Mail Order Bride Leah: A Sweet Western Historical Romance (Montana Mail Order Brides Series Book 1) by Rose Jenster

Author:Rose Jenster [Jenster, Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

BILLINGS, MONTANA, 1884

Leah wrote to Jane that she had arrived safely and thanked her for the parcel. She described the town and the boarding house but mentioned Henry very little. Their relationship felt fragile as a butterfly just then, precious and delicate, and she feared talking about it lest something go wrong.

At times Henry was the perfect companion of his letters, warm and open, but then a gloom seemed to take hold of him and he became quiet and formal. She wondered why he withdrew, and if he did not trust her. He had taken pains to assure her, in Mrs. Hostleman’s wholesome presence, that he would be a perfect gentleman and safeguard her virtue on their short carriage rides. In the city it would not have been permitted, but out West, since he’d declared his intention to court Leah, it was allowed. She was astounded by this freedom, having never been alone with any man besides her father or her brother.

On Monday evening he took her for a buggy ride out into the countryside so she could enjoy a better view of the river and mountains. When she admired the shiny new buggy, he admitted he had ordered it with a view to taking her driving. Flattered, she asked boldly if she could drive it. Henry passed her the lines and closed his hands over hers to guide her. The horses, a spry pair of bays, sprang forward; he helped her draw back on the reins to slow them, and soon they were trotting along smoothly.

The wind made her cheeks rosy while her smile made her eyes sparkle. Henry had all he could do to keep from kissing her right there in the buggy. If driving the bays made her happy, he’d see to it that she got to drive that buggy every day until the snow flew. He had brought her his copy of Twain’s Roughing It to read in hopes that they could talk of it soon. It rested between them on the buggy seat, and he began to resent the book for the space it occupied.

He talked of his business, of how many buckboards he had rented out in the last week and the one he had sold for a profit. He also spoke of the Jane Austen novel he was reading, and found that she shared his low opinion of Marianne Dashwood as an impetuous and thoughtless creature. It was strangely thrilling to talk to someone of his books and business, and have her answer with interest and share ideas. He kissed her hand again. It was the only liberty he would allow himself, and he was taking full advantage of it.

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Kiss my hand. It’s very nice, but I never thought I was the sort of girl who got her hand kissed…it’s like something out of a play.”

“I don’t mean it to be a theatrical gesture. To tell you the truth, it’s because it’s the closest thing I

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