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

shape, couldn’t he?
    He cleared his throat and pulled back the covers. “Speak now if you prefer this side.”
    “I— I really don’t know if I have a preference.”
    “You didn’t share a bed with your sister?”
    “Sometimes I have. When we were small, and when we could afford to rent only one space.”
    She never ceased to amaze him. He’d thought of the grand idea while shaving. “Tonight, m’dear, we’re both going to approach this with comfort. I’m going to climb on in as if we’ve been sharing a bed for ten blissful years, and you’re going to climb on in as if you’re sharing a bed with your sister and all the ease and familiarity that brings. Sound good?”
    “Can’t I just pretend I’m sharing a bed with my husband?”
    He could have choked. “Yes. Yes, you may.”
    She untied her robe, unbuttoned the long line of buttons up the front and hung it in the closet.
    He intentionally waited to turn off the lamp until she’d reached the bed… for her safety, he’d told himself, and would have told her that same line, too, had she asked. But he simply wanted to see the pretty pink rosebuds embroidered along the neckline of her nightgown, admire the tiny pin-tucks that ran along the bodice from shoulder seam nearly to her waist, and the round pearl buttons along the center front. Gathered sleeves came to her wrists where ribbons cinched up the width to her own comfort and lace adorned the end of the ruffle.
    The white gown was modest and beautiful— just like his bride.
    She climbed in bed as if it were the most natural, comfortable thing she’d ever done.
    And to think he’d fretted over it.
    So much for fretting. He was done with worrying about anything but ensuring she was comfortable and happy.
    He doused the light and settled on his side, facing her.
    His heart thrilled with delight when his eyes adjusted and he found her facing him.
    The gentle sway of the train in motion rocked many people to sleep, especially when they were unaccustomed to train travel.
    Would she last through the story he particularly wanted to share? “Are you too sleepy for a bedtime story?”
    “Not yet. So hurry up and begin.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled. “Once upon a time, there was a young man named George Richard Cannon, and he met a woman who he knew was very special. In fact, the first time they met, he suspected Lucinda Anna Evans, a few years his junior, was the only woman for him.”
    His eyes had adjusted in the dark enough he could see the stark difference between the ruffled cuff of her nightgown and her hand. He fiddled with the lace on the edge of her ruffle. “Lucinda was the loveliest woman in the village. Sweetest in disposition, too.”
    Josie giggled. “I’m sorry.”
    “What’s so funny?”
    “Were your grandparents perfect?”
    That gave him pause. He had to think about it. “No. But they were perfect for each other.”
    “Then I’m willing to hear your story.”
    “Good, because this is a tale you won’t soon forget. My grandparents, remember, had one of those great loves. A love that surpassed time and bridged difficulties and bards wrote musical tales about.”
    This made Josie laugh outright. “Your grandparents did not live at a time when bards entertained chieftains in their castles.”
    “How do you know?”
    “What year was your grandfather born?”
    “1840.”
    “You answer with much confidence. Are you sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure. I’m the one who knew Grandfather, remember?”
    “Yes, indeed I do.”
    “He would have loved you, by the way.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “You have the same list of graces he attributed to Grandmother. He fell in love with her for the same reasons I will find myself madly in love with you.”
    She moved beneath the covers, settling to make herself more comfortable. One of her toes brushed his and he fought the urge to creep closer to her.
    “Now where was I?” He trailed the ribbon at her wrist through his