Mail-Order Bride Read Free Page B

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