Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) by Debra Holland Page B

breakfast, Caleb pondered the puzzle of his relationship with Maggie Baxter. While he doubted even the severest critics would impugn her reputation for being alone with him—not given all that had happened—he wondered if he now was responsible for her and Charlotte in the eyes of society. His heart stuttered at the thought, and he wasn’t sure if the reaction was from fear or excitement.
    He’d wanted a wife. Had the accident been God’s way of giving me one—and a daughter, as well? Goose bumps shivered down his arms. Maggie certainly didn’t fit the characteristics he’d wanted in a wife. For heaven’s sake, a woman who appeared to have a Gypsy heritage? How can I even consider marrying her?
    But Caleb knew he liked Maggie and admired her courage. They now shared a bond. Is that enough for a marriage, especially considering our differences? Would I come to regret marrying her?
    With a wooden spoon, he stirred the cornmeal mush in the pot, as if shaking the thoughts out of his head. Now’s not the time to figure out my obligations to Maggie Baxter.
    Wishing he had more appetizing food than cornmeal mush and jerky, he brought a bowl over to Maggie where she sat with her back to the tree, a pillow cushioning her spine, holding the sleeping baby. He crouched at her level and held out the bowl. “Trade you food for a small girl child.”
    She eyed the bowl. “I think you’ll have to raise the stakes.”
    “I’ll give you a voucher, valid tomorrow. I’ll even throw in dessert.”
    “Apple pie?” Maggie’s eyes lit up. She playfully licked her lips, going along with their joking.
    That flick of her tongue made Caleb notice how kissable her wide mouth was. Don’t even think such thoughts . A new widow, a new mother. . . . He set the bowl on the ground and took Charlotte from her. “Eat,” he ordered, perhaps more sternly than necessary. “You need to keep up your strength.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “As you command.” She picked up the bowl.
    “I do.” Caleb settled into a cross-legged sitting position with the baby on his lap. He extended a finger to Charlotte, who grabbed it. “I wish I had more to offer you. My housekeeper only packed enough food for the journey to Morgan’s Crossing.”
    Maggie gave him a rueful smile. “Oswald quarreled with Michael Morgan, who fired him and ordered us to leave town. Oswald refused to allow me to shop for supplies before we left, even though Mr. Morgan had given him his final wages. “Well,” she said, shrugging, “at least he didn’t have time to drink them away at the saloon.”
    Caleb frowned. The more he heard about Oswald Baxter, the less he regretted the man’s death. “That reminds me. I emptied your husband’s pockets before I buried him. I have his handkerchief, watch, and money.”
    Her eyes shot wide in a look of horror. “I didn’t even think of that. By the time I remembered, it would have been too late.”
    “Stop, Maggie,” Caleb chided. “That didn’t happen. There’s no need to be so hard on yourself, especially given all you’ve been through.” He jiggled the baby a bit, making a funny face at her. “Right, Charlotte?” he said in a fatuous tone. “You agree with me? Your mother should rest easy.”
    Her expression eased. “I guess you’re right. I do have an active imagination.”
    He gestured for her to continue eating. “As much as I wish we could reach Sweetwater Springs today, neither you nor your gelding can travel that distance. But I don’t want us camping in the open, either. There’s a small way station about an hour from here, longer, of course, at the snail’s pace we’ll need to travel. But we’ll be safe indoors and can sleep in peace. The extra day will give you and your horse more time to heal.”
    Maggie glanced at the caravan, her expression showing an obvious sense of reluctance. “My grandparents built that vardo when they came to America. We had more family back then. My great-uncle also built