Rocky Mountain Redemption Page 17
Ben had saved lives. He’d been an instrument of healing in God’s hands for many townsfolk. He’d been a source of comfort for those who passed on to their eternal reward.
But he didn’t know if he’d ever felt quite as good as he did right now, holding Callie’s daughter—Max’s daughter.
Just hours ago he’d ridden away from Thomas Blanchard’s farm, his pocketbook empty and his arms full of a precious little girl.
He couldn’t help but smile down at the child as she slept. Her breathing even and deep as she dreamed, her sweet face passing from an expression of peace to stubbornness to moments of apprehension that made his heart surge with protectiveness.
Ben saw Callie, through and through.
Callie…a welcome breath of fresh air in his stale life. Callie…a beautiful young woman with courage that made his heart hurt. Callie…an uncharted treasure with walls so thick he wondered if he’d ever get through.
If ever he thought he might be falling in love with Callie, it was now. He glanced at the woman who’d shown up on his doorstep just four short weeks ago. Her big blue eyes were suspended in pools of unshed tears as she peered almost reverently at her daughter.
Her face contorted with emotion, real and raw. As if she didn’t know what to feel. How to feel. Or whether to trust that this little girl was really hers.
Ben had thought Callie would’ve scooped the child up in her arms and hugged her till she could hug no more. But instead, she threaded her hands nervously at her waist, as if holding her own child would break some kind of magical spell.
It’d been no small task getting her child back, and over the past hours Ben had thanked God plenty for blanketing him with favor and protection.
It was another matter altogether to break through the mistrust and reserve ruling Callie’s every move. That loomed before him as an even bigger undertaking. He had to trust that God was big enough to handle a slight young woman like her, because Ben didn’t know if he could gain control over the way his heart beat a sure and steady rhythm for Callie.
But finding just the right moment when he could confront her about the truth of her past, the truth of her present and her plans for her future seemed a difficult undertaking. There was the child now…little Libby. And Ben had no intention of letting the auburn-haired, delicate-boned, flesh-and-blood remnant of Max go.
A few days ago, when Callie had discovered the paper, signing the child over to Blanchard, Ben had wondered if Max hadn’t wanted the child because the baby had been a product of some other man’s lust. But once Ben had the little one safe in his arms and several hundred feet away from Blanchard’s stingy grasp, he’d looked at the little girl closely. The moment she’d flashed him even a hint of a smile, he knew that this child belonged to Max.
Along with all of the perfect and utterly feminine physical attributes that clearly pointed to Callie as her mother, the child had the distinct, telltale dimples bracketing her rosebud lips. Just like Max.
“Who’s the girl?” Luke furrowed his brow, his questioning gaze nearly lost behind a thick sweep of blond hair. He folded his arms against his chest in such an adult manner that Ben fought to hide his grin.
“Her name is Libby,” Ben answered when he heard Luke shift his boots impatiently against the wood floor.
The little girl sat in front of the crackling fireplace, her attention fixed on the picture book in her lap. She’d been in Boulder for almost two days now, and had taken to following him around whenever he wasn’t out on a call, chattering on and on, just as Luke often did.
She’d won his heart, just like her mama had won his heart.
But Ben couldn’t ignore the awkwardness that seemed apparent whenever Callie was with her daughter. She’d watch her mama with a keen, studying gaze, the warmth and openness she readily showed with Ben turning up missing with her mama, as if she hadn’t decided whether to trust her as she had Ben.
Both Callie and Ben had talked with Libby the morning after she’d arrived. The little girl had planted herself on Ben’s lap, clinging to his neck as they told her that this was her new home now. That Ben was her uncle. Callie, her mama.
He’d been hard-pressed not to tear up when she’d flashed him a bright grin and hugged him so tight, he thought she might never let him go. But the pained vulnerability apparent on Callie’s face when her daughter draped her arms around her neck in a loose-fitting and hesitant hug was hard to ignore.
Luke gave a curt snort. “So…where’s she from?”
