A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  That’s because I needed to stay focused and away from you. She gave him a gracious nod in acknowledgment.

  “Rose, if I have to listen to one more thing about that wedding, I swear—” he exhaled a sharp breath, and his expression tightened “—I shall go insane.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at his aggrieved tone, knowing Andre was only half-joking. The details of Maggie and Caleb’s wedding took over the breakfast conversation and, for that matter, were the main topic of the last few days.

  With the excuse of cataloguing the books, she’d buried herself in the attic and, thus far, managed to skip much of the socializing taking place. She counted herself lucky to have avoided meeting the Boston relatives. “Hopefully, they’ll assign us neighboring rooms in the asylum,” she said wryly.

  His expression relaxed. “I need to get away from town. Find someplace, well, not exactly quiet, but at least with other topics of conversation.”

  She wished they really could leave town until the wedding was over.

  Andre tilted his head, apparently thinking. “How about getting away for the day? We could make that visit to the Flanigans, which we’d planned for next week.”

  Rose stared at him, puzzled. “But the dinner party for the wedding is tonight. I understand the Flanigans live several hours away. Surely, there’s not enough time for us to travel there, look through the books, and then return h—” she caught herself before saying home “—here.”

  He casually waved a hand. “Plenty of time. I thought we’d take the coach, so there’s room to bring back crates of books.”

  What’s worse—avoiding the crowd of unknown guests or avoiding the intimacy of Andre’s company? And yet, a longing set in.

  To counter the odd feeling, Rose raised one eyebrow. “As one of the most distinguished members of this community, you know you must attend the party.”

  He rolled his eyes, borrowing one of his daughter’s favorite ways of expressing a sense of the ridiculous. “Only distinguished members of the community are invited. Among such an august crowd, I won’t be missed.”

  Oh, you’ll be missed. But Rose didn’t say so aloud. Running away for part of the day sounded just perfect, and the coach would give them plenty of room to travel without shoulders, arms, and limbs touching. She glanced down at her gown, donned in expectation of receiving callers and paying calls, and then looked out the window.

  The day appeared sunny and cool. With as deep an exhale as her corset would allow, she made up her mind. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Wonderful.” Smiling, he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll tell Delia we’re going, have Sam hitch up the horses, and ask Cook to pack us a basket, so we don’t go empty-handed.”

  Feeling a little guilty for escaping the day’s activities, Rose hurried upstairs to use the bathroom. Once back in her room, she plucked her second-best hat from the stand on her dressing table and angled it on her head with several hatpins. Then, she pulled on gloves, slipped the strings of her reticule over her arm, and picked up the writing desk. The Flanigans would probably have paper, as well as a pen and inkwell, but she didn’t want to impose.

  Once downstairs, she met Andre pacing across the entryway.

  He stopped, smiled, and then glanced out the window. “Perfect timing. I see Sam pulling up with the coach.”

  That was quick. “I’m looking forward to this outing.”

  Andre bestowed a benign smile upon her. “Your pleasure is mine, m’dear.” He bent in an ironic bow.

  She suppressed a chuckle, not wanting to encourage his gallant behavior toward her.

  Rufus appeared from the coatroom, holding their coats, which he gave to Andre and reached to take the lap desk.

  Andre helped Rose into the garment, before donning his own.

  Rufus handed over the desk to Andre, moved to open the door, and bowed them through. “Have a lovely drive, Mr. Bellaire, Miss Collier.”

  “We most definitely will,” Andre said, his tone jovial.

  If Rose didn’t know Rufus also helped his wife around the house, she’d have thought the man would be bored with his role in the home. Not much call for a butler in Sweetwater Springs. She gave him a warm smile good-bye.

  They walked outside into a crisp, breezy day, making her glad she’d worn her coat. Overhead, a few clouds, as puffy and white as cotton balls, drifted across the arching blue sky. Some stray leaves from the glowing, golden aspen in the corner of the huge, empty lot skittered across the dirt yard.

  A glance behind showed snow capped mountains, the lower sides blanketed by nature’s quilt of autumn colors.

