Josephine: Bride of Louisiana (American Mail-Order Bride 18) by Cindy Caldwell

held her hand out, a fat raindrop plopping on her hand.
    She pulled her coat more tightly around her, wishing she had brought a scarf, as the air had suddenly turned even chillier. “Does it rain frequently at this time of year?”
    Pierre shook his head. “It’s pretty unpredictable here. It can rain at any time, but I didn’t think it would today. I’m sorry.”
    She laughed and said, “Where I came from, this would be snow, and I would have to walk in it to and from work. And try not to slip when it turned to ice. So this is nothing.”
    “That sounds awful,” Pierre said, tucking the blanket closer around Josephine.
    Her heart hitched as he did. She’d not had anyone to look after her for many years. Her mother had died shortly after her father, and as she was of age, she had to look for a job right away. She felt fortunate that she’d had such good roommates and her cousin, Michelle, but this felt entirely different.
    Pierre slowed the horses and handed the reins to Josephine. “Here, hold these for a second. Just keep them taut, just like this.”
    Her eyes grew wise and she gingerly took the reins. She’d never driven a buggy before and silently prayed that they wouldn’t do anything--unexpected.
    Pierre hopped out of the buggy and ran to the back. Thunder cracked as he lifted his last foot and sat down beside her, setting the basket at their feet.
    Josephine jumped at the thunder, and the reins bounced, the horses starting up again. She gasped and looked at Pierre.
    He laughed and took the reins from her. “Nicely done, Josephine,” he said, patting her arm gently.
    She looked down at his hand and up into his eyes. He blinked, looked down at his hand and pulled it away, just as the heavens opened and rain pelted down, clacking on the roof of the buggy.
    So much for a picnic,” she said. “And you’re hungry.”
    “I definitely am. There’s a vacant foreman’s cottage up ahead. We can stop there and wait it out.”
    She turned up the collar of her coat and jumped again as lightning crashed, so close that she could feel the heat of it. Her old fear of thunder returned, and her father had always teased her about it, sending her to her mother for comfort.
    Her mother was gone, so Josephine reached for the basket and moved it to her right as she scooted over closer to Pierre. She reached her arm through his and hung on, her eyes scrunched closed as he hurried toward shelter.

Chapter Sixteen
    P ierre tried to make it to the cottage as quickly as he could, as Josephine’s fingernails were digging into his arm, deeper with every clap of thunder. He smiled down at her, her face buried on his shoulder and her hair tickling his nose. He breathed deeply, and the scent of rose water washed over him and combined with the falling rain, he actually thought it was quite nice--all of it.
    He pulled up in front of the cottage, glad he’d worn his boots and had asked Josephine to, as well. He pried her fingers from his arm and his heart pinched as she shivered at the next clap of thunder.
    “I’ll be right back, Josephine,” he said as he set her hands on the handle of the basket. “I’ll just be a second.”
    He looked back at her pleading eyes as he hopped out and walked the horses and the buggy under a lean-to on the side of the cottage--one they’d built for just this kind of thing. The horses and buggy under cover, he hastily tied them to the post and ran around for Josephine, swooping her up in his arms as she stood. He turned and took just a few long strides and they were under the roof of the porch.
    He felt her shivering as he opened the door of the cottage, pushing it open wider with his foot. He quickly looked around, releasing his breath when he spotted the pile of firewood in the corner.
    “You’ll be all right here, just for a moment. Let me start a fire.” He removed his coat, draped it over her thin wrap and reached for some of the kindling set by the front door. The cottage should be well