Redeeming Love (18 page)

“I can’t.” What was the use?

Michael’s heart ached for her. She had never once cried, even when she was out of her mind with fever. And God knew she needed to. “Let go of it, Mara.”

“Fine.” Angel put the flint and steel between them. “You do it.”

“That’s not what I mean. You try too hard. You expect to do everything right. It’s not possible.”

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“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want to do is build a fire.”

“We don’t even speak the same language,” he said flatly. He might as well be speaking English to a Spanish-speaking California girl. “It’s like fighting me when you don’t have to.”

She refused to look at him. “Build it again so I can see what I did wrong.”

He did as she asked. She watched closely and saw she had done nothing wrong. Why hadn’t her fire caught? The hearth was full of blazing light, and he had done it all in but a few moments. Her fire wouldn’t even start, but his would last the night.

Angel came to her feet abruptly and stepped away. She hated his competence. She despised his calm. She wanted to destroy both, and she only had one weapon she knew how to use.

She stretched sinuously, aware of his gaze upon her. “I suppose I’ll get it eventually,” she said and sat on the bed. “My shoulders ache. Would you massage them the way you did before?”

Michael did as she asked. He kneaded the tension from her muscles, increasing his own. “That feels good,” she said, and the sultry tone sent his pulse racing. Her hair slipped back and was like silk over his working hands. When he put one knee on the bed, she put her hand on his thigh.

So that’s it,
he thought ruefully. She figured she couldn’t build a fire in the grate so she would build one in him instead. It hadn’t taken her any time at all to do it. He drew back.

Angel felt his retreat and followed him. She slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself against his straight back. “I know I need someone to take care of me and I’m glad you came back for me.”

Jesus, give me strength!
Michael closed his eyes. When her hands moved, he caught her wrists and withdrew from her embrace completely.

When he turned, Angel was ready. She knew how to act the role. She knew all the words by heart. Soft, broken words…calculated words to tear at his heart, to make him feel his rejection had hurt her. Stir guilt in with the hot blood boiling. Give him reasons and excuses to give in. That last evening in the brothel had already weakened him. He was a lamb ready for the slaughter.

Angel came to him again, shutting down her emotions and using her 129

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mind instead. She pulled his head down and kissed him. Michael dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her back.

She used what she knew to wage war against him. She didn’t know anything about building fires or cooking stew, but she knew all about this.

He disentangled himself, gripping her shoulders. “You’re so relentless,”

he said, unwilling to surrender.

Angel stared up at him and saw he wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what she was doing and why. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “It doesn’t have to be the way you know.”

“Let go of me!” She struggled frantically. Michael saw she was hurting herself and released her. She stepped well away from him.

“Did all that make you feel any better?”

“Yes!”
she hissed, lying through her teeth.

“God help me.”

She had wanted him to feel more than physical discomfort. She had wanted to annihilate him. She wanted to see him squirm like a worm on a hook. She plunked herself down in the willow chair, her neck stiff, and stared straight ahead.

Michael looked at her bleakly. Her silence screamed profanity at him. She thought she had lost, but did she think he had won? He went outside.
Does
this woman have a compromising bone in her body, Lord? Or is this what I’ve got
to look forward to for the rest of my life!? Jesus, she doesn’t fight fair.

She’s fighting you the only way she knows how.

Michael went down to the creek and knelt, splashing cold water on his face. He stayed on his knees for a long time. Then he went to the barn for the metal washtub.

When he came in, Angel kept her back to him. He set the tub before the fire. She looked from it to him and away again, saying nothing. Had she made him feel dirty? Did he need a bath now to wash her off? He spent the next hour toting water from the well and heating it in the big black pot hanging over the fire. He tossed a bar of soap into the water.

“I’m going for a walk,” he said and left.

Surprised, she went to the door and opened it. He kept on going until she lost sight of him in the trees. Frowning, she closed the door. She took off 130

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her clothes and stepped into the tub. She scrubbed her hair and body vigorously, poured the warm water down over her to rinse, then stepped out. She wanted to be finished before he came back. He had left a towel draped over the back of the chair, and she rubbed her skin and wrapped her hair. She dressed quickly. She sat down before the fire again and unwound the towel.

Her hair was a tangled mess, and she tried to work her fingers through the knots.

Hosea didn’t come back for more than an hour.

When the door finally opened behind her, she glanced up at him. His dark hair was wet. She supposed he had bathed in the icy stream, and she felt a twinge of guilt and doubt. He moved about the cabin restlessly. She went on pushing her fingers through her hair, aware of his every movement.

He opened the trunk and slammed it shut. As he paced past her, he dropped a brush in her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. Her throat closed up. She looked up at him and slowly began to brush her hair. He stood with his hip resting against the table and watched her. She didn’t know what he was thinking. She didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he said.

He was pale, and she felt something move inside her, curling tight and sinking deep. “I won’t,” she said and meant it.

Michael sat in the willow chair before the fire, his hands relaxed between his knees. He stared at the flames for a long time. “I guess I got a good taste of what it’s been like for you.”

She glanced up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her. “It doesn’t feel good to be used. Whatever the reason.”

Something twisted inside her. She held the brush in her lap and stared at it miserably. “I don’t know what I’m doing here with a man like you.”

“I knew the moment I saw you that I was going to marry you.”

