Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) Read Online Free PDF

side. With a crack of splintering wood, the vardo smashed into a tree. A piece broke off and flew at me. I could only protect the baby or my face, not both.” She felt her forehead and winced. “I bent over my belly, and the wood hit my face.”
    “You chose your child,” Caleb murmured in admiration, but he wasn’t sure she heard him, for she plunged into a cramp. He held Maggie’s hand throughout, her grip hard enough to squeeze the bones together.
    When she finished and recovered her breath, Maggie gazed at him in earnest. “I’m free of him, Caleb.”
    “Then I can’t be sorry for the accident.”
    “No, never be sorry.”
    Caleb touched a finger gently to her bruised cheek. “Your husband was a cad to treat you so.” Confused by his rapidly changing emotions, he stood. “Let me get you some water.”
    “That would be nice,” she murmured.
    He ran to the vardo , where he’d seen a wooden barrel fastened near the back door, hoping it contained water. Unlatching the top, he peered inside to see it was three quarters full. The long handle of a dipper was tucked into a metal loop. He wrestled the barrel from the rings that held it and lugged it back to Maggie.
    Just as he reached her, he could see another spasm tighten her body. He set down the barrel, lowered himself to her side, and took her hand. When the tremor released her, Caleb picked up the dipper and ladled some water. “Drink.” He held the edge to her lips, sliding his arm under her shoulders to prop her up.
    She drank thirstily, finishing the ladleful.
    Caleb scooped another for her, helped her drink, and laid her down again.
    “I’m so tired.” She closed her eyes.
    “Rest then.” He rose and moved to the caravan, climbed inside and gathered what he thought she might need. Once outside, with his arms full, he heard Maggie cry out. Barely three minutes now. How soon before the babe is born? He worried, not knowing.
    Maggie was pulled into another great paroxysm, arms and shoulders curled around her belly.
    He ran to her, dropping the supplies and the pot on the corner of the bedding, and gave her his hand.
    She held on as if for dear life, gasping for breaths that turned into animal-sounding groans.
    “Forget the charley horse,” she muttered when the contraction ended. “Try stabbed-in-the-stomach-with-a-hunting-knife.”
    His gut tightened in sympathy. “This will be over soon, my dear Maggie.” The endearment slipped out without him noticing. Surely this ordeal can’t last much longer!
    She looked at him, her gaze serious. Half turning on her side toward him, Maggie grabbed his arm with her free hand. “Promise me something, Caleb.”
    “Anything,” he rashly vowed.
    “If I die and the baby lives, you must take care of my child.”
    He tried to hide his instinctive alarm at the idea. “ Nothing is going to happen to you. You will be fine .”
    “Promise?”
    Seeing the desperate need for an answer in her eyes and scarcely believing how this time with Maggie was softening what some had called his steel heart, he said, “I promise, Magdalena Petra. If something happens to you, then I will raise your child as my own.”
    The words drifted on the breeze, carried to heaven—a solemn vow made before God.
    Maggie relaxed and lay down. “My back hurts in the worst way.”
    “Lie on your side,” he commanded. “Let me see if massaging the area will help.”
    She curled into a ball.
    He touched the tight muscles in the small of her back. “Here?”
    “Yes.”
    He began to knead her, softly at first, and when she didn’t protest, he dug in harder.
    Maggie let out a moan.
    Caleb lifted his hands.
    “No, don’t stop. That’s helping, really it is.”
    Relieved he could finally do something to aid her, Caleb massaged her muscles, feeling some of the tightness leave her posture. “Would you like more water?”
    “Yes, please.” She rolled onto her back.
    Again he helped her drink, then lowered her shoulders.
    Maggie closed her