Mail-Order Bride (2 page)

John saw her blink and laughed loudly. “I see they included something to keep your neck warm.”

Caroline found his humor less than amusing and stuffed the gown back inside the bag. She'd never thought of her aunts as senile, but their recent behavior gave her cause to wonder.

She shared a turkey sandwich with John and listened as he spoke at length about Alaska. His love for this last frontier was apparent in every sentence. His comments included a vivid description of the tundra and its varied wildlife.

“I have a feeling you're going to like it here.”

“Well, I like what little I've seen,” Caroline said. She'd expected the land to be barren and harsh. It was, but there was a majestic beauty about it that made Caroline catch her breath.

“That's Denali over there,” John told her. “She's the highest peak in North America.”

“I thought McKinley was.”

“Folks around here prefer to call her Denali.”

“What's that?” Caroline pointed to the thin silver ribbon that stretched across the rugged countryside below.

“The Yukon River. She flows over two thousand miles from northwest Canada to the Bering Sea.”

“Wow.”

“Anything you'd like to know about Paul?”

“Paul Trevor? Not really. Is there anything I
should
know?” Like her aunts, John seemed to bring up the other man's name at every opportunity.

He gave another merry chuckle. “Guess you'll be finding out about him soon enough.”

“Right.” She eyed him curiously. She was anxious to get a look at this man who insisted she have all this costly gear.

“He's a quiet guy. Hope you don't mind that.”

“I usually chatter enough for two. I think we'll get along fine. Besides, I don't plan on being here that long.”

John frowned. “I doubt you'll ever get Paul to leave Alaska.”

Caroline was offended by the brusque tone. “I don't have any intention of trying.”

The amusement faded from John's rugged face as he checked the instruments on the front panel. “You aren't afraid of flying, are you?”

She hadn't thought about it much until now. “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?”

“Looks like we may be headed into a storm. Nothing to worry about, but this could be a real roller coaster for a while.”

“I'll be fine.” The sudden chill in the cabin caused Caroline to reach for the thermos. “My aunts make a mean cup of tea. Interested?”

“No thanks.” He focused on the gauges. Caroline refastened her seat belt, fingers trembling.

The first cup of spiked tea brought a rush of warmth to her chilled arms, and when the plane pitched and heaved, she carefully refilled the plastic cup and gulped down a second. “Hey, this is fun,” she said with a tiny laugh twenty minutes later. If the truth be known, she was frightened out of her wits, but she put on a brave front and held on to her drink with both hands. Her aunts' tea was courage in a cup.

By the time John announced that they were within a half-hour of Gold River, Caroline felt as warm as toast. As they made their descent, she peeked out the window at the uneven row of houses. A blanket of snow covered the ground, and curling rings of smoke rose from a dozen chimneys.

“It's not much of a town, is it?” she murmured.

“Around three hundred. Mostly Athabascans—they're Indians who were once nomadic, following caribou and other game. When the white settlers arrived, they established permanent villages. Nowadays they mostly hunt and fish. Once we get a bit closer, you'll see a string of caribou hides drying in the sun.”

“How…interesting.” Caroline had no idea how else to respond.

“What does Paul do?” she asked a few minutes later.

John gave her a curious stare. “Don't you know? He works for the oil company. Keeps tabs on the pump station for the pipeline.”

She brushed aside the blond curl that fell over her face. “I thought he was a guide of some sort.”

As the Cessna circled the village, Caroline saw people scurrying out of the houses. Several raised their arms high above their heads and waved. “They see us,” she said.

“They've probably spent days preparing for your arrival.”

“How thoughtful.” The village must entertain only a handful of tourists a year, she figured, and residents obviously went to a great deal of trouble to make sure that those who did come felt welcome. Caroline rubbed her eyes. The whole world seemed to be whirling. The people and houses blurred together and she shook her head, hoping to regain her bearings. The thermos was empty; Caroline realized she was more than a little intoxicated.

A glance at the darkening clouds produced a loud grumble from John. “Doesn't look like I'm going to be able to stick around for the reception.”

“I'm sorry.” John was probably a local hero. This welcoming party was likely as much in his honor as hers. It appeared that the entire village was outside now, with everyone pointing toward the sky and waving enthusiastically. “I don't see a runway.”

“There isn't one.”

“But…”

“There's enough of a clearing to make a decent landing. I've come down in a lot worse conditions.”

Caroline's nails cut into her palm. She didn't find his words all that reassuring. Why her aunts would choose such a remote village for her vacation was beyond her. This whole trip was turning into much more of an adventure than she'd ever dreamed—or wanted.

