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Hattie of Crooked Creek

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MK McClintock

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“Dalton gaped at something in the stream. "Did you see that trout? Where's my fishing pole when I need it?" He was leaning so far over she feared he might fall in headfirst. She grasped his arm and pulled him back. "You made that up," she laughed. "You didn't see a fish. Trout don't swim at night." "What makes you think that? They don't have a little house to go home to when the sun goes down, with a small woodstove and comfortable bed.”

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“Caleb rocked back on his heels, surprised by how good her husky laughter and their repartee made him feel. He wasn’t a man given to bantering with women—with anyone for that matter. Out here in the wilderness, with a woman about to give birth, he wasn’t the banker or the hotel owner. I’m just a man trying to hold his guilt and terror at bay and make sure this mother and child survive.”

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“The tiny body was slippery, and he held her tightly, afraid she’d slither out of his grip. He rotated the infant face-up, holding her about ten inches away from his face. The top of her head had a slight cone shape. Her blue-tinged hands pinked. The baby’s eyes were open, alert and seemingly amazed. They connected with his. A jolt of intense feeling, of recognition, flowed between them. As he gazed on the scrunched features of the infant, love surged through him. He’d never felt such a feeling before, and his chest ached with the joyful pressure. Caleb wanted to curl her to his chest and keep her safe. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling a scent that surprised him with its sweetness. “My baby?” Maggie asked. The infant broke eye contact with Caleb and turned her face toward the sound of her mother’s voice. He blinked back moisture from his eyes and grinned. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

Historical Western Romance
Book:Mystic Montana Sky
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