Free Glorious Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series) by Debra Holland Page A

his mind. He might want to keep you close. Or he might rather you spend some time enjoying yourself.”
    At that possibility, she made a sound of protest.
    “Remember, ease of mind.” The doctor’s brogue deepened. “So, you must abide by his wishes, aye? But I predict ye’ll be able to get away for a little while, at least. After the scare today, a party will do you good.”
    Delia didn’t think so, but she had no intention of arguing. “Yes, Doctor.
    He patted her knee. “Good, lass.”
    The carriage rolled to a stop. “Ah, we’re here,” Dr. Cameron said. “You climb out first, then we’ll have Bart and Rube carry out your father.”
    Delia heard hoofbeats, the creak of harness, the snort of horses as other vehicles pulled up, and she wondered how many people had followed them.
    The door opened, and a man reached in to help her.
    She grasped the hairy, callused hand and allowed him to assist her in climbing from the carriage. “Thank you,” she said to the burly man, who’d carried her father. “We appreciate your help.”
    The man shyly ducked his head and stepped around her to climb into the carriage.
    Delia hastened out of the way of the other big man, casting a worried glance toward their accommodation.
    The Livingston home was a beautiful three-story brick mansion with many stained glass windows. A walkway edged in daffodils led through a thick grass lawn. More yellow daffodils bloomed in white planter boxes. A brick-and-iron fence surrounded the property. Beyond the house, green-forested mountains loomed, snow on their peaks and hollows. A lovely place! Relieved her father would be recovering in an elegant and spacious house, Delia let go of some of her worry.
    Ben Livingston hurried up to her. “Mrs. Graves has prepared a bed for your father, Miss Bellaire. She used the warming pan so he won’t have cold sheets.”
    “Thank you, Ben,” Delia murmured.
    He moved away to watch the two men work.
    Together, the large fellows maneuvered Andre Bellaire out of the coach.
    Delia was relieved to see her father making feeble efforts to help himself.
    Another newer carriage pulled up. The handsome driver gave her a friendly salute.
    The door flew open, and the Livingstons stepped out, followed by the Carters without their children, and a blonde woman she hadn’t met. The woman held a baby. They didn’t crowd Delia, but remained a respectful distance away.
    “Ben,” said Mr. Livingston. “Get the valises.”
    The boy frowned but complied.
    The man held out his arm to escort Delia up the brick walkway lined with flowers.
    She would have preferred to stay right next to her father, but the path wasn’t wide enough.
    Behind them, the men carried her papa.
    Several times, Delia glanced over her shoulder to check on him.
    But Dr. Cameron hovered, keeping an eye on the transportation of his patient.
    Mr. Livingston’s sister followed along with Ben, who toted their valises.
    As they reached the steps to the house, the door opened. A woman in a gray dress and white apron glared at them.
    Taken aback, Delia faltered.
    Mr. Livingston leaned over. “Don’t mind Mrs. Graves, my housekeeper,” he said in a low voice full of humor, obviously meant to reassure her. “That’s her normal expression. She only smiles once a year on Christmas.”
    Delia gave Mr. Livingston a dutiful turn-up of her lips and nodded at the housekeeper when he introduced them.
    “The bed is ready in the blue guest room,” the woman said tersely.
    Perhaps she believes we’ll make more work for her. Feeling guilty, Delia walked with Mr. Livingston into the house.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Graves.” Mr. Livingston released Delia and pointed at the staircase, as impressive as the one in her grandmother’s house, except instead of curving, there was a middle landing that changed the direction of the stairs. “Go on ahead, Miss Bellaire. I’ll be right behind you.”
    Delia gathered up her skirts, crossed the black-and-white tile floor, and