Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  Jack tugged on her braid, apparently to stop her.

  “Ow, Jack!” She swatted him.

  Hunter reached over and released Jack’s grip on Christine’s braid. “Hold your horses, warrior girl. Ben Grayson means your brothers no harm.”

  She shot Ben a sideways glance, every bit as skeptical as her brothers had been.

  Ben looked at her, speculating. At the time he and Arlie had set the fire and accused the twins, the Thompsons hadn’t yet become a family. But Christine had already become attached to the boys and Mrs. Rodriguez and had been very distressed when all the boys ran away. “I’ve just apologized to your brothers for all that happened back when I first moved here. I want to tell you I’m sorry, too.”

  “About time.” She plopped her hands on her waist. “Well.” She sniffed, sounding like Mrs. Toffels, the Thompsons’ housekeeper. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”

  The boys burst out laughing. “You tell him, sis,” said Daniel.

  Christine preened.

  With the worst part out of the way, Ben needed to focus on his goal. “We’d better get down to business before Mrs. Gordon rings the bell.”

  Daniel bounced on his toes. “Yah, what did you want with us, anyway?”

  “I want to borrow your mother’s little horses and the buggy.”

  “Why?” Daniel crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Not for me, for my uncle. I want him to court Mrs. Baxter.”

  Daniel’s slanty eyebrows pulled together. “Who’s Mrs. Baxter?”

  “She’s a widow with a baby who’s staying with us. Her husband was killed in an accident. I think she and my uncle are sweet on each other.”

  Christine’s blue eyes were alight with interest. “Did you see them kissin’?”

  Daniel scrunched his face. “Eew.”

  Ben shook his head. “Got to get them to that point first. Those Falabellas are magical or something. And, frankly, my uncle needs all the help he can get.”

  That brought a laugh from the Thompsons and lessened the tension between them.

  Christine tilted her head in apparent thought. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Ben started to feel hopeful.

  Daniel pursed his lips. “Your uncle’s pretty big, though. Mama and Pa only go for short rides in the small buggy when the ground is dry and flat. No mud. No grass.”

  Ben turned to look at the street, and his spirits sank. Sunny days punctuated the rainy spring weather and started to dry the land. But soon rain or even snow swept in and created mud. “We might have to wait awhile ’til the road is right. I hope that happens in time. “When you ask your mother, tell her I’m wishful that the Falabellas will play cupid, but please do not say anything to Uncle Caleb. I don’t think he’s figured out how he feels about Mrs. Baxter. He’s usually pretty sharp but not this time.”

  Daniel gave a decisive nod. “I’ll ask Mama. I think she’ll say yes. She likes when the Falabellas do their—”

  “Midget magic,” his siblings chorused.

  Ben looked at them, puzzled.

  “Pa says that to tease Mama,” Christine explained. “Makes her angry. Well, not really angry, but she pretends to be. She doesn’t like when he calls the Falabellas midgets.”

  “She doesn’t like anyone calling them midgets,” Daniel said with a sage nod. “Gets her dander up.”

  Ben made a mental note to be careful. With a new surge of shame, he realized he’d used the term in derision before when he was still trying to cause trouble. Ben thought of the lesson he’d just learned. Or maybe, I should just come clean. He lowered his hands. “I’ve called them midgets before.”

  Daniel tipped his head and sent Ben an impish smile. “We know.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A week later, Caleb started for home early from the bank. Now that Maggie’s ankle had healed, he wanted to take her to see the hotel. The day was bright with a moderate temperature, perfect for a stroll. The blue expanse of sky was clear of clouds. The sun had shone for three days, and except for a few lingering puddles, the mud had hardened to the right consistency. The ground was firm enough that one’s feet didn’t sink and soft enough to squish the ridges caused by wheel tracks, which when dried to clay could cause a walker to trip or teeter and turn an ankle.

  Lately, he hadn’t seen much of Maggie. When he was home, she spent a lot of time in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Graves. She seemed to have stopped having nightmares, or if she did, she didn’t cry out and wake him. And with her new mobility, he had no excuse to remain with her at night to carry her to the bathroom or help her tend Charlotte. Caleb found he missed the intimacy of those special nights.

