Josie: Bride of New Mexico (American Mail-Order Bride 47) (9 page)

When Adam packed his trunks for this journey to Silver Queen, he managed to find a nightshirt to bring along.

He hadn’t worn pajamas of any kind since he was a child, preferring to sleep in his underwear.

But he had enough modesty, and knew his bride likely would, too, that he brought the nightshirt along. His wife deserved every bit of courtesy he could show her.

He’d asked a great deal of her today. He’d asked for one set of qualifications when she contacted him about his advertisement. And now that they were wed, he’d asked her for yet another.

And she’d taken it all in stride. How had he been so very blessed?

While she bathed, he washed up in the sink of the
en-suite
lavatory. He shaved anew. His beard would roughen and chafe her skin… and while he refused to have too high a set of expectations, he did hope she’d allow him to hold her.

He brushed and flossed, he realized his thoughts had remained squarely on her.

He’d gone into this marriage with his eyes wide open, and determined to fall in love with his wife. Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d thought it would require effort and determination to develop warm and tender feelings for a stranger.

But Josie— a pleasant surprise— would be so very easy to love. He already loved her smile, her joy of discovery, her humble approach, and the scent of her hair and skin. He loved how well she fit in his arms, how her little body fit perfectly beneath his chin.

The door opened and his heart quickened. Good thing he’d put on the confounded night shirt before he’d shaved or her appearance could have made them both uncomfortable.

But he refused to let this first night together feel awkward for her. “Did you enjoy your bath?”

“It was glorious.”

He smiled at her enjoyment, and simply because she smiled. He’d married a beautiful woman.

“I like your new robe.” She’d buttoned it up to her throat and tied the sash. She’d tucked her hands into the embroidered pockets. She’d washed her hair and combed it through, and it hung in damp strands, nearly to her waist. All that showed was her neck and face… and bare toes.

Little, pink, clean toes. He could have looked a good long while, but poor Josie seemed uncomfortable, and that was his number one rule— he would not make Josie uncomfortable.

He finished flossing, rinsed his mouth in the sink, and put his toothbrush in the holder to dry. “Come to bed, Darling. I have a bedtime story for you.”

“A story?” She approached the big bed, far less uncomfortable, at least in appearance, than he’d thought she’d be.

Adam folded back the covers and pushed the decorative pillows off onto the floor. Josie picked up the fancy pillows and stacked them on the chair. Just to tease her, he knocked two more pillows off to bounce on the carpet.

She giggled and bent to pick up an armful of pillows.

He tried not to look, but what a lovely shape she had.

A husband could look at his own wife and admire her shape, couldn’t he?

He cleared his throat and pulled back the covers. “Speak now if you prefer this side.”

“I— I really don’t know if I have a preference.”

“You didn’t share a bed with your sister?”

“Sometimes I have. When we were small, and when we could afford to rent only one space.”

She never ceased to amaze him. He’d thought of the grand idea while shaving. “Tonight, m’dear, we’re both going to approach this with comfort. I’m going to climb on in as if we’ve been sharing a bed for ten blissful years, and you’re going to climb on in as if you’re sharing a bed with your sister and all the ease and familiarity that brings. Sound good?”

“Can’t I just pretend I’m sharing a bed with my husband?”

He could have choked. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

She untied her robe, unbuttoned the long line of buttons up the front and hung it in the closet.

He intentionally waited to turn off the lamp until she’d reached the bed… for her safety, he’d told himself, and would have told her that same line, too, had she asked. But he simply wanted to see the pretty pink rosebuds embroidered along the neckline of her nightgown, admire the tiny pin-tucks that ran along the bodice from shoulder seam nearly to her waist, and the round pearl buttons along the center front. Gathered sleeves came to her wrists where ribbons cinched up the width to her own comfort and lace adorned the end of the ruffle.

The white gown was modest and beautiful— just like his bride.

She climbed in bed as if it were the most natural, comfortable thing she’d ever done.

And to think he’d fretted over it.

So much for fretting. He was done with worrying about anything but ensuring she was comfortable and happy.

He doused the light and settled on his side, facing her.

His heart thrilled with delight when his eyes adjusted and he found her facing him.

The gentle sway of the train in motion rocked many people to sleep, especially when they were unaccustomed to train travel.

Would she last through the story he particularly wanted to share? “Are you too sleepy for a bedtime story?”

“Not yet. So hurry up and begin.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled. “Once upon a time, there was a young man named George Richard Cannon, and he met a woman who he knew was very special. In fact, the first time they met, he suspected Lucinda Anna Evans, a few years his junior, was the only woman for him.”

His eyes had adjusted in the dark enough he could see the stark difference between the ruffled cuff of her nightgown and her hand. He fiddled with the lace on the edge of her ruffle. “Lucinda was the loveliest woman in the village. Sweetest in disposition, too.”

Josie giggled. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Were your grandparents perfect?”

That gave him pause. He had to think about it. “No. But they were perfect for each other.”

“Then I’m willing to hear your story.”

“Good, because this is a tale you won’t soon forget. My grandparents, remember, had one of those great loves. A love that surpassed time and bridged difficulties and bards wrote musical tales about.”

This made Josie laugh outright. “Your grandparents did not live at a time when bards entertained chieftains in their castles.”

“How do you know?”

“What year was your grandfather born?”

“1840.”

“You answer with much confidence. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m the one who knew Grandfather, remember?”

“Yes, indeed I do.”

“He would have loved you, by the way.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You have the same list of graces he attributed to Grandmother. He fell in love with her for the same reasons I will find myself madly in love with you.”

She moved beneath the covers, settling to make herself more comfortable. One of her toes brushed his and he fought the urge to creep closer to her.

