to the Indian reservation. And. . .because I figured that instead of a fancy honeymoon journey, you might enjoy a jaunt in your vardo." He tipped his head toward the caravan. "I'd be willing to turn into a Gypsy for a week or ten days. I rather fancy being all alone with you and Charlotte out in the wilderness."

Maggie released a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her being. Speechless, she stared up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. With a whisper of movement like the slightest breeze, she felt the spirits of her family rea.s.sure her and nudge her toward Caleb.

He seemed to understand, for he guided her toward the vardo's door. "Go see. I'll get Charlotte."

Maggie first went to the horses and petted and murmured to them. Once her ankle had healed, she'd visited them every day, taking along a carrot or apple slices. Jed had taken good care of the team. They'd filled out, and their coats were shiny, their feathered forelocks clean and fluffy.

Caleb returned with the cradle. "Come see the inside. We had to guess where things went."

Maggie lifted her skirts to climb the ladder. She stepped inside and drew a quick breath. The interior was completely redone-the table and cabinets sanded and stained a rich mahogany. The bed had a new, floral-patterned covering and pillows that matched the curtains.

Caleb set the cradle inside to the right of the door and climbed in after her. He gestured toward the bed. "There's a new mattress, too."

Maggie ran a hand over the soft coverlet and glanced at the shiny walls. Someone had brightened up the faded folk art. She reached to touch the ceiling.

"Pepe Sanchez from the livery did that and the detail work on the outside. Phineas O'Reilly and Gid Walker did all the restoration."

"They did such fine work. I wish my grandparents were here to see this." Slowly, Maggie turned, taking in everything, her heart swelling with each loving detail she noticed.

On the kitchen counter sat a small, enameled box. Maggie picked it up and looked inside. "Oh, my," she said at the sight of her earrings, the gold looking shiny and new.

"No more hiding who you are, Magdalena Petra."

She picked up an earring and tried to put it on. Her hands trembled, so it was a moment before she could hook it into her earlobe. The second was just as difficult. Once she had both in, she swung her head, feeling the hoops move-a sensation she'd missed in the last few weeks.

"Caleb," she whispered to herself. "You're so very kind." Remembering her grandmother's silk dress, she gasped and hurried to the bed, attempting to fold back the mattress, but the new one was stiff and didn't bend like the old one had. She struggled to lift it.

"What are you doing?" Caleb grabbed the edge of the bed.

"There's storage underneath. Can you please hold it for me?"

He picked up one side of the mattress and held it in place. "Go ahead."

Maggie leaned underneath and was relieved to see the familiar cedar box. She hefted it out. "You can put the mattress down."

Once he lowered the mattress, she set the box on top and lifted the lid. At the sight of the folded pink silk, Maggie was so pleased that she placed a hand to her chest and let out a sigh. She glanced up at Caleb. "This was my grandmother's." She touched the fabric, blinking quickly. "The gown is very special to me." She closed the lid and motioned for him to lift the mattress again while she replaced the box underneath. "This is a dream come true! No, more than a dream. For I couldn't even imagine the vardo looking so grand. Caleb, thank you from the bottom of my heart."

He grinned. "My pleasure, darling."

She whirled, spinning so quickly her skirt belled. "Come," she demanded. This time, she was the one who held out a hand.

Caleb allowed her to pull him toward her before taking her into his arms and kissing her.

Maggie stood on tiptoe and answered his kiss with a deeper, hungrier one of her own. The kiss ended, and she placed a hand on his chest. "I love my vardo. Before, I thought I wanted to live in here more than anything." She patted his chest right over his heart. "But I've found my home is here, in your arms. This is where I find shelter and contentment. You are my sanctuary."

He tenderly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "And you are mine, my love."

Maggie took his hand and towed him toward the bed. She reached up and clasped her hands around his neck, leaning backward. Giggling, she toppled them back together onto the mattress.

He braced himself to land with his hands propped so as not to squash her.

Maggie wiggled sideways to make room for him.

Caleb sprawled on his back, encircling her waist with his arms. He lifted her on top of him. "Now that you're compromising me, you'll have to make an honest man of me, Magdalena Petra soon-to-be-Livingston."

Maggie laughed. "And so I will, Caleb Charles Victor Livingston. But I want a two-week honeymoon. For we'll need plenty of time for this." She pressed her lips to his in a pa.s.sionate kiss.

My Gypsy bride. Caleb's arms tightened around her, and he deepened their kiss. Forever.

Dear Reader.

Thank you for reading Mystic Montana Sky. I know a lot of you have waited many years for Caleb Livingston to fall in love. But you haven't waited as long as I have, for the opening scene came to me in 2004. I'm so glad the time was finally right to bring Caleb's story to life and give him the exact opposite wife from the kind he wanted, but who was really the one he needed.

Charlotte was a bonus. I based the baby on my niece Christine Holland, who is now old enough to be my a.s.sistant. As an infant, she and I shared a bonding look, and I also watched her do that same exchange with my grandmother-her great-grandmother. I experienced that rare and mystical moment when a little old soul peeked out and connected, only to slide away, and once again, she was only a newborn.

Like all my books, Mystic Montana Sky is a stand-alone story, but familiar characters from other books weave throughout-Joshua Norton and Delia Bellaire in Glorious Montana Sky; Erik and Antonia Muth in Healing Montana Sky; Ant and Harriet Gordon in Stormy Montana Sky; Wyatt and Samantha Thompson and their children in Starry Montana Sky; Gideon and Darcy Walker in Mail-Order Brides of the West: Darcy; Michael and Prudence Morgan in Mail-Order Brides of the West: Prudence; Sophia Maxwell and Kael Kelley in the upcoming Singing Montana Sky; Peter Rockwell, Blythe Robbins, and the Salter family in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs Christmas; Howie Brungar and Bertha Bucholtz in Mail-Order Brides of the West: Bertha.

This was my third book in a row with childbirth scenes, but the first one from the point of view of the woman giving birth. Katharine West, a labor and delivery nurse, generously read those scenes and gave me so much new material that it took me a week to incorporate it all into the scenes. Look up "baby crawl" (which I'd never heard of) to see the natural movement newborns make when placed on their mother's chests directly after birth. Katharine and I figured Maggie might have some Gypsy knowledge of this practice, and I incorporated it into the story.

Katharine is also very knowledgeable about musical history and helped with the wedding and reception scenes. Did you know Bach's "Ode to Joy" was considered secular until the 1960s and "Pachelbel's Canon" was lost to history until rediscovery in 1929, and then reintroduced by the Boston Pops in 1940s? Me, neither.

Still to come is Sheriff K.C. Granger's story in Montana Sky Justice. If you have read all of my Montana Sky series books, which include the Mail-Order Brides of the West stories, and want more of my characters while you're waiting for my next one, go to my Montana Sky Kindle World, http://debraholland.com/kindle-worlds.html, to read fan fiction Montana Sky stories written by other authors. I'm sure you'll enjoy their books as much as I have.

Keep in touch by joining my newsletter list, http://debraholland.com, and receive access to a secret page on my website. Also, please follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

Debra Holland.