An Angel in the Mail by Callie Hutton Read Free Book Online Page B

her outfit for a day of shopping and visiting. Nevertheless, she used the cold water to clean her teeth, and wash up.
    The next issue was finding a dress. She rummaged through her trunk, and found one less wrinkled, but definitely not the style the women from yesterday wore. How would Mr. Hale react to seeing her in the yellow silk gown with a bodice trimmed in white lace? The puffed sleeves called for her short white kid gloves.
    Not too helpful when slopping the hogs.
    She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart, and ran sweaty palms down the skirt to smooth the wrinkles. A quick glance in the mirror over the dresser confirmed what she’d feared. Her hair was a tangled mess, and despite all her hours of sleep, the skin under her eyes looked puffy.
    Her gaze drifted over the room reflected in the mirror. His bedroom. Well, hers too, now. Drab olive green walls with brown and green print curtains. A sturdy oak bed, a worn cherry wood dresser. The quilt was a red and blue plaid, and could use a washing. Her stomach jolted. That would be my job.
    Nothing matched, making for a dizzying effect. One oil lamp sat on a small table next to the white pitcher and bowl she’d washed with.
    An indentation on the pillow next to hers raised goose bumps on her arms. He’d slept beside her. Interesting. She’d spent her first night in bed with a man, and she’d slept through it.
    Nathan Hale was indeed, as he described himself, not hard to look at. His wavy, dark blond hair hung over his forehead, and skimmed his collar in the back. Although just awakened from sleep, she’d been aware of his square-jawed face, and hazel eyes. His broad shoulders had blocked out the sunlight when he sat next to her.
    Curly, dark blond hairs had poked out from the open collar of his white shirt. He’d shoved up the sleeves, revealing tanned, muscular arms, feathered with light hairs. His strong fingers had slid over her wedding band. How would it feel to have those fingers touching her, caressing her in sensitive places? Deep in her woman’s spot, something clenched.
    Her experience with men was limited to a few kisses stolen in the moonlight, and hands that groped in dark carriages at night, which she’d slapped away. But this was different. This man was her husband, and by law had the right to do more than grope.
    She swallowed and glanced again at the bed. Of course, once he discovered her lack of housekeeping skills, she’d most likely be on the next stagecoach back to New York. She pushed the thought from her mind.
    Finished with her ablutions, Angel smoothed the covers on the bed and left the room.
    Nate stood at the stove, his back to her, stirring something she assumed was the soup. “Go ahead, and take a seat,” he commented over his shoulder as he reached for a clean bowl from the ones stacked alongside the sink. Expertly, he poured the soup, placed the dish and a spoon in front of her. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, sliced a couple of pieces, and laid them on a plate in the middle of the table. Then he dished soup into another bowl and set it across from her.
    He sat down, and after saying a brief prayer began to eat. He reached for a piece of bread, and looked at her. Their eyes met.
    “Too hot for you?”
    “No. No, I haven’t tried it yet. What kind of soup is it?” She glanced at the red liquid with vegetables and pale chunks floating around in it.
    “It’s one of Mrs. Darby’s. She does that a lot. Cooks a meal and leaves it. It’s something with codfish. Try it.” He pointed at her bowl with his spoon.
    Angel took a sip of the soup, amazed at how hungry she was. She selected a piece of bread, and not seeing a plate to place it on, held the bread in her hand as she ate the soup. A strange way to have a meal, with the stickiness and crumbs still on the table. Since she was so hungry, she just ate, and didn’t dwell too much on the surroundings.
    The soup was thick and flavorful. Even Cook’s soup wouldn’t