Mail Order Annie - A Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Novel (Mail Order Romance - Book 1 - Benjamin and Annie) by Kate Whitsby

his head to face her. In a swift motion, he stepped up close to her, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her fervently on the lips. She stiffened momentarily in his arms, but the next instant, she melted against him, and her lips pressed his in return. As quickly, he released her and moved away. “Good night,” he said as he vanished into the night.
                  Anne stood basking in the radiant night, unable to move. The shimmering waterfall of stars above her washed her of all sense of wrongdoing, and she relished the lingering softness of Moran’s lips and the bristly roughness of his moustache on her upper lip. She let the memory of his arm around her, squeezing her body against his iron frame, bring her comfort and consolation. She meandered back into the house in a muse and mechanically finished the menial tasks of mending the fire and putting out the lantern before tucking herself into bed. The blessing of the angels still surrounded her as she snuggled under the quilt. Not since her earliest childhood had she felt such a profound sense of closeness to God and a certainty that His love for her would protect her and guide her no matter where she might roam or what she might decide to do. She felt that any union between her and Moran would be blessed by God, and she could put the phantoms of Webster Forsythe out of her mind with the assurance that nothing untoward could stem from this man for whom Divine Providence intended her.
                  She slept more soundly that night than any previous, all her doubts and fears assuaged. She rose in the morning with a song on her lips, and the Proverb reiterating through her thoughts added a further layer of blessing to everything she did. She sensed for the first time in her life that this Proverb applied to her, that she could match it with her actions and receive the hallowed promise of salvation that it offered.
                  As on the previous day, Moran worked around the cabin, and the two of them exchanged happy looks whenever they encountered each other. At lunchtime, Anne went down to the clearing to escort Moran to the house. As she stood inside the trees and observed him at work, he caught the shoulder of his shirt on a hanging limb, and the seam tore. He cursed under his breath and carried on with his work. This time, after strolling back to the house with their arms linked, they shared their midday meal together in the sunshine on the bench outside the door. Afterwards, when Moran stood up and announced that he would go back to the barn to finish the chores that waited for him there, Anne stopped him. “Wait a moment,” she hesitated.
                  “What is it?” he inquired, his brows furrowing momentarily.
                  “I need to ask you to do me a favor,” she blathered, stalling for time.
                  “Well, what is it?” he repeated impatiently.
                  “This,” she pulled the ax out from the place where she had hidden it, to have it ready when she should summon the courage to make her request. “I need you to show me how to use it.”
                  Moran’s face cracked into an impish grin. “Is that all?” he guffawed. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious.” Then he stopped. “Haven’t you ever used one before? Oh, I guess you haven’t. It seems so unusual, but I guess women don’t do that sort of thing where you come from. Well, this is just the first of many things you’ll have to learn, so there’s no time like the present.”
                  Making no move to take the ax away from her, Moran led her around the back side of the barn where the firewood stood stacked against the wall. He selected a large round piece of especially knotty wood and set it on its end on the ground like a tiny table. Then he picked up another piece and propped it on its end on top of this table.