A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel

by Debra Holland

  He stumbled over a wicker chair, kicked the thing out of his way, and bumbled forward in the darkness, tripping over the bricks lining the rose bed. He managed to catch himself before falling into the nearest bush. Finally, some semblance of reason entered his brain.

  Stilling, he waited for his eyes to adjust. No sense tripping again and breaking his fool neck. His family wouldn’t thank him for being so idiotic. My heart will kill me soon enough.

  Feeling as if every muscle weighed as heavy as lead, he shuffled over to the light switch and pushed the button. When the light illuminated the conservatory, Andre glanced around, looking to see the havoc he’d caused. But only one of the fan-backed, wicker chairs lay on its side. Even the gardening shears on the small wicker table hadn’t moved.

  Walking to the table, he seized the shears, wanting to throw them through the glass. His gaze fell upon the Empress Red, the bush as empty as his hopes and as useless as he felt.

  Although I don’t dare destroy this conservatory, I can tear apart that blasted rose bush!

  Andre stomped toward the bush and viciously chopped off the nearest stem and then another and another. They fell to the ground, exposing a red rose, petals slightly unfolded, revealing the promise of the fullness to come.

  In disbelief, Andre froze, blinked to clear his sight, and then blinked again. But the rose remained real, pristine in scarlet beauty.

  Stunned, Andre sank into the nearest chair and let out a shaky breath. Bowing his head, he clasped both hands around the shears and prayed to the Christ Child humbly born this night, destined to live a short life and die a horrible death out of love for all humanity.

  He asked for forgiveness. He asked for guidance. He asked for the fortitude to love in the face of death.

  In a rush of realization, the answer came to Andre. As he’d mistakenly done in the past, he’d tried to protect Rose from future pain. But what he’d really done and still continued to do was deny her love—his love—as well as the love and security of a family.

  Even if I die the day after the wedding, she’ll have Delia and Joshua, Micah, the baby, the Nortons, to surround her and hold her up with their love. I can provide her with that future. I can also leave her financially secure, so her work becomes a choice, not a necessity.

  Opening his eyes, Andre stood and moved to the bush, carefully cutting off the crimson rose and bringing the bloom to his nose to inhale the sweet scent. With deep reverence, he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving and snipped off any thorns from the stem.

  No rose is without a thorn, he thought the French proverb. But I will protect my dear Rose’s tender fingers.

  Suddenly, he remembered what resided in his bedroom safe, and, taking the flower with him, he left the room and hurried down the hallway. He slowed at the foot of the staircase. No sense climbing like a mad man and making myself too breathless to speak to Rose. Or worse, giving myself a heart attack.

  Once in his room, Andre pushed the button for the electric light and moved to his safe, inset behind a painting on the wall. Ever since the bank robbery, he’d kept the safe locked and the key on his pocket watch chain.

  Setting the rose on the bed, he pulled the watch from his vest pocket, using the key to unlock the safe. Reaching inside, he felt around in the back for a small wooden box, the corners rounded and smooth. Opening the box, he glanced down at the square emerald, surrounded with diamonds, bought twenty-two years earlier.

  He removed the engagement ring, remembering the hope and excitement of that young man. Now he was older, wiser, a little beaten by life, but no less excited and hopeful.

  Plucking out the ring and placing it and his watch in his vest pocket, Andre tossed the box back into the safe and scooped up the flower. He didn’t bother to shut and lock the safe. He was a man with a mission, and he wouldn’t waste a minute in getting to Rose.

  Once downstairs, Andre looked for her in his study. The light remained on, but she wasn’t there. With an anxious tug in his stomach, he wondered if she’d left and gone to the Christmas party. She’ll be vulnerable to Dale Marsden or another suitor.

  His heart leapt into his throat, and he raced to the coat closet. At the sight of her coat and scarf hanging where they belonged, he collapsed in relief against the wall. Thank goodness.

