Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland Page B
Authors: Debra Holland
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settled back in the seat. There might be some good things about Sweetwater Springs, after all.
CHAPTER SIX
T he next morning, dressed for the day, Delia felt the weariness of a restless night. She’d kept waking up and checking on her father, making sure he still breathed. Sometimes, she just sat and held his hand and prayed. And always she worried about what would happen if he died—the gaping hole he’d leave in her heart. How could she possibly live without him? Her fearful thoughts circled round and round in her head, making sleep difficult when she finally returned to her bed.
She brushed out her hair, marveling at the time it took to make the heavy mane into a neat chignon. She glanced into the silver-framed mirror over the washstand. How much easier to pin up the thick mass into a loose braid hidden by her tignon. Even now, her head felt naked without the headcovering, and Delia wondered how long before she became used to the differences in her life. She gave her image in the mirror an ironic smile. I have freedom from more than my tignon.
Once she finished dressing, Delia tiptoed into her father’s room, not wanting to disturb him if he was still sleeping, and silently shut the door behind her. Light peeked though a crack in the curtains.
Andre Bellaire was already awake and propped up by a second pillow. His color looked better—not the grayish hue of yesterday, not back to normal yet, but better.
Relief made her knees weak, and she tottered to the side of the bed and sank onto the chair beside him, reaching to grasp his hand, her anchor. “Papa, how are you feeling?”
He gave her a smile, not his hearty one, but still an upturn of his lips. “As weak as a kitten. But I’ll be all right, daughter.”
“Oh, Papa.” Unable to contain her feelings, Delia bent forward and kissed him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I’ve been so frightened.”
“I’m sorry, dearest.” Andre brushed a hand over her head and rested his palm on her cheek. “God has given us more time together.”
“I will enjoy every minute by your side,” Delia said fiercely, straightening and taking his hand again.
“As will I. However, I want to see you living life, as well, Delia. Watching you experience everything that has been denied to you will be my joy in the coming days, God willing.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “ You are the most important experience that was denied to me. Having a father is so. . . wonderful .”
“I hope in time you ask for more, Delia. I want to see you settled in marriage with a man you love. Perhaps God will give me enough time to hold a grandchild in my arms.”
She inhaled a sharp breath, aching with all her heart to give him what he desired. But with my secret background , how can I lure some unsuspecting man into matrimony?
I cannot. Delia opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it. Now wasn’t the time to debate the issue. She’d only distress her father, and Dr. Cameron had warned her that he wasn’t to be troubled. To keep him from seeing any sign of worry on her face, she rose and walked to the window, flinging back the velvet drapes. Sunshine flooded the room. “It’s a beautiful day, Papa. I can see the sky and the mountains. A stunning vista.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Delia called.
Mr. Livingston appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. “I’ve brought you some breakfast, Mr. Bellaire. I thought perhaps my housekeeper Mrs. Graves’s habitually sour expression would put you off your feed.”
Her father chuckled.
Although the sound was weak and unlike the boisterous laugh she’d heard a great deal lately, just the fact that her dear papa could feel some levity made her relax. “How kind of you, Mr. Livingston.”
“Not at all. And you two must call me Caleb.” He sent Delia a charming smile, walked over to the bed, and set down the tray at the opposite foot. “There’s only food for an invalid. No steak and
CHAPTER SIX
T he next morning, dressed for the day, Delia felt the weariness of a restless night. She’d kept waking up and checking on her father, making sure he still breathed. Sometimes, she just sat and held his hand and prayed. And always she worried about what would happen if he died—the gaping hole he’d leave in her heart. How could she possibly live without him? Her fearful thoughts circled round and round in her head, making sleep difficult when she finally returned to her bed.
She brushed out her hair, marveling at the time it took to make the heavy mane into a neat chignon. She glanced into the silver-framed mirror over the washstand. How much easier to pin up the thick mass into a loose braid hidden by her tignon. Even now, her head felt naked without the headcovering, and Delia wondered how long before she became used to the differences in her life. She gave her image in the mirror an ironic smile. I have freedom from more than my tignon.
Once she finished dressing, Delia tiptoed into her father’s room, not wanting to disturb him if he was still sleeping, and silently shut the door behind her. Light peeked though a crack in the curtains.
Andre Bellaire was already awake and propped up by a second pillow. His color looked better—not the grayish hue of yesterday, not back to normal yet, but better.
Relief made her knees weak, and she tottered to the side of the bed and sank onto the chair beside him, reaching to grasp his hand, her anchor. “Papa, how are you feeling?”
He gave her a smile, not his hearty one, but still an upturn of his lips. “As weak as a kitten. But I’ll be all right, daughter.”
“Oh, Papa.” Unable to contain her feelings, Delia bent forward and kissed him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I’ve been so frightened.”
“I’m sorry, dearest.” Andre brushed a hand over her head and rested his palm on her cheek. “God has given us more time together.”
“I will enjoy every minute by your side,” Delia said fiercely, straightening and taking his hand again.
“As will I. However, I want to see you living life, as well, Delia. Watching you experience everything that has been denied to you will be my joy in the coming days, God willing.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “ You are the most important experience that was denied to me. Having a father is so. . . wonderful .”
“I hope in time you ask for more, Delia. I want to see you settled in marriage with a man you love. Perhaps God will give me enough time to hold a grandchild in my arms.”
She inhaled a sharp breath, aching with all her heart to give him what he desired. But with my secret background , how can I lure some unsuspecting man into matrimony?
I cannot. Delia opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it. Now wasn’t the time to debate the issue. She’d only distress her father, and Dr. Cameron had warned her that he wasn’t to be troubled. To keep him from seeing any sign of worry on her face, she rose and walked to the window, flinging back the velvet drapes. Sunshine flooded the room. “It’s a beautiful day, Papa. I can see the sky and the mountains. A stunning vista.”
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Delia called.
Mr. Livingston appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. “I’ve brought you some breakfast, Mr. Bellaire. I thought perhaps my housekeeper Mrs. Graves’s habitually sour expression would put you off your feed.”
Her father chuckled.
Although the sound was weak and unlike the boisterous laugh she’d heard a great deal lately, just the fact that her dear papa could feel some levity made her relax. “How kind of you, Mr. Livingston.”
“Not at all. And you two must call me Caleb.” He sent Delia a charming smile, walked over to the bed, and set down the tray at the opposite foot. “There’s only food for an invalid. No steak and
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