“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Delilah stood to leave. “I need to go check on Noah.”
“You love him,” her father spoke over her protest. Delilah steeled herself from her first reaction of anger and tried to summon a reasonable explanation for her behavior. Her father was acting as judge and jury over her life, and she didn’t like it. A moment of shame from her encounter with Maverick earlier still pulsed through her breast and spread heat to her cheeks. What explanation could she give her father? Her husband was dead; his actions possibly caused the death of Maverick’s wife. Now she was treating Maverick the way any Montgomery would treat an outsider. She brought him into her home, and every time he tried to know her, really get close to her, she pushed for sex over intimacy. Maverick said she was afraid. Her father said she was afraid. The truth was she had lost respect for herself and gained more distrust of the world when Charles became the monster in her fairytale life. How could she believe anything anyone offered or said was real?
“This is your house,” Delilah's father said. “We are all guests. You make the rules. I see how happy you and Noah are since that man come here. I see you pretending to not feel what is happening between you two. Your mama told me you said to her that you were free because of what you did at that brunch. Well, if you’re free, act like it around here.”
Delilah’s father reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her eyes welled with tears. Her bottom lip quivered, so she sucked it in. She wouldn’t fold so quickly if it weren’t for the hard night of fighting followed by a failed attempt to seduce Maverick. She had hurt him deeply, and she was beginning to see she’d done it on purpose.
“Why daddy?” she asked. “Why did you never say anything? Speak up about any of it?”
“About what?” her father asked.
“About me, when Mother Abigail wanted to move your family to Massachusetts and make me some child prodigy, why didn’t you say no and let me stay a kid with Queen and Shelly? When I came home and said I wanted to get married and I was barely 18, why didn’t you say something? Do anything?”
“I didn’t know you would elope,” he said.
“But you suspected I was thinking of it. Didn’t you?” Delilah asked.
Her father nodded that he did.
“It’s a good question, sweetheart. We should talk about my silence. It wasn’t the first time I was silent, was it?” He asked.
“Daddy, don’t go there, never mind. I’m going to bed,” she sighed.
“Yes. Let’s go there. When that counselor terrified your friends, and we let him escape punishment, why didn’t I say something then?” he asked. “Especially then. I know why mama didn’t. I know she has always wanted to be part of Mother Abigail’s world. But you, you’re my father. Why didn’t you?” Her father got up from the chair and pulled her into his arms.
“I never used my voice, sweetheart,” her father confessed. “You were smarter than your daddy at six years old. You’d correct my grammar. If I said a word wrong, you and your mother would laugh over it. If I tried to help you with your homework. Remember? You would only prove to me that I had no clue. I had a sixth-grade education before I dropped out of school as a kid.”
“Daddy—”
“Let me finish. Because it’s past time, we had the discussion. You both pushed me out of your bond when it came to school, and I didn’t mind it,” he said.
“You didn’t?” she asked.
“No. I understood. You were special. Your mother and I both were proud of you. I just didn’t understand you. I was ignorant, country, poor when I came to the Cove. I couldn’t believe I created a gem like you. Best thing I have ever done in my life. I didn’t want to be in your way. I never wanted to be in your way. So I stepped back. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you too, daddy, so much,” she hugged him.
“No matter what you decide or who you become, I will love you better than I did when you were eighteen, twelve, or ten. Now. Be my smart girl and use your voice. Don’t be silent. If that man is who you want, then chose him.”
“Thank you,” she said in a tearful voice. He let her go. He lifted her chin and smiled down at her. He wiped her tears from her cheeks. He kissed her forehead. “Best I take this medicine upstairs before your mama come down here looking for me,” he said with a wink. “You two are so stubborn. You girls and your secrets.”
Delilah let go of her father and watched him as he did what he said. He was aging, and that scared her. Many things scared her since Charles's death. He was right; she had a voice now—she should use it and conquer her fears. She thought of the night with Maverick and the mistakes she made. When would she stop pushing away her happiness?
What Happened Earlier that Evening —
“Why are you back?” Maverick asked.
“We need to listen to each other,” Delilah pleaded. Maverick shook his head as if in disbelief that she actually returned for round two of the same argument. What he’d soon realize is her stubbornness was equal to his own.
“Let me in, Maverick,” she repeated.
“I get it. Your parents are sleep, now. Noah, too, huh? So it’s okay to come back here and deal with me? Make love to me, then put me to bed like I’m your little pet? Then sneak home before the sun comes up?”
“Maverick?” Delilah tried to coax him into a better understanding of her with a more loving tone. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, but you have to stop taking everything so personally. You said you’d be patient. It’s been a month, not a year. C’mon. It’s cold out here. Let me in.”
“Go back to your palace Princess Delilah. It’s not going to work tonight.” He closed the door, but she blocked it from shutting with her boot. Maverick glared down at her foot. If he wanted her gone, he could simply shove her back and slam the door. He didn’t. It was her home, after all, and he was still a guest. She wanted her way, and she would have her say. Maverick opened the door.
“Thank you, whew, chile! It’s cold out there,” she said with a smile.
Maverick slammed the door in response. He said nothing, but his face communicated it all. He had reached his breaking point. All she wanted to do was make-up and get close to him.
“I’m sorry, okay? I feel bad,” she said.
“You feel bad? There’s a virus out there killing people, and my son is sick. Yet you won’t let me in the house to see him, and you feel bad?” Maverick shouted.
“Noah is fine. We got the test results. I showed them to you. He’s got a cold. And you’ve been in the house. What are you talking about? Today is the first day you didn’t see him. My mom said—”
Maverick walked away from her explanation. Delilah hadn’t met angry Maverick since they left New York. She told herself she didn’t want him ever to be angry with her, and he rarely was. The change and challenge had come with his bond with Noah. Over the past weeks, it had grown increasingly intense. Noah marched around in front of her and anyone listening calling Maverick daddy. It was so cute. This one time, she sided with her mother and not Maverick undid all of the progress they had made together. He went back to the cottage, refusing to answer her phone calls. He promised to understand. For Delilah, understanding meant patience. For Maverick, it meant tolerance. Either way, her lover was short on both. She took off her jacket and hung it on the coat hook. She wore jeans and riding boots. Delilah unzipped the boots that were now wet from the snow and left them at the door. She walked through the cottage on her toes. She wore a white shirt underneath a knit sweater that dropped on her left shoulder, and though everything she had on was casual, she felt sexy and confident.