Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
“Maybe he figured the horns in your head fit the holes in mine.”
Angel rested her head back. “I knew you were crazy the first time I laid
eyes on you.” She was weary past endurance and thought how much more
comfortable she would be lying on her back on that straw mattress again.
She might make it to her feet, but one step, and she was going to break her
nose again, right on the plank floor.
Michael came to her and lifted her gently, ignoring her protests.
“Mister, I told you I don’t want to lie down yet.”
“Fine. Sit up in bed.”
“What happened to all my things?”
“I forgot them. Besides, what you had wouldn’t suit you now anyway. A
farmer’s wife doesn’t wear satin and lace.”
“No, I suppose she trots naked up and down your rows of beans and carrots.”
He grinned, humor lighting his eyes. “Might be kind of interesting.”
Angel could see why Rebecca had been so enamored of him, but good
looks made no difference to her. Duke had been a handsome man. A charismatic
charmer. “Look,” she said tightly, “I want to start getting up and about
on my own. With something on.”
“I’ll provide what you need when you need it.”
“I need it now.”
His mouth tipped. “I reckon so,” he said with grating calm. He went to
the old battered trunk and opened it. He took out a bundle and brought it
to her. “These will have to do for a while.” Curious, she untied it. The gray
wool fell apart, and she realized it was a worn cape. Inside were two linseywoolsey
skirts, one faded brown, the other black; two blouses—one that
probably was white once but now was almost yellow—and the other with
faded blue and pink flowers. Both would button up to her chin and had
sleeves long enough to pass her wrists. Two bonnets matched the blouses.
Tucked modestly inside them were two simple camisoles, pantalets, and
darned black woolen stockings. Last, she found a pair of down-at-the-heels,
high-buttoned black shoes.
She looked up at him in wry disbelief. “I shall be forever grateful for this
bounty.”
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