As the plane descended, she closed her eyes until she felt the wheels bounce on the uneven ground. She was jostled, jolted, and jarred, but otherwise unscathed. Once they came to a complete stop, Caroline could breathe again.

The single engine continued to purr as John unhooked his seat belt. “Go ahead and climb out. I'll hand you the gear.”

Using her shoulder to push open the airplane door, Caroline nearly fell to the snow, despite her effort to climb down gracefully. A gust of wind sobered her instantly. “It's cold!”

“Yeah, but Paul will warm you,” John shouted over the engine's noise. He tossed out her suitcase and a large variety of boxes and sacks. “Good luck to you. I have a feeling you're the best thing to happen to Paul in a long time.”

“Thanks.” She stood in the middle of the supplies and blinked twice. “Aren't you coming with me?”

“Can't. I've got to get out of here before this storm hits.” He shut the door and a minute later was taxiing away.

With a sense of disbelief, Caroline watched him leave. Already she could see several snowmobiles and a team of dogs pulling a large sled racing toward her. She waved on the off-chance they couldn't see her. Again the earth seemed to shift beneath her feet, and she rubbed her eyes in an effort to maintain her balance. Good grief, just how much of that tea had she drunk?

By the time the first dogsled arrived, she'd mustered a smile. “Hello,” she greeted, raising her hand, praying no one would guess she was more than a little tipsy.

“Welcome.”

The man, who must be Paul Trevor, walked toward her and handed her a small bouquet of flowers. He was tall and dark, and, from what she could see of his bearded face, reasonably attractive. Untamed curls fell with rakish disregard across a wide, intelligent brow. His eyes, as blue as her own, gazed at her critically. She'd taken to John Morrison immediately, but Caroline wasn't sure she'd like this man. John had spoken of him with respect, and it was obvious that he was considered a leader among the villagers. But his intensity unnerved her. Caroline wasn't about to let him intimidate her; however, now wasn't the time to say much of anything. Not when her tongue refused to cooperate with her brain.

“Thank you.” Caroline closed her eyes as she smelled the flowers, expecting the sweet scent of spring, only to have her nose tickled by the prickly needles. She gave a startled gasp and her eyes flew open.

“They've been dried.”

“Oh.” She felt like a fool. There weren't any flowers in Alaska this time of year. “Of course—they must be.”

“Everything's ready if you are.”

“Sure.” Caroline assumed he was speaking of the welcoming reception.

The large group of people quickly loaded her suitcase and the other boxes onto several sleds. Caroline took a step toward Paul and nearly stumbled. Again the ground pitched under her feet. She recognized it as the potency of the tea and not an earthquake, but for a moment she was confused. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I seem to be a bit unsteady.”

Paul guided her to the dogsled. “It might be better if you sat.” He pulled back a heavy blanket and helped her into the sled. A huge husky, clearly the lead dog, turned his head to examine her and Caroline grinned sheepishly. “I don't weigh much,” she told him and giggled. Then she groaned. She was beginning to sound like her aunts.

The trip into Gold River took only minutes. Paul helped her out of the sled and led her into the long, narrow building in the center of the village. Candles flickered all around the room. Tables filled with a variety of dishes lined the walls. A priest, Russian Orthodox, Caroline guessed, wore a long gold robe. He smiled at her warmly and stepped forward to greet her, taking her hand in his.

“Welcome to Gold River. I'm Father Nabokov.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Father.” Caroline prayed that he didn't smell her aunts' brew on her breath.

“Are you hungry?” Paul had shed his thick coat and she removed hers, passing it to him. The force of his personality was revealed in his stance. On meeting him, Caroline understood why both John and her two aunts had found occasion to mention Paul. His personality was strong, but there was a gentleness as well, a tenderness he preferred to disguise with the sense of remoteness she'd noticed earlier.

“Hungry? No…not really,” she replied tentatively, realizing that she was staring at him. Paul didn't seem to mind. For that matter, he appeared to be sizing her up as well, and, judging by the lazy, sensual smile that moved from his mouth to his eyes, he seemed to like what he saw.

If only Caroline could have cleared her mind, she felt she might've been able to strike up a witty conversation, but her thoughts were preoccupied with the murmuring around her. It looked as though the entire village was crammed inside the meeting hall. Someone was playing music, but it wasn't on an instrument Caroline recognized. A fiddle player joined the first man, and the festive mood spread until everyone was laughing and singing. Several helped themselves to plates and heaped food on them from the serving dishes.