“She came from down around Golden. She’s Miss Callie’s daughter.” Hunkering down a bit, he settled a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “And she’s come to live with her.”
The boy’s eyes grew wide with surprise as he slid his gaze to where Callie walked into the room. He’d fallen over himself to please her, and suddenly his surly expression turned congenial. Just like that. “Yer daughter?”
Callie gave Luke a quick hug. “Yes.”
“Maybe I could bring my kittens by to show yer girl. You know how girls like them kinda things.”
Before Ben or Callie could get out one word of response, Luke marched over to Libby and plunked down beside her.
“Hi.” He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Luke.”
The shy smile Libby gave him brightened the room, just like Callie’s did when she smiled. “Hello.”
Luke roped his lanky arms around his raised knees. “I got me some kittens.”
Shrugging, the little girl glanced back at Ben. “Uncle Ben’s got kitties, too.”
“Molly and Smudge? I know them cats.” With a sorry shake of his head, Luke acted as though the felines that he’d painstakingly helped Ben care for were suddenly old news. “My cats…they’re kittens. They’re babies,” he added, dragging out the word babies, as if Libby was ignorant of the English language.
Ben turned and caught a forlorn smile pass momentarily across Callie’s face. She fingered the locket at her neck.
“Oh, I love little kitties,” Libby cooed, as if he’d opened a treasure box of brilliant baubles. “Are they fluffy? What color are they? Can I see them?”
Luke rolled his eyes. “You can see ’em. But ya gotta promise me somethin’ first.”
Libby scrambled to her knees, clapping her hands together. “I promise. I promise.”
Inching away, Luke’s brow furrowed in an exaggerated look of alarm, but beneath the apprehension Ben felt sure a tender smile lay in wait. “Ya cain’t make a promise when ya don’ know what yer promisin’.” He threw a determined gaze over to Ben. “Can she, Ben?”
He chuckled, pulling his hand over his freshly shaved jaw. “Well, I—”
“Ya hafta’ be real careful with my kittens, cuz they’re still young’uns.” Fumbling with the new leather strings Ben had laced through his boots the other day, Luke set his focus on his new charge, drawing his chin up a notch. “But they’re gonna grow up to be real good hunters. Prolly the best in town, I’m thinkin’. I’ll be a doctor jest like Ben, and I might even be a cat trainer, too.”
Libby’s mouth dropped open. “Are you teachin’ ’em how to hunt?”
“Not yet, silly.” He gave a long, loud sigh. “They’re still babies. Won’t be long ’fore I start learnin’ ’em, though.”
“Teaching them,” Ben corrected with a chuckle.
“Yep. Teachin’ ’em.” With one slim finger, he tapped the correction into his head. “I been figurin’ it all out, how I’m gonna do that.”
“Oh, maybe I can help.” Libby wriggled her dainty fingers beneath her chin. “I’d be real good at it. I just know.”
Ben turned to Callie, fully expecting to see her face beaming with pride. But the troubled expression marring her beautiful features took him aback. When she caught him staring at her, he tried for a half grin and nodded to the children. “I’d say they’re doing just fine together, wouldn’t you?” he whispered.
“It looks that way.” The too-quick, bleak smile plastered on her face hit him like a heavy weight against his c
hest. “I’m glad she’ll have a friend like Luke.”
He would’ve thought she’d be beside herself with joy. Her daughter was alive—very much so—and back with Callie where she belonged. Libby seemed to be adjusting so well, as if coming here to live had been a wonderful gift.
There were so many reasons to smile. To rejoice.
So why the long face?
Luke shoved himself up from the floor, jammed one stray tail of his shirt back into his britches. “Well, I’m not sayin’ one way or t’other yet. Gotta see how ya fair with ’em. If’n they take to ya, then maybe.”
Libby sprang up and grabbed his arm on a muffled shriek.
“Maybe,” he reiterated with direct firmness.