  Andre took a deep breath and fought to slow his heart into its proper pace. Then, to be on the safe side so she couldn’t sneak by him and escape, one-handedly he grabbed Rose’s coat and stuffed it into the corner behind the shabby outerwear used for gardening on cold days. Knowing how ridiculous he acted didn’t stop him from fluffing some of the other garments to hide her coat.

  Then he went to track down Rose, hoping he wouldn’t have to beard her in her bedroom. At least she couldn’t lock him out.

  He followed the glow of a fire and walked into the parlor, inhaling the fragrance of pine from the Christmas tree, and saw Rose sitting in the wingchair nearest the fireplace, her head turned toward the flames. Her body looked as if she was formed of ice.

  Have I ruined everything?

  He wanted to go to her and press kisses along the pale curve of her neck. But he stopped a few feet away, the flower held out of sight. “I can’t give you a long married life, Rose.”

  She didn’t raise her head. “I thought we weren’t supposed to speak of this topic.” Her voice was cold.

  “I can’t give you a long marriage,” he repeated.

  Rose raised her head, her gaze chill, and slid him a sidelong glance. “But you could have given me a family—your family,” she said quietly. “I see how you love Micah, and he’s not your blood. You said so yourself.”

  “So I did.” With bated breath, he willed her to look at him, wanting her to give him hope. As the long seconds passed, his hope began to wane, replaced by familiar despair.

  Rose finally turned to directly meet his eyes, but her expression didn’t warm. “I love him, too, and Delia and Joshua, and his wonderful parents. I might have been the baby’s grandmother, whether or not you were around.” Her mouth firmed.

  He had a sudden flash of the future, of her playing with baby Andrea, and he fiercely longed to see the reality.

  “I wanted you to be Cora’s great-uncle.”

  “Do you realize if we wed, when Cora has babies, I’d be a great-great uncle?” he quipped.

  “I thought you weren’t living that long,” she accused, the coldness finally leaving her face.

  Andre sat on the sofa across from her and brought the rose from behind his back. “I’m a stubborn old fool, Rose. But God has taken pity on my stubbornness and my foolishness and given me a sign of His grace.” He held the flower out to her. “Do you remember the bush in my conservatory that I was tempted to dig up? The one you told me to be patient with. This—” he shook the rose “—this bloomed tonight. I swear, when I looked a few days ago, no bud was in sight.”

  Instead of accepting the flower and melting into his embrace as he’d expected, Rose glowered. “Don’t toy with me, Andre. You will not raise my hopes and then dash them again.”

  He hid a wince at her cutting tone. “I was wrong, Rose. Wrong then. Wrong now. Love like we share is a beautiful and rare gift. I finally accept that. I want to keep your love.” He captured her hand and drew her to her feet.

  Rose took the flower and held the bud to her nose. She lowered the bloom. “You must promise never to withhold information from me.” She stopped, rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and shook her head, before glaring at him. “Never, that is, unless planning one of your pleasant surprises.”

  Relieved, he couldn’t help chuckling.

  “Never again make decisions for me, instead of with me.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson, dearest. I promise not to be so foolish again.” He bent to kiss her. She tasted sweetly of chocolate and peppermint, and her lips warmed the winter chill that had lived inside him for so long.

  Andre broke off the kiss and inhaled an ecstatic breath. Her softly parted lips made stepping b
ack difficult.

  He lowered himself to one knee, grateful to have none of the creaks and pops that besieged the joints of some of his contemporaries. No, only my heart is a problem. “Rose, will you marry me? Be my wife, a mother to my daughter and a grandmother to Micah and the baby, as well as, God willing, more future grandchildren?”

  She searched his face as if needing to be sure. “Yes, oh yes,” she said on a sob.

  Bracing a hand on the sofa arm, Andre stood, perhaps a bit more slowly than in his youth, and slid the ring on her finger. The large emerald glittered in the firelight. He lifted her hand to his lips. “This ring has waited twenty-two years to be set on your finger where it belongs.”

  Her face lit with joy. With a cry, she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Andre! I never thought to be so happy. Even when we were young I didn’t know I could feel this way. I’m wiser now. I value our love so much more than I did before.”

