Free Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn

boyhood emerged on the docks and helped secure the lines of the Femme Rouge . Gillian retrieved the bag with her expensive gown tucked inside. Any future daughter would have to do without the dress. She’d remembered an occasion coming up in few days and needed the money for a special purchase.
    “What do you have in the bag?”
    “Something I wish to sell, and that’s all you can know today.”
    He lifted an eyebrow and clouds formed in his gaze. He wasn’t happy with her answer, but she refused to spoil the surprise.
    Rhys took the bag and helped her from the sloop. Gillian took in the sight of Bass Harbor in the daylight. A boathouse stood on the wharf, and she smiled at the familiar sight. Lobster traps sat neatly stacked on the pier close to the building. A net was draped along the side of boathouse with lobster buoys in an array of colors, adding decoration to the drab gray building.
    Someone cleared their throat stopping her visual tour at the docks. She met the young man’s leery gaze as he approached them.
    “You still angry with my part in this, Rhys?”
    Her husband slapped Charlie’s back and almost sent him flying. “Not at all, Charlie. I thank you for it. Did you meet Gillian?”
    He pressed his hand on her lower back and brought her forward. Charlie quickly removed his wool hat. His face turned a shade of red that was almost alarming. “Mrs. Chermont. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Charlie. What was your part?”
    Charlie dropped his gaze and a mop of brown hair flopped forward. “Ma’am I-I…”
    Rhys cuffed his neck. “He interrogated me is what he did, and did a fine job of it, too. Asked what kind of woman a man should look for when thinking of marriage. If I had any preference in how a lady looked? What’s the one thing a lady would say that I might give marriage another chance? A million other questions, he took back to the Father, and they ended up in the letters you received.”
    Gillian was shocked at what lengths the people of Bass Harbor gone to making sure the letters she received were as close to what Rhys would write, and also in finding a woman just right for him.
    One of the questions Charlie had asked Rhys peaked her interest. “You said there was one thing a woman could say that would make Rhys marry again. What was it I wrote that matched Rhys’ answer?”
    Charlie looked to Rhys for help, clearly not wishing to repeat what he’d said, or she’d written. Rhys took mercy on the young man and answered. “You wrote you desired nothing more than a man who could be your closest friend and someone to watch every sunrise and sunset with every day the rest of your life among a few other things.”
    “Yes, missus, that’s what you wrote, and that’s when Father McDonald said we’d found the one.”
    Gillian ignored Charlie, her gaze locked with Rhys’. “You read my letters.”
    He caressed her cheek with the back of one hand. “I thought I should. They were addressed to me, after all.”
    “I should have known that’s how you knew about the factory and everything. Thank you for reading them.”
    He gave a short nod of dismissal to Charlie and started walking toward the village. “Thank you for writing them.”
    She would have kissed Rhys, but while sharing affection in front of Deacon and Alice didn’t bother him, she knew she’d be pushing his boundaries and those of society to kiss her husband in the middle of Bass Harbor. She almost laughed. The village had already witnessed them kissing…twice. Still she drew on what her mother had taught her and settled for squeezing his hand in a hug.
    Bass Harbor was still decorated for the holidays, and she suspected the decorations would stay up through Twelfth Night. Their shopping wouldn’t take long in such a small village, and Gillian was relieved. She never understood the thrill many women experienced digging through materials and being fitted into frills and laces.
    Wooden