  Andre extended an arm and escorted her down the wide brick path to the coach.

  Sam waited by the team, rubbing the nearest one’s head. The chocolate-brown hides of the horses gleamed in the sun. One swished its dark, docked tail.

  The coachman moved toward the vehicle and opened the door. “Morning, Miss Collier.”

  “Good morning, Sam.”

  “Fine day for a drive.” The coachman’s dark eyes held a hint of mischief, and the corners of his mouth turned up. “I do believe you’ll see nature at her best. The changing leaves are quite a sight.”

  “Enjoy the mosaic of color,” Andre told Rose with a wide wave toward the aspen. “The fall season here is brief, and the colors will fade to brown and gray toward the end of the month.”

  “For a lifelong city dweller, any chance to view the fall foliage is a treat,” said Rose, taking Sam’s hand and allowing him to help her into the coach.

  Andre waited for Rose to choose the black leather seat facing the driver, placed the desk next to her and climbed in. Seated across from her, he took the large cloth-covered basket from Sam and set it next to him.

  Once again Rose wondered if she’d made the correct choice to go away with Andre today. What seemed roomy when she’d first entered shrank with the man’s presence. Sitting here across from him, with his knees close to hers, the interior seemed much smaller. Right now, dealing with hordes of haughty people seems preferable to this intimacy.

  Uncomfortable and unable to meet his eyes, she looked out the window at the town rolling by that was beginning to seem familiar. Perhaps by this time next year Sweetwater Springs will feel like home.

  Once Sam turned the horses onto a narrow dirt road leading away from town, Andre smiled. “Now for a rustic ride. Not much else to see but nature. Speaking of nature, are you enjoying The Country of the Pointed Firs?”

  Rose hoped he didn’t notice a guilty flush rising to her cheeks. Delia must have told him about lending her the novel. But she wouldn’t have revealed how they’d schemed to keep him home that day.

  She started to describe the story. From there, the conversation veered toward other books. Slowly, their talking eased her tension, and she relaxed against the leather cushions.

  Soon, they were deep into a discussion about the needs of the library, debating, for example, the merits of having two copies of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales or three.

  They interspersed their conversation with calling attention to the landscape viewed through the windows, awash with autumn colors, occasionally falling into an increasingly companionable silence. Several times they spotted deer, and, once, Rose was sure she saw the rump of a bear disappearing into the woods.

  Thus, the drive passed companionably until Andre glanced out of the window. “I think we’re almost there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re out of the forest, and I’m told the house is not far beyond that.”

  When she looked out the window, Rose saw the land appeared flatter. A creek lined with golden willow trees and bushes of various colors wound toward the road. The clear water rushed over rocks.

  The coach clattered over a narrow wooden bridge, the wheels clicking on the wood, and then jerked to a halt.

  “Goodness!” Andre exclaimed. Frowning, he leaned to look out the window. “Why have we stopped?”

  She lo
oked out her window but couldn’t see ahead of them.

  The door on Rose’s side opened, and Sam stuck his head inside the coach, a worried expression on his face. “Beau just started favoring his right foreleg. I’ll check his hoof. Hopefully, he’s only picked up a rock. Once I remove it, he’ll be as right as rain.”

  Andre nodded. “Very well.”

  The coachman jiggled the door back and forth. “Open or shut?”

  “Open.” Rose wanted to view more of the creek.

  Andre settled back against his seat. “Shouldn’t be long.” He winked. “Sam’s very efficient.”

  When Sam returned, his expression was gloomy. “Beau appears to have bruised his sole.” He glanced at Rose and shrugged. “Nothing too serious that a poultice and some rest won’t mend.”

  “How long will that take?”

  Sam frowned. “Probably a day or two.”

  “A day or two,” Rose echoed, concern tightening her stomach. “But what about the wedding?”

  “Let’s worry about that later,” Andre said. “We’ll see what Seth and Trudy suggest.”

