Rocky Mountain Redemption (10 page)

Her carefree chuckle made Ben proud. “That's all right.”

“Katie's told me a lot about you.”

Callie shifted a surprised look to Katie.

“All good, Callie,” Katie affirmed.

“This is Zach,” Ben continued. “He's the baby of the bunch.”

The past months that Zach had spent working on a cattle ranch just north of town had done him a world of good. At twenty-two, he seemed comfortable in his own skin. Even sported a manner of contentment about him that had been refreshing to see. And he looked healthy, had packed on hard work-induced muscle. Though he was a good three inches shorter than Ben's six feet three inches, Zach made up for it in his sturdy build and quick speed.

Zach held out his hand to Callie. “It's nice to meet you, Callie. Good to have you join us today.”

“I'm glad to be here.”

“I hear you've been spending time reading classic literature,” Ben aimed at Zach, chuckling when his brother rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Shakespeare and the like… Maybe you can do a little recitation for us today?”

“Yeah, what do you say?” Joseph added.

“What is this? Pick on your little brother day?” Sighing, Zach angled an exasperated gaze down at Callie. “They love to do that to me. They think it makes them all big and powerful. Honestly, I doubt they could even understand the stuff.”

“Really,” she braved, sliding a hand to her mouth.

“Well, that's insulting enough,” Ben parried.

Zach stuck Ben with a good-natured glare. “Ya know, you'll rue the day you decided to pick on me.”

“You're all talk,” Ben retorted in dismissal. “Powerful as a charging bull, but harmless as a nursing pup.”

“Rue the day?”
Joseph cracked with an ire-provoking smirk. “You've definitely had your nose in Shakespeare again, haven't you?”

“So what if I had?”

“Nothing.” Joseph crossed his arms at his chest, shaking his head in innocence. “Not a thing.”

Zach sighed. “Don't think that just because you can't see, Joseph, I won't take you.”

Joseph pulled his shoulders back, his deep amber eyes sparkling as he rubbed his hands together. “I'll be waiting for you. Listening for your every move.”

“And this is Aaron,” he said, gesturing to where Aaron leaned into the corner of the room.

Callie stepped forward and held her hand out to Aaron.

When Aaron merely looked from her hand to her face as if determining whether he could stand touching her, Ben almost decked him. Right then. Right there. Scene or no scene. No matter what bias Aaron had against her because of Max, it didn't warrant that kind of rude behavior.

At Ben's scathing, dart-throwing gaze, Aaron finally came to his senses and stepped up to shake her hand, but the look in his eyes bordered on sheer malice as he peered down at Callie.

“Callie, would you be so kind as to help me in the kitchen?” said Katie in a rescuing request.

“Of course.” Callie slid her hand from Aaron's grasp. When she turned to follow Katie, she avoided Ben's searching gaze and whisked right past him.

Not a second later, Ben jerked a thumb toward the door, fully expecting Aaron to follow, and if he didn't…well, then Ben would drag him out. When the door closed, Aaron, Joseph and Zach were all standing on the porch with Ben.

“
What
was that all about?” He balled his fists at his sides. Glared at Aaron.

Aaron managed a disbelieving snort. “What are you doin' bringing her to church? And then here?”

“We invited her for dinner, Aaron.” Joseph raked a hand through his hair. “Katie wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would I.”

With a rough shake of his head, Aaron narrowed his eyes. “I don't care if the president of the United States invited her. She has no business being here.”

Ben jammed his hands to his waist, his blood nearing the boiling point. “She has just as much business being here or at church as you or I do.”

“Well, if she's fooled you that bad, then you're twice as blind as Joseph here,” he spat out, slapping the back of his hand against Joseph's broad chest.

“Keep my eyes out of this.” Joseph raised his hands.

“Sorry.”

“What is the matter with you, Aaron?” Ben challenged.

The loathing that had cloaked Aaron's words hung in such an awkward fashion for him—as if wearing an overcoat four sizes too big. He'd gone through a difficult time in the past months, but even that didn't account for the bitter edge with which he spoke.

