Free Mail-Order Bride by Debbie Macomber Page B

you.”
    “And?” he prodded with a soft chuckle.
    “And what?”
    “How do you like me?”
    It was Caroline’s turn to laugh. “I find you…surprising.”
    “Typical.”
    “Aunt Mabel, she’s the romantic one, says she feels that we’re going to be happy and have…oh my goodness.”
    “What?”
    Color seeped up from Caroline’s neck and flushed her cheeks. “She predicts seven children, which is how many my great-great-grandmother had as a mail-order bride.”
    “I’m willing,” Paul informed her with a grin.
    “Be quiet, I’m reading. And Aunt Ethel…” She hesitated, her eyes scanning the rest of the page. “It was nothing.” With her heart pounding frantically, and hoping to appear nonchalant, she refolded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope.
    Paul joined her at the kitchen table. “What did she say?”
    Caroline dropped her gaze. “It wasn’t important.”
    “Shall I read the letter myself?”
    “No…” she said and hid it behind her back. He could have insisted she hand it over, but he didn’t, although his cutting gaze reminded her that the letter had been addressed to both of them and he had every right to read it. “She told me that Larry Atkins dropped by when…when he couldn’t get hold of me. Aunt Ethel said she took great delight in telling him I’m a married woman now.”
    “I see,” Paul said thoughtfully.
    “I’m sure you don’t.” Caroline braced her hands against the kitchen counter as she fought a bout of self-pity. Her relationship with Larry had been over weeks before she’d come to Alaska. It shouldn’t hurt this much now, but it did. Her heart yearned to know why he’d contacted her and how he’d reacted to the news that she was married to Paul. She wanted to inform Larry that it wasn’t a real marriage—not the way theirs would have been.
    Paul placed his hands on her shoulders. “Caroline, here.” He turned her into his arms and held her quietly. It wasn’t the embrace of a lover, but that of a caring, loyal friend.
    She laid her face against his chest and drew in a wobbly breath. His hand was in her hair, stroking the back of her head in a soothing, comforting motion.
    “Do you still love him?” he asked after a moment.
    Caroline had to analyze her feelings. She’d been crazy in love with Larry for months. She missed him, thought about him often, wished him the best. But did she love him?
    As she pondered his question, Paul decided that holding Caroline was the closest thing to heaven he’d ever experienced. He’d barely touched her in a week, wanting to give her time to know him. Their relationship was in an awkward stage; he wasn’t convinced he could trust her yet. She’d outright told him that the first time he left her alone, she’d run away. Winter was coming on, and for her own safety he couldn’t leave her until he was sure she wouldn’t try to escape. He ached to hold her and kiss her until he felt he’d go mad. His successful restraint should make him a candidate for sainthood, he thought wryly. He regretted that he hadn’t made love to her on their wedding night, and yet he’d never coerce Caroline or any woman, never force himself on her.
    From her ramblings that night, Paul knew about Larry. The situation was less than ideal, and he’d played the role of patient husband, difficult though that was. She’d been with him nine days, and yet it had aged him a hundred lifetimes to be with her—at meals, at the station, especially in bed—knowing her mind was on another man. A man who’d rejected her, for that matter.
    “Caroline,” he pressed, needing to know. “Do you still love him?”
    “I…yes,” she answered truthfully, her voice strained and low. This was difficult. Paul was her husband, in fact if not in deed, and she couldn’t deny either her attraction to him or his kindness to her. She had no desire to be cruel to him. “You don’t stop loving people because they’ve hurt you,” she told him