Read The Springtime Mail Order Bride for Free Online Page A

Weaver.”
    “I am not  … okay, so maybe I was a little worried …”
    “Only a little?” he teased.
    “I … I …”
    “Full sentences, woman!”
    “I have a name!”
    He laughed some more. “Really? What is it?”
    She sucked air through her nose.  Two could play at this game. “Samijo.”  She didn’t know why she said it. She’d not been called that since she was a little girl, but it was the first thing that popped into her head.
    “Samijo,” he said. “I think I like it. But only one way to be sure.”
    “What?” she asked confused.
    “Your name, I gotta make sure it sounds right before I use it.”
    She stared up at him. “And how do you do that?”
    He smiled, and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Samijo!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “It’s time for supper, Samijo!”
    She jumped at his loud, booming voice, and listened to its distant echo.  “ That’s how you find out if you like it?”
    “I’m not done.” He cupped his hand again. “Samijo, run!”
    “Run from what?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
    He chuckled as he looked into her eyes. “Samijo, have you milked the cows yet?”
    She gazed up at him, and smiled. “No.”
    “Samijo, have you cooked my supper yet?”
    Her smile broadened . “No.”
    He leaned toward her. “Samijo,” he said, his voice low and soft. “Have you made my favorite pie?”
    “Yes.”
    He licked his lips and glanced away.  “What kind of pie have you made, Samijo?”
    She was still looking at him when he turned back to her, their faces now closer than before.  “Cherry,” she guessed.
    “You always kn ow what I like, don’t ya Samijo?”
    She swallowed, her entire body felt all wobbly and l oose, like she was made of jelly. “I suppose so. We are married after all.”
    He smiled, and his eyes took on a tender look she had never seen in the eyes of any man. “That we are.”
    Her eyes closed of their own accord at the sound of his voice, and when he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her against him, she thought her heart was going to leap from her chest. “It’s getting colder, Samijo,” he said. “Best you sit right next to me, you’ll stay warmer that way.”
    She couldn’t speak, as her body continued to warm at his t ouch, turning her limbs to water.  If she wasn’t careful, she’d slide right off the wagon seat! She’d never sat this close to a man before, and found the experience thrilling. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d die. Yet she felt so relaxed at the same time.  What was this?
    “You know Samijo,” he began. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” He looked down at her again, and smiled.
    She had to make herself breathe. In, out, in, out, and concentrate on staying upright.  The urge to lean against him was overwhelming, his presence next to her like nothing she’d ever felt before. “Yes, I … I think we are.”
    He smiled. “Even if you can’t sew.”
    She smiled back, and they laughed together for the first time.
     
    * * *
     
    It was just after dark when they reached the Gunderson’s stage stop.  Arlan helped Samijo out of the wagon, noted one stagecoach near the barn, and guided her inside.  Passengers were already settled and sitting down to supper as they entered. “Well look who it is!  Arlan Weaver, where have you been?” Mrs. Gunderson called across the room.
    Arlan smiled a s he gave Samijo a gentle shove toward the nearest table. “Nowhere. Need a couple of beds for the night, you got any left?”
    “I got a few,” she told him as she looked at Samijo. “Who’s this?”
      “M y wife,” he said quietly.
    Mrs. Gunderson beamed. “Oh!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands before her. “I had no idea!” she said in a low voice. “When?”
    “Just this afternoon.”
    “Oh, hearts are gonna break when folks find out you’re taken … wait a minute … what do you want two beds for?” she asked.
    He smiled. Because I’ll