  He held her tight, relishing her exuberance. “So do I, my darling, so do I.”

  “As long as I live, Andre—and I hope you are by my side that whole time—” she reached to cup his cheek with one hand “—but even if you’re not, I’ll hold your love in my heart forever.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next day in front of the Christmas tree in the parlor, the elder Reverend Norton united Rose Collier and Andre Bellaire in holy matrimony. Outside, the snow started gently falling, veiling them from the outer world. They stood surrounded by loved ones and close friends, glowing in a circle of love.

  As the minister spoke the age-old words of the ceremony binding Andre and Rose together, the expression on his austere, bearded face was warm, and his blue eyes shone with tears. He wasn’t the only one moved by emotion, for no one, not even the children, remained dry-eyed.

  With a benevolent smile, Reverend Norton pronounced them husband and wife.

  As Andre bent to finally, finally kiss his bride, Sophia Maxwell began singing, her magnificent voice hushed and soft for the occasion. “Lo, how a rose e’er blooming, from tender stem hast sprung.”

  His wife’s lips were petal soft under his, their wedding kiss a loving promise of their life together—no matter how long. I vow to cherish every moment.

  “O Flower, whose fragrance tender,

  with sweetness fills the air,

  Dispel with glorious splendor,

  the darkness everywhere.”

  Andre pulled back a few inches, gazed into the upturned face of his beloved bride, and saw behind her spectacles her gray eyes glowing with joy. He touched the red bloom tucked in her hair and then cupped her cheek, realizing his long, dark years of self-imposed loneliness had ended. He knew to the depth of his soul, no matter how long or short his days, as the carol promised, his Rose would fill them with tender sweetness and glorious splendor.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed A Late-Blooming Rose. Andre and Delia Bellaire first made their appearance in Glorious Montana Sky, and I found myself charmed by the man. I grew to admire him more in Bright Montana Sky, and by Montana Sky Justice, I knew I wanted Andre to have his own love story.

  I originally intended for A Late-Blooming Rose to be a novella, but the story kept getting expanding, ending up at about 68,000 words, which is longer than the Mail-Order Brides of the West books.

  One of the difficulties I faced in writing this book was how not to tell too much of the stories occurring in future books. You might have noticed you didn’t learn what happened to Cora Collier and Brian Bly. That’s because those two will be part of a novella trilogy, called The Bachelors of Three-Bend Lake, I have planned for late 2020 or in 2021. Elsie Bailey and Hank Canfield are one of the other couples, as is Torin Truesdale (all three of whom readers met in Bright Montana Sky) who will pair up with Ivy, Cora’s friend. Ivy travels to Sweetwater Springs to become a governess to Jewel, Torin’s daughter with Down Syndrome.

  I also didn’t want to put the wedding of Maggie Baxter and Caleb Livingston (who met in Mystic Montana Sky) in this book because I wanted the ceremony and reception to take place in Edith Livingston Grayson’s story, Beyond Montana Sky. Beyond will be released April 1, 2020, but if you follow me on Facebook, you’ll have seen me already posting some snippets. That book is eager to be written and kept intruding into my writing time for this one.

  I had to think and think before I figured out a way for Andre and Rose to reasonably avoid the wedding, which was different than how I had them avoid going to Brian’s house. However, a visit to the Flanigans was a nice way for readers to check in with Trudy and Seth Flanigan (Mail-Order Brides of the West: Trudy) to see how they’re faring after the arrest of their neighbor Frank McCurdy in Montana Sky Justice.

  I seeded one more future story into this book. Dale Marsden and his neighbor and gardening rival have been awaiting their short story for about four years now. Someday, they’ll receive the happily ever after they deserve.

  Make sure you’re on my mailing list to receive the notice of my new releases. https://debraholland.com

  I hope you enjoyed seeing a few other familiar characters. Sweetwater Springs Scrooge features Elias Masters and Marion Hutchinson’s second chance romance. This short story is a standalone Amazon ebook, as well as being a post-release addition to the short-story collection, Sweetwater Springs Christmas.