“Now where was I?” He trailed the ribbon at her wrist through his fingers. Though he could no longer see it, he knew the ribbon was the same shade of pale candy-pink as the roses hand-stitched into the fabric.

“George Richard Cannon thought Lucinda Anna Evans the loveliest girl in the village.”

“You remember their names.”

“Of course I do. I listen to everything you say.”

Richard couldn’t help it. He grinned. “I may need to remind you of that one day.”

“If you must.”

“Now hush. The story’s about to get really good.”

Josie’s knee bumped his thigh as she curled up a little tighter, obviously perfectly comfortable with him in her bed… or her in his bed…

He cleared his throat again. He curled his knees up a little tighter just for the pleasure of bringing his thighs into contact with her shins.

He might have been mistaken, but is sure seemed she nestled a little bit closer.

He left off with her ribbon and traced his fingertips over her hand curled about the edge of the blankets. “Yes. Let’s see. Lucinda’s parents were very old fashioned. They believed in strict courtship rules and when young George went to her father and asked for permission to court his daughter, the first answer was a no.”

“Oh.” She packed a wallop of sadness in that single syllable. Was his wife a romantic?

“But George was not dissuaded. He asked Mr. Evans again for permission to court his daughter. This time, Mr. Evans didn’t immediately say no, but he asked George Cannon why he wanted to court his daughter. He asked ‘What do you see in Miss Lucinda that has caught your eye’?”

He paused to moisten his mouth and to savor the pleasure of lying abed with his lovely wife. She’d drawn near enough he could feel the warm tickle of her breath on his jaw. He’d traced every plane of the back of her hand, and now he focused on his ring upon her finger. Caressing, sweeping his fingertip over it. He
loved
the thought of his ring on her finger.

“What was George’s answer?”

“He was young and foolish and fancied himself in love. George told Mr. Evans that he looked at Lucinda and saw the most beautiful girl in the whole village, in the whole settlement, in all of the whole state.”

“Oh.” This time, her single-syllable answer echoed disappointment.

Funny, how his ability to read her emotion was enhanced when the lights were out. He needed to learn to listen more carefully.

Apparently, his bride understood the problem. “With George’s answer, Mr. Evans answered that no, young George may not court Lucinda and sent him on his way.”

Josie slipped into his storytelling. “But young George Cannon would not be dissuaded. He asked Mr. Evans a third time for the privilege of courting his lovely daughter Lucinda.”

“This time George did something he figured would help his case. He made sure Mrs. Evans was present when he begged permission. He’d also talked with every woman he knew. His mother. His sisters. The lady next door. And this time he was prepared with an answer Mr. Evans would be sure to take to heart.”

Josie chuckled and the bright, happy sound made him smile. He slipped his hand beneath hers, the one he’d been caressing and felt the reward of her little fingers tightening around his. He loved holding hands with Josie. It brought a beautiful surprising intimacy he hadn’t expected.

“Mr. Evans, young George Cannon said, and Mrs. Evans, when I look at your daughter, Lucinda, I see her kindness, her cooperation, her love of literature and all that is good. I admire her singing voice in the church choir. May I have permission to court your daughter?”

Josie sighed as if happier with George’s approach.

“While Mr. Evans did not respond with an immediate no, he did not respond with a yes. Instead he asked, ‘but when you look at Lucinda, do you see
her
?’ George was taken aback by this. Of course he saw Lucinda when he looked at her. How could he look at her and not see her?”

“Oh, no.” Josie’s tone held both sadness and disappointment, but also much humor.

“Oh, yes.” Adam’s left arm, which lay folded between the two of them, left his hand to rest over his knees. He’d rather touch his wife’s knee, so he used the excuse of storytelling to tap her knee where it lay, within an easy each. “Oh, yes.” He tapped her knee with each word. Just a little love tap.

Would she allow him to rest his palm against the curve of her knee? Far too forward for a courting couple, and certainly not in public, but she was his wife, and they were alone.

Chapter Eleven

Determined to watch for any indication, either way, in her response, he slowly and carefully rested his palm over the curve of her knee… and immediately realized it was an uncomfortable angle he couldn’t possibly maintain. But he could rest his hand on her thigh, near the curve of her hip.

Most daring.

Most forward.

And most appealing.

“Young George Cannon went away grieving. He found himself remembering Lucinda in every waking moment.” Adam rested his hand carefully over his wife’s leg, so near her hip and nearly held his breath in anticipation.

And Josie, sweet Josie, remained perfectly relaxed and happy beneath his touch.

A thrill of happiness raced through him, and he found himself continuing with the story while his heart seemed to thrill at the joy of cuddling with his bride.

“George Cannon tried for weeks to stay away. Lucinda’s father and mother had rejected his suit. He didn’t know what they wanted to hear, but he found he couldn’t forget Lucinda. He thought of her when he saw her and thought of her when he did not. He sought her out, went places he knew she would be. He found himself completely disinterested in any other young lady of his acquaintance.”

He caressed Josie’s thigh with his thumb. He gave her a little squeeze. “You do realize this story is a true one and does have a happy ending. My grandparents had one of those great loves.”

“So you keep telling me. Do go on.”

“Finally, when George had tried to forget Lucinda without success, he approached Mr. Evans for what he hoped would be the last time— at least for the purpose of asking permission to court his daughter, Lucinda. ‘Please, sir,’ George said to Mr. Evans, ‘when I look at Lucinda, I see the light in her eyes that tells me when she’s happy and when she’s sad. When I look at Lucinda, I see the way she listens to the young ladies of her acquaintance— really listens, because it’s not only about what they have to say, but the fact that those girls are her friends and Lucinda chooses to give them her best.”