Ben attempted to tamp down his ire. “I mean, I know that you and Max weren't exactly on the best of terms
when he left, but why do you have to hold that over Callie's head?”

Aaron's jaw muscle visibly pulsed. “It's not right that Max could plant an unwanted kiss on Ellie-girl without so much as a thought. He did it just to spite me, even though he knew good and well that her lips were for me, and me alone.”

“I'm sorr—” Ben began.

“Then he added insult to injury and blistered me in a fight,” Aaron added, his jaw so tense, Ben thought his tendons might snap. “It's something I'll never forget.”

Ben remembered well how enraged Aaron had been that night. Drunk, Max had stumbled in one evening shortly before he took off for good, and had helped himself to a kiss with poor unsuspecting Ellie. She'd tried to push him away and wriggle from his grasp, but he was too strong and too drunk.

Settling his hands at his waist, Ben commanded Aaron's attention. “It was wrong what he did to Ellie and to you.”

“It was wrong what he did to me. To Ellie. To you. To all of us,” Aaron hissed, throwing his hands up. “But for some reason, you had to go after him to try to make amends. Not once, but several times.”

“I'd hoped to reason with him.” Ben felt the old, familiar clamping in his gut at the memory of each failed endeavor. “To talk some sense into him.”

“He was weak. Weak willed.” Aaron pulled his mouth into a rigid line and gave his head a stiff shake. “And it seems to me that if you have to talk someone into doing what's right, then it'd be just as easy for them to be talked out of it. They've gotta
want
to do what's right. And Max, he never did.”

Ben's whole body tensed, ready to retaliate with some
kind of excuse, but Aaron made sense. “You're probably right. As many times as we'd try to convince Max that he was heading down the wrong path, he never would turn around for good.”

Aaron jammed a finger into Ben's chest. “Exactly. And if he did it for a short season, then it wouldn't take more than a gentle breeze to blow him into the wrong path again.”

“I had to try,” he finally said. “I promised Ma I'd raise him to walk the right path.” And he'd failed. Miserably.

“I don't think Ma or Pa, either one, expected you to raise the dead.” Aaron jammed his hands into his pockets. “And as far as I'm concerned, that would've been an easier task.”

Joseph gave a frustrated sigh. “Ben carried more responsibility with Max than you may realize, Aaron. It wasn't easy being the oldest and having to look after all of us.”

“I'm not questioning that. What I am questioning is why, with the way Max betrayed us time and again, he feels the need to look after that girl in there.” Aaron cast a glance over his shoulder to the front door. “She just can't be trusted. Max said himself that he'd shacked up with some harlot.”

“You watch your mouth,” Ben warned, his voice low as he glared at his brother.

Aaron met his icy, angry stare. “That woman in there helping Katie is one-and-the-same. Do you know that?”

“You know how easily Max lied.” Joseph's jaw pulsed.

“I just met her, but I sure can't imagine Callie playing
the harlot.” Zach's eyes grew wide. “Come on, Aaron…lighten up. Does she look like one to you?”

Aaron narrowed his scorn-filled gaze.

Ben stood firm, the ready contempt Aaron exhibited raining down upon him. Images of the dress Callie had shown up in flashed like streaks of lightning through his mind, the tattered and worn ruby-red dress, cut so low in front that the word
decent
would come nowhere near describing the garment.

But nothing about her—not her actions, the way she walked, the way she handled herself around other men—would come close to measuring up to her being a harlot.

“She just doesn't have it in her,” he finally said.

Aaron raised his eyebrows in a way that had Ben ready to haul off and hit him. “She's a harlot, Ben, and she's going to rob you blind, just like Max did. Mark my words. Even from the grave Max is trying to tear us apart. And he's using his widow—his
harlot
—to do it.”

Ben jammed his brother against the side of the house, doing everything in his power to contain the fierce anger rushing through his veins. “I'm warning you now, if you don't shut your mouth about this, I'll shut it for you,” Ben ground out. But even as the words crossed his lips he wondered why he felt the need to so vehemently defend Callie. Something about this sprightly young woman had snagged every single protective bone in his body. Maybe his heart, too.

