Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau Maggie Dallen (top 20 books to read .txt) 📖

off the smuggling traitor Roger and word spread that Caleb had saved Abigail’s life—he still hadn’t forgiven her for telling that tall tale to anyone who would listen—the town as a whole seemed to have accepted him.

Even Mr. Laslow.

Especially Mr. Laslow as he’d given him shelter at the inn above the tavern, up until Caleb had grown too restless in his small room with the constant surge of people in the hallways and down below.

He’d grown used to his own men being around, of course. On a ship one couldn’t escape them. But normal folks. Townspeople. They were a whole other breed all together.

And, as Abigail continuously reminded him—he wasn’t on a ship any longer. So, why not enjoy the open space and some slightly larger quarters?

Mr. Laslow, with his windblown brown hair and his creased features, backed away toward the door, looking horrifyingly eager. “I’d only ask a fair price, of course.”

Caleb grunted again, this time with amusement, though few seemed to know the difference. “A fair price for this place?”

The older man’s laughter was rueful. “Like I said, it ain’t much. But all it needs is some care.” He glanced toward the window, and Caleb didn’t have to follow his gaze to know what he saw. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel, too sweet for her own good.

And the children.

Heaven forbid they forget the children.

“Well, I see you’re busy, Mr. Calhoun—”

“Caleb.” It came out as a growl and he just barely held back a sigh of exasperation as Mr. Laslow paled.

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Laslow sidled toward the door, reaching for the knob just as Abigail first knocked.

Laslow and Abigail struck Caleb as those characters in the theater, always seeming to know the others’ timing. Between the two of them, he couldn’t escape their nosy kindness if he tried.

And he did try. Often.

“Oh, hello Mr. Laslow,” Abigail sang as she waltzed into Caleb’s home.

To note, she did not literally sing but when Abigail spoke she might as well have been accompanied by a pianist. Her voice was that melodic. And when she walked, she might as well have been on a dance floor, gliding effortlessly.

He didn’t realize his lips had curled up in distaste until her bright blue gaze collided with his and her smile broadened.

That was how this dreadful woman greeted his snarls and sneers.

With a smile.

Heaven help him, the girl was clearly mad.

“Miss Abigail.” Mr. Laslow gave a smile and a small bow as he slipped out the door, turning back for one last parting word to Caleb. “Think about what I said, Mr. Calhoun.”

“Caleb.” His growl went unheeded as Miss Abigail’s voracious little army stormed inside right behind her. Her army of waifs, that was what her father, the captain of this naval stone frigate encampment, called the children who followed her about.

“It’s awfully cold out there,” she said by way of explanation. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He made a noise and not even he knew what it meant. Did he mind that his home was now overrun with dirty, mangy little urchins with wet noses and loud voices?

Of course he did.

But could he say as much to the woman who’d taken it upon herself to nurse him back to health?

Of course he couldn’t.

One of the children picked up his hat and twirled it in her hands.

“Put that down,” he snapped at the little girl whose name he unfortunately knew to be Polly. Polly. It was a name fit for a bird, not this tiny little creature with the too-big eyes and the toothless smiles. Polly flashed him that toothless smile now, no hint of remorse.

He didn’t scare this little waif any more than he frightened her teacher. And that was what Abigail was, he’d come to realize these past weeks. With no schools nearby and likely not nearly enough money for a governess between all the families combined, it seemed Abigail had taken it upon herself to teach the little ones in her spare time and theirs.

Nicholas, the largest of the lads and the most talkative, was making himself at home at Caleb’s makeshift kitchen table where he’d strewn some of his tools that he’d no doubt need to get this shack into some sort of habitable state.

“Oy.” He jabbed a finger at the boy. “Those aren’t toys.”

Nicholas was alarmingly unfazed.

Caleb glowered.

Nothing.

Unbelievable. Nicholas was just as unfazed by his glares as the other little ones. Just as immune as their fearless leader.

Her sister Minerva had warned him about this. She’d told him the first time they’d met that these little critters followed her sister with the utmost loyalty and faith. If she deemed him to be harmless, then they would follow suit.

He swung his glare to the beautiful blonde who was setting down a basket and taking in the new abode with a keen eye. “You did not tell me you were moving to your own spot.”

“Hmph.” By that he meant, with good reason.

Truth be told, he’d hoped this change of location would buy him a day of respite. That was all he needed. One day to get his head on straight. One day without this little enchantress messing with his mind and making him feel all twisted around. Without her making him want things he couldn’t have, and wishing for a life that wasn’t his.

She might have thought she was nursing him back to health, but at this rate, she would be the death of him.

Her lips hitched to the side as her gaze narrowed. “Why, if I had not run into Mr. Laslow yesterday afternoon, I would not have known where to find you.”

He grunted.

That was the point. Did she not see that?

She gestured to the basket. “How would I have delivered your biscuits?”

His gaze fell on the basket as he let out another growl, but this one lacked heat entirely because...biscuits.

Dratted girl. She knew these were his weakness. Sure enough, when his gaze lifted to meet hers, there was an unmistakable flare of triumph in those pretty blue eyes.

And also...

His brows drew down