“Michael Hosea,” he said. “I live in a valley southwest of here, and I’m not married, but I will be soon.” She frowned uneasily. It was the way he was looking at her. The intensity unnerved her. “What sort of name is Hosea?” His smile became wry. “Prophetic.” Was he making a joke at her expense? “Are you going to tell me my future?” “You’re going to marry me, and I’m going to take you out of here.”
