Part 4 (2/2)
”I suppose you're right.”
”When we return home, I'll have Oswald's remains dug up and transported to Sweet.w.a.ter 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 she was going against convention, and Caleb struck her as a very conventional man. ”I don't want Charlotte to visit his grave, either, thinking she can talk to her father. I'd rather she not think about the man who sired her.”
”That's not something a child forgets, Maggie,” he said in a patient tone. ”Charlotte will know she had a father. She'll ask questions. What will you tell her?”
”I don't know.” Maggie looked away. ”But I have plenty of years to figure it out.”
Caleb sighed. ”All right. I'll honor your wishes.” Suddenly looking weary, he rubbed his forehead. ”Truth be told, I understand your stance.”
The fight went out of her. ”Thank you.” Maggie glanced at the fire, at the dead wood he'd dragged nearby to dry, and decided to change the subject. ”Why don't you build a second fire, and we can sleep between them? You can't stay awake all night.”
”I'll do whatever I need to guard you and Charlotte.”
His protectiveness made a thrill shoot through her. But still, Maggie couldn't allow herself to lean on this man, whom she'd known only for a few hours-no matter what they'd gone through together or how close she felt to him. ”We can take turns keeping watch. There's a rifle in the vardo, under the seat.”
”I have one, too.”
”Good. We'll both be prepared. I'll have you know I'm a crack shot.”
He gave her a smile of admiration. ”Why doesn't that surprise me?”
At his words, a glow spread through her. ”Oswald didn't appreciate how I could out-shoot him.”
Caleb threw back his head and laughed. ”I don't doubt it. Any other time, I wouldn't appreciate it, either. Not that I'm much of a shot with the rifle anyway. I'm a banker, remember? I've no need or interest in hunting. But the Colt is a different matter.” He patted his hip where the pistol would rest if he were still wearing his gun belt. ”You can't live in a Western frontier town, be responsible for a great deal of money, and not know how to use a gun.”
Maggie sensed he wasn't a man given to unrestrained laughter, and the fact that he'd done so over her ability to shoot-a topic that had infuriated Oswald-made her feel a warm connection with him.
Caleb patted her shoulder. ”After your ordeal, you'll need your sleep.” He raised a hand to still the protest she was about to make. ”I'll build a second fire as you suggested. You can keep your rifle next to you. I'll wake you if there's a reason.”
She smiled at him. ”Thank you for everything.”
He gazed at her with an intense look in his eyes. ”Sleep, Maggie. I promise, I'll keep you both safe.”
Maggie allowed herself to relax. But even as she drifted into slumber, she told herself not to become too dependent on Caleb Livingston's protection.
CHAPTER FOUR.
Despite lying between two campfires, Caleb slept fitfully, a hand near his rifle. Even in his sleep, he was conscious of an instinctive need to guard the woman and child entrusted by the Almighty to his care.
During the night, Charlotte had awoken several times, letting out a hungry cry, which startled him awake. Maggie awkwardly changed Charlotte's diaper, her movements indicating the pain and stiffness of her body.
In the glow of the fire, he watched Maggie nurse the baby, conscious of the rare opportunity for an unmarried man to gaze his fill at the age-old maternal act of a woman giving sustenance from her body. He wondered if all fathers felt the same awe at the sight. Then he marveled that he felt like a father to the child.
Once in the predawn dark, they'd left the baby bundled up on the bed, while he carried Maggie to use the privy. Afterward, she snuggled with her daughter, and both dropped back to sleep.
Each time, he lingered in wakefulness, watching the flickering firelight play over her features until sheer exhaustion carried him under. But even then, nightmares disturbed his sleep-replaying the events of the day, increasing all his helplessness and guilt.
Something startled him awake. Heart thumping, Caleb grabbed his Winchester and surged to his feet, raising the rifle. With a swift glance to make sure Maggie and Charlotte slept, he surveyed his surroundings.
Gray dawn light filtered through the trees. He strained to hear any sound, but the blood beating in his ears m.u.f.fled his hearing. Slowly he pivoted, not seeing or sensing any danger. For the first time, Caleb regretted not spending time learning woodsman skills.
A bird chirped in a nearby tree, breaking the stillness of the early morning. Surely the bird would be silent if danger threatened. He lowered the rifle, realizing his arms, shoulders, and back ached from carrying Maggie around, as well as the other unaccustomed labor he'd done the previous day.
This time Caleb took a longer look at the sleeping woman. When his gaze dropped to Charlotte, he was surprised to see the baby's eyes were open. He moved closer and crouched to gently brush the back of his finger across her cheek. He'd never felt anything so soft.
Her lips moving, Charlotte turned her face toward his finger.
Obeying a mad impulse, he slid his hands under the infant's head and bottom, scooping her from her mother's arms, making sure to bundle the blanket around her. He brought the baby to his chest, marveling at how tiny she was, and tucked his coat around her to s.h.i.+eld her from the chill breeze.
She made a cooing noise.
Fearing the baby might wake Maggie when she needed healing sleep, Caleb carried Charlotte with him, climbing up the hill to the road, careful of his footing in the dim light. He walked toward his surrey, the wind at his back, from time-to-time glancing down at the baby to see how she fared.
Charlotte didn't seem to mind being taken away from her mother, for she stared at him with wide eyes.
When he reached the surrey, Caleb climbed into the seat and settled the baby on his lap. The air was warmer inside, for the back of the surrey blocked the breeze. ”Yesterday, you didn't exist in the world, little one, except as a dream of your mother's,” he told her in a low intimate tone.
Her blue eyes tracked the sound of his voice. She turned her head.
It seemed to him that Charlotte already displayed character and personality. She's her own little person. What had I expected? Probably something more larvalike. The thought made him laugh.
Caleb continued the conversation that didn't feel at all one-sided. ”If all had gone as planned yesterday, by now, I'd be in Morgan's Crossing. I would have pa.s.sed your family's wagon-barely giving your parents a nod and wondering about the outlandishness of a Gypsy caravan in the wilderness of Montana-before they traveled out of sight. Even if they'd settled in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs, I might never have met your parents-that is, not to actually converse with. By your mama's account, your father wasn't a man I'd care to be around. I might have seen them in church or done business with them at the bank. But probably, they would never have had enough money to use the bank.”
Caleb fell silent, marveling at all that had taken place in the last twenty-four hours. That saying-that life can turn on a five-cent piece has just happened to me. To Maggie and Charlotte, as well.
A tiny hand thrust out from the blanket.
Caleb started to fold the baby's arm back inside the warmth of the blanket, but Charlotte grasped his finger. He paused, marveling at the strength in her grip, and studied the tiny fingers and delicate sh.e.l.l fingernails. Lowering his head, he kissed her hand before tucking it back inside the blanket.
I'm transformed. Caleb wasn't sure in what way-just that he was different because of this precious child in his arms. Nor did he quite know what that meant for the future.
Charlotte's not yours. Don't become attached.
Too late. He became conscious of a sense of elation, of a wave of intense emotion was.h.i.+ng over him, deepening his bond with this child. Love? Tears sheened his eyes. Could a father feel more intensely for his daughter than what Caleb felt for Charlotte? He couldn't imagine loving his own baby more. Charlotte feels like she belongs to me.
He gazed over the valley in front of him, framed by distant peaks. Pink and orange streaked across the blue-gray dawn sky, washed with shades of purple. Mauve clouds with jagged edges floated over the low golden light of the rising sun.
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