Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

R E D E E M I N G L O V E
world didn’t. Joseph liked him, and he had seen clearly enough the effect
Angel had on him, but if Michael didn’t want to discuss it, he would respect
that. “What’re you planning to do with all that gold dust?”
“I’m going to buy a couple head of cattle.”
“Good,” Hochschild said in approval. “Breed ’em fast. Beef is worth more
than vegetables.”
On his way out of town, Michael drove by the brothel. It was big and
fancy. The place was overflowing with men—mostly young, some
bewhiskered and some smooth-cheeked—nearly all drunk or well on their
way to being so. Someone was fiddling, and men were making up bawdy
verses to the tune, each cruder than the last.
And she lives there, he thought. Up in one of those rooms with a bed and little
else. He flicked the reins over his horses and kept on going, frowning heavily.
He couldn’t get his mind off her, not all the rest of that day, back down
out of the mother lode to his valley. He kept seeing her walking up that
muddy street, a slender girl, dressed in black, with a beautiful, pale face of
stone. Where had she come from?
“Angel,” he said, trying her name on his tongue. Just testing. And he
knew, even as he said it, his waiting was over.
“Lord,” he said heavily. “Lord, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
But he knew he was going to marry that girl anyway.
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