Mail-Order Bride (5 page)

“Paul, please, I'll go out of my mind with nothing to do.”

“Get a book and read.” His response was as uncaring as the arctic wind that howled outside the door.

“Oh I see,” she said in a high-pitched, emotional voice. “This is to be my punishment. Not only are you going to keep me as your prisoner, but I have to suffer your company as well. How long?”

“How long what?” With deliberate care, he set his pen aside.

“How long before you learn to trust me? A week? Ten days? A month?”

“I can't answer that. It depends on you.”

She flew to her feet, her fists clenched. “Well, then you'd be wise never to leave me alone, because the minute I get a chance, I'm hightailing it out of here. Somehow or other, I'll find a way to escape. You can't keep a person against his or her will. This is the United States of America and kidnapping is against the law.”

“I didn't kidnap you, I married you.”

“Well, then, you're the worst possible husband a woman could have. I refuse to be your wife, no matter what some piece of paper says.” She waited for him to argue with her, and when he didn't, she continued her tirade. “Not only that…you've got to be the most stubborn man I've ever met. Stubborn and unreasonable and…and…chauvinistic to boot!”

Paul nodded. “I know. But given time, you'll learn to love me.”

“Never,” Caroline vowed. “Not while I live and breathe.”

“We'll see.”

He sounded so sure of himself, so confident, that she wanted to throttle him. Drained, she sank back into her chair. To her horror, tears filled her eyes and fell hot against her cheeks. She wiped them aside and sniffled loudly to hold back the flood. “Paul,” she cried softly. “I just want to go home. Please.”

His mouth grew hard and inflexible. “You are home. The sooner you accept that, the better for both of us.”

With that, Caroline buried her face in her hands and wept until there were no tears left. Her eyes burned and her throat ached.

Paul felt the weight of Denali pressing against his back and prayed he was doing the right thing. He could deal with her harangues, even her feisty anger, but her tears were another matter. They brought all his doubts to the surface. A month—he'd promised himself a month. If things hadn't improved by the end of October, he'd send her back to Seattle. Looking at her now, bent over, weeping as though she hadn't a friend in the world, he felt guilt—and an overwhelming compassion. It would be so easy to love her. She had spunk and character and was more woman than he'd ever dreamed he'd find. He knew in his heart that this really could work, that this marriage could be genuine and happy. He knew because—except for one occasion—his instincts hadn't steered him wrong yet, and where there was such intense attraction between a man and a woman, there was a chance for lasting love.

By mid-afternoon, Caroline had read one adventure novel, written her two maiden aunts a scathing letter, destroyed that, and had drawn several pictures of a distorted Paul with a knife through his heart. She couldn't help it; after eight hours of complete monotony, she felt murderous.

Toward evening, Paul handed Caroline her parka. “Are you ready to go back to the cabin?”

Was she ever! But she had no intention of letting him know that. With a regal tilt of her chin, she reached for her jacket and slipped her arms inside the thick sleeves. She hadn't spoken a word to Paul in hours, and he hadn't had the decency to reveal the least bit of concern. Well, she could hold out longer than he could. By the time she returned to Seattle, he'd be so glad to be rid of her, he'd give her the divorce without even arguing.

More snow had fallen during the day, and although the cabin was only a short distance from the pumping station, they needed snowshoes to trek their way back. It was the first time that Caroline had ever worn them, and she was forced to squelch her natural delight.

Again, dinner had been left on the stove. Tonight it was a roast with onions, potatoes, and carrots simmered in the gravy. Caroline wondered who did the cooking, but she refused to ask Paul such a thing. And she was hungry; lunch had consisted of a peanut-butter sandwich many hours before.

As he had the previous night, Paul placed the silverware on the table and brought their meal from the stove. More than once, Caroline felt his gaze on her, but she was determined not to utter a word.

“I must admit,” Paul said halfway through their dinner, “that I prefer the silence to your constant badgering.”

“Badgering!” Caroline shrieked. “I do not badger. All I want is an end to this despicable marriage.”

Paul grinned boyishly. “Has anyone told you how beautiful your eyes are?”

Caroline pressed her lips together and stabbed her meat with unnecessary force. “I wish that was your heart. Oops, my mistake. You don't have one.”

Paul laughed outright at that. “But I do, love,” he said a few minutes later. “And it belongs to you.”

“I don't want it.” She struggled to hold back tears of frustration. “Didn't you say you'd received lots of letters in response to your ad? Those women all
wanted
to be your wife. Let me go, Paul. Please let me go. I'll repay you the money you've already spent. I swear I will.”

He shook his head. “I refuse to discuss the matter again.”
Until the end of the month,
he added to himself, hoping that by then there'd be nothing to discuss.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Caroline returned, just barely managing to regain her composure.

Neither one of them ate much after that. Caroline toyed with the food on her plate, but her appetite had vanished, and with it her will to fight.

Standing, she carried her plate to the sink and scraped it clean. Paul brought over his dishes and they worked silently together, cleaning away the dinner mess.

“Paul,” she said, after he'd wiped the last dish dry, “do you play Scrabble?” She knew he must; she'd seen the game on his shelf.