  In the evenings, they no longer congregated in her bedroom, and the chess game had been moved downstairs. After supper, the group adjourned to the parlor, where he read the paper while Ben and Maggie played chess. Wonder of wonders, Maggie had coaxed Edith into playing the piano. Not long after his sister and nephew had moved here, she’d lost interest in her music. Even when he had downright asked her to play, she’d refused. But the power of Maggie’s Gypsy magic proved to be too much for Edith’s stubborn nature to withstand.

  At first, his sister had played woodenly, as if by rote. But soon, he noticed the music starting to flow, and, once again, Edith played with a small smile on her face.

  Caleb grinned at the memory and prepared to turn into the walkway of his home. The lilac bushes had burst into bloom, sending their sweet fragrance wafting his way. He stopped and studied them, an idea forming. Maggie hasn’t seen the backyard yet—my romantic backyard.

  He heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him and turned to see Samantha Thompson driving her small buggy pulled by two miniature horses. On her head was a man’s brown cowboy hat, and auburn tendrils escaped her low bun and blew around her face. She wore a sheepskin coat and a pale blue scarf was wrapped around her neck, drawing attention to her cornflower blue eyes. She carried a bundle strapped to her front with what looked like a bedsheet.

  He wondered if she’d be willing to wait a few minutes so he could go fetch Maggie to see the Falabellas.

  Mrs. Thompson reined in next to him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Livingston. I hear you’re in need of my horses. Magical need.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She’d put on a little weight since the birth of her daughter in January, which became her.

  Although not quite sure what she meant, Caleb wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. He bestowed his most charming smile on her. “You must have read my mind, Mrs. Thompson. I have a guest staying with me whom I’ve told about your little horses. She didn’t believe me, so I’m challenged to produce them to prove I’m telling the truth.”

  Mrs. Thompson laughed. “I can do you one better. Why don’t you take your guest for a drive to that fancy hotel of yours and back?”

  “There you go, reading my mind again. Mrs. Baxter hasn’t yet seen the hotel, and I was just planning on taking her for a stroll to see the place.”

  “My little Pattycake, here—” she patted the bundle on her chest that turned out to be her baby “—and I are calling on Mrs. Graves.”

  Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “No one visits Mrs. Graves if they can possibly help it.”

  A smile played about her lips. “Yes, but I intend to coax that pickle recipe out of her.”

  He chuckled. “Best of luck. My housekeeper doesn’t easily give up her recipes. Miss Bellaire tried a few days ago to no avail.”

  “Mrs. Graves reticence is well known.” With a maternal smile, she glanced down at her daughter before looking up. “But my Patricia has all our cowboys falling over to do her homage. I was hoping your housekeeper might also be susceptible.”

  Inwardly amused, he gave a mock mournful shake of his head. “I’m afraid you and Patricia are doomed to failure. Mrs. Graves has not even bent to smile at Mrs. Baxter’s Charlotte, who is quite as much a charmer as your daughter.”

  The mischief was back in Mrs. Thomson’s eyes. “I cannot accept defea
t without trying.”

  “Far be it from me to stop you, especially if that means I can take my skeptical guest for a drive.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Do you want to first come inside? Or should I bring out Mrs. Baxter?”

  “I’d better go in and meet your guest. If you do take Mrs. Baxter for a ride, she can leave her baby with me. You two will be crowded enough as it is.” Mrs. Thompson tied off the reins.

  Caleb went around the buggy to help her out.

  First, she handed him a leather satchel, which he suspected held diapers and other baby essentials. Previous to Charlotte, he wouldn’t have noticed nor thought of such a necessity, for he never knew how much baby paraphernalia was required to take a little one out of the house.

  He extended a hand, which Mrs. Thompson accepted in order to leverage herself out of the buggy without disturbing her baby.

  He peered at her sleeping daughter, whom he couldn’t remember seeing before. Have the Thompsons been to church since Samantha delivered, or have I just never noticed babies before?

