He gave her a sad smile. “You’re right. And I’ll start with speaking to Anna when she comes home.”
It was time he learned from Delia and acted like the father Anna needed him to be.
Chapter Eleven
DELIA SMILED AT THEpage 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.
Ifshe 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 hadjumped 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.