“A bit. Why?”

“Could you and I play? To help pass the evening?”

“I suppose.”

For the first time in two days, Caroline's smile was natural and real. Her aunts loved Scrabble and had taught it to her as a child. With such expert tutoring, she was practically unbeatable. Her whole world became brighter. “It would be far more interesting, though,” she said with a feigned thoughtful look, “if we played for something, don't you think?”

“How do you mean?”

She brought the game down from the shelf and unfolded the board. “Simple. If I win you'd grant me one request, and vice versa.”

“And of course you'd ask for a divorce. No way.”

“No, not a divorce.” She'd work up to that.

“If not a divorce, what would you request?”

“Privacy.”

“Privacy?”

“Yes. I want to sleep alone.”

Skeptical, he eyed the recliner. “For how long?”

She'd go easy on him. “One night.”

“Agreed.” He pulled up a chair, twisted it around, and straddled it. “And on the off chance I win?” He could see the mischief in her brilliant blue eyes. She clearly expected to beat him.

“Yes?” She regarded him expectantly. “What would you want?”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“And not a peck on the cheek, either. I want you to kiss me so well it'll turn me inside out.”
Not that it would take much,
he mused.

Caroline hesitated. “But no more than a kiss, right?”

“No more. Agreed?”

With a saucy grin, she stuck out her hand. “Agreed.” They shook on it and Caroline laughed. It felt so good to laugh again; she hated the constant bickering. Besides, this was going to be like taking candy from a baby.

“Let the games begin,” Paul said, grinning back at her.

For a moment, it was hard to take her gaze off him. His eyes were smiling, and although she couldn't see the rest of his face through the beard, she felt he must be a handsome man. His eyes certainly were appealing. Playfully, she held up her hand and flexed all her fingers.

“You draw first.” In gentlemanly fashion, Paul handed her the small velvet bag with the letters of the alphabet.

Caroline inserted her hand and drew out an A. She gave him a triumphant look and set it on her letter holder. “I go first.”

“Right.”

It wasn't until they were a couple plays into the game that Caroline recognized Paul's skill. He was going to provide some stiff competition. In fact, their scores remained close throughout the match. Caroline was down to her last five letters when Paul gained a triple word slot, added up his score, and beamed her a proud look.

“Paul!” Caroline glanced at the board and gasped, unable to hold back her shock. “That's a four-letter word! A dirty four-letter word!”

“I'm well aware of that, love.”

“You can't use that. It…it's indecent.”

“It's also in the dictionary. Would you care to challenge me?”

She knew if she did, she'd immediately forfeit the game. “No,” she grumbled. “But I consider that word in poor taste.”

Paul's response was a soft chuckle. “You can challenge me if you wish.”

“What's the score?” Five letters left…If she could use them all, she might be able to pull into the lead.

“Three hundred and twenty to two eighty-eight,” Paul informed her gleefully. “Do you concede?”

“Never!”

“I'm afraid you have to. I'm out of letters.”

“You won,” Caroline said, almost in a daze. She'd lost only one game of Scrabble since her junior year in high school. She'd played brilliantly, yet Paul had outdone her.

“Yes, love, I won.”

For a minute all she could do was stare at the board in shocked disbelief.

“Love? I believe you owe me a kiss.”

She should object to his calling her “love,” but she was too bemused. “You beat me at Scrabble,” she said. “And I'm a good player. Very good.”

“I'm fairly well versed in the game myself,” Paul said. “There's not much else for Walter and me to do on those long winter nights.”

Caroline's eyes narrowed. He'd known all along that he had an excellent chance of winning.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he said again.

“You cheated,” Caroline cried. “You used a four-letter word and—”

“Don't tell me you're a poor sport, too.”

As fast as she could, Caroline removed the wooden pieces from the playing board. “You mean in addition to being a liar and a thief.”

“I didn't say that,” Paul told her soberly.

“Well, you needn't worry, I'll give you what I promised, but I still think it's unfair of you to use that word.”

“You'd use it, too, if you had to,” Paul said, folding up the game and placing it back on the bookcase.

“I wouldn't!”

“If you were down to four letters and that word placed you on a triple word score and would guarantee you a win, then I don't doubt you'd use it!”

“Well,” Caroline hedged, a smile lifting the edges of her mouth, “I'd be tempted, but I don't think I'd stoop that low.”

“Yes, you would. Now pay up, love.”

Reluctantly, Caroline stood and rounded the table to his side.

“A kiss that'll turn me inside out,” he reminded her.

“I remember,” she said ruefully. She stood in front of him and Paul's arm circled her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She offered him a weak smile and set her hands on his shoulders. His palms slid around her back, directing her actions.

She twisted her head to the right, then changed her mind and moved it to the left. Slowly, she bent forward and placed her parted mouth on his. Paul's lips were moist and warm and brushed hers in a slow, sensuous way. Then his kiss grew wilder, and she responded with equal intensity.

They broke apart, panting and drained.

“Oh Caroline,” he breathed against her neck. Their mouths fused again. Although she'd initially had no intention of giving him more than the one kiss, she felt as eager for the second as he was.

