Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6)

by Debra Holland

  Caleb followed behind. “Chico is the brown stallion, and Mariposa is the gray mare.”

  Maggie stroked the head of the brown one, wishing she had a carrot.

  Caleb extended a hand, cupping two halves of a carrot.

  She looked up at him, astonished. “How did you know I wanted to give them a treat?”

  He shrugged, but a smile played about his mouth. “With the Falabellas, it’s an inevitable impulse. Few people can resist falling in love and wanting to spoil them.”

  Dividing the pieces into each hand, Maggie fed the two horses at the same time, and then petted and stroked them while they chomped away.

  Caleb touched her arm. “Come, we are only borrowing them, so we cannot be long.”

  “You’re right.” Maggie allowed him to lead her to the passenger side and help her climb into the miniature conveyance. She smoothed her skirt and adjusted her shawl.

  When he went around to the driver’s side and climbed in to join her, the buggy gave a dip.

  She cast him a look of alarm. “Are we going to be too heavy?”

  “No. We’re only going down the street to the hotel and back. The road is flat and dry.”

  Maggie settled back. The confines of the seat meant they nestled leg-to-leg and shoulder-to-shoulder in pleasurable closeness.

  Caleb wasn’t wearing gloves, and she admired the strength of his hands as he held the reins and directed the Falabellas.

  For a few minutes, she watched the miniature team and marveled that such small creatures could pull them. This is like being in a fairy tale—magical horses, a handsome prince—and I’m Magdalena, the Gypsy princess.

  The few people on the street stopped and gaped as they went by.

  In her role as Gypsy princess, Maggie gave them a regal wave, similar to Edith’s but with more friendliness.

  “Don’t mind them,” Caleb said. “They’re trying to figure out why we’re driving the Thompson’s buggy.”

  She suppressed a laugh. “I suppose we’ll be the topic people discuss around the supper table tonight.”

  “Could be worse,” he said, raising an eyebrow, reminding her of what they’d been through and how much greater the gossip could be.

  I can’t believe how much my life has changed. In some respects, I’m living a version of the Cinderella story.

  Maggie could see the towering four-story hotel down the street, but as they drew closer, she was amazed by the size. The place was bigger than any building she’d ever seen. Like the office housing the newspaper, the outside gleamed with pinky-brown Sioux quartz polished to a sheen. Through archways, she could see a porch leading to the entrance.

  The dirt street gave way to rough stone pavers made of the same quartz and looking clean, as if regularly swept. Lampposts lined the roadway. Caleb pulled to a stop in front of the hotel.

  A young man wearing a blue uniform raced out the door and down the steps toward them.

  Caleb set the brake. “My bellmen love the chance to take care of the Falabellas.”

  The bellman hurried to Maggie’s side and helped her out. “Welcome to The Livingston, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie murmured, amused by the name of the hotel. What if he was Caleb Snocklebury? Would this be The Snocklebury? She suppressed a giggle.

  Once Maggie was standing, the bellman raced around the other side to take the reins from Caleb.

  “Water them, please. But we won’t be long.”

  The young man touched his cap. “I’ll take good care of them, sir.”

  Maggie walked around the back of the buggy and took the arm Caleb held out, grateful for her new clothes. She wouldn’t have dared come near the elegant building in her old garb. With her free hand, she twitched her skirt into place. The wide waistband gave the illusion she actually possessed a waist—for even with wearing a corset tied much tighter than she was used to, she was still far too large for fashion. Soon I’ll look better.

  A second bellman held open one of the double doors for them, and they walked inside.

  Maggie’s first impression was of refined spaciousness. The hotel lobby was enormous, made of gleaming dark wood. Blue-patterned carpet was laid over polished wood floors. Blue velvet and tapestry wing chairs surrounded marble-topped round tables. In one corner stood the largest black piano she’d ever seen. Grand windows along the front let in light, and crystal chandeliers with thin glass bulbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room further. Maggie had never seen electric lights before, and she wondered what they would look like at night.

