Chapter Eleven
DELIA SMILED AT THE page in front of her. It was a good story—an excellent recounting of what had happened outside the schoolhouse a few days prior, filled with excitement and heroism. Readers would love it. Roy would recant his opinion on her entire venture if she sent him this to print.
She pressed the paper into the bottom of her jewelry box and sighed.
If she sent it.
She’d lost track of how many weeks she’d been in Colorado, and she’d still sent Roy nothing at all.
Everything Delia had written since arriving in Crest Stone sat in the bottom of her jewelry box. She’d reread each piece over and over. Some were better than others for printing in a newspaper. That wasn’t the problem, though.
Delia told herself she was waiting. Waiting for what, she didn’t know.
Perhaps waiting on her own emotions to make themselves clear.
Max knew she was writing, and she was grateful she no longer had to keep that a secret.
He’d even offered again to read what she’d written, and she’d feigned embarrassment.
Perhaps what she was really waiting on was for the guilt to disappear.
Delia closed the box and sat on the bed. She’d sent Anna on a mission to purchase something sweet for supper. Anna had jumped at the opportunity, eager to take on the responsibility. Delia had made a mental note to give her more jobs to do.
She folded her hands in her lap now, the silence of the house roaring in her ears.
Guilt wasn’t something she’d planned to feel at all when she’d dreamed up this idea.
After all, it seemed so easy. She’d get married, assuage any hurt on the part of her groom by finding him someone to replace her, and return home as soon as she was finished writing her articles.
But back then, she hadn’t met Anna. She didn’t know Max.
And the thought of coercing Miss Sullivan or any other lady to fall in love with Max made Delia’s stomach twist into an anxious, jealous knot.
What would Anna do if Delia left? The little girl responded to her presence.
She was hardly perfectly behaved yet, but she trusted Delia.
The thought of never seeing her again made Delia’s throat ache.
It would feel like cutting herself off from one of her siblings. And Max . . .
Delia knotted the quilt beneath her hands.
As often as she’d tried to describe Max in her writing, her words had fallen short.
There was no way to convey how she felt about his kindness toward her, his love for his daughter, his dedication to his work, his courage, his patience, and how handsome he was.
Delia’s face went warm at the last thought.
She didn’t dare admit to herself how often she thought about him, or how she woke up from dreaming about him almost every night. It was embarrassing enough not having control over her own feelings. And those feelings had kept her articles securely in her jewelry box.
“Delia?”
She jumped up at the sound of Max calling her name. He can’t read your mind, she reminded herself as her heart beat faster. “I’m upstairs.” She grabbed hold of the corner of the wardrobe, waiting a few seconds to catch her breath from the surprise before going downstairs.
But it was too late—his footsteps sounded on the stairs. Before she was ready, he appeared at the top of the stairs, his face breaking into a smile the second he saw her.
“Were you writing?” he asked.
“I was earlier,” she replied, wondering how he knew.
“You have ink stains on your hand,” he said, nodding down at where she was still holding onto the wardrobe. “And I saw the letter you left for your mother downstairs.”
Delia’s mind was still on her earlier thoughts. Looking back at Max with his kind eyes and genuine smile, the guilt inside her grew.
Maybe she ought to tell him.
The thought barreled into her mind and wouldn’t let go.
“Are you feeling well?” Max asked, clearly concerned about her demeanor.
“Yes. I want to tell you something,” she blurted out before she could really think about what she was saying.
He waited patiently.
The words stuck in her throat. Did she want to tell him?
“Delia?”
She wanted to be truthful with him, more than anything. He might be upset with her intentions, but if he truly cared for her, he would understand. Especially since she hadn’t sent any of her work back to Roy.
Wouldn’t he?
Doubt wheedled its way through her mind. She needed time, anyway. Just a day or two to figure out how to phrase the words and to prepare herself for his reaction. Mind made up, she swallowed and returned his smile.
And instead, she decided to be truthful with something else—how she felt.
“I think you’re the most wonderful man,” she began, her cheeks heating with the honesty of her words.
This wasn’t something she thought she’d say to any man, ever in her life.
“You’ve been so kind to me, and it’s more than I ever expected.
I want you to know that I care about you very much. You and Anna both.”
He looked almost stunned at her admission, and then he gave her the biggest smile she’d ever seen before taking her hand. His fingers wrapped around hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it was.
This thing Delia had never planned to experience felt almost as if it were destined to happen. And she never wanted to let go of his hand.
“To be honest,” he said, lifting his other hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know what to expect when I asked you to come here.”
“I didn’t know either,” she said with a laugh, trying to distract herself from the feel of his fingers grazing her cheek.
“I suppose you didn’t. But you’re more than I ever could have imagined. I gave up cards, but it’s as if luck has worked in my favor yet again.”
Delia didn’t know about luck—or destiny, for that matter—but she knew this felt right. As if it was what God intended all along for her life.
She didn’t know what that meant for the future. She was supposed to finish her work here, and then leave. But that felt impossible now.
She didn’t want to leave.
Max’s face grew more serious, and she knew he was about to kiss her.
Her heart jumped a mile with the realization, and as he drew closer to her, she closed her eyes.
All she could feel was his hand resting gently on her cheek, and her other hand held securely in his.
She wanted this so badly, it was hard not to rise up on her toes to make it happen faster.
He doesn’t know.
A jolt of shame made her eyes fly open. She couldn’t do this—couldn’t let him get this close—without telling him why she’d come here.
Just as his lips touched hers, she pressed a hand against his chest and took a step backward.