Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

R E D E E M I N G L O V E
one. The throbbing in her head worsened. She swore softly. Of all the men
in the world, it had to be him.
“It’s venison stew. You must be hungry.”
She opened her mouth to tell him where to put it when pain shot along
her jaw and silenced her. Hosea got up and went back to the fire. When he
came to sit down again, he had a bowl and spoon. She saw he meant to feed
her. She said something low and foul and tried to turn her head away, but
even that simple movement proved too much.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said dryly. Pressing her lips together,
she refused to eat. Her traitorous stomach growled. “Feed the wolf in your
belly, Mara. Then you can try fighting the one you think is at your door.”
She gave in. She was starving. The gruel of meat and vegetables he
spooned into her mouth was better than anything Henri had ever made. The
throbbing in her head lessened. Her jaw ached horribly; her arm was in
some kind of sling.
“Your shoulder was dislocated,” Michael said. “You’ve got four broken
ribs, a cracked collarbone, and a concussion. Doc didn’t know if you had
any internal injuries.”
Perspiration was dripping down the sides of her face from the painful
effort of sitting up. She spoke slowly and stiffly. “So you got me after all.
Lucky you. Is this home?”
“Yes.”
“How did I get here?”
“In my wagon. Joseph helped me rig up a hammock so I could move
you out of the Palace.”
She looked down at the simple gold band on her finger. She clenched
her hand. “How far am I from Pair-a-Dice?”
“A lifetime.”
“In miles.”
“Thirty. We’re northwest of New Helvetia.” He offered her the spoon
again. “Try to eat some more. You need to put on some weight.”
“Not enough meat on my bones to please you?”
Michael made no response.
Angel couldn’t tell whether her sarcasm had gotten to him or not. It
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