Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

R E D E E M I N G L O V E
heaved; his heart raced so fast his body shook with it. He raked trembling
hands through his hair. “Jesus,” he whispered into the darkness. “Jesus,
deliver me from this.” Why did she haunt him so?
He got up and opened the door, leaning heavily against the frame. It was
raining again. He closed his eyes wearily. He hadn’t prayed in days. “I’d be a
fool to go back,” he said aloud. “A fool.” He looked out at the dark, weeping
sky again. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it, Lord? And you’re not going to
give me any peace until I do.”
He sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t see what
good will come of it, but I’ll go back, Lord. I don’t like it much, but I’ll do
what you want.” When he finally went back to bed, he slept deeply and
without dreaming for the first time in days.
In the morning, the sky was clear. Michael loaded the wagon and
hitched up the team.
When he drove into Pair-a-Dice late that afternoon, he looked up at
Angel’s window. The drapes were drawn. A muscle jerked in his jaw, and a
hard pain tightened his belly. She was probably working.
Lord, you said do your will, and I’m trying hard. Does it have to hurt so much?
I need a woman, and I’ve waited for your choice. Why did you give me this? Why
am I back here again in this camp, looking up at her window with my heart in my
throat? She doesn’t want anything to do with me.
Shoulders hunched, he headed down Main Street to take care of business
at the mercantile. He needed the gold to get upstairs at the Palace. When he
pulled up before Hochschild’s Store, he jumped down from his wagon and
strode up the steps. A note was stuck in the window. Closed. Michael knocked
hard anyway. From inside, Hochschild yelled a string of curses that would
wither a seasoned sailor. When he threw open the door, his anger vanished.
“Michael! Where’ve you been? I’ve been out of everything for weeks and
no sight of you.” Unshaven, half drunk, his shirttail hanging, Joseph came
outside to look in the wagon. “A full load. Thank heaven. I don’t care if it’s
bug-ridden and rotting; I’ll take everything you’ve got.”
“You’re the sort of fellow I like doing business with,” Michael said, smiling
slightly. He stacked crates and carried them in two at a time. “You look
terrible. Have you been sick?”
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