The slightest thought brought his image to mind, sharp and clear, as if she'd known him forever. Those eyes… silver gray tones that swirled as if in constant motion. Sam was willing to bet the man could convince anyone to do anything just with those eyes. But if, by some chance, that wasn't enough, his mouth would do the rest. Beautifully sculpted, mobile, sensual. Perfect. She'd never met him before but something about him seemed so right, so… safe.
The damn kitchen door nearly flattened her nose before she saw it, so engrossed in recalling every detail of the man's features. A flush of annoyance spread over her cheeks as she stepped into the kitchen. There stood the man himself, gently flirting with Kassie. Sam couldn't be genuinely aggravated with him, though, since the bright orange duffel bag she'd sent him after sat by the door and he waited as she'd instructed.
But watching the woman who had practically raised her blush and fluster like a teenager gave Sam an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Especially when the reason for the behavior looked like that one. The man literally oozed sex from every pore and seemed entirely unaware of the fact. Whether he actually had no idea how his looks affected others, or he was just really good at faking it remained to be seen.
Either way, it was good to see Kassie smiling and aware of her femininity again. It was the first time in the four years since Ben's death that Sam had seen her blush from male flattery even though she'd had no shortage of attention from men in the past year. It looked like she might be ready to start considering life again, and if so, Sam owed Toren a debt of gratitude.
"Toren? Or was there something else you'd rather I call you?" She felt like a fool asking, but he hadn't given any other name, and she didn't have time to check references and fill out tax withholding forms.
He turned to give her his full attention, those silvery eyes doing insane things to her insides. The corner of his mouth lifted in a little almost-smile. "You can call me Toren, or nearly anything else."
Having that gentle flattery pointed in her direction left Sam uncomfortable. Men simply did not flirt with her, not even in a friendly teasing way. She needed to shut him down fast and let him know she wouldn't fall for that kind of bullshit. "Well, Toren, why don't you grab your gear and we'll head out. We'll be setting up hay and checking stock locations, so we'll be gone a while." She turned to Kassie with a little hidden wink. "Kassie, if you don't mind, maybe you could pack a couple of your experiments for us to take along, just in case we're out late?"
"Of course. Cocoa along with the coffee?" Kassie patted Toren's shoulder. "You get on out of here so I can get you a mess of my special supper pastries to take with."
Sam paused to check the contents of the orange bag. It was her daddy's one concession to her demands for safety and preparedness. The bag held an extensive first aid kit, emergency shelter and blankets, a handgun and ammo, freeze-dried food and other wilderness survival gear. A person could manage fairly well with the contents of that bag for several days – more if they had water and fuel. And with a storm that size headed their way, she wasn’t fool enough to forget it.
She checked that her gloves were securely in her pocket and her scarf waited around her neck, then stooped to sling the orange duffel over her shoulders. Turning to push the door open with her backside, she froze.
Toren stood staring at her, lower lip caught between his teeth as if he wanted to say something. He seemed entirely at a loss for how to act or what to do. So why did she suddenly feel like Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf? Nonsense. Especially considering the strange sense of safety she felt in his presence. Why the contrast?
Kassie rescued him by handing him the canvas-covered food carrier she'd designed, with compartments for hot, cold, and in-between, along with storage for utensils and condiments and other necessities and luxuries. "Here you go, Toren. Now you help Sammie along to the truck and keep her safe out there." He took the heavy container, flashed Kassie a grateful look, and rushed to hold the door for Sam.
The gentlemanly act gave her a moment's pause. The only time a man had held the door for her was when the funeral parlor attendant held it when she went to Ben's funeral. She'd been so surprised she stopped a moment and waited for him to go through first. She gave Toren a wary glance and rushed through, feeling awkward as a whore in church.
Tripping over the threshold didn't help, especially when Toren grabbed her arm and steadied her. His grasp betrayed enormous strength and he'd moved impossibly fast. All that faded to insignificance in comparison to her self-consciousness as she freed her arm from his grip. Feet safely on the ground again, she started over.