  At the tea party, you saw cameo appearances of heroines Elizabeth Sanders (Wild Montana Sky,) Pamela Carter (Beneath Montana’s Sky,) Samantha Thompson (Starry Montana Sky,) and Sophia Maxwell (Singing Montana Sky.)

  Although, Sophia’s sister Lily Dunn (Painted Montana Sky) is mentioned, she didn’t make an appearance in A Late-Blooming Rose. I tried to include their youngest sister, Emma Maxwell, in the tea party scene. But that scene became so long and unwieldy that I had to cut out Lily and Emma, as well as some other ladies I wanted to attend. (You’ll see the tea party again in Beyond Montana’s Sky from Edith’s point of view.)

  Emma Maxwell has a future story, too. But her story is far more violent and tragic than my other books, and it also alternates between 1897 and current day. I’m concerned a story so dark and different will upset my readers, so I’m not sure if I’ll ever write it.

  And finally, Maggie Temogen, from my developmental editor Louella Nelson’s Montana Sky Publishing book Restless Heart came to visit Agatha Hatter and stayed for tea with Delia and Andre.

  As I’ve mentioned in previous acknowledgments, I’m so very grateful for the team who helps make my books happen.

  Editors: Louella Nelson, Linda Carroll-Bradd, and Adeli Britto

  Formatter: Author E.M.S.

  Cover artist: Delle Jacobs

  Beta readers: Honey Holland (my mom) and Hedy Codner (my aunt)

  Audiobook Narrator: Lara Asmundson

  Assistant: Matt Orso

  Lou, Linda, and Delle also have Montana Sky Publishing books. Lou writes the Harper Ranch series and Linda writes the Entertainers of the West series. Delle’s first MSP book, Once a Lady is on preorder for March 18, 2020. (Matt keeps promising me a MSP book, so we’ll see if that book gets finished.) You can learn more about them and their books at: my website: https://montanaskypublishing.com.

  Excerpt from

  BEYOND MONTANA’S SKY

  by Debra Holland

  Edith Grayson paused in front of Hardy’s Saloon, trepidation tightening her stomach within her already constricting corset. She glanced down at the top wedding invitation of the stack in her hand, Mr. Henton Hardy written across the top in her perfect copperplate handwriting. Why, oh why, didn’t I have Ben deliver this invitation?

  She’d never ventured into a saloon before and had no desire to do so now. Ladies didn’t frequent Hardy’s—only less-than-virtuous saloon girls or other low-class women. The sole exception was Sheriff K.C. Granger, a regular patron.

  Although with the lawwoman’s male occupation and the men’s attire she wore, Edith wasn’t sure what gender category she qualified for. One entirely her own, that’s for su
re.

  Edith peeked through the flyspecked glass window. Sure enough, the sheriff sat at one of the round tables in the midst of several men, holding a fan of cards. The sight somewhat reassured her. At least she didn’t need to fear being accosted by drunken buffoons when she delivered her brother Caleb’s wedding invitation to Mr. Hardy, the owner.

  With her sister-in-law ill with a cold and tending to her baby who was also sick, and her brother buried in business matters, Edith had volunteered to help with the wedding plans. She’d addressed and intended to deliver the invitations, which were already scandalously late—by Boston standards anyway. In Sweetwater Springs, word of mouth was good enough for weddings, and people just showed up.

  She shuddered. How could anyone possibly plan for the correct amount of food to serve if you didn’t know the number of guests?

  At least the invitations were posted to Boston in a timely manner. Edith made sure of that, for politeness’s sake. She and Caleb thought their distinguished relatives wouldn’t deign to make the long trip west for the nuptials of the son of Black Jack Livingston, the family disgrace.

  We thought wrong.

  The pending arrival of their aristocratic relatives threw her brother into the male version of a tizzy. Caleb had the staff cleaning and polishing every square inch of the hotel and their house, and, if he possessed god-like powers, would probably have done the same for the rest of Sweetwater Springs.