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

the help she needed. This, too, together with all the revelations and discoveries of the past days, both in the valley around her as well as within herself, drew him closer to her heart, and she cherished him for opening up this part of her to herself and introducing her to this fresh avenue of self-discovery.
                  After she finished loading up the stove with wood and stacking the wood box with her own chopped wood, she finished tidying up the cabin and came back to the door, intending to go back outside to enjoy the afternoon air. She thought she might go sit by the creek, as was becoming her habit, before getting supper started, but when she approached the doorway, she spied Moran in the barnyard and stopped just out of sight in the darkness of the cabin. Moran bent next to his horse, cleaning out the animal’s feet with a hooked tool, and then propping each foot between his knees while he first trimmed and then filed them. She observed his arms and back swinging with the rhythm of his efforts and the contentment of the horse as it chewed and sighed while the man fussed around it. I can be happy here, she thought to herself. I am happy here. The images of the beautiful countryside, the warm comfort of her arms around Moran’s body and his around her, and the sensation of utter blessedness returned to her in a flood of sheer happiness that made her heart feel ready to burst. She wondered if her being could contain so much happiness, or if a person as imperfect and prone to confusion as her could live a life filled with such blessedness. She resolved to do anything she could to keep this mantle of peace and tranquility around her like a cloak, and to shun with extreme prejudice anything that interfered with it or threatened it. And what might that be ? the still, small voice asked inside her. Instantly, the manicured, tailored shade of Webster Forsythe appeared before her eyes, and she knew his smooth talk and grand pronouncements for what they really were. She understood the difference between the beauty of God’s sanctity and the alluring charm of the Beguiler seeking to distract her and lure her away. She was determined to give herself no further time or opportunity to question or vacillate. She would act, and she would plunge headfirst into the life to which God had so clearly led her. With a heroic thrust of mental energy, she drove the image of Forsythe out of her mind, and threw herself into her work once more.
                  As she busied herself with her chores, she heard the far-off clop of a horse entering the valley and, panicking at the thought of Forsythe’s return, she hid behind the door as the rider approached the house. Moran heard the horse, as well, from inside the barn, and came out to meet the rider in the yard. Anne stole a peek at the two men from behind the doorpost, but she did not recognize the stranger as Moran seemed to. The rider did not dismount, but conversed with Moran at his horse’s shoulder. Then he abruptly reined his horse around and rode off. Moran strode to the door of the cabin, where he spotted Anne.
                  “Who is that?” she inquired.
                  “The sheriff,” he growled. “There’s been some trouble. I’ll saddle up and ride out with him. I should be home for dinner. Stay put. I’ll be back in a little while.” He grabbed his rifle and his gun belt and stalked away. The next moment, his horse galloped off up the trail after the sheriff. Anne closed the door on the outside world, and insulated herself in the work of the house.
                  As he promised, Moran returned at dusk, his horse lathered. He rode directly to the barn to put the horse away, and by the time he entered the cabin to supper, full dark occluded the land outside the cabin. Anne put his steaming plate on the table, then served herself one, and sat opposite him, waiting for him to tell her what was going