  Mr. Rockwell, whom she’d met at the dinner party, stood near the base of the staircase. When he saw them, he strode over, wearing an ear-to-ear grin and radiating an air of excitement. His close-cut tawny curls looked disheveled, as if he’d run a hand through them. He flashed a smile of welcome at Maggie.

  His animated demeanor astonished her, because she’d formed the impression of Mr. Rockwell as a rather solemn man.

  The manager stopped in front of them and brought his hands together in a silent clasp, giving them a little shake as if in victory. His honey-brown eyes gleamed. “We have the most wonderful surprise for Reverend Joshua and Miss Bellaire’s wedding.”

  “We do, do we?” A sardonic note imbued Caleb’s tone. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Peter. What astonishments lie in store to delight us?”

  “Darlings!” a melodious voice called out from across the lobby.

  With a half turn, and sweeping his arm in a commanding gesture, Mr. Rockwall indicated the staircase. “Tah dah!”

  A dark-haired woman in a mauve gown, with the most enormous balloon sleeves Maggie had ever seen, stood at the railing of the upper landing, leaning forward slightly, arms outstretched in a dramatic greeting. Even from across the lobby Maggie could see her magnificent appearance. The woman brought both hands to her mouth and blew enthusiastic kisses, as if she were on a stage, acknowledging her audience.

  Mr. Rockwell lowered his arm. “I bring you. . .the Songbird of Chicago!”

  The woman turned from the rail and glided down the steps, the epitome of grace.

  Caleb took Maggie’s elbow and guided her across the room, moving in an unerring beeline toward the foot of the staircase.

  Maggie had heard of the Songbird of Chicago. On Christmas Eve, the Morgans had attended the grand opening party for the hotel, where Sophia Maxwell performed. They’d returned with raving accounts of her beautiful voice.

  Maggie glanced up at Caleb and was daunted by the dazzled look on his face, one she had never seen before. He sported a smile almost as big as Mr. Rockwell’s. Apprehension tightened her stomach.

  “Sophia,” he murmured, bending to kiss her cheek. “What a wonderful surprise.”

  “Caleb, darling.” Sophia Maxwell wore a mauve satin afternoon dress patterned with sprays of gold leaves, over a blouse of gold lace. She extended both hands, oozing sensuality and perfume. She had pale, smooth skin, and when she smiled, her teeth were like pearls. Her long-lashed violet-colored eyes sparkled up at him.

  The woman had a generous bosom, with such a tiny corseted waist that Maggie wondered how she could breathe, much less move. Rumor hasn’t lied. She’d never seen a more beautiful creature, and in Sophia Maxwell’s vivid presence, Maggie felt reduced to a drab frump. A sudden impulse to scratch out those jewel-bright eyes made her curl her fingers, digging her nails into her palms.

  Caleb bent and dropped a kiss on each of Sophia’s dainty, smooth hands, and then leaned forward to kiss her proffered cheek.

  Maggie bit back a gasp at the familiarity, which made a mockery of the intimacy she and Caleb had shared. She’d never seen him kiss the hand of any woman in Sweetwater Springs. I believed I was special to him. Hurt ached in her heart.

  Sophia beamed up at Caleb and fluttered her long eyelashes in a way that seemed as natural to her as breathing. “How simply divine to see you again and stay at your lovely hotel, which is the epitome of comfort.”

  “Are yo
u in need of comfort, dear Sophia?” Caleb asked, amusement in his tone. He released her hands.

  “Oh, darling, we’ve had the most grueling run. Sold out every night,” she purred with obvious satisfaction. “Blythe and I weren’t sure we could get away.”

  “Blythe’s here, too?” Caleb laughed and grinned at Mr. Rockwell. “Now I know the real reason for that burst of enthusiasm with which you greeted us.”

  Color rose in Mr. Rockwell’s cheeks. “Not, not just Blythe,” he stuttered out. “The wedding. . . .”

  Maggie took pity on him. Since Caleb appeared to have forgotten her, she held out a hand to Sophia. “I’m Mrs. Baxter,” she said in her most amiable tone. Two can play this game. “My friends saw you perform at Christmas, Miss Maxwell, and they were most enchanted.”

  “Call me Sophia. I simply hate to be formal among friends. And we will be friends, I think.” She directed a quizzical glance between Caleb and Maggie. “Oh, yes, indeed.”

