"Pa says that to tease Mama," Christine explained. "Makes her angry. Well, not really angry, but she pretends to be. She doesn't like when he calls the Falabellas midgets."

"She doesn't like anyone calling them midgets," Daniel said with a sage nod. "Gets her dander up."

Ben made a mental note to be careful. With a new surge of shame, he realized he'd used the term in derision before when he was still trying to cause trouble. Ben thought of the lesson he'd just learned. Or maybe, I should just come clean. He lowered his hands. "I've called them midgets before."

Daniel tipped his head and sent Ben an impish smile. "We know."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A week later, Caleb started for home early from the bank. Now that Maggie's ankle had healed, he wanted to take her to see the hotel. The day was bright with a moderate temperature, perfect for a stroll. The blue expanse of sky was clear of clouds. The sun had shone for three days, and except for a few lingering puddles, the mud had hardened to the right consistency. The ground was firm enough that one's feet didn't sink and soft enough to squish the ridges caused by wheel tracks, which when dried to clay could cause a walker to trip or teeter and turn an ankle.

Lately, he hadn't seen much of Maggie. When he was home, she spent a lot of time in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Graves. She seemed to have stopped having nightmares, or if she did, she didn't cry out and wake him. And with her new mobility, he had no excuse to remain with her at night to carry her to the bathroom or help her tend Charlotte. Caleb found he missed the intimacy of those special nights.

In the evenings, they no longer congregated in her bedroom, and the chess game had been moved downstairs. After supper, the group adjourned to the parlor, where he read the paper while Ben and Maggie played chess. Wonder of wonders, Maggie had coaxed Edith into playing the piano. Not long after his sister and nephew had moved here, she'd lost interest in her music. Even when he had downright asked her to play, she'd refused. But the power of Maggie's Gypsy magic proved to be too much for Edith's stubborn nature to withstand.

At first, his sister had played woodenly, as if by rote. But soon, he noticed the music starting to flow, and, once again, Edith played with a small smile on her face.

Caleb grinned at the memory and prepared to turn into the walkway of his home. The lilac bushes had burst into bloom, sending their sweet fragrance wafting his way. He stopped and studied them, an idea forming. Maggie hasn't seen the backyard yet-my romantic backyard.

He heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him and turned to see Samantha Thompson driving her small buggy pulled by two miniature horses. On her head was a man's brown cowboy hat, and auburn tendrils escaped her low bun and blew around her face. She wore a sheepskin coat and a pale blue scarf was wrapped around her neck, drawing attention to her cornflower blue eyes. She carried a bundle strapped to her front with what looked like a bedsheet.

He wondered if she'd be willing to wait a few minutes so he could go fetch Maggie to see the Falabellas.

Mrs. Thompson reined in next to him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Livingston. I hear you're in need of my horses. Magical need." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She'd put on a little weight since the birth of her daughter in January, which became her.

Although not quite sure what she meant, Caleb wasn't about to pa.s.s up the opportunity. He bestowed his most charming smile on her. "You must have read my mind, Mrs. Thompson. I have a guest staying with me whom I've told about your little horses. She didn't believe me, so I'm challenged to produce them to prove I'm telling the truth."

Mrs. Thompson laughed. "I can do you one better. Why don't you take your guest for a drive to that fancy hotel of yours and back?"

"There you go, reading my mind again. Mrs. Baxter hasn't yet seen the hotel, and I was just planning on taking her for a stroll to see the place."

"My little Pattycake, here-" she patted the bundle on her chest that turned out to be her baby "-and I are calling on Mrs. Graves."

Caleb c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "No one visits Mrs. Graves if they can possibly help it."

A smile played about her lips. "Yes, but I intend to coax that pickle recipe out of her."

He chuckled. "Best of luck. My housekeeper doesn't easily give up her recipes. Miss Bellaire tried a few days ago to no avail."

"Mrs. Graves reticence is well known." With a maternal smile, she glanced down at her daughter before looking up. "But my Patricia has all our cowboys falling over to do her homage. I was hoping your housekeeper might also be susceptible."

Inwardly amused, he gave a mock mournful shake of his head. "I'm afraid you and Patricia are doomed to failure. Mrs. Graves has not even bent to smile at Mrs. Baxter's Charlotte, who is quite as much a charmer as your daughter."

The mischief was back in Mrs. Thomson's eyes. "I cannot accept defeat without trying."

"Far be it from me to stop you, especially if that means I can take my skeptical guest for a drive." He tipped his head toward the house. "Do you want to first come inside? Or should I bring out Mrs. Baxter?"

"I'd better go in and meet your guest. If you do take Mrs. Baxter for a ride, she can leave her baby with me. You two will be crowded enough as it is." Mrs. Thompson tied off the reins.