“Perhaps it would be best if we started things now,” Father Nabokov suggested. “It doesn't look like we'll be able to hold things up much longer.”

“Do you mind?” Paul glanced at Caroline.

“Not in the least. Why wait?” Nearly everyone was eating and drinking as it was, and she could see no reason to delay the party. Someone brought her a glass of champagne and Caroline drank it down in one big swallow. The room was warm and she was so thirsty. The hardest part was keeping her eyes open; her lids felt exceptionally heavy and, without much effort, she could have crawled into bed and slept for a month.

Paul raised his hand and the music stopped, followed by instant silence. The townspeople shuffled forward, forming a large circle around Paul, Caroline, and the priest.

Caroline smiled and closed her eyes, awaiting the announcement that was obviously forthcoming. She felt so relaxed. These wonderful, wonderful people were holding some kind of ceremony to welcome her. If only she could stay awake…

Father Nabokov began speaking in a soft, reverent voice. The smell of incense filled the air. She made an honest effort to listen, but the priest's words were low and monotonous. The others in the room seemed to give heed to his message, whatever it was, and Caroline glanced around, smiling now and then.

“Caroline?” Paul's voice cut into her musings.

“Hmm.” She realized the meeting hall was quiet, each face regarding her expectantly, as though waiting for a response. Paul slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

“Would you like him to repeat the question?” Paul asked, studying her with a thoughtful frown.

“Yes, please,” Caroline said quietly. If she knew what these people expected of her, then maybe she could reply. “What did he say?”

“He's asking if you'll honor and cherish me.”

“Honor and cherish?” Caroline repeated, stunned. This reception was more than she could grasp. How she wished she hadn't had quite so much of her aunts' brew. Obviously this little get-together in her honor was some kind of elaborate charade—one in which Caroline had no intention of participating.

The circle of faces stared anxiously, growing more and more distressed at the length of time it took her to respond to the question.

“Caroline?” Even Paul's gruff voice revealed his uneasiness.

Caroline opened her mouth to tell them that if they were going to play silly tricks on her, she didn't want anything to do with this party. She looked at Paul and blinked. “I thought you were supposed to be my guide.” Apparently, folks took the guiding business seriously in these parts.

Father Nabokov smiled gently. “He will guide you throughout your life, my child.”

A clatter rose from the crowd as several people started arguing loudly. Father Nabokov raised his arms above his head and waved. “Miss Myers.” He paused to wipe his brow with a clean kerchief that magically appeared from inside his huge sleeve. “This is an important decision. Would you like me to ask the question again?”

Paul's intense blue eyes cleared as his gaze pinned hers, demanding that she answer the priest.

An older man, an Athabascan who was apparently a good friend of Paul's, interceded. “You can't back down now—you already agreed.”

“I did?” What had her aunts gotten her into? The other guests continued to glare at her and Caroline felt unsettled by the resentment she saw in their eyes. “Could I have something cold to drink?”

“It's a bit unusual,” Father Nabokov said, frowning. For the second time, he reached for the kerchief and rubbed it over his forehead.

“Walter,” Paul called to the older man, who immediately stepped forward.

A minute later, he approached them with a glass of champagne, which Paul handed to Caroline. She hurriedly emptied it and sighed audibly as the bubbles tickled the back of her throat. She returned her glass to the man Paul had called Walter and smiled. “This is excellent champagne.”

Walter nodded abruptly and glanced in Paul's direction. “Paul wanted the best for you.”

Feeling uneasy, Caroline noted the censure in the old man's voice. “What was it you wanted me to say again?”

Paul's posture stiffened as he expelled an impatient sigh. “
Yes
would suffice.”

“All right, then,” she agreed, in an attempt to be as amicable as possible. Everyone had gone to so much trouble on her behalf, cooking and planning this reception for her arrival. She hated to disappoint them, although she wondered if all tourists were graced with this kind of party—the priest, the champagne, not to mention the presence of the entire village. Her adorable aunts had sent her to the one place in the world where she'd be welcomed with an ardor befitting royalty.

“You do?” Father Nabokov looked greatly relieved.

“Sure,” she concurred brightly, shrugging her shoulders. “Why not?”

“Indeed.” The priest grinned, then turned to Paul. His eyes glowed as he gazed upon them both. Caroline felt Paul slide his arm around her once again, but she didn't object. She attempted to give the priest her full attention, but the room was so warm…She fanned her face and with some difficulty kept a stiff smile on her lips.