Sam took the extra moment to grab tools from the shed so they wouldn't be stuck with no way of making a repair or spreading feed. In no time they were loaded and ready, and Sam wrestled the old transmission into gear. The truck jolted to break free of its frozen tracks and they were under way. She glanced at Toren sprawled in the passenger side, surprised he hadn't at least offered to drive. Most of the hands insisted.
Shit. She slammed the brake and the truck ground to a halt. "Where's your gear?"
He gave her a puzzled look. "My gear?" He blinked, drawing her attention to the black lashes surrounding those silver eyes.
"Yes, your gear. Coat. Hat. Gloves. Stuff to keep you warm in this weather? Don't tell me you don't have your own, because no one here is big enough to lend you theirs." Just her luck. An absolute greenhorn and no time to make sure he knew how to wipe his own ass.
"Oh, that." He nodded. "I threw it in the back while you got the tools from the barn."
The almost nervous glance over his shoulder into the bed of the truck made her wonder, but Sam took him at his word. Outright asking a man if he were too stupid to live was more of an insult than she was willing to give on such short acquaintance. She just nodded and started the rust bucket rolling forward again. At least she had a little time to figure out if she should make him stay in the truck when they got to the hay shed, or if he might actually be able to help.
"So you've worked on other ranches?"
He grinned, perfect teeth, except for the little chip in his incisor she'd noticed earlier, flashing in the twilight of the truck cab. "I've done a lot of different kinds of work. Most recently, I was a soldier."
Okay. Maybe that explained it, then. Lots of guys came back from the war a little unsure of themselves, not to mention he'd been away from ranch life for a while. "Where are you from? Before you joined the service, I mean."
"We moved around a lot, different obscure little places, all over the world." The distant note in his voice seemed like he wasn't too keen on answering questions about his past. "Tell me a little about the C-Bar. Did you grow up here?"
"I did." Odd that he'd ask something like that instead of how many head they ran or what stock. Most ranch hands wanted that kind of info up front since it told a great deal about the fiscal health of an operation, and whether their pay checks would clear or bounce. "My daddy's family came here in the 1850s, but didn't really start ranching right off. That came in the 1880s after beef prices and shipping were more stable. Until now, it's passed father to son. My daddy's the first without a son to pass it to." She shut up before her bitterness leaked through and had Toren wondering if he might be the son and heir her daddy wanted.
"He's lucky."
"Lucky?" She laughed, unbelieving. "I know I didn't hear that right."
"You did. He's lucky to have a daughter so determined and strong to bring his heritage into the future and keep it healthy at the same time."
She shook her head. "No one could ever convince him of that." Time to change the subject before she said more than she should or choked on her shock until she passed out. The headlights picked out suddenly huge snowflakes. "Would you look at that? I can't remember the last time I saw flakes that large." They passed a few minutes with light-hearted debate over the biggest snowflakes they ever witnessed.
Even while they talked, Toren possessed such a watchful bearing that Sam gre
w self-conscious and gradually let the conversation die out. Did he expect Old West rustlers to leap from behind the nearest bush, or something? Whatever it was, anyone wanting to sneak up on him would have to work at it. That must be another by-product of the war.
"How much longer until we get to the hay?" His question emphasized some unfamiliar quality in his voice or accent.
His English was perfect and other than a few odd word choices, nothing seemed out of place. But there was still something Sam just could not put her finger on that made her feel like English wasn't his first language. With a mental shake of her head, she decided to put the puzzle away for later. She had enough to worry about at the moment. "We'll come within sight of it soon, once we top that next rise." She flicked her fingers toward the southwest in the general direction of the nearest hay storage. "We have a half dozen more sheds, but there's no way we'll make them all tonight. If we're lucky, we'll get to two more after this before we have to go in."