Caleb went around the buggy to help her out.

First, she handed him a leather satchel, which he suspected held diapers and other baby essentials. Previous to Charlotte, he wouldn't have noticed nor thought of such a necessity, for he never knew how much baby paraphernalia was required to take a little one out of the house.

He extended a hand, which Mrs. Thompson accepted in order to leverage herself out of the buggy without disturbing her baby.

He peered at her sleeping daughter, whom he couldn't remember seeing before. Have the Thompsons been to church since Samantha delivered, or have I just never noticed babies before?

Patricia lay with her face turned toward Caleb. She wore a pink knitted bonnet and was wrapped in a matching blanket. The baby was noticeably bigger than Charlotte, with her mother's auburn brows and lashes. Probably the same hair color, too. Having a recollection of a very pregnant Samantha Thompson at the Christmas party, he thought the baby was about four or five months old.

He was surprised to see that even without the color differences, he would have been able to tell Patricia and Charlotte apart, no matter if both girls were the same size. And here I thought all tiny babies looked alike.

Carrying the satchel, Caleb opened the wrought-iron gate and ushered Mrs. Thompson up the brick walkway leading toward the front entrance. Once on the porch, he opened the front door for her. "I suspect Mrs. Baxter is helping Mrs. Graves." He waved to the hall on the left that led to the kitchen. "Would you like to leave your coat and all here?" He reached over to tap a hook on the hall tree.

Mrs. Thompson took off her hat and unwound the scarf from around her neck. She gave both to Caleb, before gently pulling off her daughter's hat and handing it over.

He set down the satchel, hung up her hat and scarf, and then extended his arms for the baby. "I can hold your daughter for you. I've become quite proficient." He sent her a self-depreciating grin. "I've had quite a bit of practice lately."

Again, Mrs. Thompson gave him a speculative glance that he couldn't read. "Best not. I don't want to wake her. If you could just help me. . .? The next part is tricky, at least if I want Patricia to stay asleep. I'll unb.u.t.ton my coat. If you can slide it off. . .?"

The task involved more than the usual polite slipping a coat or shawl from around a lady's shoulders. He had to stand close and a.s.sist the woman in wiggling out of the coat. After helping Maggie give birth, this situation didn't faze him, although before that event, he would have felt self-conscious touching Mrs. Thompson's shoulders and arms. Still, he was glad her husband wasn't around to observe the intimacies.

Success at last. He took the coat and hung the garment on the hall tree. And just in time.

The sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall told him quicksilver Maggie approached. Once the woman could move on her own steam, she surprised him by never walking at a slow pace. Today, she was wearing a plain white shirtwaist with the navy skirt and carrying Charlotte. Her hair was pulled back in a braided bun.

She stopped abruptly, eying Samantha Thompson with interest. "Oh, I didn't hear the door."

"We came in together," Caleb explained. "Mrs. Thompson, meet our guest, Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. Baxter, this is Samantha Thompson. She's the owner of the miniature horses I told you about. Remember how you didn't believe me?"

"I was in the middle of giving-" Maggie broke off the sentence, obviously recalling their secret about Charlotte's birth. She deliberately turned her shoulder to him, playfully slighting him. "I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Thompson." She eyed the sling. "That's an interesting contraption you're using."

"I need both hands for driving, so I rigged it up. So far, it's been working well. Helps to have my hands free." Mrs. Thompson waved her hands, and then leaned over to see Charlotte's face. "So pretty." She smoothed a hand over her daughter's head. "We'll have to admire each other's babies."

Maggie scrunched a face. "You'll have to admire Charlotte in a few minutes after I've changed her. She's a bit smelly at the moment."

Caleb became aware of the odor and was glad he no longer was helping Maggie change the baby. Stinky diapers are best left to the mother.

Samantha smiled in understanding and patted her daughter. "If you don't mind, I'll come along. I'm sure this one needs a new diaper soon, as well. We had a long drive in from the ranch. I had to bring Patricia, because the whole trip would be too long to be away from her. I didn't want to risk a hungry baby with me not there to feed her."

"You drove to town by yourself?" Maggie looked at her in astonishment as she jiggled Charlotte. "Your husband doesn't mind?"

Samantha gave her a catlike smile. "My husband doesn't know. My dear Wyatt does tend to be overbearing at times. He has this protective streak and often thinks he knows what's best," she said blithely. "I've found the best way to handle him is to go about my business and tell him afterward."

Maggie stilled, apparently taking in what Samantha said and comparing the Thompson's marriage to hers and Oswald's.

While Caleb approved of a woman feeling free to go about her business-women's business-he thought Samantha went too far.

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' relationship 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 joshing sarcasm. "Have I become the arbiter of fashion?" 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, wishing 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.