Libby clamped her hands down to her sides, bunching her fists around the new pink dress Ben had bought for her yesterday. “My mama always told me I was good at everything.”
“Miss Callie?” Luke cocked his head.
“No.” She shook her head. “My mama back at my old home. She died right b’fore summertime.”
Luke shoved a hand in his coat pocket. He raised his eyebrows and peered at her in the most honest and earnest expression Ben had ever seen on the boy. And Ben was proud. Darn proud of the way Luke seemed to consider a six-year-old little girl’s feelings.
“You still sad ’bout that?”
“Yes. ’Specially when I go to bed.” She turned and met Ben’s gaze, and when she gave him a shy smile, he was sure his heart would swell right through his rib cage. “But Uncle Ben came and got me. And he’s real nice.”
Ben’s throat suddenly burned with a thick, raw lump. Seeing the adoring smile on Libby’s face, he’d do it all again—paying the thick wad of money he had to bring the little girl home. She was worth every last cent.
So was Callie. He’d gone after the girl for Callie.
How could he not? When he’d heard the torture in Callie’s cry? Seen the anguish in her crumpled features? Felt the agony in her rigid form?
The wrenching emotions had seemed to pour from some deep well that she’d stopped up for a long time—and they’d been there because of Max. Had Max not done something so cruel in the first place, Callie wouldn’t have had to endure the past six years of grief.
As much as he hated to see her hurt like that, it was a relief knowing that she’d been freed of some of the secrets of her past. But looking at her now, the way her eyes were shuttered, and the way she couldn’t seem to manage much more than a wane expression, he wondered what had happened. Just a week ago, she’d been much softer toward him. But she’d closed herself off almost as firmly as before.
What secrets did she still hold?
Ben eased from his contemplation when he heard Luke clomping over to stand beside him.
“You better believe Ben’s nice. Ben and me, we been friends fer a while.” Luke nudged Ben’s arm like a puppy begging for attention. Folding his arms at his chest, he peered down his slightly crooked nose at Libby and added, “Actually, a long, long time. Prolly longer than you can even count.”
Ben laughed and set his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re definitely my helper, aren’t you, Luke?”
“Yep.” He worked his way into the crook of Ben’s arm. “I’m his helper.”
Holding his free hand out to the little girl, Ben added, “And Libby can be my helper, too. A fella can never have enough helpers, now can he?”
With wary optimism, Luke peered at the girl. “S’pose not.”
She promptly took her place at Ben’s other side, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her mama stood there, too.
Ben tried not to take notice, but the way Callie wrapped herself in a strangled hug, and the way she slid anxious glances to her daughter, she appeared as nervous as a cat in a room full of stomping boots. He didn’t know how to help her. Didn’t know what to do to ease her discomfort.
After Ben sent Luke and Libby off to traipse around outside in the barn, he walked into the exam room where Callie was busily organizing an already perfectly ordered supply shelf.
“Is there something wrong?” He came to a halt behind her.
Her fingers stilled on the small tins she’d been moving. “No. I’m fine.”
Resting a hand on her shoulder, he released a sigh. “I can’t claim to know you all that well, but if you don’t mind me saying so, you look nowhere near fine.” Grasping her upper arms, he turned her around to face him. “Are things not going well with you and Libby?”
“We’ll be just fine.” She shrugged, as if to remove his touch.
He refused to let her spurn his concern. He caught her gaze, wanting to find the same softness he’d seen there when they’d danced. When she’d softened to his gentleness. Melted to his touch. She’d felt so right in his arms, as if she’d been created just for him, and he for her. At that very moment he’d all but convinced himself that God had been masterful in the way He’d turned a very tragic, traumatic and tricky situation for good.
“Callie, what happened in the last few days?” He angled a concerned look down at her. “I mean, I know you’ve faced some big changes, but something is different.”
She set her focus just past him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were softening. I was hoping that maybe you were starting to trust me.” He ducked his head to meet her blank stare. “What happened to that vulnerability?”
