Page 36 of Mail Order Bride: A Psychological Thriller

“No problem. I brought you something,” he says, reaching in the truck and coming out with a paper sack. “Breakfast as promised.”

I guess that is an invitation, because he follows me inside, quietly closing the door behind him. “Oh, and good morning,” he whispers, when he turns to face me.

“Good morning.”

“Let me take that for you,” I say, indicating the bag.

“Thanks.”

“I planned to cook for you,” he says, following me into the kitchen. “But maybe later.”

I do a double-take and then shrug. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I move about the small space.

“Who's this?” he asks as he leans down to pat Annie, who is circling his legs and sniffing every inch of him.

The sun is just peeking over the horizon as I point to the whelping box set up in the living room. “That's Annie.” I can see the steam of my breath in the cold morning air. “And those are her pups.”

I feel his eyes on me as I walk over and pick one up. “They usually stay out in the barn, but we brought them in on account of the freeze.”

Annie sticks her nose in my rib as I bend down and lift a puppy from the bin. “This one here, I named Blue.”

Joel walks over and scratches the pup’s head. Its tail wags eagerly.

“I think she’d be perfect for you.”

His face goes as pale as snow. Eventually, he sort of smiles.

“You don't like dogs?”

“I love them,” he replies, lifting the pup from my arms.

“It's a girl,” I tell him. “But I thought Blue just sort of fit.”

“She's perfect.”

I watch as she snuggles in the crook of his arm. “Isn't she?”

Annie stands on all fours, nearly knocking Joel over. “She'll be ready for a home in a few weeks. If you’re in the market for a pup.”

“We'll see,” he says, taking one last glance before placing her back in the bin.

He doesn’t follow me back in the kitchen where I fill two Thermoses with coffee. He sits on the sofa, pets Annie, and waits.

“You ready?” I ask, handing him a Thermos. “The view is a little better up on the hill.”

We don’t quite make it up the hill, only to the barn, before he is pressing me into the wall. “I was a fool last night.”

“How so?”

He presses a finger to my lips. “We don’t need to speak.”

And so we don’t. Not for a while.

He takes my hand and leads me up the hill.