  Sam lifted his hat and rubbed an arm across his forehead. “In the meantime, I’ll unhitch Bayou and ride to the Flanigans. I can borrow their wagon to collect you and drive the rest of the way while I lead Beau.” He repositioned his hat on his head.

  Sounds so complicated. Rose glanced at Andre. “You said their homestead was close. Why don’t we just walk?”

  Sam shot Andre a pointed look. “No sense tiring yourselves out. I’ll be back right quick.”

  “Well, this is inconvenient,” Andre said with a huff. He shrugged and glanced ruefully at Rose. “While we’re waiting, why don’t we step out and stretch our legs?”

  Once clear of the coach, Rose could see a prosperous-looking farm about half a mile away, spreading over the prairie—a two-story, white house, barn, and what looked like a smaller cabin amid outbuildings, a corral, wide fields, and an orchard.

  Rose wondered what life would be like so far from town. She thought appreciatively of all the hours she could spend reading instead of paying or receiving calls.

  Before too long, a farm wagon came into view, pulled by a sorrel with a flaxen mane and tail and a bay with a white stocking. “Here comes Sam.” Andre squinted. “Looks like Seth Flanigan’s driving.” He glanced at her. “Won’t be as comfortable a ride.”

  Rose had never traveled by wagon before. “We’re close enough to the house, so comfort won’t matter.”

  The driver pulled to the side of their coach. With a grin at Andre, Seth Flanigan set the brake, tied off the reins, and swung down to the ground. Tall and broad-shouldered, he took long strides to clasp Andre’s hand. “Heard about your plight, Mr. Bellaire. Welcome.” He flashed Rose another grin.

  She couldn’t help smiling back.

  Although not conventionally handsome with his narrow face, strong nose, and square jaw, the man had unique and compelling eyes, gray with a dark circle around the iris, making him strikingly attractive.

  Andre touched Rose’s arm. “Miss Collier, I’d like you to meet our rescuer, Seth Flanigan. Seth, this is our new librarian, Rose Collier.”

  “Miss Collier, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ll be relieving us of our load of books. Ever since Trudy moved here over a decade ago, those crates have been the bane of my existence. First, they cluttered up my barn, and now, they fill the attic.”

  She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “That’s the first time I’ve heard books described as anyone’s bane.”

  “If you ever had to trudge through the snow to the barn in midwinter, searching through ten crates for a certain title your wife wanted to read that day, you’d understand.”

  “Oh, dear.” She couldn’t help laughing at his description. “What a thoughtful husband you are, Mr. Flanigan.”

  “Call me Seth.” His grin turned sheepish, making him look like a lovesick youth. “My Trudy is worth every blasted minute of pawing through those books. But I’ll be much happier having them organized and easy to find on your library’s shelves instead of in my household.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said with genuine warmth, liking the man.

  Seth gestured toward the wagon. “Shall we go? Trudy was just about to put dinner on the table.” He looked over at Sam, busy with Beau. “You going to be all right, there?”

  The coachman rubbed the gelding’s head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Once you’ve seen to the horses, come on into the house. We’ll have a place set for you at the table.” He grinned. “Just wait until you get a taste of my wife’s cooking.”

  “Will do, Mr. Flanigan.”

  “Seth,” he corrected, extending a hand to help Rose into the wagon.

  “Oh—” she glanced toward the coach “—just let me fetch my reticule and lap desk.”

  Andre tilted his head in the direction of the vehicle. “I’ll see to them.”

  Rose nodded and placed her hand in Seth’s. She gathered up her skirts, stepped where he indicated, and hoisted herself into the seat. She glanced over at Andre, grateful his back was to her, and he’d missed her ungainly climb.

  “Sorry.” Seth patted the seat. “Didn’t take the time to put on the cushion that my wife insists upon before she’ll ride anywhere.”

  Rose felt the hard boards under her bottom. I understand why she wants padding. “I’m just thankful you came so quickly.”

  Stepping close, Andre handed her the reticule and placed the lap desk on a cushion of hay in the wagon bed. He returned to the coach for the basket, which he set next to the desk, before climbing up next to her, settling in with his arm resting on the seat back behind her.

