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

the basin with the afterbirth and disappeared.
    Without Caleb saying so, she knew he’d gone to bury her husband.
    For the first time, Maggie thought of Oswald with a pang of grief, not so much for missing him, but for what he was missing—their sweet baby. She remembered how he’d appeared during their courtship—handsome and strong, offering a shoulder to lean on when she was grieving the death of her grandmother, her last living relative. He’d swept her into a marriage while she’d been vulnerable and without giving her time to form an opinion of his character.
    No, I did that to myself. I could have put my foot down, not let my fears of being alone sway me into thinking I was in love.
    What a foolish girl I was!
    The baby stirred in her arms.
    Maggie glanced down at her daughter, swaddled in faded plaid flannel. She’d cut down an old shirt of Oswald’s to make the small blanket. Love swelled her heart until she thought her chest couldn’t contain the emotion. “But then I wouldn’t have you, my darling Charlotte,” she murmured to her daughter. “I’d go through everything twice over to have you.” Exhausted, she laid her head down on the pillow and drifted off.
    A squeaky wail startled her awake. Dusk had fallen, casting a purple-gray haze over their surroundings. The flannel cloth wrapping the baby was wet. I need to change her. Maggie struggled to sit up, gasping as her abused muscles protested.
    “Let me.” Suddenly Caleb was at her side, supporting her back.
    “Charlotte needs a diaper and a soaker. We didn’t put one of those on her before.”
    “Don’t move.” He ordered. “I’ll take care of everything.”
    Maggie smiled at his tone, doubting he’d ever changed a baby. Well, I haven’t, either. She’d had no younger siblings, only some older cousins. But Caleb did well enough earlier when he put on Charlotte’s first diaper. She pointed to the pile. “We’ll first pin one of the diapers on her. Then come the soakers—the knitted pants—over it.” All the soakers she’d knitted were stacked together. “Find the tiniest pair.”
    He rummaged through the pile, and then held up a miniscule multicolored one for her to approve.
    Maggie had knitted the soakers from leftover pieces of yarn, careful to keep the knots on the outside so they wouldn’t rub against the baby’s tender skin. Embarrassed, she realized the little panties conveyed the poverty she’d lived in, the shifts she’d made to economize when Oswald drank up too much of his wages. Maybe Caleb won’t notice how rag-tag they appear. He’s probably never seen soakers before. For all he knows, that’s how they’re supposed to look. She almost snorted at her own wishful thinking.
    Caleb’s brows pulled together in a frown. “We need to clean her.”
    “There’s a bottle of oil in the basket.”
    Caleb glanced at the sky, and his mouth firmed. He looked down at her. “We’ll be camping here tonight. I don’t like it, but we don’t have a choice. I don’t want to move you, and that horse of yours needs to recover more. At least the sky is clear and, hopefully, will stay that way. I’ll keep the fire going and stand watch.”
    “Is that necessary?”
    “Birth and death happened here, Maggie. Both involved blood, which will attract animals. I dragged Oswald’s body some distance, but I didn’t want to be away from you two for long, so I only dug a shallow grave.”
    “I suppose you’re right.”
    “When we return home, I’ll have Oswald’s remains dug up and transported to Sweetwater Springs.”
    Even if she’d loved Oswald and wanted him nearby, buried with all the trappings of a funeral, she wouldn’t wish on anyone the job of digging up a body that was several days old. “No. I want him left here.”
    He looked taken aback. “Are you sure?”
    The question fired her up. “I’ll not pretend to be a grieving wife—tending Oswald’s gravesite, leaving flowers. No,” Maggie said sharply, knowing