Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) by Kirsten Lynn Page B

feelings, but just held her. When he had to get up and check on Charlie and Deacon, he’d kissed her thoroughly and reminded her nothing was her fault.
    How could she believe such a thing? The Femme Rouge was nothing but a burnt shell. Edgar Nulton was dead, and Rhys had almost been killed. Nothing on the list she drew in her mind would have happened if she wasn’t there. She wasn’t sorry for leaving the Nulton household, but she should never have chosen a man from Maine. It was the greatest folly to believe she could sneak Downeast and Nulton wouldn’t hear of it, or that they wouldn’t cross paths.
    She pushed back the heavy bedding and forced her legs over the side. Washing and dressing, she rejected the terrible truth of where her thoughts were leading. If she had chosen a different advertisement to answer, she would never have known Rhys. She was sure there were many fine men in other parts of the country, but none would be the other half of her heart.
    The sound of visitors’ low voices in the dining room drew her there first when she made her way downstairs.
    She gave a small gasp of surprise. “Father McDonald?”
    “There you are, my dear. I thought you intended to sleep the day away.”
    Rhys stood and pulled out a chair for her. “She’d deserve to. Would you like some breakfast?”
    “I can…”
    He motioned to the chair. “Alice left a plate warming on the stove. I’ll get it for you, if you’ve a mind to eat.”
    “Yes, please. Is Alice gone?”
    Rhys gave a short nod. “She and Deacon left at nine o’clock. Young Charlie is still here to help with the light tonight.”
    “Nine?” Gillian craned her neck to see the clock on the mantle in the living room. “Ten thirty! Rhys, you should have woken me. This is shameful.”
    “Sit, Gillian. Like I said, you deserved the rest. You didn’t sleep much during the night.”
    “Neither did you, and faced greater hardship than I did. You managed to face the world at a decent hour.”
    His scowl was deep. “I’m not going to argue the point, wife. Sit down and I’ll get your breakfast.”
    She relented and slid into the chair, sending Father McDonald a weak grin. “I’m sorry, Father; you didn’t come here to witness Rhys and I arguing.”
    “Not much of an argument, if you ask me. Why, Addie and Willard Channing can go at each other like two cats with their tales tied together. And the language? Heaven’s sake, it makes what can be heard at the docks sound like baby’s babble.”
    She couldn’t help but smile at the priest’s tale. “Thank you, Father, but I am sorry.”
    A plate of eggs, ham, potatoes and toast was placed in front of her. Then a jar of blueberry jam was set beside the plate.
    “Alice brought the jam. Said we needed something sweet.”
    She smiled at Rhys. “Thank you, Rhys, and I’m sorry for snapping at you when you were just trying to be considerate.”
    “It’s done, Gillian. Eat.”
    She began eating her breakfast, focusing on the toast and jam. Rhys and Father McDonald fell back into conversation about the fire and what Rhys would be doing for transportation and a rescue vessel. The memory of his words sent a cold chill over her shoulders and they shook. Rhys didn’t break in his conversation, but wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
    “The Father’s been telling me there’s a man with a sloop in Bass Harbor who might be willing to sell the vessel cheap or even give it away. He used to be a lobsterman, but decided to seek employment at the cannery.”
    A small hope burned in her chest. “That would be wonderful, Father. When can we know?”
    “I’ll visit with Harry when I return to Bass Harbor.” Father McDonald cleared his throat. “Gillian, Edgar Nulton’s body was found this morning. It had been pushed ashore up the coast a bit.”
    She placed the fork down and cut her gaze from Father McDonald to Rhys and back to the priest. “I have a terrible confession,