Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) by Kristin Holt

mostly during daylight hours, so come morning, they’d have to roll up the bedding and put it back in the wagon, but that would keep the varmints out.
    Though the burial, keeping his eyes open around the miners and listening to snatches of conversations as he and Lessie walked through the camp, he’d itched to know the contents of the letter found in Trengove’s pocket.
    Lessie had already removed her boots and slipped into the make-shift bed fully clothed. He didn’t blame her. The window had no curtains to block prying eyes and even with the stove heating the space, the night had grown cold.
    Golden lamplight filled danced on Lessie’s features. Richard climbed in beside her and pulled her close. Just for a quick snuggle. “I’ve waited all day for a minute alone with you.”
    “You haven’t let go of my hand for hours.” She yawned. “I’m not complaining. I like holding hands.”
    That first meeting, in Union Station, he noted how the twins held hands, linked elbows, almost always touched one another. “My reasons for holding hands might not be romantic, but I kept you safe, didn’t I?”
    “Yes.” She snuggled a little closer. “You kept me safe.”
    “My reasons for wanting time alone with you aren’t very romantic, either. You saw something near Trengove’s body, didn’t you? The look on your face has had me guessing ever since.”
    Her dark brows drew together. “What look?”
    He spoke softly, just in case someone lurked outside, anxious to overhear. He couldn’t be too careful. “I’m checking the scene for clues, anything out of place— seeing nothing at all, but you have an expression that sure looked like you’d noticed something important. I couldn’t ask you, not with Skipper and Gibbons right there.”
    “I don’t remember. I honestly don’t know.”
    Disappointment seeped in… not unlike the cold mountain wind finding its way through the chinks in the single-room building. “It doesn’t matter.”
    They still did have something to work with— the letter Trengove had carried in his pocket. A dirt-smudged envelope, folded in half, address within the fold.
    Interest sparked. Finally, a chance to read the contents, maybe learn something about the man who’d apparently died from a blow to the face.
    He pressed a quick kiss to Lessie’s forehead then eased his arm out from beneath her head.
    “I like using your arm for a pillow.” She lost no time finding one of the feather pillows he’d brought and snuggling deep.
    He rolled over just enough to reach his back pocket and pulled the folded envelope free.
    “I forgot all about that letter.” Lessie surprised him, sitting upright and losing all signs of sleepiness. “Read it to me.”
    With their backs to the window, Richard examined the smudged envelope. If anybody peeked in the window, all they’d see was Lessie’s and Adam’s backsides, fully clothed. If they kept their voices down, no peeping Tom would even know they bent over the letter found on Trengove’s body.
    “It’s sealed.” As if Trengove hadn’t had the time to open it. “That’s odd. Usually, the mail arrives, is distributed in the mess hall at breakfast and supper, the men pounce on their correspondence and read it then and there.”
    “Maybe Mr. Trengove was late for his shift?”
    Or late to meet whoever had thrown the fatal punch?
    Questions that had no answers and might not matter, in the end.
    Richard opened the fold, expecting to see an address, postage stamp, all the usual.
    But the front of the envelope was clean. Nothing written on it and no smudges.
    He tried to see through the paper of the sealed envelope to better determine the contents.
    “Open it,” Lessie urged. “Mr. Trengove won’t mind.”
    Not one to rip envelopes, and without his bone-handled letter-opener, Richard reached for the next best thing. Trengove’s knife also tucked in his back pocket. He opened the Opinel blade from the handle and slit the envelope seam.
    “Look