Toren nodded but didn't say anything more and Sam wondered what he might be thinking. Did he have a family? A wife, perhaps, and children that missed him? Or aging parents that drove him nuts by clinging to the past?
The snow was starting to accumulate, covering the ground with a layer of downy fluff. The old truck's headlights glinted off individual flakes sending shards of light bouncing through the premature twilight. "I'm glad the snow blade is on the truck. We might need it before we get done."
They crested the rise and the hay storage shed squatted like a dark monster low on the shoulder of the hill. Cattle huddled in small groups scattered through the valley taking whatever shelter they could in the contours of the land.
Sam stopped the truck at the side of the hay shed and left it running, donning hat, gloves and scarf before she climbed out into the biting cold. The wind immediately made her lower her head to use her hat brim to keep the blowing snow out of her eyes.
A glance at Toren made her stop and watch. He'd crammed a too-small hat on his head backward and begun to inspect his leather gloves as if he'd never seen such a thing. Finally he seemed to work out how to get them on. Finished, he grinned, flexed his hands, then looked up to catch her staring.
"Something wrong?"
Sam decided to ignore the thing with the gloves, but the hat was just too much. "Your hat is backwards. Actually, it looks too small."
He snatched it off his head and peered closely. "Damn, I picked up the wrong hat." He tossed it back in the duffel bag he'd taken his stuff from. He didn't bother to further explain and instead just unrolled his coat.
Whoa. Sam's father was the only other man she'd ever seen wear that kind of coat for work. The worn leather duster hung well below Toren's knees and the collar flipped up to cover his ears. Well, except for the hat thing, he seemed to have his own shit at least. She shrugged and slammed the truck door. So he wasn't entirely unprepared. That didn't mean he knew a cow's ass from its head. Perhaps she'd know by the time the storm passed.
The latch on the gate into the shed had frozen and Sam wrestled with it until Toren came to help. The frozen metal gave under his big hand as if it were no more than a paperclip. The man went on to prove himself extraordinarily helpful, following her instructions to the letter and without question. So helpful that the big hay bales were set up in record time and they were finished and ready to go on to the next hay barn in half the normal time.
They kept to the lee of the barn on the way to the truck to stay out of the full force of the wind. "You want to drive?" She couldn't help feeling odd for driving with a man in the truck. Any time she wanted to take the wheel, she had to count on the men liking her even if they didn't respect her. Far better than having to assert her position as the heiress and future boss.
He gave her a quizzical look. "I can if you'd like, but I don't need to. I don't feel emasculated riding while you drive or anything." He grinned. "Some guys do, I reckon, but they're coverin' some inadequacy. I don't have any of those."
A chill shuddered down her spine to hear her thoughts expressed in his roughened silk voice. Especially when the thoughts came directly from her own private philosophy of male psychology. "Um, okay. Really strange you'd say that."
"Oh?" He climbed into the truck's passenger seat and stretched his long legs as far as the truck allowed. The dome light clearly illuminated a perfect dark brow arched as if in question.
Sam clicked her seatbelt in place. "I've thought the exact same thing myself."
"That I don't have any shortcomings that need to be hidden?" Both his expression and inflection said he wasn't quite sure if she were serious or joking.
Sam tilted her head a little, as if that would help her understand him. Either he was unbelievably conceited or profoundly lacking in some vital social element. "You're kidding? I hope? I know nothing about your inadequacies, nor do I want to." She concentrated on keeping her voice icily correct.
Serious discussion with the man seemed to be a colossal waste of time. No matter, as long as he did what she needed him to. She put the truck in gear and pulled onto the rough track that would take them to the next hay shed a few miles away on another tract of land.
The going was slow when they drew near. Small bunches of cattle, recognizing the truck as a feed delivery system, began to drift along behind them. She cut their speed so the cattle could keep up. The more the animals were gathered, the better their chances of survival.
