Free Mail-Order Bride by Debbie Macomber Page A

considered herself an easygoing, fun-loving person. In two days’ time, he’d managed to change all that. With her arms crossed, she fumed, contemplating a hundred means of making him suffer.
    It wasn’t until they were in bed, Paul asleep at her side, that Caroline acknowledged the truth—she was more furious with herself than she was with Paul. He’d played an honorable Scrabble game, except for that four-letter word, and had won their wager fair and square. What infuriated her most was her overwhelming response to his kiss. She didn’t
want
to feel this way; it was far too difficult to hate him when he was so loving, so gentle, so…exciting.
    In the morning, Paul woke her. “Time to get up, sleepyhead,” he whispered in her ear.
    Caroline’s eyes fluttered open. Paul sat on the edge of the bed, smiling down at her. “Coffee’s ready,” he said.
    “Paul,” she pleaded, trying to appeal to his better nature. “Do I have to go to the pumping station with you again? It’s so boring. I hate it.”
    “I’m sorry, love.”
    “I promise I won’t pull any tricks.”
    He stood, shaking his head. “No, Caroline, you’re coming with me.”
    Arguing would do no good, she realized with a frown, and she tossed aside the heavy quilts to climb out of bed, grumbling as she did. Paul left her to dress in privacy, for which she was grateful.
    Caroline prepared herself for the long, tedious hours. She took a deck of cards, some reading material, and a pen and paper.
    As he had the day before, Paul joined her at the desk beside hers a couple hours into the morning. He smiled as he pulled out the ledger.
    She waited to be sure she wasn’t disturbing him before speaking. “Paul, who does the cooking for you?”
    He didn’t look up from the ledger as he spoke. “Tanana Eagleclaw. You met her the day you got here.”
    “There were so many people,” she explained feebly.
    He grinned, but he didn’t tease her about her memory lapse.
    “Paul.” She tried again. “I’m a good cook.” That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, she added silently, but anything was better than sitting around this infernal pumping station ten hours a day.
    “Hmm.” He barely acknowledged her, apparently finding his ledgers more compelling.
    “Really, I’m an excellent cook.” She was getting desperate now. “I could prepare our meals. In fact, I’d like to do it.”
    “Tanana does an admirable job.”
    “Yes, but I want to do it!”
    “You can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because you’re here with me, that’s why not.”
    “Do you mean to tell me you’re going to drag me here for the rest of my life?”
    Paul sighed expressively. “We’re going over the same territory as yesterday. You’ll stay with me until I feel I can trust you again.”
    “Wonderful,” she said in a sour voice. She couldn’t begin to guess when that might be.
    —
    A week passed, and each morning a sleepy Caroline traipsed behind Paul to the pumping station, and each night she followed him home. No amount of pleading could get him to change his mind. He wanted her where he could see her every minute of every day. But, despite herself, she took comfort from his presence—even if she’d never admit as much.
    The mail was delivered twice a week and a letter was sitting on the table addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Paul Trevor when they arrived back from the station during Caroline’s second week in Gold River.
    “A letter!” Caroline cried, as excited as a child on Christmas morning. Contact with the outside world. A tie with the past. She hurriedly read the return address. “It’s from my aunts.”
    Paul smiled. “The two schemers?”
    Eagerly, Caroline tore open the envelope. “The very ones.” She hadn’t forgiven them for their underhanded method of getting her to Alaska, but she missed them dreadfully.
    “What do they have to say?” Paul coaxed.
    “They’re asking how I like my surprise. In case you don’t know, that’s