C
allie had never felt quite so wanted. Or unwanted, where Ben's brother Aaron was concerned.

She glanced around the kitchen in the doctor's office, searching for the thick pad she needed to lift the steaming teakettle of water from the stove.

Aaron was nothing if not surly. Proud. Arrogant, really. She hadn't shrunk back from his unfriendly, cold greeting that—she recalled with a generous amount of indignation—had come as hard as tack from him. If not for dear Katie saving the day and suggesting Callie keep her company in the kitchen, Callie might still be standing there, five days later, toe-to-toe and nose to chest with Aaron.

His reaction only confirmed Max's descriptions of his brothers, and had irritated her almost as bad as a rock in her shoe. As far as she was concerned, she'd spent far too much time and mental energy trying to reason his response. Maybe he harbored more ill will toward Max than could be overcome. Or maybe he simply had a strong aversion to auburn hair.

With a dismissive shrug and sigh, she headed toward the exam room where Ben waited with a twitchy Mrs.
Duncan. Whatever had caused him to be so aloof, she wasn't about to let it waylay her.

Things were finally starting to look up.

Callie hadn't ever felt so useful. Between cooking hearty meals for Ben, cleaning his office and home, and assisting him with patients, her days were full. And very rewarding.

On the way home from knitting with Katie one day, she'd even gotten an offhand chance to talk with one of the girls from down at the Golden Slipper. Callie had beelined to strike up a conversation with the woman.

Someday, after she had the debt paid off and a little nest egg for herself, she wanted to maybe try to help some of the ladies. Where others looked on them with a derisive snort, Callie had seen another side to the women in her months of cleaning for Whiteside. She had to believe that those women yearned for something more than what they had settled for. That somewhere hidden beneath their hard exteriors were vulnerable young women in need of a friend and a fresh start. And Callie wanted to be that for them.

She entered the exam room, feeling bolstered by the fact that she was making a difference. The wages she'd received so far had been generous. In fact, if things continued as they had been the past ten days, she could well deliver the remainder of the balance to Lyle Whiteside by Christmas. Though this would be her first Christmas without Max and she was sure to feel that loss, being freed from his gambling debt, and from a mean-spirited bully who stood for everything she detested, would be an enormous weight off her shoulders.

Feeling a wonderfully foreign sense of control over the direction of her life, she set the kettle next to the
basin and smiled. “Here's the hot water you asked for.”

“Thank you.” Ben glanced her way as he stood in front of Mrs. Duncan.

Callie turned and took in the plump woman who sat perched on the examination table, her full skirts draped around her in a fluff of light gray-and-peach print fabric. Like a hen refusing to leave her nest, she folded her hands in her lap all prim and proper, while fiery-red wisps of hair frayed from her chignon in an unruly contrast.

“So, you're Miss Callie…” A sedate, almost deflated smile contorted Mrs. Duncan's thin lips.

“Just Callie,” she responded, unable to miss Ben's quick wink. “How do you do?”

“I saw you at church a few days back. But land's sakes, I can't seem to go far without some soul or t'other stopping to speak at me,” she muttered, somewhat self-importantly. The way the woman worked her hands and leaned forward slightly conjured up unpleasant images of a spindly spider preparing to cocoon its prey.

Callie bit back an amused grin. At least it was glaringly apparent what this lady was here for. Information.

Callie hated to disappoint her.

“By the time I'd made my way clear to the back of the church, why, you were up and gone already.” Her haphazard eyebrows rose in awkward arches over her eyes. “Seems that you made an awful fast escape.”

“Actually, I lingered for several minutes.” Callie stepped over to the cupboard and retrieved a tray of clean and readied medical tools for Ben. She took shamefully morbid satisfaction in lifting a sharp, gleaming scalpel from the metal tray, as though inspecting it. “I had the
pleasure of meeting some of the church members. Very nice people you have here in Boulder.”