Again his mouth nuzzled her neck. “Another game, Caroline, love? Only this time the stakes will be slightly higher.”

“Another game of Scrabble?” Caroline repeated, feeling content.

Dream or not, her memory served her well; Paul Trevor was one fantastic kisser. Suddenly her eyes flew open and she jerked herself free from Paul's arms. Mere hours before, she'd vowed to freeze him out and here she was, sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck, kissing him with all the fervor in her heart.

“Our Scrabble days are over, Paul Trevor,” she said coldly, placing her hand on the table to help maintain her balance. She felt a heated flush in her cheeks.

“You mean you're quitting because I'm a better player than you?” Paul returned with a laugh.

“Better player, my foot!”

The whole situation appeared to amuse him, which only angered Caroline more. She stormed into the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed, sulking. Until she'd met Paul, she'd 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 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 softly, relishing the comfort of his arms. “I'm trying not to love him…Does that help?”

Tenderly, Paul kissed the side of her face. “It makes it easier to accept. I appreciate what it cost you to be honest.”

A polite knock at the door drew them reluctantly apart. A very pregnant young woman walked in. Her smile was almost bashful, as though she felt she'd intruded on their lovemaking. “Did you need me, Paul?”

“Yes.” Paul slipped his arm around Caroline's waist. “Caroline, this is Tanana Eagleclaw. Tanana, my wife, Caroline.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Trevor?” the girl said formally.

“Fine, thank you, Tanana. And please call me Caroline. When is your baby due?” From the way she looked, it could've been any day.

“Six weeks.” Again the young woman smiled shyly, obviously pleased about the pregnancy.

Caroline guessed she was in her early twenties. “You're a very good cook.”

“Thank you.”

Paul said something to her in her native tongue and Tanana nodded eagerly, her gaze moving briefly to Caroline. She left soon afterward.

“What was that all about?” Caroline asked.

“You said you wanted to meet Tanana, so I had her come over.”

“But that wasn't the only reason. What did you say to her?”

“When?”

“Just now.” Caroline gave him a bewildered look until she realized he was purposely playing dumb. “Never mind. You obviously don't want me to know, so forget it.” She did understand one thing; Tanana's feelings would be hurt if Caroline were to take over the cooking. Perhaps when her baby was born, Caroline could assume the task without causing any loss of pride. If she was still here, of course…

That night, sitting in front of the fireplace, Caroline wrote her aunts a long reply. She told them that in the beginning she was furious with what they'd done, but gradually she'd changed her mind. Paul was a good man, a decent man, she wrote, and in that regard, she told the truth. But she couldn't tell them that she hoped and prayed that, given time, Paul would let her return to Seattle. That kind of information would only upset them, and there was no need to disillusion those two romantics. Nor did she say that if she was going to be a bride, she wanted the opportunity to choose her
own
husband. When Paul sent her back, and Caroline believed he would, there'd be time enough to explain everything. For now, she'd play their game and let them think they'd outsmarted her and that she was a happy, blushing bride. It could do no harm.

That night, Caroline fell into bed, exhausted. Paul joined her a little later, and as she did every night, she pretended to be asleep when he slipped in beside her.

“ 'Night, love,” he whispered.

She didn't respond and a few minutes later drifted into a natural, contented sleep.

A noise woke her. She stirred—discovering that she'd been sleeping with her head on Paul's chest. His arm secured her to him.

“Is it morning yet?” she murmured, closing her eyes again, reluctant to leave the warmth pressing against her.

“In a few minutes.”

Paul rose before her every morning to stoke the fire and put on the coffee. Caroline had no idea whether she touched him in her sleep and feared that she'd wake in his arms one morning and embarrass them both.

“Do I do this often?” she asked, a little flustered.

“Not nearly enough,” he returned. His hand ran down the length of her spine, stopping at the small of her back. He paused and inhaled sharply.

Caroline realized it was that soft rumble from his throat that had awakened her. Still, she didn't move. He felt incredibly good—warm, strong…male.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Caroline knew she had to pull herself away; each minute was more pleasant than the one before.

“I'll make the coffee this morning,” she murmured, easing away from him.

Paul stopped her. “There's no rush. Go back to sleep if you'd like.”

“To sleep?” She lifted her head enough to search his face. “Aren't you going to the station?”

“I'll be there, but you won't.”

Caroline was sure she'd misunderstood him.

“I asked Tanana to spend the day with you,” he explained. “She's going to introduce you to the other women in the village.”

For a moment, Caroline was too stunned to grasp what he was saying. “Paul, do you mean it? I don't have to go to the station?” Without thought, she wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his cheeks and forehead with a series of tiny, eager kisses.

Paul's hands found her head and guided her mouth to his for a kiss that was long and hard. Leisurely, her lips moved against his. Without her being certain how it happened, Paul reversed their positions with such ease that she lay on her back, staring up at him. Slowly, as though he couldn't resist her a second longer, he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that stirred her, heart and soul. Caroline couldn't possibly have denied herself that kiss. Her hands sought his face, luxuriating in the feel of his beard.

Paul broke off the kiss and, with a sigh that seemed to come from deep inside, buried his face in the hollow of her throat.