Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn Page B

kept her ear trained to the stairs in case she needed to intercept Rhys as he made his way down. He hadn’t come to bed until well into the morning as snow and fog kept him busy through the night. She smiled; neither got much rest for a time after he joined her.
    Setting the table she admitted her relief that Deacon and Alice were gone. While wonderful people, she’d enjoyed having her house back when they left the morning after she and Rhys visited the village. Further, she enjoyed having her husband to herself. The silly man believed she’d be lonely at the lighthouse with only him for company. After a life of dull parties and then a crowded factory, life at her lighthouse with Rhys was heaven. He was a well read and informed man, and they never lacked for conversation.
    The ceiling creaked above her as footsteps echoed. A curse escaped her lips before she could stop it. He could’ve slept in just this once .
    In her haste to make it to the kitchen, Gillian almost tripped over the loose edge of the rug. She mumbled another curse and dashed to get the cake finished before her surprise failed.
    It wasn’t as pretty as she’d imagined, but when she heard boots on the stairs, she sighed in relief that it was done. She met Rhys in the dining room. His eyebrow hitched in question, but he didn’t ask. He pulled her into his embrace.
    “Something smells wonderful, and I don’t mean my dinner.”
    Gillian wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight to her. “You keep flattering me all the time, and I’m going get a big head.”
    He huffed a laugh, straightened to his full height, and Gillian’s feet dangled in the air. “I don’t think that’s possible, ma petite .”
    “Put me down, Rhys! You delight in teasing me about my height.”
    He set her on her feet and measured her head to toe with his gaze. “How tall are you?”
    Gillian gave his chest a small push. “You cad. I’m a full five feet four inches. It’s a respectable height by any measure even if you insist on towering over everyone.
    Her false indignation ended when he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You please me, Gillian.”
    Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she turned and brushed a kiss on the big, calloused palm. “You please me, too, Rhys.”
    “You look beautiful today.”
    She’d chosen to wear the forest green dress they’d purchased in the village. The first time she wore it, he’d mentioned he preferred it even to the red. Lost in Rhys’ touch, she’d forgotten why she wore his favorite dress. She stepped back. “Happy Birthday, love.”
    His forehead wrinkled. “How did you know?”
    “You told me, January eleventh…” She shook her head. “Father McDonald told me in the letters.”
    His smile grew as he gave a knowing nod. “Ah, my letters. Sounds as though I offered all sorts of information. I should read what I wrote sometime.”
    She laughed. “You did. And anytime you’d like to, I’ve kept them. I just couldn’t part with the letters even if they weren’t directly from you.”
    He traced her cheek with one finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I think those involved put enough of me on the pages. They could have come from my pen and not been much different.”
    She nodded, but wanted to get back to the celebration. “Sit. I prepared the big meal for dinner so you could enjoy the food.”
    “Thank you, Gillian.”
    Such simple words, but from him, they meant the world. “My pleasure. Now, sit.”
    Rhys made sure to take his time with the meal Gillian had prepared. He wanted to savor his dinner and his time with his wife. Beaming, she brought out a vanilla cake, and Rhys mourned the loss of the first. Gillian knew her way around the kitchen…and the lighthouse…and the Femme Rouge . He should have had Father McDonald pick out his wife years ago.
    “With everything that happened, I forgot to tell you I received a letter from my mother.”
    Gillian’s smile faded,