Free Josie: Bride of New Mexico (American Mail-Order Bride 47) by Kristin Holt Page B

wife. “Either to find a doctor or to report the ruffian to the law. My priority is keeping you safe.”
    “I’ll stitch your wound. We don’t need a doctor. I can handle this.”
    “You’ve sewn up injuries?”
    “Of course. My sister and I, and some of our roommates, never had money to pay a doctor’s fee.”
    He couldn’t imagine what that must be like.
    Josie washed her hands, working up a fine lather in the lavatory sink. She dried her hands on a clean towel and then assessed his wound. “Come out here and lie on the bed. I need the daylight to best see.”
    He did as she asked.
    Josie prodded with care. Took a close look, then pressed the handkerchief to the wound. The bleeding had nearly stopped. “You’re incredibly lucky. Another inch down, and he’d have pierced your bowel. An improved angle, and he’d have sliced between your ribs. I saw the length of that blade, Adam, and he could have destroyed a kidney, or…”
    Her voice shook and emotion clamped down on her ability to speak.
    He offered her his cleanest hand. She grasped it and held on as if his mortality had truly scared her.
    Frankly, it scared him, too.
    He met his wife’s gaze, held it… and would have sworn he glimpsed her heart in those coffee-colored eyes.
    Not the most comfortable way to win his wife’s affections, but he’d take it.
    A knock sounded on the door. “I have water.”
    “Come in.” Josie swiped at tears on her cheeks. She issued orders, asked for the help she needed— a table, a wet washcloth, a clean towel— and set to work stitching his wound closed.
    Adam held his observations until the staff had left the room. By then, the train was gaining speed and leaving Gunnison behind.
    “You saw the man coming. You immediately recognized his intentions— and that scares me, Darling. That you even know that rough segment of the population. But I know one thing with utter certainty.”
    She paused in her stitches, and really looked at him, truly listened.
    He lost another good chunk of his heart to her.
    Like Grandfather in his story, she listened— really listened— not only because she wanted the information but because she cared about him .
    She saw him .
    “You saved my life, Mrs. Taylor. If you hadn’t warned me, if you hadn’t kicked, fought—” he swallowed hard, love for his bride welling hot and thick and true. “You saved my life.”
    How could he not love her?

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Thirteen
     

     
    That evening, retiring for the night was ever so much more comfortable. She and Adam repeated the decorative pillow removal from the bed in much the same way. He knocked them off the bed with a sweep of his arm and she carefully stacked them on the chair.
    But when she joined him in bed and he put out the light, she easily slid into his embrace and rested her head upon his shoulder.
    “Will you finish my bedtime story?” He smelled of toothpaste and soap. He’d shaved again, just prior to retiring. The gesture was possibly the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.
    “I’d love to.”
    She’d noticed him slipping the word ‘love’ in to every possible usage throughout the day.
    Will you assist me in addressing this letter?
    I’d love to, Darling.
    Would you care for a baked apple for dessert tonight?
    I’d love one, Dearest.
    “How do your stitches feel?”
    “I’d utterly forgotten them.”
    “Liar.”
    “Darling wife. You must think the best of me. It wounds me to think you don’t.”
    But his fingertips found her ribs and he tickled.
    “Now, none of that.” She swatted his hands away from her ticklish spots. “I’m curious to know all about this greatest love story of all time.”
    “Where did the story end last night?” He nuzzled her temple, trailing a warm tantalizing kiss along her forehead.
    She knew precisely how the story had ended, and she rather hoped tonight’s installment of the tale would end in a similar fashion. Especially after the day’s startling realizations, she