  I doubt that very much.

  Caleb leaned closer. “Where’s Blythe?”

  Sophia held up a finger in a listening motion.

  In the silence, Maggie heard the faint strains of angelic-sounding music. That must be a harp. She wished they could move closer.

  “Ah,” Caleb said with a nod. “Are you two here for long?”

  “My manager was doing the most tedious negotiations for my next role.” A smile played about Sophia’s lips. “But he finally arranged things to my satisfaction.”

  Caleb cocked an eyebrow. “And?”

  “A week. Then, darling, I must return to rehearse for the role of Brünnhilda the Valkyrie. Nothing like a little Wagner to get the heart thumping.” With a graceful flutter of both hands, she framed her head, and then smoothed her hands down her front. “Imagine me in blonde braids and a breastplate.” She struck a pose, arm in the air. “And a sword.”

  Caleb threw back his head and laughed. “I might have to make a special trip to Chicago just to see you in that role.”

  “You do that, darling Caleb. And see if you can pry my sweet sister and her dear husband away from that ranch of theirs and bring them along. It’s time they introduced my niece to some culture.”

  Caleb chuckled and glanced at Maggie. “Sophia’s sister Lily married Tyler Dunn. Otherwise, we’d never get the likes of the Songbird of Chicago to our town. Her niece is about Charlotte’s age. I seem to recall hearing word of her birth right before I left for Morgan’s Crossing.”

  Sophia looked at Maggie with interest. “Ah, you have a newborn baby, too.”

  “Yes, my daughter is twelve days old,” she said with pride.

  “Oh, I envy you.” Sophia clasped her hands together.

  Maggie couldn’t imagine why. Any woman could have a baby. Not that I’d trade Charlotte for anything! But Sophia seemed sincere, and she found herself drawn to the woman in spite of her envy.

  “I can’t wait to meet my niece. They named her Adeline after Tyler’s mother. And Sophia—” one dainty hand drifted to her breast “—after me. I think I bought out all the baby things in every shop in Chicago. Why, that child already has her own trunk.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped Maggie, and she glanced up at Caleb. “But does she have a doll that’s twice as big as she is?”

  In perfect accord, Caleb’s gaze met Maggie’s. “I doubt it.”

  “I did give in and bought Adeline a doll,” Sophia said, framing the shape with her hands.

  I guess Charlotte wins. Maggie couldn’t help a secret smile but kept the thought to herself.

  The music stopped, and a few minutes later, the harpist joined them. Blythe was the opposite of her friend Sophia as could be. She was a slight woman with delicate features and pale skin. She wore her white-blonde hair loose down her back. Her misty gown flowed to her feet without a waistline or bustle. The color matched her eyes. Her smile at Caleb and Maggie appeared shy, almost childlike.

  Peter looked at Blythe with his heart in his eyes.

  Blythe returned his gaze. A loving expression changed her shy mien into one of womanly confidence.

  Envy stabbed Maggie.

  Peter took his betrothed’s hand and drew her forward. “Darling, I want you to meet Mr. Livingston’s guest.” He performed the introductions.

  With lowered eyes, Blythe touched Maggie’s fingers with her free hand. She looked up with a small smile before retreating to Peter’s side and, once again, exchanging a secret communication with her betrothed.

  “We have news.” Peter swung their hands. “We’ve set a wedding date of June fourteen.”

  “Wonderful.” Caleb clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Provided you take your honeymoon at the hotel.”

  Silence followed, and eyes wide, everyone stared at him.

  Caleb laughed. “I’m joking. Between Isaac and me, the place will be covered.”

  The tension broke, and Peter chuckled. “You’ll have quite a full house. Our relatives will be traveling out here for the week.”

  As they talked logistics about the hotel, Maggie’s thoughts drifted to the idea of falling in love.

  Most of her friends in Morgan’s Crossing were happily married, but they were also well settled into matrimony. No weddings had occurred in the mining town since her and Oswald’s. But since coming to Sweetwater Springs, she felt surrounded by couples smelling of orange blossoms—the wedding bouquet flower popularized by Queen Victoria. First Delia and Reverend Joshua, now Blythe and Peter.

