Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (28 page)

“Mr. Carter, yes. Not Mr. Thompson, though, with the baby and all. Mrs. Gordon will work out lesson plans we can take with us so we don’t fall behind.”

“Your mother will be against your going on this expedition.”

“I know. But you can overrule her.”

His uncle grimaced and shook his head. “Those conversations are never pleasant.” He stared into the fire.

The melancholy expression on his face prompted Ben into a more delicate topic. “You’re going to be alone, here, Uncle Caleb.” Ben voiced another of his worries. “I don’t think Mrs. Graves counts.”

Caleb gave him a wry smile. “You’ve quite the list this evening, Ben. I don’t want you worrying about me. I will manage just fine.”

“What about Mrs. Baxter and Charlotte?”

His expression closed up. “What do you mean?”

Ben crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “I know you’re sweet on Mrs. Baxter. She made you happy. You doted on Charlotte. Yet, you let them go.”

His uncle sighed. “I had no choice. Mrs. Baxter didn’t want to stay with me, and I couldn’t keep them prisoner here.”

My uncle is square on the logical side of the emotional scale.
Ben narrowed his eyes and asked the question he’d been wondering ever since Mrs. Baxter had up and left. “What did she say when you asked her to marry you?”

His uncle frowned, and his eyes grew cold.

Ben knew that look, and his knees trembled. But he forced his legs to still. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and this topic was too important to allow Uncle Caleb to intimidate him into silence. “Well?”

To his surprise, his uncle backed down. He looked away and fiddled with the brandy snifter, moving it six inches to the left. “Mrs. Baxter made her feelings quite clear. She’d rather work at the bathhouse than marry me.”

That doesn’t sound like something she would say.
“Those were her exact words to you?”

He hesitated. “Well, no.”

Ben lost his patience and threw out his hands. “Uncle Caleb, did you actually
propose
? Down on one knee, diamond ring, and all?”

“I never got that far.”

Ben lowered his arms. “I think Mrs. Baxter loves you. I saw her feelings in her eyes when she looked at you and wasn’t aware anyone was watching.”

The man shook his head. “No. She would have given me some indication.”

“Meaning no disrespect, sir, but. . . . You’re good with money and business, but you stink when it comes to love and women.”

“Bordering on disrespect, young man,” he warned, his mouth tight.

“Yes, sir. Beg pardon. But I pay attention,” Ben retorted. “And Papa used to give me tips.” He deepened his voice to mimic his father. “‘Son, someday when you grow up and are courting a lady. . .’”

His uncle laughed, but his expression quickly sobered.

The pain in his eyes goaded Ben to give him another push. “Maybe Mrs. Baxter left because she didn’t think
you
loved her, or because she thought people would gossip. Might have gotten too hard for her to stay under those circumstances.”

Uncle Caleb’s eyebrows pulled together.

Ben thought some more about the situation. “And another thing. Frankly, Uncle Caleb, you’re a snob.”

His uncle looked taken aback.

Before he could respond, Ben plowed on. “So is Mother. So am I, but I’m trying to change. Everyone knows this about us. However, you
weren’t
that way with Mrs. Baxter. Not that I saw, anyway. Quite a shock that was at first, actually. But what if somehow she felt judged, or someone said something to make her think she wasn’t good enough for you?”

His uncle picked up the brandy snifter and took a sip. “Your mother did act that way at first.”

“I know. And Mrs. Baxter’s gotten awfully close with Miss Bellaire, uh, I mean the new Mrs. Norton. You won’t tell me what happened between you all, what the Bellaires did. But I bet you and Mother weren’t blameless. What if Mrs. Norton told Mrs. Baxter what happened?”

Uncle Caleb set down the glass with a snap. He rubbed his forehead and let out a tired sigh. “You may be right.”

“You’ll never know until you talk to Mrs. Baxter.
Propose
to her.” Ben patted his belly. The ache had eased, and suddenly he felt hungry. “I seem to recall a lecture on taking risks and trusting your gut. She says no, then you’re no worse off than you are now.
And
she might say yes.”

His uncle stood, walked to Ben’s chair, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will think on what you said, wise counselor. I’ll also think about you going to the Indian reservation and let you work your wiles on the natives.” He said the last words in a playful tone.

A bittersweet pain went through Ben. He’d never thought the two of them could grow so close. Although he felt good that his uncle had taken his words to heart, he was sad at the thought of leaving. He hid the emotion under a bantering tone. “Well, don’t think too long. Mrs. Baxter’s a mighty pretty lady, and some other man might snap her up while you’re dillydallying.”

When a customer walked in and rang the steel triangle she’d hung by the door—a sound that would alert her but not wake the baby—Maggie, on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor of her living area, rocked back onto her knees. The pungent smell of lye had made her eyes water, and she swiped an arm across her face before tossing her scrub brush into the bucket of soapy water. Then she rose to her feet, suppressing a groan from her sore muscles, wiped her wet hands on her apron, and went to the doorway of the waiting area.

Caleb stood there, his hat in his hands.

Her heart in her throat, Maggie watched him take in every detail.

He didn’t see her at first, and his gaze moved from the white paint on the walls and floor to the polished furniture, to the sparkling glass of the windows and the crisp lace curtains that gave privacy but let in light, and finally to the neatly printed sign that didn’t make any mention of whiskey.

Maggie stepped into the room, wishing she’d taken off her apron and washed up. She wanted to press her hand to her chest to calm her breathing, but instead clenched them around the folds of her skirt. “Good afternoon, Caleb.”

“You’ve done a fine job, Magdalena Petra.” His smile was warm, although his eyes looked sad. “Word is that your business is booming.”

His use of her given name made her heart lift. She tried to yank the organ back in place where it belonged. “Yes. I’ve plowed almost every penny my customers have paid, except for necessities for us, back into the bathhouse.”