  Patricia lay with her face turned toward Caleb. She wore a pink knitted bonnet and was wrapped in a matching blanket. The baby was noticeably bigger than Charlotte, with her mother’s auburn brows and lashes. Probably the same hair color, too. Having a recollection of a very pregnant Samantha Thompson at the Christmas party, he thought the baby was about four or five months old.

  He was surprised to see that even without the color differences, he would have been able to tell Patricia and Charlotte apart, no matter if both girls were the same size. And here I thought all tiny babies looked alike.

  Carrying the satchel, Caleb opened the wrought-iron gate and ushered Mrs. Thompson up the brick walkway leading toward the front entrance. Once on the porch, he opened the front door for her. “I suspect Mrs. Baxter is helping Mrs. Graves.” He waved to the hall on the left that led to the kitchen. “Would you like to leave your coat and all here?” He reached over to tap a hook on the hall tree.

  Mrs. Thompson took off her hat and unwound the scarf from around her neck. She gave both to Caleb, before gently pulling off her daughter’s hat and handing it over.

  He set down the satchel, hung up her hat and scarf, and then extended his arms for the baby. “I can hold your daughter for you. I’ve become quite proficient.” He sent her a self-depreciating grin. “I’ve had quite a bit of practice lately.”

  Again, Mrs. Thompson gave him a speculative glance that he couldn’t read. “Best not. I don’t want to wake her. If you could just help me. . .? The next part is tricky, at least if I want Patricia to stay asleep. I’ll unbutton my coat. If you can slide it off. . .?”

  The task involved more than the usual polite slipping a coat or shawl from around a lady’s shoulders. He had to stand close and assist the woman in wiggling out of the coat. After helping Maggie give birth, this situation didn’t faze him, although before that event, he would have felt self-conscious touching Mrs. Thompson’s shoulders and arms. Still, he was glad her husband wasn’t around to observe the intimacies.

  Success at last. He took the coat and hung the garment on the hall tree. And just in time.

  The sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall told him quicksilver Maggie approached. Once the woman could move on her own steam, she surprised him by never walking at a slow pace. Today, she was wearing a plain white shirtwaist with the navy skirt and carrying Charlotte. Her hair was pulled back in a braided bun.

  She stopped abruptly, eying Samantha Thompson with interest. “Oh, I didn’t hear the door.”

  “We came in together,” Caleb explained. “Mrs. Thompson, meet our guest, Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. Baxter, this is Samantha Thompson. She’s the owner of the miniature horses I told you about. Remember how you didn’t believe me?”

  “I was in the middle of giving—” Maggie broke off the sentence, obviously recalling their secret about Charlotte’s birth. She deliberately turned her shoulder to him, playfully slighting him. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.” She eyed the sling. “That’s an interesting contraption you’re using.”

  “I need both hands for driving, so I rigged it up. So far, it’s been working well. Helps to have my hands free.” Mrs. Thompson waved her hands, and then leaned over to see Charlotte’s face. “So pretty.” She smoothed a hand over her daughter’s head. “We’ll have to admire each other’s babies.”

  Maggie scrunched a face. “You’ll have to admire Charlotte in a few minutes after I’ve changed her. She’s a bit smelly at the moment.”

  Caleb became aware of the odor and was glad he no longer was helping Maggie change the baby. Stinky diapers are best left to the mother.

  Samantha smiled in understanding and patted her daughter. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come along. I’m sure this one needs a new diaper soon, as well. We had a long drive in from the ranch. I had to bring Patricia, because the whole trip would be too long to be away from her. I didn’t want to risk a hungry baby with me not there to feed her.”

  “You drove to town by yourself?” Maggie looked at her in astonishment as she jiggled Charlotte. “Your husband doesn’t mind?”

  Samantha gave her a catlike smile. “My husband doesn’t know. My dear Wyatt does tend to be overbearing at times. He has this protective streak and often thinks he knows what’s best,” she said blithely. “I’ve found the best way to handle him is to go about my business and tell him afterward.”

  Maggie stilled, apparently taking in what Samantha said and comparing the Thompson’s marriage to hers and Oswald’s.