Finally they rounded the shoulder of the low forested hill and came within view of the shed. An odd glow surrounded the steel frame building—not really a building, just a slanted roof on steel support posts and secured with woven fencing around the sides to protect the hay from lazy stock. Sam floored the accelerator, a sick greasy feeling creeping over her. That glow didn't come from anything good.
Toren straightened in his seat and looked closely toward the light. "Fire?"
"That's what it looks like."
The man actually had the sense to stay silent.
She skidded the truck around the side of the shed and ground to a stop, the tires throwing snow in a huge arc. Shoving her door open, she jumped from the truck before it came to a full halt and hit a dead run for the blaze.
Flames licked all along the flank of the shed, creeping along the exposed side of the hay. It hadn't been burning long enough to penetrate the tightly packed interior of the bales, so if they could get it extinguished, most of the hay would be saved.
Toren's feet pounded the frozen ground right behind her, then a big hand settled on her shoulder and propelled her downward with enough force to drop a steer.
"What the hell?" she growled as she spun out of his hold.
"Samantha, you can't run straight into a fire with no plan. Sixty seconds won't make a difference to the fire, but it might keep you alive." His silver eyes flashed and the easy-going guy was gone, replaced by a hard-ass who would tolerate no disagreement.
For once she followed orders without arguing. He stood beside her, peering into the flames, listening to the crackle and roar, trying to figure a way to save the hay.
The origin was easy enough to spot. The old tractor they kept parked there to move the giant bales was almost completely engulfed. Some idiot had left it primed so it would be easier to get started next time.
She moved closer, looking for a safe way to gain access and Toren grabbed hold of her arm. Her mind seemed to interpret it as a lifeline and didn’t protest. "If we can get a tow chain on the tractor, I can drag it out with the truck."
Toren immediately went for the chain covering ground fast. Sam moved a little closer to the tractor in search of a way to hook on. Leaning down, head nearly on the ground, she pinpointed what she needed in the form of the draw bar attached to the rear lift arms. Normally a wagon or other implement would be hitched there, so it should hold to tow the tractor.
An odd sound caught her attention and she froze as a heartrending cry split the smoky dark. Without thinking, Sam shot toward the shed, heading for the corner, ign
oring Toren’s booming command to stop.
The pitiful bleating spurred her onward. She didn't even slow for the fence, just launched herself across to land in the burning chaff strewn over the ground.
Toren yelled her name, the sound closer. She ripped her coat off as she dropped to her knees and threw it over the tiny bundle that trembled and whimpered as smoke made breathing nearly impossible.
She thrust her arms under the calf and heaved, lifting it chest high and turned to stumble back toward the fence.
Toren lunged for her as burning hay tangled around her feet and dragged her to her knees. Flame erupted on her pant leg and seared her skin. The bolt of pain drew a scream from her and filled her lungs with furnace hot air.
Her vision went spotty from lack of oxygen as she fought to regain her feet, refusing to let go of the now silent and limp calf. An iron grasp surrounded her, squeezing hard. She halfway sensed movement all around before everything slowly went black. An irresistible something pulled, forcing her to follow into the darkness, compelling her to sleep.
Ice cold air poured into her lungs and she fought to open her eyes.
"Samantha! Stay with me!"
Gentle fingers touched and stroked her face and she managed to pry her eyes open. Twin points of silver light hovered above her, drawing her back from the inky abyss that pulled at her. The hope and caring within that swirling illumination held her and the oddest sense of déjà vu came over her, as if she'd done it all before.
CHAPTER FIVE
The right side of Lucian’s face throbbed again. He stood and paced the cramped common room of their latest hideout, wanting more answers. “So you’re telling us that the devil is-is tweaking these monsters until they achieve a version that can hide next door to infiltrate mankind and be like these pimps of evil? And no one has a clue.”
Dorn poured himself a cup of coffee. “That’s correct. His mission is the same as it’s always been; lead mankind into a binding contract with sin. Only he’s using these creatures to accelerate the evil and cut into the time humans are given with the plan of salvation.”
Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3) Page 4
