Poppy: Bride of Alaska (American Mail-Order Bride 49) Read Free Page B

owned was a Bible, and that Old Lady Johnson, their next door neighbor, had taught her to read at a young age. She probably knew more of the stories than that stodgy old justice of the peace who married them. She could pass for a missionary without even trying hard.  
    “Okay.”
    His gaze skimmed over her, just like it had at the train station, only this time it moved more slowly and settled on her mouth for a moment too long. A pleasing warmth flooded Poppy, pinking her cheeks and making her squirm in her seat.  
    This wouldn’t do. Not at all.  
    “So why are you so all-fired antsy to get to Alaska, Matt?” There went the jaw muscle again, but the side benefit was that he ground his eyes shut and stopped looking at her like she was the meal he’d just ordered.  
    “Business,” was his clipped reply.
    “Oh, right. I wasn’t supposed to ask about that. Sorry,” she said, ignoring his terseness. “What is your business? Me, I was a seamstress at a textile mill until the owner burned it down and left me and all my friends jobless.”
    She probably should have been offended at his shocked expression, but she very nearly brayed like a donkey. What, had he expected a fairy tale princess to reply to his oh-so-tempting advertisement? There was a reason she was the only woman to respond, after all, but she kept her big mouth shut on the subject…for the moment. Instead, she just smiled at him, which seemed to confuse him even more.  
    This was going to be fun.
    “I—uh, I—“ Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, Matthew composed himself quickly. “I’m a doctor, Miss…I mean, Poppy.”
    “No wonder that charity wants you to go to Alaska. They probably need all the doctors they can get up thataway.”
    Just then, the waiter delivered their meals. The last decent meal she’d had was several weeks earlier, before the fire. Nearly all thoughts of her Alaska adventure were forgotten when the aroma of the sizzling steak and creamy mashed potatoes hit her nose.  
    Only one remained, worming its way into her brain like a parasite: Bet they don’t need seamstresses.
    * ~ * ~ *
    “Dr. and Mrs. Turner, please come in!”
    Mr. Horton, the director of the YMCA, had been very kind and helpful to Matthew after his unpleasant arrival in Seattle. He’d even secured him a temporary position with the organization assisting their on-staff doctor. It didn’t pay much, but Matthew was grateful for any income at that point, hoarding every penny he could.
    “First of all, welcome to Seattle,” Horton said to Poppy, who appeared decidedly more fresh this morning. “And congratulations on your nuptials. I hope you’ve recovered from your train trip.”
    “Oh, yes,” she said, smiling in a way that set Matthew’s heart to beating just a jot faster. She really was quite beautiful, when not dressed in rags and reeking of train smoke. “My dear husband knew I would be exhausted from the long journey so he thoughtfully rented me a room at that lovely boarding house down the street. Mrs. Olson even surprised me with a much-needed hot bath. Let me tell you, I had dirt in places I didn’t even know I had!”
    Horton’s face flamed red at Poppy’s comment, which she was apparently oblivious to. Matthew wasn’t sure if he should be angry or amused, then settled on chagrined, if only for Horton’s benefit.  
    “Forgive her, Mr. Horton. She’s still tired from the trip.”
    “No, I’m not,” she protested, but quieted when he placed a hand on hers and squeezed. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. A tingle whispered through Matthew when her thumb moved lightly across the skin of his pinky, almost as if she were stroking it.  
    Must have been a twitch , he thought. Still, he didn’t remove his hand.
    “Oh, not at all,” Horton coughed, composing himself in the face of such frankness. “So I take it you have something for me?”
    Loathe as he was to do it, Matthew pulled his hand from Poppy’s and slid