Paul took her hand and slipped a simple gold band on her ring finger. It looked like a friendship ring, and Caroline thought it a lovely gesture.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Father Nabokov proclaimed solemnly. He raised his right hand, blessing them both. “You may kiss the bride.”

Wife? Kiss the bride?
Caroline was completely shocked. She tried to smile but couldn't. “What's he talking about?” she muttered.

Paul didn't answer. Instead, he turned her in his arms and his eyes narrowed longingly on her mouth. Before she could voice her questions and uncertainties, he lowered his head. Caroline's heart thundered nervously and she placed her hands on his chest, gazing up at his bearded face. Surely he could tell how confused she was. A wedding ceremony! She must be dreaming. That was it—this was all a dream. Paul's blue eyes softened. Gradually, as though in slow motion, his mouth settled warmly over hers. His touch was firm and experienced, moist and gentle—ever so gentle.
Nice dream,
Caroline mused,
very nice, very real.
She hadn't expected a man of his size to be so tender.

Enjoy it, girl,
she thought, kissing him back. Dreams ended far too quickly. The world began to spin, so she slipped her arms around Paul's neck to help maintain her balance. Bringing her body closer to his was all the encouragement he needed. His hands slid over her hips, pressing her body invitingly against his own. Caroline surrendered willingly to the sensual upheaval. Ever since Larry had left her at the altar, she'd been dying to be held in a man's arms, dying to be kissed as if there was no moment but this one.

Father Nabokov cleared his throat, but Caroline paid no heed to the priest's disapproval. She might have had her doubts about Paul, but she had to admit he was one great kisser. Breathless, they broke apart, still staring at each other, lost in the wonder of their overwhelming response.

Paul draped his wrists over Caroline's shoulders. A slightly cynical smile touched his mouth. “For a minute there, I didn't think you were going through with it.”

“Is this a dream?” Caroline asked.

Paul gave her a funny look. “No.”

She laughed. “Of course you'd say that.”

His eyes were as blue as anything Caroline had ever seen, and she felt as though she was drowning in their depths. She managed a tremulous smile, her mouth still on fire from his kiss. Involuntarily, she moistened her lips and watched as his eyes darkened.

“Let's get out of here,” he growled. Without another word, he hauled Caroline into his arms and stalked toward the door.

Caroline gasped at the unexpectedness of the action, but the villagers went crazy, resuming their dancing and singing. “Where…where are we going?”

“The cabin.”

“Oh.”

By now his lengthy strides had carried him halfway across the floor. The guests cleared a path and Walter stood ready, grinning boyishly as he opened the large wooden doors. Walter chuckled as Paul moved past him. “Don't be so impatient. You've waited this long.”

Paul said something under his breath that Caroline couldn't understand and continued walking.

“How far is the cabin?” she asked.

“Too far,” Paul said with a throaty chuckle. Her response to his kiss had jolted him. He'd thought he should progress to their lovemaking with less urgency—court her, let her become acquainted with him first. Yet the moment her mouth had opened to his, he'd realized there wasn't any reason to wait.

Leaning back in his arms, Caroline sighed wistfully. “Why is it dark?”

“It's October, love.”

“Love?” she repeated, and sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She hadn't expected to be anyone's love—not after Larry—not for a very long time.

Paul went still. He could deal with anything but tears. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, sniffling. She should know not to drink champagne—especially after her aunts' special tea. Champagne always led to tears.

“Tell me.” He smoothed the hair from her temple and softly kissed her there.

If he hadn't been so gentle, Caroline could have fought the unwelcome emotion. As she felt hot tears sear a path down her flushed face, she bit the corner of her bottom lip. “He left me,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Larry.” She turned abruptly, wrapping her arms around Paul's neck, and sobbed into his shoulder. She wouldn't have believed she had anymore tears, but her aunts' tea and the champagne had weakened her resolve to put Larry from her mind.

“You loved him?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop.”

The words stabbed his heart with the brutality of an ice pick. He'd known, or at least he should have known, that a woman like Caroline Myers wouldn't have agreed to marry him and live in the Alaskan wilderness without a good reason. Her letter had been so brief, so polite, unlike the others who'd tried to impress him with their wit and entice him with the promise of sexual fulfillment.

To his utter amazement, the response to his brief advertisement had been overwhelming. Dozens of letters had poured in that first week, but he hadn't bothered to read any once he'd opened Caroline's. Her picture had stopped him cold. The wheat-blond hair, the blue eyes that had spoken to him as clearly as the words of her letter. She was honest and forthright, sensual and provocative, mature and trusting. Her picture told him that, and it was confirmed by her letter. The next day he'd sent her the airplane ticket and for the past two weeks had waited in eager anticipation.