  While Caleb approved of a woman feeling free to go about her business—women’s business—he thought Samantha went too far.

  A smile slowly bloomed across Maggie’s face. “Mrs. Thompson, you’ve given me some food for thought.”

  Caleb inwardly groaned.

  Mrs. Thompson laughed. “If that’s the case, then you’ll need to call me Samantha. If I’m going to be putting ideas into your head, we shouldn’t be so formal.” She shot Caleb an impish glance from under lowered lashes. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Livingston?”

  He held up his free hand in an I surrender gesture. “All right, Mrs. Thompson. You’ve made your point. But I stand by what I said at the time when we first met. Ranching is hard work for a woman. Running your spread by yourself would have been too much.”

  Maggie glanced between the two of them, her brow furrowed.

  Mrs. Thompson looked at her. “When I first moved here, I applied for a loan to fix up the run-down ranch I’d inherited.”

  “Ahhh. I can guess what happened.” Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “Shame on you, Caleb. I can obviously see Samantha is quite capable.”

  “Yes, and very determined,” Caleb said, sotto voce. “She’s also married to one of the biggest ranchers around.”

  Samantha frowned and held up a finger. “I was starting to turn my ranch around before I married Wyatt.”

  Charlotte squirmed and started to cry.

  Perfect timing, Charlotte. Caleb could tell neither woman appreciated the stance he’d taken on Samantha’s ranch. I stand by my decision.

  Hopefully, the babies will be enough of a distraction so their mothers wouldn’t continue the topic of the evil banker. An upset Maggie will not bode well for my afternoon plans.

  Her red shawl wrapped around her shoulders, black hat already planted on her head, Maggie hurried down the staircase, still slightly bewildered as to how she’d just been talked into handing over her baby to a stranger. But Samantha doesn’t feel like a stranger.

  Maggie liked Samantha’s combination of intelligence, warmth, and humor and was incensed by her new friend’s recounting of how Caleb had denied her a loan just because she was a woman. She wondered if he was opposed to females owning any type of business. Surely not, she thought with a sudden feeling of anxiety. That will not bode well for my plans about the bathhouse.

  Then she remembered: A few days ago, Caleb had brought home some candy from Sugarplum Dreams.
When they’d eaten the marzipan treats, he’d praised the business acumen of the proprietor, Julia Ritter.

  Once more, Maggie thought of the woman she’d left upstairs with the babies. She was awed by Samantha’s strength with her husband—an overbearing husband. Samantha had said her opposition to her husband’s dictates had sometimes resulted in fireworks between them, but the way her eyes sparkled hinted of passionate reconciliations. Maggie decided the Thompsons’ relationship required more thinking.

  At another time. Now Caleb’s taking me for a ride in a miniature buggy.

  She reached the large half landing and made the turn to take the lower stairs, grateful to move without pain.

  The man himself stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the round newel post. He looked up.

  His smile wrapped charming cords around her heart, making it difficult to breathe. Nonsense, Maggie told herself. It’s just this tight corset. Still unable to catch her breath, she slowed her steps.

  Caleb extended a hand to help her down the rest of the way.

  His admiring look made warmth swirl in her belly.

  “I was right about how good that red shawl would look on you. I’m glad you chose to wear it rather than the black.”

  “Well, if you approve, then it must be all right.”

  He ignored her joshing sarcasm. “Have I become the arbiter of fashion?” he asked in a tone of amusement, a smile glinting in his eyes. “I’ll wager Samantha Thompson gave her approval, else you’d have come down here wearing the black.”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose at his astuteness but said nothing, allowing him to lead her from the house.

  Outside, Caleb tucked her hand through his arm and escorted her down the brick walkway.

  She could see the Falabella horses hitched to the buggy. “Oh, my.” Maggie didn’t dare look at Caleb, not wanting to see him gloat about correctly predicting her reaction to the miniature horses. Instead, she let go of his arm when he opened the gate then hurried through and over to the small horses—one gray, and the other brown with a black mane. “You little darlings!”