Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) by Debra Holland Read Free Book Online

“I think she’s going to have your cheekbones,” he told Maggie.
    Her mouth full, she could only wrinkle her nose before she finished her bite. “Oh, I hope not.”
    Caleb couldn’t imagine why. He shot her a puzzled look.
    She rubbed her cheek. “Because they make me look different.”
    “You are a lovely woman, Magdalena Petra. Your looks are more out of the ordinary than most women around here—not that we don’t have some attractive ladies in our town. I think that only makes you more interesting.” He thought of Delia Bellaire. “Reverend Joshua’s betrothed also possesses exotic beauty, so you won’t be the only peacock among the chickens and swans of Sweetwater Springs. The Bellaires are to return to town today. They’ve been staying at a hotel in Crenshaw.”
    “Reverend Joshua has spoken of her. His face always lights up when he does so. I know the Morgans and some others from Morgan’s Crossing plan to attend the wedding.”
    Caleb tried not to think of his ambivalent feelings toward the Bellaires, who hadn’t been honest with him about Delia’s illegitimacy and Negro blood, although the wedding was good business for his hotel. . . .
    He held the baby in front of him and focused on her, making a playful face. “Charlotte will be lucky if she’s blessed with her mother’s looks. Right, sweetheart? Although perhaps I shouldn’t say so, I wouldn’t want you to have your head turned by all my compliments.”
    Maggie chuckled. “Well, I guess a few are all right.”
    “Glad I can get away with some.” Seeing she’d finished eating, he gave Charlotte one last look. “Ready to return to Mama?” he asked the baby.
    Maggie set her plate and silverware on the ground and held out her hands.
    Carefully, Caleb deposited Charlotte in her arms. “You two rest for a while.”
    “We will. But you need to eat.”
    He grinned at her bossy tone. “Yes, ma’am.” Caleb saluted and sauntered over to the fire to dish up the corned beef hash and peas. He spooned out the food, poured some water into a cup from the pack he’d brought with him, added a slab of bread and cheese, and returned to her. But he saw she’d fallen asleep, and the baby with her. Keeping an eye on mother and child, he gobbled down the meal, aware Oswald needed a burial—as rotten a chore as he’d ever undertaken.
    Only when he’d finished eating and set the bowl on his lap did Caleb realize he still wore the apron. With a wry shake of his head, he took off the garment and folded it. He sat for a bit, weary, but with a deep sense of peace.
    Charlotte made a sound.
    “Do you think she’s hungry already?”
    “We’ll see.” Murmuring soft endearments, Maggie unbuttoned the slit in the bodice of her nightgown and brought the baby to her breast.
    Honoring the mother-baby moment, he glanced away, but the image lingered as beautiful and awe-inspiring as a medieval painting of the Madonna and the Christ-child painted by one of the masters.
    “Caleb,” Maggie chided. “After all we’ve been through, I think we can cast modesty to the winds.”
    With a feeling that he might be casting more than modesty to the winds, Caleb Livingston, staid banker that he was, brought his gaze back to mother and child and looked his fill.
     

     
    Maggie hurt all over, and yet she’d never felt happier, or more content. Lying on the bedding, which Caleb had changed, with her head and shoulders propped on pillows, Charlotte in her arms, she watched the man move around the campsite. He’d cleaned her up and soaked the soiled clothes in the washtub. He built up the fire and taken care of both teams of horses. He’d followed her directions and found the Mason jar with liniment under the bed—luckily unbroken—and rubbed the ointment on Pet’s strained leg.
    He unloaded the vardo , setting her scanty possessions in piles, and brought a bedroll from his surrey and spread it out a few feet from Maggie’s. Then he’d taken Oswald’s shovel and