Part 21 (2/2)

A smile slowly bloomed across Maggie's face. ”Mrs. Thompson, you've given me some food for thought.”

Caleb inwardly groaned.

Mrs. Thompson laughed. ”If that's the case, then you'll need to call me Samantha. If I'm going to be putting ideas into your head, we shouldn't be so formal.” She shot Caleb an impish glance from under lowered lashes. ”Isn't that right, Mr. Livingston?”

He held up his free hand in an I surrender gesture. ”All right, Mrs. Thompson. You've made your point. But I stand by what I said at the time when we first met. Ranching is hard work for a woman. Running your spread by yourself would have been too much.”

Maggie glanced between the two of them, her brow furrowed.

Mrs. Thompson looked at her. ”When I first moved here, I applied for a loan to fix up the run-down ranch I'd inherited.”

”Ahhh. I can guess what happened.” Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. ”Shame on you, Caleb. I can obviously see Samantha is quite capable.”

”Yes, and very determined,” Caleb said, sotto voce. ”She's also married to one of the biggest ranchers around.”

Samantha frowned and held up a finger. ”I was starting to turn my ranch around before I married Wyatt.”

Charlotte squirmed and started to cry.

Perfect timing, Charlotte. Caleb could tell neither woman appreciated the stance he'd taken on Samantha's ranch. I stand by my decision.

Hopefully, the babies will be enough of a distraction so their mothers wouldn't continue the topic of the evil banker. An upset Maggie will not bode well for my afternoon plans.

Her red shawl wrapped around her shoulders, black hat already planted on her head, Maggie hurried down the staircase, still slightly bewildered as to how she'd just been talked into handing over her baby to a stranger. But Samantha doesn't feel like a stranger.

Maggie liked Samantha's combination of intelligence, warmth, and humor and was incensed by her new friend's recounting of how Caleb had denied her a loan just because she was a woman. She wondered if he was opposed to females owning any type of business. Surely not, she thought with a sudden feeling of anxiety. That will not bode well for my plans about the bathhouse.

Then she remembered: A few days ago, Caleb had brought home some candy from Sugarplum Dreams. When they'd eaten the marzipan treats, he'd praised the business ac.u.men of the proprietor, Julia Ritter.

Once more, Maggie thought of the woman she'd left upstairs with the babies. She was awed by Samantha's strength with her husband-an overbearing husband. Samantha had said her opposition to her husband's dictates had sometimes resulted in fireworks between them, but the way her eyes sparkled hinted of pa.s.sionate reconciliations. Maggie decided the Thompsons' relations.h.i.+p required more thinking.

At another time. Now Caleb's taking me for a ride in a miniature buggy.

She reached the large half landing and made the turn to take the lower stairs, grateful to move without pain.

The man himself stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the round newel post. He looked up.

His smile wrapped charming cords around her heart, making it difficult to breathe. Nonsense, Maggie told herself. It's just this tight corset. Still unable to catch her breath, she slowed her steps.

Caleb extended a hand to help her down the rest of the way.

His admiring look made warmth swirl in her belly.

”I was right about how good that red shawl would look on you. I'm glad you chose to wear it rather than the black.”

”Well, if you approve, then it must be all right.”

He ignored her jos.h.i.+ng sarcasm. ”Have I become the arbiter of fas.h.i.+on?” he asked in a tone of amus.e.m.e.nt, a smile glinting in his eyes. ”I'll wager Samantha Thompson gave her approval, else you'd have come down here wearing the black.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose at his astuteness but said nothing, allowing him to lead her from the house.

Outside, Caleb tucked her hand through his arm and escorted her down the brick walkway.

She could see the Falabella horses. .h.i.tched to the buggy. ”Oh, my.” Maggie didn't dare look at Caleb, not wanting to see him gloat about correctly predicting her reaction to the miniature horses. Instead, she let go of his arm when he opened the gate then hurried through and over to the small horses-one gray, and the other brown with a black mane. ”You little darlings!”

Caleb followed behind. ”Chico is the brown stallion, and Mariposa is the gray mare.”

Maggie stroked the head of the brown one, wis.h.i.+ng she had a carrot.

Caleb extended a hand, cupping two halves of a carrot.

She looked up at him, astonished. ”How did you know I wanted to give them a treat?”

He shrugged, but a smile played about his mouth. ”With the Falabellas, it's an inevitable impulse. Few people can resist falling in love and wanting to spoil them.”

Dividing the pieces into each hand, Maggie fed the two horses at the same time, and then petted and stroked them while they chomped away.

Caleb touched her arm. ”Come, we are only borrowing them, so we cannot be long.”

”You're right.” Maggie allowed him to lead her to the pa.s.senger side and help her climb into the miniature conveyance. She smoothed her skirt and adjusted her shawl.

When he went around to the driver's side and climbed in to join her, the buggy gave a dip.

She cast him a look of alarm. ”Are we going to be too heavy?”

”No. We're only going down the street to the hotel and back. The road is flat and dry.”

Maggie settled back. The confines of the seat meant they nestled leg-to-leg and shoulder-to-shoulder in pleasurable closeness.

Caleb wasn't wearing gloves, and she admired the strength of his hands as he held the reins and directed the Falabellas.

For a few minutes, she watched the miniature team and marveled that such small creatures could pull them. This is like being in a fairy tale-magical horses, a handsome prince-and I'm Magdalena, the Gypsy princess.

The few people on the street stopped and gaped as they went by.

In her role as Gypsy princess, Maggie gave them a regal wave, similar to Edith's but with more friendliness.

”Don't mind them,” Caleb said. ”They're trying to figure out why we're driving the Thompson's buggy.”

She suppressed a laugh. ”I suppose we'll be the topic people discuss around the supper table tonight.”

”Could be worse,” he said, raising an eyebrow, reminding her of what they'd been through and how much greater the gossip could be.

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