Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
Michael returned from work to find her sleeping. Not even the bruises
darkening her eyes and jaw marred her look of peace. He took a tendril of
her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. It was silk. She moved slightly.
He looked at the slender column of her white throat and watched the steady
pulse there. He longed to lean down and press his mouth to it. He wanted
to breathe in the scent of her.
Lord, I love her, but is it always going to feel like this? Like there’s an ache
inside me I’ll never get over?
Angel roused. She opened her eyes and started, seeing Hosea standing
above her. The sun was behind him, and she couldn’t see his face or guess
what he was thinking. She pushed her hair back and looked away. “How
long have I been sitting here?”
“You looked peaceful. Sorry if I awakened you. You’ve got some color in
your cheeks.”
She touched them and felt the warmth. “Add red to the black and blue.”
“Are you hungry?”
She was. “You might as well start teaching me to cook.” She winced from
pain as she got up and followed him inside. She would need to know how
to cook for herself when she had a place of her own.
“First thing you have to do is get a good fire laid.” He poked the coals
into a fiery bed and added more wood. He went out with the bucket and
came back with a chunk of salted venison. He cut it into pieces and dropped
them into the boiling pot. Angel could smell the pungent herbs as he
rubbed them between his palms and dropped them into the bubbling water.
“We’ll leave that cooking awhile. Come on outside with me.” He took a
basket, and she followed him to a vegetable garden. Hunkering down, he
showed her how to tell which carrots and onions were ready for harvest. He
pulled up a mature potato plant. She didn’t want to admit she was astonished.
Had anyone asked, she would have said potatoes came from Ireland.
The one plant he pulled up produced enough potatoes to last several days.
As Angel straightened, she saw Hosea hunkered down a few feet away,
yanking plants up and tossing them aside. A piercing recollection of Mama
in the moonlit garden froze her. “Why are you tearing up your garden?”
Michael glanced up at her tone. Her face was white and drawn. He
123