“So you told me.” She tilted her head. “Look, mister. Let me explain a few facts of life to you. A farmer alone for weeks on end, coming to town.

You could’ve looked at the south end of a northbound mare and known she was the right one for you.”

“It was your young, stone-cold face,” Michael said. He gave her a rueful smile. “Then the rest of you.” His gaze flickered down over her. “You were 131

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dressed in black like a widow, and Magowan was with you. I guess he was making sure you didn’t run away.”

She didn’t say anything for a long time. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about any of it, but it was like a foul stench in the room. It lingered.

She couldn’t get rid of it. It was there under the clean smell of the soap he had given her to use. The foulness was inside her, running in her blood.

“Do you remember when you asked me what kind of name Hosea was and I said prophetic?” She began brushing her hair again slowly, but Michael knew she was listening to him this time. “Hosea was a prophet. God told him to marry a prostitute.”

She glanced at him with a mocking smile. “Did God tell you to marry me?”

“Yes. He did.”

She was scornful. “He talks to you personally?”

“He talks to everyone personally. Most people just don’t bother to listen.”

It was better to humor him. “Sorry I interrupted. You were telling me a story. What happened next? Did this prophet marry the prostitute?”

“Yes. He figured God must have a reason. A good reason.”

The same as he probably did. “Did this Hosea beat the sin out of her? I suppose she crawled to him on her face and kissed his feet for saving her soul.”

“No, she went back to prostitution.”

Her stomach dropped. She looked up at him and searched his face. He just looked back at her, solemn, self-contained, enigmatic. “So God isn’t so all-powerful after all, is he?” she said quietly.

“God told him to go and get her back again.”

She frowned slightly. “Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Just because God told him to?” No man would do that.

“Yes, and because he loved her.”

She got up and went to look out the window at the darkening sky.

“Love? No, I don’t think that was his reason. It was his pride. The old prophet just didn’t want to admit he couldn’t hold onto her all by himself.”

“Pride drives a man away, Mara. It drove me away from you that last night in Pair-a-Dice.” He should have listened to the Lord and gone back.

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He should have dragged her out of there no matter how much she kicked and screamed.

Angel looked back over her shoulder at him. “So she stayed with the prophet after that?”

“No. She left him again. He had to buy her out of slavery a second time.”

She didn’t like his story very much. “Then she stayed?”

“No. She kept leaving. She even had children by other men.”

Her chest felt heavy. Defensive, she mocked him. “And he finally stoned her to death,” she said wryly, sarcasm dripping. “Isn’t that right? He finally sent her to where she belonged.” He didn’t answer, and she turned her back on him again. “What’s your point, mister? Just say it.”

“Someday you’re going to have to make a choice.”

He didn’t say any more, and she wondered if that was the end of it. She clenched her teeth. She wasn’t going to ask him if the harlot ever stayed with that prophet or if he finally gave up on her.

Michael got up, opened two tins of beans and poured them into a pot. In a few moments they were warm, and he served them. “Sit and eat with me, Mara.”

She sat down with him at the table. When he bowed his head and prayed, the anger came up fast inside her again. Trying to ignore him, she began eating. When he looked at her, she gave him a tight, challenging smile. “You know what I think,” she said. “I think God had you marry me to punish you for some great sin in your past. Have you lusted after many women, mister?”

“It does plague me on occasion,” he said, looking her over with a rueful smile. He ate the rest of the meal in silence.

She envied his peace and self-control. When he finished, she took his plate and stacked it on her own. “Since you did the cooking, I’ll wash the dishes.” She didn’t like the dark, but it was better than staying in the cabin with him. He might start telling her another of his rotten stories. A really nice one this time, something about a leper or someone with running sores.

When she finished the dishes, she sat by the creek for a while. She was aching all over and knew she had attempted far too much today, but just listening to the water soothed her unsettled nerves.

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“What am I doing here?” she said to herself. “What am I doing here with
him?”

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the cottonwood, and she could swear she heard a soft voice. She turned, but no one was there. Shivering, she walked back quickly and saw Hosea leaning against the door frame, waiting for her. His hands were shoved in his pockets. Stepping around him, she entered the cabin and put the dishes away. She was tired and wanted to go to bed.

Stripping off her clothes, she slipped quickly beneath the quilts. Then she lay there thinking about that girl going back to prostitution. Maybe she had a Duchess who had her money, too. Maybe the prophet had driven her half crazy the way this farmer was driving her crazy. Maybe she just wanted to be left alone. Did the prophet ever think of that?

Angel stiffened when Hosea slid into bed beside her. She only had herself to blame. Give them the taste of a kiss and they want the whole meal. Well, the sooner it was done, the sooner she could sleep.

She sat up, brushing her hair impatiently over her shoulder, and looked down at him with grim resolution.

“No.”

She was surprised at the look of impatience he gave her. “No?”

“No.”

“Look, mister. I can’t read your mind. You have to tell me what you want.”

“I want to sleep in my own bed with my wife beside me.” Taking a strand of her hair, he tugged lightly. “And that’s
all
I want.”

Perplexed, she lay back down again. She waited for him to change his mind. After a long while, his breathing deepened. She turned her head cautiously and looked at him in the firelight. He
was
asleep. She studied his relaxed profile for a long moment, then turned away from him.