Mystic Montana Sky Part 6

The poet's words certainly apply to my sister. "Perhaps when you two become further acquainted and the time seems right, you can tell Edith so."

"Oh, I couldn't presume. . . ."

Amused, he c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at her. "Oh, I doubt that, Magdalena Petra. I doubt that very much."

"Wretch." She smacked him playfully on the leg.

With his chin, Caleb pointed to the left to a rough-built outpost. "Well, this wretch is about to get you and Charlotte to shelter. And just in time. I don't like the look of those clouds moving in from the east. I think we'll have rain soon."

Maggie lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun and gazed at the sky.

"I'm afraid the cabin is about the size of your caravan, but the horses will be comfortable. El Davis, the teamster, built a big enough stable to house his six-mule team."

"I know Mr. Davis. He seems a kind man. Quiet. Shy. Doesn't frequent the saloon."

Caleb glanced at Maggie, curious about her observation. He'd never given Davis much thought, although the man deposited his considerable savings at the bank. "I suppose you're right. He's the same in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs. Not at all what you'd think of a mule-skinner."

He guided the team, driving to the left into the cleared-out place in front of the cabin. He reined in, set the brake, and tied off the reins. "Don't even try to move on your own," he ordered. "I'll come around to hand you both down."

"I'm not so foolish," Maggie chided. "I know I can't put any weight on my ankle, and I wouldn't want to risk falling with the baby."

Caleb hurried to the cabin and pushed open the door. The interior hadn't changed since he'd left yesterday morning-a cot on each wall with bare mattresses and two sawed-off ends of logs for seating near the fireplace that also could be used as firewood if a blizzard stranded a traveler and the woodpile ran out. An empty crate was nailed to the wall and held a pot and a tomato can. Two spoons sprouted from the rusty tin. With no windows, only the doorway provided light and air, except where both seeped through the places where the c.h.i.n.king in the walls had fallen out.

As was the custom, when he'd left the cabin, Caleb had stacked firewood and kindling neatly in the corner-replacing what he'd used. He'd had the forethought to bring the right length of wood from home, so he wouldn't have to search for logs and chop them into usable pieces. He quickly built a fire.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he backed out and walked to the surrey, rubbing a hand over each horse's head as he pa.s.sed around the front. When he reached Maggie's side, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, hefting her to his chest.

She held the baby in the curl between her legs and stomach. "We must be so heavy."

"Yes," he admitted with a cheerful grin. "But how often do I have a chance to hold not one but two beauties?"

Maggie chuckled and rolled her eyes.

What has gotten into me? Caleb Livingston, a flatterer. Careful of the footing, Caleb carried her to the cabin, turning sideways so they could fit through the door. He deposited mother and child on the nearest bed.

She glanced around. "This is cozy."

"An improvement from yesterday." He moved to the door. "I'll start unloading." He walked to the surrey and began with the bedding, so Maggie could lie down if she wanted, for she should probably sleep when the baby did. He glanced at the graying sky. For that matter, with no activities to do all day, he could use a nap, too.

After everything was out of the surrey, he tended to the horses, watering and currying them, rubbing liniment on Pete's injury. He staked out both teams to graze for a while before he moved them into the stable. When Caleb was finished, he washed up in the small stream, then stood and stared at the bubbling water thinking.

He walked into the cabin to see Maggie nursing the baby. "I think you should soak your sprained ankle in the cold water. Maybe, ah. . .clean yourself a bit. I think we'll have an hour or so before the storm hits."

"That sounds heavenly. But what about Charlotte?"

He glanced at the baby. "I'll watch her for you."

Maggie gave him a skeptical look.

"Why Charlotte and I, we're ole friends," he drawled. "We spent the early morning together before you woke up."

"You did? I mean, I know you had her, but I thought you'd taken her up just the moment I awoke."

"Nope." Even as he spoke, Caleb marveled at how he sounded. He couldn't ever recall using a Western drawl. Does that mean Maggie is a good influence on me or a bad one? He knew what his Eastern relatives would believe. That thought was enough to banish the drawl for proper clipped Bostonian speech. He jerked his head toward the door. "I'll be outside. Call me when you're ready."

"I will after I change Charlotte. I'm sure you don't want to cope with a wet diaper."

Fist to chest, he struck a mock heroic pose. "Madame, I am here to attend to your every need, including those of your delightful daughter."

Maggie giggled and waved him off. "Be gone with you."

Once outside, Caleb wandered to the stream, searching for the best place for Maggie's ablutions. In front of a tangle of budding bushes, he found the perfect spot-with a flat stone on the bank where she could sit and dangle her feet in the babbling water, which formed a tiny pool surrounded by slimed green rocks. She could also bend to wet a cloth to clean her face and body.

The image made Caleb remember the sight of Maggie's bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He shook his head, looked up at the clouds building in the sky. Best not to think those kinds of thoughts of the widowed new mother who is under my protection.

But it's just become too darn hard not to. Caleb crouched, took a breath, and dipped his hands into the stream. He cupped his palms and brought up cold water to splash his face, hopefully cooling his thoughts, as well.

That night after a supper of stewed beef and corn from cans, Maggie sat on a bed in front of the fireplace, listening to the patter of rain on the roof and the snap, crackle, and pop of burning wood. She watched Caleb rise from the other cot to bar the door and pull in the latchstring. Now the walls of the wayfarer's cabin sheltered them against the elements and any dangerous predators-human or animal. The flickering orange and yellow flames of the fire cast the only light in the darkness.

Maggie had just finished nursing Charlotte, who lay heavy-eyed in her arms. Her body was still sore, but if she didn't move, no aching muscles reminded her of the pain. Although she wasn't sleepy, a lazy feeling of la.s.situde crept over her. She let out a contented sigh.

At the sound, Caleb, who'd been staring into the fire, gave her a sharp glance.

"I haven't felt this safe in a long while." She looked down at her sweet daughter. "I hadn't realized the dread I lived with every day. I'd become so used to always feeling anxious or fearful."

"I hope you'll never feel that way again, Maggie. . .that neither of you will."

You are such a good man. Knowing Caleb was still sensitive about the accident and Oswald's death, she didn't utter the words. "Tell me more about your family. You didn't say anything about your nephew. How old is he now?"

"He just turned sixteen and has shot up to be almost as tall as me."

"Does he look like you, too?"

"There's a strong family resemblance among the three of us. We favor my father's family."

She looked at Caleb's handsome features, thick brown hair and dark eyes. They must be an attractive family.

"Ben is shaping up quite well. He got in a spot of trouble-no, I should be honest and say a great deal of trouble when he was younger. His mother spoiled him. I was busy and tended to pay him scant mind. And unbeknownst to either one of us, he was struggling with missing his father. Add a little bad company-" his mouth quirked in a self-depreciating smile "-along with the Livingston arrogance, and you have a recipe for disaster."

You're not arrogant. A little high-handed at times, but only for what you consider my comfort and protection. But she wouldn't admit that to him. "What happened?"

"Ben and another boy started setting fires to the school privy. That would have been bad enough, but he blamed a pair of orphan twins in a deliberate attempt to get them kicked out of town and sent to an orphanage."

She gasped at the boy's wickedness.

His expression mirrored her thoughts. "A low time for all of us. His mother. . .well, Edith had been inclined to baby him, and unfortunately still has that tendency. But when the evidence came to light, even she could not excuse Ben's behavior."

"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 compa.s.sion 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 b.u.mps 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."