Mail Order Annie - A Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Novel (Mail Order Romance - Book 1 - Benjamin and Annie) Read Free Page A

mother especially would welcome another daughter of Christ into our home, and you could dedicate your mind to prayer and meditation on the course before you. Benjamin Moran is a heathen and a brute. He cares nothing for our Savior, and his ways are crude and brutal. If you go with him, he will never rest until he drives the fear and love of the Lord from your heart and your life. For the love of God and Jesus, turn aside from the devil’s way and come with me instead.”
                  “Anne Benning?” a thunderous male voice roared across the room. Anne jumped with a start, spinning around toward the door of the saloon.
                  A towering hulk of a man blocked out the light from the door, holding the swinging doors aside with his knotty arms and staring at the two of them with a black scowl contorting his face. Anne stared at him in shock, recognizing him as the other gun fighter from behind the bushes. His checkered shirt showed hand stitching around its shoulder yoke, and his grey felt hat pressed down onto his bushy brows. She trembled again at the thought that the two men might start shooting at each other then and there, in the saloon, but then she remembered that Forsythe no longer possessed any weapon. All three of them seemed to think the same thought at the same moment because, although Moran menaced him with his imposing presence and his aggressive stance, Forsythe regained his air of blithe derision immediately, and the superior smirk returned to his countenance.
                  The heels of the big man’s boots knocked against the saloon’s wooden floor as he stalked toward their table. Both Anne and Forsythe automatically rose from their chairs to meet him. Once more, Anne’s heart sank in anguish when she saw him up close. Care and hard living creased his heavy forehead, and grey patches streaked his unkempt beard. Dust encrusted his clothes and hat, and mud caked the outer seams of his boots. The lower cuff of his canvas pants exhibited a faint fringe of worn, threadbare fabric coming apart from incessant wear. Black dirt stained his fingernails and highlighted the deep wrinkles of his calloused hands and scarred palms and knuckles. All the nightmares with which Forsythe troubled her mind appeared personified in this enormous beast of a man. He towered over them both, glaring down at them accusingly. “I am Benjamin Moran,” he boomed. “If you’re ready, we can leave now. I found your box around on the platform, and I have it loaded up in my wagon. Are you ready to go?”
                  Anne recovered herself hastily. “Yes, Mr. Moran,” she stammered guiltily. “Very good to meet you at last. I didn’t see you pull up!”
                  “I’m around the side of the building,” Moran growled. “I expected to collect you off the platform, but as it was, I couldn’t. You understand why, I’m sure.”
                  “Yes, of course, I understand perfectly,” she inclined her head. “And I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. I thought at first I might have gotten off at the wrong station. I was just speaking to the barman there to make sure that this really was Eckville, when Mr. Forsythe very kindly offered to assist me. But now that you are here, I am ready to go whenever you are.” She turned to Webster Forsythe. “Thank you very much for your kindness and consideration, Mr. Forsythe. I hope I have a chance to repay your hospitality someday. Good day.”
                  Forsythe gave her a slight bow of his head, smiling disdainfully. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you, madam,” he smirked, then added quickly, “and may God be with you.”
                  “Come along, then,” Moran ordered, and stalked out of the saloon through the front door without a backward glance. Anne hurried after him, practically running to keep up with his long strides.