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John’s gaze held hers.
All she could think about was how blue his eyes were, not cold as she’d thought earlier. His smile, even the tiny sliver he showed her, made her breathless. She didn’t feel at all like Annie or Matilda, but instead like a new, very happy and slightly unsure young woman.
“You have a wonderful laugh,” he said in a voice that made Annie believe he’d felt the same way about their shared moment.
What was happening between the two of them? She was overcome by a need to know more about the man. He slowly reached out and took her hand, looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.
His daughter Elizabeth’s voice shattered the enchanting moment. “Father, I’m tired.”
In an instant, he let go of her hand. She put both hands to her cheeks. How could she have dared to look at John like that? And yet, he’d returned her gaze and held her hand. If she weren’t so happy, she’d be completely terrified.
MILLS & BOON
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JANE MYERS PERRINE
grew up in Kansas City, Missouri, has a B.A. from Kansas State University and an M.Ed. in Spanish from the University of Louisville. She has taught high school Spanish in five states. Presently she teaches in the beautiful hill country of Texas. Her husband is minister of a Christian church in Central Texas where Jane teaches an adult Sunday school class. Jane was a finalist in the Regency category of the Golden Heart Awards. Her short pieces have appeared in the Houston Chronicle, Woman’s World magazine and other publications. The Perrines share their home with two spoiled cats and an arthritic cocker spaniel. Readers can visit her Web page, www.janemyersperrine.com.
Jane Myers Perrine
Second Chance Bride
Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 3:13–14
This book is dedicated to Betty Davis Lynn,
who has been a friend for longer than I can
remember. Thank you for all these years of
friendship and your Christian example.
Also to two friends and critique partners:
Ellen Watkins and Linda Kearney,
who keep me headed in the right direction.
And, as always, to my husband George for his love
and support, even when he hated hearing those
three little words—I’m on deadline.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Questions for Discussion
Prologue
Central Texas, 1885
Annie MacAllister’s father had always told her she’d never amount to anything because she never thought anything through. Maybe he was right. Maybe that’s how she’d ended up in this swaying stagecoach while a disapproving woman glared at her in disgust and a dumpy man across from Annie leered.
Only an hour after the stagecoach left Weaver City, she tried to disappear, to shrink back into the hard bench of the stagecoach. She heard the elderly woman mutter, “Common.”
Annie knew why the woman said that. Annie wore a cheap dress, tight across the bodice and fraying at the cuffs. Her long hair curled over her shoulders, and she wore paint on her lips and cheeks.
The expression on the man’s face showed that he knew exactly what Annie was—an immoral woman who’d worked in a brothel. What he didn’t know was how much she’d hated every minute of it—how she’d been forced into it.
Next to Annie sat a young woman who wore an undecorated black straw hat and a plain, gray cotton skirt. Her matching basque was trimmed with what had been a crisp white collar when she got on the coach but was now limp and soiled from the dust of the trip.
“Is this your first trip in a stagecoach?” the young woman asked Annie in a soft, educated voice.
Well, if that wasn’t a surprise. The woman actually spoke to her in a friendly way. “Yes,” Annie answered, then added, “ma’am.”
“Mine, too.” She smiled. “My name is Matilda Susan Cunningham.” Miss Cunningham spoke clearly, just like Annie’s mother had, although that was so long ago it was hard for Annie to remember.
“Miss