He walked over to the cradle and crouched to view her sleeping daughter. She’d moved the cradle into this room while she scrubbed the living area floor.

“She’s grown and it’s only been three weeks.” His jaw clenched as if he held back emotion. “I’ve missed her so.” He glanced up at Maggie, his dark eyes forlorn. “Missed you both.”

I’ve missed you, too. So very much.
She couldn’t say the words for fear of starting to cry. When Maggie thought she could speak without her voice trembling, she commented, “I heard you went to Morgan’s Crossing.”

“Only a month or so later than I’d planned. Your friends all wanted the latest news of you and send their greetings. But I’m glad to be home.”

Home.
“Why did you choose Sweetwater Springs when you could live anywhere in the whole country?” This was a question she’d long been wondering. “There’s probably plenty of places where you’d make far more money.”

Caleb took in a deep breath. “I wanted the freedom of the West.” He ticked off the list on his fingers. “I wanted a town small enough to make my mark. I wanted a place where the citizens were law-abiding and the leadership included men of integrity. I wanted to live among scenic beauty. I wanted a town that needed a bank and whatever other businesses I could provide. I wanted a community where I could feel at home—as much as that is possible for me anywhere.”

“Did you find those qualities here?” Maggie thought she already knew the answer, for she, too, had discovered all of those special aspects in Sweetwater Springs.

Caleb glanced down at her. “I thought I had.” With a tender smile, he brushed a wayward curl from her forehead. “But then I met you.”

Maggie couldn’t breathe. “What are you saying, Caleb?” The question squeaked out.

“If you think I’m saying
I love you
, you’d be right.”

Can this be true?
“Oh, Caleb.” She nearly said,
I love you, too
,
but she held her tongue.
We couldn’t possibly be suited.
“Have you forgotten that I have Gypsy blood?”

“My memory is not so bad,” he said in a dry tone.

“You. . .don’t mind?”

“I do mind. Or maybe I should say, I
did
mind. Now, when I look at you, I don’t see
Gypsy.
I see
Maggie.
My Magdalena Petra. Your Gypsy blood is part of who you are. Part of who Charlotte is. How can I help but love
all
of you?” He gestured to the cradle. “All of
her
.” He held out a hand. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you that I hope will prove how serious I am.”

She hesitated, glancing at the cradle and trying to decide. Charlotte had just fallen asleep and would probably be out for at least an hour.

“I’ll come back in a minute for the cradle.”

Reluctantly, Maggie extended a hand to him, wincing when she saw the red roughness of her skin from all the scrubbing. She bit her lip and started to pull back.

“No.” His fingers closed around hers, and he held up her hand to the light of the window and spread her fingers, examining the damage. “You’ve worked hard, Magdalena Petra. You’ve taken a rundown business and made it a success. Be proud of this hand, not ashamed.” He kissed her palm.

Tingles raced up her arm to swirl through her body.

He kept his hand around hers and led her out the door to the side of the bathhouse.

There in the path of the setting sun stood her piebald workhorses, Pete and Patty, mane and tails braided with colorful ribbons. They were hitched to her
vardo
.
My vardo!
The caravan looked resplendent—fresh and new in green-and-gold glory. Above the cherished scene, orange, bronze, and gold streaked across the purpling sky, illuminating the underside of puffy pink and white clouds.

“Caleb!” Maggie gasped. Emotion welled. Her free hand flew to her mouth, and tears leaked from her eyes. She glanced from the caravan to Caleb and back again, unable to believe the sight.

He brought her hand to his lips and turned it to kiss her rough palm. “Magdalena Petra, I want you for my wife.”

“But Caleb—”

“The
vardo
is a gift to you, Maggie. But it’s yours regardless of whether you marry me or not. I don’t want you to accept me because you want that caravan!”

She gazed up at him in disbelief. “But why, Caleb? Why would you restore the
vardo
?”

His smile was tender. “Because it meant so much to you.” He ticked down the list on his fingers. “Because I want Charlotte and our future children to have the experience of traveling in it. Because I figure it will be a good way for us to navigate the journey from here to Morgan’s Crossing and back when I need to travel there for business. Because, if you wish, we can go along on the expedition to the Indian reservation. And. . .because I figured that instead of a fancy honeymoon journey, you might enjoy a jaunt in your
vardo
.” He tipped his head toward the caravan. “I’d be willing to turn into a Gypsy for a week or ten days. I rather fancy being all alone with you and Charlotte out in the wilderness.”

Maggie released a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of her being. Speechless, she stared up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. With a whisper of movement like the slightest breeze, she felt the spirits of her family reassure her and nudge her toward Caleb.

He seemed to understand, for he guided her toward the
vardo
’s door. “Go see. I’ll get Charlotte.”

Maggie first went to the horses and petted and murmured to them. Once her ankle had healed, she’d visited them every day, taking along a carrot or apple slices. Jed had taken good care of the team. They’d filled out, and their coats were shiny, their feathered forelocks clean and fluffy.

Caleb returned with the cradle. “Come see the inside. We had to guess where things went.”

Maggie lifted her skirts to climb the ladder. She stepped inside and drew a quick breath. The interior was completely redone—the table and cabinets sanded and stained a rich mahogany. The bed had a new, floral-patterned covering and pillows that matched the curtains.

Caleb set the cradle inside to the right of the door and climbed in after her. He gestured toward the bed. “There’s a new mattress, too.”

Maggie ran a hand over the soft coverlet and glanced at the shiny walls. Someone had brightened up the faded folk art. She reached to touch the ceiling.

“Pepe Sanchez from the livery did that and the detail work on the outside. Phineas O’Reilly and Gid Walker did all the restoration.”