  In the midst of the happy congratulations, she glanced at Sophia to see a flash of what seemed like longing mirrored in the opera star’s eyes. I must be mistaken. Sophia Maxwell is beautiful, charming, wealthy, and famous. She couldn’t possibly feel the same way I do.

  Maggie let out a sad breath, conscious of the irony of her situation. Being surrounded by love only makes me aware of my own lack.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On the drive home, feeling energized by meeting Sophia Maxwell, Caleb planned how he could persuade the two performers to hold a concert at the hotel later in the week. While many far-flung families might not be able to return to town so soon after the Norton wedding, he thought enough would be interested to pack the hotel’s lobby.

  Maggie leaned forward, looking from side-to-side, her eyes wide, her lips turned up with the hint of a smile. The drive had blown color into her cheeks, and she had a fresh loveliness—almost an innocence despite having been married—that made Sophia’s beauty seem almost overblown.

  Her zest for life and her appreciation for what he did for her—even when she was stubborn about accepting what he offered—was so different from the often blasé attitudes of many people in upper-class Boston, including in his own family. Especially my own family.

  “Where are the sweet springs the town is named for?”

  He grinned at her. “A commonly asked question. They are small and dot the town—both hot springs and cold ones. For example, there’s a hot spring under the hotel that provides all the heated water I need for the building. Saves me quite a bit on fuel costs. I’ll show you another spring when we get home.”

  All too soon, they reached his house. Caleb pulled into the drive and guided the Falabellas past the kitchen door and closer to the stables, near the entrance to the backyard. He pulled up and set the brake. “Now, for what I want to show you.”

  With an uncertain look, Maggie glanced back at the house.

  He understood her need to go to her baby but wanted a bit more time with her. “Come with me for a few minutes. Then we’ll go inside, and you can retrieve Charlotte.”

  Jed in his customary overalls came out of the stables, carrying a pitchfork. He saw them, propped the pitchfork against the side of the stable, and raised a hand in greeting. He ambled over, calling the Falabellas by name, giving their heads a quick rub and promising each a treat.

  Caleb handed Jed the reins and tasked him with taking care of the tiny horses. He climbed out and walked around to help Maggie clamber from the s
mall buggy. He didn’t release her hand, but tucked her fingers around his arm, enjoying the feel of strolling together without worrying about her ankle.

  A high brick wall covered with ivy, leaves unfurling, surrounded the yard. He guided her toward a gate sheltered beneath an arbor, leading into his landscaped backyard, which was as big as a small park and just as beautiful, containing a gazebo, a pond, a wishing well, and wisteria-covered arbors, all bisected by brick walkways.

  He watched the wonder bloom on Maggie’s face and turned to study his yard, as if seeing the place through her eyes—the red brick of the walkways, the spring green of the velvety grass, the swaths of crimson tulips and sunny daffodils, the lavender of the scented lilacs, the darker green of the low boxwood hedges, the rose garden that would later show a profusion of pink, red, and white flowers.

  Caleb waved toward a fountain in the middle of the yard where a mermaid poured water from a jug. “There is one of our famous springs. I took advantage of the position and replaced a former springhouse with the fountain. With the icebox in the kitchen, we have no need for a springhouse. The spring flows into two channels that water the perimeter plants, fills a masonry tub and horse troughs in the stables, and runs into the meadow beyond the stable.”

  Maggie released his arm and slowly circled, taking in the view of the whole yard. “This is so lovely now. I can only imagine how beautiful everything must look when the flowers are all blooming. You must spend a lot of time out here.”

  Caleb thought for a moment and realized he rarely set foot in the backyard. Nor did he use the glassed-in solarium, even though the room was heated for use all year around. “Actually, I don’t, especially not the last few years while the hotel was being built. Work kept me too busy, even when I was home.”

  “That’s such a shame,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “You’re absolutely right. Now that the hotel is open, I have less to do with the business, for Peter runs everything so efficiently. So there’s no reason I can’t start enjoying this space and take advantage of nice weather.”

  “You should.”