“Course, the welcome wagon sets the tone there. If a body makes folks feel welcome as they join our town, those folks'll turn around and do the same.” She gave a swift, confident nod then added, “At least that's what I'm always preachin', bein' the Chairwoman of the Boulder Welcome Wagon, as I am.”

“You must be making quite an impact.” Callie nibbled her lower lip.

“My friends certainly tell me I do.” Mrs. Duncan's full face creased in a pleased-with-herself kind of grin. “So, what brings you to Boulder?”

Ben cleared his throat as he took the tray from Callie's hands. “Callie's my assistant. She's here working for me.”

As if struck by a sudden case of dropsy, the woman's face fell. “Well, now, I can see that just as clear as a church bell, Ben Drake,” she scolded, her beady-eyed gaze not leaving Callie for an instant. “What I'm meanin' is—”

“Mrs. Duncan, I believe you came here about your toe. Am I right?” He gently tapped the lady's brown-booted feet poking out from under her skirts.

“My toe?”

“You said that it'd been giving you some trouble. You thought you might have an infection?” he added as if to jog her memory.

“I did?” The woman's face pinched in squeamish distaste. Peering down her nose, she stared at her feet as if unsure whether they belonged to her.

When Ben turned and gave Callie another wink, her stomach launched into a flurry of activity. His playful
ness, and the ready, warm smile he always seemed to have for her, constantly caught her off guard.

“We would hate for you to go walking around town with an infection.” Pushing his sleeves up, he scanned the display of medical instruments. “That wouldn't do at all. Would it, Callie?”

“Not at all. In fact—”

“So, girl…do you have a husband? Family?” Mrs. Duncan's loud voice interrupted. “Setting a good example as Boulder's welcoming committee, I surely wouldn't want to miss them on my rounds. I make it my
personal
business to get to know the new folks in town.”

Callie ventured a guess that there was more to her work than met the eye. Mrs. Duncan struck her as a woman who definitely made it her business to not only meet folks, but to get to know every little thing about them, as well.

“No family,” she answered carefully.

“She's part of our family,” Ben added.

“Well, now, that's not unusual for you Drakes,” she dismissed. “Especially you, Ben Drake. You'd take in most any wretched thing.”

Callie clamped her jaw tight, wondering if she'd actually heard the woman say something so tactless.

“I hear tell from Mr. Peter O'Leary that he's seen you before?” A distinct element of accusation threaded through the woman's words, sending dread snaking through Callie's veins.

Swallowing hard, she suddenly craved fresh, cool air. Maybe from some mountain over on the next range. A heated blush crept slowly up her neck. She'd do most anything to keep it from advancing all the way to her cheeks, but it was no use. Her cheeks started burning even as the thought popped into her head.

She chided herself for responding as if she'd been caught red-handed in a crime. She had nothing to hide. Sure, she'd not been forthcoming with Ben about the details of her life with Max, or about some of Max's activities, or about the fact that she'd carried Max's baby. But knowing how difficult it must be for Ben and his brothers to learn of their estranged brother's death, she hadn't wanted to add to their misery and grief. If his brothers had composed their own pile of bad memories with Max, then she wouldn't want to add to it with her own unpleasant recollections.

In the strange, misplaced sort of way that had ruled her actions for seven years, she felt as if she had to protect Max. Or at least Max's memory.

“I have no idea where Mr. O'Leary would've seen me, ma'am,” Callie finally said, her voice steady.

With a dirty sense of shame, she remembered the way the man had looked her up and down as though she was one of Whiteside's ‘girls.' The leering gaze he'd given her had made her stomach convulse with instant dread.

“Really, now?” the woman uttered slowly. “No idea?”

Ben cleared his throat, the muscle at his cheek pulsing. “Could you slip your boot off for me, Mrs. Duncan? More than likely, you've got one of those sore spots again, and I'll probably want to do some cutting around the nail. What do you say? We might as well get at it.” He picked up the same scalpel Callie had held. “Callie, could you please get me a clean towel. Maybe some thread for stitching while you're at it.”

