Taking Faith Read Online Free PDF Page B

couple of hours before he announced that it was time to head home. Mike and his wife were coming to dinner, he said, and she needed to figure something out for dinner.
    Amy didn't nod or speak. She just followed him out to the truck. When they arrived, he made a show of locking the door and went to take a shower. She tried the back door, but it, too, was locked. She tried the window in the living room, but it was glued shut. He knew there was no way she was getting out, that was why he went and took his showers with such little worry about her. She stomped her foot and leaned against the wall.
    Was this all just a game to him?
    She wiped the tear away angrily. She couldn't get through one day without crying anymore. Every time he told her she had to do something that made him more like the wife he wanted her to be, it seemed to rip a little piece of her soul right out of her. She didn't know how long she could go on like this. She heard the water shut off in the bathroom and almost panicked. She was supposed to be doing something. He was teasing one minute and then boiling mad the next. She couldn't read him and had no idea how he'd react if he caught her standing there like that.
    She make a quick path to the kitchen, just in time, too, as he opened the bathroom door and emerged wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He had quite a few scars on his hips and belly that she hadn't seen before. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from them as her thought s ran wild as to where they had come from. She didn't have to think very hard. His father did that to him , she knew it . She glanced up to meet his eyes and saw the look he was giving her. He wasn't happy about her eying his scars apparently. Mean Roger was back.
    "Take a shower," he barked and turned to his bedroom… the room where she slept. "You can wear some of my sweats until we can get you something," he called back to her before slamming the door.
    She jumped. He got so angry so fast. She did as he said and went to the bathroom, the steam hitting her, giving her chills on her cool skin. She stunk, that was a fact. She'd been in that dress for days now and a shower, even with everything else that was pounding her brain, was the only heaven she could think of right now.
    She peeled the dress off and threw it in the hamper. She made the water hot, but not as hot as last time. She hated having to use his soap. She was going to smell like him. She wrinkled her nose and washed, not bothering to shave her legs . What was the point in that?
    Once she was done she wrapped herself in a to wel and debated her next move; g o out and ask him for some clothes or wait for him to get angry enough to come and ask her what was taking so long. She opted for option one , but when she opened the door, there was a pile of gray sweats by the door. She sighed in relief and took the pile into the bathroom. There was no underwear or bra, obviously, so she just put them on. She was a small chested girl anyway, always had been. It used to bother her and she'd complain t o her mother that she was nineteen and hadn't reached puberty yet.
    But thinking about her mother made her chest ache so she stopped that in its tracks.
    She pulled her hair back again and dreaded the ponytail. She hated to wear them, but did not want to show any effort of making herself look good in front of him. She came out and walked back into the living room. He had settled himself into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said "Mitchell's Supply" on the back and was looking through the mail, tossing som e on the table. His feet were b ar e . She looked away and waited.
    He glanced up at her and she saw his eyes soften. His voice however did not. "Well aren't you just scrubbadubbed?" He looked away. "You need to get some supper started. They'll be here soon."
    She went into the kitchen without a word. She pulled some potatoes out and started to peel them. She noticed the larger knives had been pulled from the block,