Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) by Kristin Holt Page B

of paint, varnish, sawdust. All sweet-smelling, clean, and welcoming.
    “This house… it’s so big for just two of us.” She’d never imagined this kind of space, so many various rooms all with different purposes.
    “It’s possible we’ll soon increase the size of our family, Lessie. We might need a nursery or two.”
    Children.
    Babies .
    One of the reasons so many of their friends had sought the opportunity to be mail order brides. Like most of the unmarried women she knew, she did want children… eventually.
    Richard turned, met her gaze, the glow of gas light shining on his wavy black hair. He really was a handsome man. Especially now that he knew his good-natured heart and all the preparation he’d gone through for her… before he’d known who his mail order bride would be.
    The men couldn’t have known they’d find twins to wed, but they’d obviously meant it when they’d advertised for brides with close family ties. Who else would want matching houses with the convenience of two or three walkways between their residences?
    “Look at this,” he said, gesturing to three open doorways.
    The hallway offered three doorways all near one another. From where she stood, she took in three bedrooms, one on the south side already made up as a nursery with a crib, a tall chest of drawers, and a rocking chair.
    Tears would flow if she weren’t careful, so she turned to look in the west-facing bedchamber over the front porch. This one was stately, a big bed dominating the middle of the room.
    Her tummy tingled at the thought of sharing that bed with her husband.
    “Guest room,” he murmured. “In case you have a friend or two wishing to come for a visit. “I suspect some of those other brides who left the Brown Textile Mill might want to check on you and Josie. Coming to scary Utah Territory and all.”
    That made her laugh aloud. “I’ll write to them all right away.”
    “Please do.”
    He turned and showed her what must be their bedroom. But this one had been prepared for little children. Older than infants, with two low beds and a toy chest. Two chests of drawers, bright curtains at the windows.
    Without saying so, her husband clearly prepared for the eventuality of fatherhood.
    His recognition of the responsibility, as well as the hope for the next generation, made her soften toward him even more. He might be clueless about many things… but about this, about family and parenthood and looking to the future… he understood everything that mattered.
    Tears threatened. She would not cry. Tears, even happy tears, were useless. So she shoved them aside and grasped for the closest topic of conversation that wouldn’t bring more emotion.
    “Nowhere for us to sleep?”
    “Surely you don’t think I’d plan for sons and daughters and not provide for you?”
    “It did occur to me.” Teasing was so much easier than allowing his kindness and foresight to steal her heart.
    “Come with me, Mrs. Cannon.” He strode toward the back of the house, passing closed doors. “Closet. Storage.”
    A discovery for another time.
    “Stairs to the attic,” he added.
    “A lavatory.” He paused to turn on the gas light in the smaller room than the full bathroom downstairs. This one offered the convenience of a commode and a pedestal sink. But no bathtub. She couldn’t help but wonder if the enormous tub had been too heavy or too large to maneuver up the staircase during construction.
    “I argued with the builder,” Richard said, obviously following her gaze and reading her too clearly, “about a bath tub upstairs. The only thing I dislike about this house is the only tub is downstairs, as close to the front entrance as any bathing room I’ve ever noticed. But the builder insisted the architect knew precisely what he was doing, and to mess with the design would be an affront to his sensitivities.”
    She didn’t care. The convenience, inside, seemed so grand, so unlike anything she’d ever imagined she’d