What could he have possibly done to push her away? He’d gone to great lengths to make her happy.
But why was he so determined to earn her trust when he was still a long way from trusting her?
Just yesterday he’d discovered his small weight scale missing. A large item like that certainly wasn’t something he’d just misplace. The stethoscope, the tweezers, the roll of gauze and even the bottle of iodine were items he could misplace. But a scale?
He wouldn’t have drawn his conclusion to Callie taking them, if not for the fact that these things hadn’t started disappearing until days after her arrival.
And then there hung the constant question about her past. Aaron had made enough crude remarks as to her morality. Then there was Pete’s testimony. And she had shown up wearing a dress not fit for any kind of upstanding company. She hadn’t even seemed ashamed, or embarrassed. As though the dress was part of her…just Callie.
But every time he allowed his thoughts to wander to that precarious edge of suspicion, he’d turn tail and flee the other direction. Nothing—nothing about Callie would point to that being some murky part of her history. She didn’t flaunt herself as a harlot would. She didn’t hold herself with that self-protection-dripping arrogance. She didn’t look at men with that sultry, half-lidded gaze meant to reel in prey.
She was just Callie.
And regardless of the way things looked with the dress and the missing items and the eyewitness testimony, he wanted to believe she was innocent.
When he looked down at Callie again and saw the way she hiked her chin up a notch, in that sweet way he’d marveled at from the beginning, he felt his heart snagged again. The desire to take care of her overwhelmed him. He wanted to see her free—really free from the pain and anguish of her past. To see her dream again. Because she’d likely not done any dreaming from the day she’d married Max.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ben.” Closing her eyes, she gave a slow, disheartened sigh. “I’m trying. Really I am.”
When he attempted to pull her close, his heart sank at the way she stiffened. “It’s going to take some time for Libby to adjust. This is a big change for her, Callie. For you, too.”
She shook her head. “I’m so afraid I won’t be enough for Libby.”
“You’ll be more than enough,” he said, smoothing a hand down her arm. “You’ll be a wonderful mother for her.”
“I don’t know…” When Callie nibbled on her lower lip, Ben had to force his gaze elsewhere. “She doesn’t seem to notice I’m around—not like she notices you, or Luke, or even Katie and Joseph.”
She threaded her fingers at her chest. “I know that she loved her mother, Blanchard’s wife…”
“She might be struggling with feeling disloyal if she gets too close to you.” He wished he had the words that would take away all of her apprehension. Especially when her brow furrowed even more, and she stepped away from his touch. “Just you watch, Callie. She’ll be drawn to you soon enough. She’ll be at your elbow wanting to bake bread with you or help you make supper.”
For a long time she stood there, close enough to reach out and touch, yet hundreds of miles away. She hugged her arms to her chest as she turned her head and stared at the freshly cleaned exam table.
“She said something yesterday when she was playing with her doll.” Wary indecision shadowed her fair, delicate features. “She didn’t realize I was there listening, but I heard her.”
Ben pictured the doll that Callie had brought with her when she’d returned from Blanchard’s place. He’d almost suggested discarding it. But Callie had gone to great lengths to repair the ragged doll that first night, when, instead of turning Libby in to an unfamiliar bed with another unfamiliar face, Ben had held the little girl for the entire night in the rocking chair by the woodstove, while Callie cleaned and repaired the doll. She’d painstakingly added stuffing by the dim lamp’s glow, and had even replaced two of the doll’s tattered limbs.
Her instant resolve to take care of her child in some way had been a wonder to watch, had warmed his heart from the inside out. When Libby had spotted the rag doll resting in the crook of her arm the next morning, her eyes had lit with wonder and amazement.
“What did you hear her say?”
Callie touched the dainty lace trimming the neckline of her dress. “Apparently—apparently he told her that her real mama and papa didn’t want a girl like her.” The strangled sound in Callie’s voice broke his heart. “She said that’s why she had to live with him and her other mama…because her real mama didn’t want her.”
Chapter Sixteen