  Rose’s neck prickled.

  Once Seth sat on her other side, Rose realized how narrow the bench really was. She was pressed between the men. Aware of Andre’s closeness, she inhaled a deep breath, grateful they didn’t have to go far. She slid him a sideways glance and, at the jerk of the wagon starting forward, faced the homestead.

  They made good time to the house—a clapboard foursquare. A woman and several children waited on the four-columned porch.

  As the wagon drew close, two children and a dog came running toward the wagon. Another one toddled after, white gown fluttering, arms flung wide.

  The brown and black dog barked and yodeled, dashing to Seth’s side of the wagon.

  The horses, obviously well used to the exuberant welcome, tossed their heads but didn’t shy away.

  Andre leaned toward her ear. “Anna and George,” he said in a low voice, indicating the eldest children. “The dog looks similar to Sheriff Granger’s new puppies.” He scrunched his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, obviously thinking. “What is that little one’s name? Ah!” He opened his eyes. “Min. Although I’m not sure what that’s a nickname for.”

  Seth drew up in front of the house.

  Once the brakes were set, Andre climbed off and helped Rose down.

  The children danced around him. Anna looked like a miniature version of her father, George had blond curls, while Min’s curls matched Anna’s. “Mr. Bellaire, Mr. Bellaire,” they chanted.

  Andre patted his pockets, faking a frown. “Why, I do believe I have something for you three.” He sounded very Southern. “That is if I can find—”

  “What?” George demanded.

  “George,” Anna scolded, in what must be her mother’s tone. “Mind your manners.”

  Andre pulled out three peppermint sticks and gave one to each child. “Don’t eat them until your mother says you can.”

  Rose couldn’t believe he’d thought to bring the children candy. She glanced over and saw a merry expression on his face. On second thought, such a gesture is entirely like him.

  The three children gazed at Andre with shining eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Bellaire,” the two older ones chorused, and the toddler belatedly chimed in. They looked from the candy to their mother with pleading glances.

  Trudy, a pretty, blue-eyed
woman with red-blonde hair, shook her head. “Not until after supper.” She walked toward Rose and extended a hand, not waiting for a formal introduction. “You must be Miss Collier. I’ve heard you’re doing wonderful work for the library.”

  Rose briefly clasped the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Flanigan, so lovely to meet you. I hope we aren’t interrupting….”

  Seth joined them in time to hear the comment. “We’re just doing this and that,” he teased.

  His wife gave him a repressive look, but the corners of her mouth turned up. “Call me Trudy. Contrary to my husband’s joking, having visitors is always special, for few people drive out this way.”

  With a little bow, Andre took Trudy’s hand. “The last month being an exception.” He released her.

  “Dear Lordy, yes. When the posse billeted here, I had men sleeping all over the place, including the barn, although we made sure Sheriff Granger had a bed.”

  “I’m delighted to be here,” Rose told her hostess. “But I’m worried about getting back—” she almost said for the wedding supper, then remembered in time that the Flanigans probably hadn’t been invited “—for the wedding.”

  “We’re going into town for the wedding.” Trudy frowned. “But with the children coming along there won’t be room in the wagon.”

  Rose could see what she meant. Three could squeeze onto the wagon bench, but one of the adults would have an uncomfortable ride in the back with the children. She knew who’d gallantly insist on being the one. Oh, what a pickle we’re in.

  Andre fetched the basket from the wagon. He didn’t seem to feel the same concerns, for he kept the jovial expression on his face. “I wonder, Seth, if you don’t mind uninvited guests staying in your home while you’re away…. Once Beau has a chance to heal, we’ll take your generous offer of the books back with us.”

  Seth’s eyes twinkled. “If you milk the cow, feed the chickens and pigs, then our hired man Jasper can come along to the wedding. He won’t mind riding in the wagon bed with the children.”

  Andre held up his hands “These have never done any such chores. But we have Sam, who, if need-be, will come to our rescue. That is, if your Jasper really wants to attend the wedding, which I very much doubt.”