“In time, you'll learn not to love Larry,” he said, kissing her temple again.

With her arms around his neck, Caroline nestled her head against his chest. “I don't know why I told you about Larry. I don't want to think about him anymore. I really don't, but he's there in my thoughts every minute.”

“I'll chase him away,” Paul teased.

“But how?”

“I'll find a way.”

Silently they approached a log cabin, and Caroline smiled at how quaint it looked with a huge set of moose antlers above the wooden door. A stepladder leaned to the right of the only window and there was a woodpile that reached up to the eaves beside it. An oblong, galvanized steel tub hung to the left of the door, along with a pair of snowshoes.

“It's so homey. You must love it here,” Caroline said as she saw the soft light in the lone window.

“I do.”

“I'm sure I'll like it.” She sighed deeply. She wasn't dreaming, after all—or at least not anymore.

Paul bent awkwardly to turn the door handle. The warmth that greeted them immediately made Caroline feel that this tiny cabin was the perfect place for her vacation. “It's adorable,” she said, looking around.

Without question, the cabin was small—so compact that the living area and kitchen were one room. Bookcases stood beside a large potbelly stove, and a kitchen counter lined the opposite wall. A doorway led to another room that Caroline assumed would be her bedroom. Everything was spotlessly clean.

Reluctantly, Paul released her from his arms. Her feet touched the floor and she stepped back. She barely knew the man, yet she'd spilled her deepest secrets to him as though he was a lifelong friend. “Are…are you staying?”

“Would it embarrass you?”

She blinked twice. Once again they were having a conversation she didn't quite comprehend. It had to be the alcohol. Caroline shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. “If you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed.”

One side of Paul's mouth edged upward. “I was hoping you'd suggest that. Would you feel more comfortable if I left?”

“Perhaps that would be best. I have lots of questions for you, but I'm too sleepy now. We'll talk in the morning, okay?” She took a step toward the doorway and her peripheral vision picked up the sight of the silky nightgown that had been a gift from her aunts. It was spread out across the large brass bed.

“I'll give you some time alone, then,” Paul said, heading for the door.

It closed after him and Caroline stood in the middle of the cabin, puzzled by the events of the day. She'd traveled thousands of miles and participated in some strange Alaskan ceremony. For a while she'd thought she was dreaming, but now she realized she definitely wasn't. That meant she'd actually kissed a man whose name she hardly knew and then wept in his arms.

Moving into the single bedroom, undressing as she went, Caroline paused to admire the thick, brightly colored handmade quilt. The small lamp on the table illuminated the room, and Caroline recognized her clothes hanging in an open closet beside those belonging to a man. She assumed they were Paul's. He was a gentleman, letting her use his cabin for the week and going somewhere else to sleep without complaint.

Caroline had a hazy memory of the word
wife
and wondered what
that
craziness was all about; she'd figure it out in the morning. She might even be married. A giggle escaped her as she sat on the edge of the bed. Married! Wouldn't Larry love that? Well, if she was, Paul would understand that there'd been a mistake. Her initial impression of him had been wrong. He'd intimidated her at first, but he was gentle and considerate. She'd witnessed that quality in him more than once in the past hour.

Her clothes fell to the floor as she stripped. With complete disregard, she kicked them under the bed. She'd pick them up in the morning, since she was too tired to do it now.

The sheer gown slid over her outstretched arms and down her body. The faux fur tickled her calves and Caroline smiled, recalling John's comment about how it would keep her warm. Alaskan men obviously had a sense of humor, although she hadn't been too amused at the time.

The gown
did
look like part of a wedding trousseau. Wedding? Married? She couldn't be…When she woke, they'd straighten everything out.

The bed looked soft and warm, and Caroline crawled between the sheets. Her head was cushioned by a feather pillow, and her last thought before she flipped off the lamp was of the mountain she'd seen from the plane—Denali. Somehow its magnificence comforted her and lured her into sleep.

Outside, Paul paced in front of the cabin, glancing at his watch every twenty seconds. He was cold and impatient. With the music from the reception echoing around him, he refused to return to the meeting hall. Caroline had wanted some time to prepare herself and he'd reluctantly granted her that, but he wasn't pleased. Eventually she'd learn to be less shy; there wouldn't be room for modesty when winter arrived.