Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

R E D E E M I N G L O V E
work for a bunch of strangers. Let them pick their own nuts.
What do you care, Angel? You’re not going to be here.
“I’m going to wash up and fix supper,” she said and headed for the creek.
“Do that,” Michael said. He grinned and jabbed the pitchfork into the
hay again. He started to whistle.
Half an hour later, Mara stormed back. “Look at this!” She held her hands
for him to see her blackened palms and fingers. “I’ve used soap. I’ve used
grease. I’ve even rubbed with sand. How do you get this stuff off?”
“It’s the dye from the hulls.”
“You mean they’re going to stay like this?”
“For a couple of weeks.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Did you know this would happen?”
He smiled slightly and pitched hay into a stall.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Michael leaned on the pitchfork. “You didn’t ask.” Her stained hands
balled into fists and her face filled with angry color. She didn’t look indifferent
or aloof anymore. He added fuel to the fire already blazing. “The nuts
still have to be peeled and dried before we can sack them again. Then you
and I’ll have all winter long to crack ’em.”
He saw the heat coming into her face; she was ready to explode. “You did
it on purpose!”
His own temper was just beneath the surface, so he held his silence.
“How am I supposed to go back now with my hands looking like this?”
She could just hear the Duchess laughing at her dung-colored hands. She
could just imagine the remarks.
Michael’s mouth curved wryly. “You know, Mara, if you were really that
set on going back to Pair-a-Dice, you’d have been on your way weeks ago.”
She blushed, which only added to her fury. She hadn’t blushed in years.
“Why this?” she demanded hotly. “You got your money’s worth out of me!”
He heaved the pitchfork into the haystack. “I haven’t gotten anything
from you yet, lady. Nothing worth anything.”
Fury made a red haze before her eyes. “Maybe you’re just not man
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