by Sierra Rose
The flap of his hand deemed that negligible. “Love.”
“I thought I was in love with Quinn,” she recalled wistfully. “But that was just a girl’s silly romantic dream. I think—I do believe I’m ready for the real thing, soon.”
“As to that,” the grin, if possible, stretched even farther, “it’ll take care of itself. I’ve loved you since I first spotted you steppin’ down from that high wagon you rode in on, near three months ago.”
Her lips parted in shock. “What are you talking about?”
“Yep. Those ankles of yours caught my eye first thing.” Mischief leaped into his dark eyes. “Prettiest set of legs I ever did see. And then I worked my way up, and I saw what the rest of you looked like, and my mouth began to water.”
“Paul!”
A nod of satisfaction, and another yep. “I was a goner, then and there. More fool me, not makin’ my case right off the bat. Instead, you jumped the gun and got yourself mixed up with a wrong ’un. Now it’s my turn. Now can I come sit b’side you?”
She had thought never to laugh again. Never to once again enjoy a light-hearted moment. But from this came a helpless gush of laughter that rocked her invalided body to its toes.
Taking that to be assent, he immediately moved in, snuggling close and carefully, with one arm wrapped around her shoulders like a warm protective cape.
“I don’t wanna scare you, Molly,” Paul breathed.
“You’re not scaring me, Paul,” she breathed back.
And then they shared that breath, in their first kiss.
If Molly had been rocked by laughter, a minute earlier, she was now completely bowled off her feet. There was so much sweetness and generosity in that kiss, a world of caring, and an incipient spark of real heat.
Paul wouldn’t feel her up. Not yet. But that time would be soon to come, he promised himself, and he would enjoy every second of it.
For now, finally, reluctantly, he released her.
“Ah, Molly,” he whispered, breathing hard.
“Oh, Paul,” she whispered back, breathing just as hard.
Still enthralled, he got busy snatching a hundred little brushes against her bandaged temple, her cheek, her chin, and her lips again.
“All right. All right. Now.” He straightened, putting temptation firmly aside, attempting the decorum she deserved. “So you ain’t afraid of me?”
“Never. You’re my best friend.”
“And you have faith in me?”
“Always. You’re a true companion.”
The wattage of his grin competed with today’s sunlight. “And you’ll marry me, as soon as it’s fitten?”
Molly pretended to consider. “I need time, Paul. Since I first arrived in Turnabout, everything has happened so quickly. I don’t want to feel rushed. I want to be courted.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I can surely do that.” A gleam was added to the mischief in his eyes. “As long as courtin’ includes all this, as often as possible.”
She blushed. “You’ve said you love me. You haven’t asked if I love you.”
Taking her hand in his, he touched his lips to the curled-up palm. “No need to. It’s there. I see it ever’ time I look at you. You haven’t answered me, Molly.”
“Yes, Paul, I will,” she whispered, surveying him with adoration. “You’ll be a wonderful husband. And I’ll bet I’ll be able to boss you around, just as Camellia does Ben.”
“Boss away,” said Paul, dizzied by the prospect.
Two voices, sounding both at once, came suddenly through the opened back door.
One was: “Okay, you two can make your arrangements some other time. We been waitin’ out here for twenty minutes. Can I please come into my own house now?”
And the other was: “I do no such thing! Do I, Ben? Do I?”
An abrupt Camellia-like giggle, and then a squeal, as Ben must have responded in his usual way.
“Oh boy,” Paul and Molly heard next, as a soft sigh.
Then all was silent.
It was fitten.
The End
Book 3 is next!!!!!
Don’t miss the Fall bride next!
Each sister will get a story!
Book 1 - Mail Order Bride: Springtime
Book 2 - Mail Order Bride: Summer
Book 3 - Mail Order Bride: Fall
Book 4 - Mail Order Bride: Winter