Mrs. Duncan shoved her thick frame off the table, landing with a heavy thud on the floor. “Actually, my toe is feeling better already.” She stomped her foot. “You
see. It don't give me a lick of pain. I'm sorry to take up your time like this, Doctor, but I do believe I'm feeling much improved.”

 

“Callie? Are you awake?” Ben's voice sounded from across the room, followed by a knock on the door.

“Ben?” She turned over in bed, forcing her heavy, sleep-laden eyes open.

“I'm sorry to wake you at such an hour.” Urgency permeated his words. “May I come in?”

She tugged the blanket up to her chin. “Yes, of course.” Blinking against the dim lantern light penetrating the dark room, she brought him into focus. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Just past two o'clock.”

Callie rose to her elbows. “Is everything all right?”

“That's why I'm here.” He knelt down next to her. His nearness, the warmth of it and the way his breath fanned feather-light over her skin, sent every nerve ending humming to life. “I was hoping that you could help me with a delivery. Mrs. Nolte's oldest boy, Travis, showed up at my place a few minutes ago. His mama's laboring.”

“She's having a baby?”

“Yes. And I'd feel better if I had extra help on this one since her husband's out on the range. She had a hard time with the last baby.”

Sitting up, Callie rubbed her eyes and stared at Ben's whisker-shadowed features. The flickering lantern light played across the strong, masculine angles of his face, knocking her heartbeat off-kilter. Had the night's nipping chill not sent a quiver of reality down her spine, she might've thought she was in some wonderful, breathtaking dream.

She gathered her wits about her. “Yes, of course. Just give me a couple of minutes. I—I'll be right there.”

Callie made fast work of getting ready. But with each inch the wagon traveled from town, her stomach knotted tighter and tighter. She'd never attended a birth except when she'd been an active participant in the delivery of her very own baby girl. The wee hours of that night had been a blur of pain and suffering. One that had left a deep chasm in her heart she feared might never heal.

She'd barely spoken of the baby girl in the past six years. Max hadn't tolerated her tears or any of her nostalgic musings. Not even when anguish and sorrow threatened to consume her. She'd had to pull herself up from the trauma and move on. But, silently, she'd grieved plenty.

There were no guarantees with pregnancy. But never in a million years would she understand why it had been her baby girl who had been taken.

Had God punished her for defying her father? Had He made the past seven years one continuous, humiliating consequence born from one hasty decision? If so, there might never be a second chance for Callie. A second, life-changing chance to find the peace she longed for.

Perhaps Mrs. Nolte also had done something that was grounds for punishment. Would this woman lose her baby, too?

Hoping to allay her growing fears, she grasped her cloak tight around her and asked Ben for a detailed description of what she could expect. She found great comfort in the methodical, calm way he explained the process. His knowledge of the situation went a long way to quelling the insecurity and apprehension creeping around her heart.

Ben pulled the buggy into a small ranch yard where
the full moon's gentle, pearly light illuminated a generous-size house that sat amidst two large barns.

He set the brake. “If you can gather the items we'll need, I'll check her over to see how close she is to delivering.”

“All right,” she responded, mentally going over the list of things he'd told her to prepare.

“Travis should've made it back by now, and Dillon will be here,” he said, grabbing his bag from the floorboards and helping her down. “But since they're just eight and four, it'd be best if you could coax them back to bed.”

Callie agreed, her heart going out to the little boys. Before they were even at the door of the clapboard house, she could already hear a woman's anguished cry coming from inside.

Her heart sank rock hard and fast. Her stomach lurched while brisk, northerly winds whipped mercilessly across the front yard.

When the door opened, a young boy, his eyes wide with fear, stood before them. “Ma's hurtin' real bad, Doc.”

“It's a good thing you came for me, then, Travis,” Ben answered, hunkering down to eye level with the youngster. “Your pa will be proud of you.”

“I sent our ranch hand out lookin' for him.”

“Good thinking.” Ben gave the lad's shoulder a squeeze.

“Thee'th thith way,” came a soft voice from the shadows. The younger of the two boys stepped forward in his nightclothes, his chest stuck out proudly even as he clutched a blanket in his chubby little hand.