“These are fine,” she said. The woman appraised her, her gaze going from the rack of clothes and back to her floppy coat. Sierra pressed her lips into a smile she hoped didn’t look like a grimace. “Boone’s kind enough to replace everything I’ve lost.” She didn’t say how, and Boone didn’t add to her story.
The woman’s face softened. Curiosity lit behind her eyes, but she didn’t ask probing questions. Sierra’s gaze flicked to Boone. He watched her under hooded eyelids. She’d been as truthful as she could with him. He wanted to know more but kept it to himself.
As long as he didn’t insist, she could get through this.
The woman folded the coat, then the pants. She gestured to a rack close to a closet door that must be a fitting room. “I have some women’s clothing, but it’s more along the lines of long johns and warm clothing for under snow gear.”
“I was hoping you’d help us order some.” Boone leaned one arm on the counter, half turned in. It was a small-town gesture if Sierra ever saw one. His body vibrated with tension, but it wasn’t due to any perceived threat. She’d bet he knew where every exit was and exactly who else was in the store.
Former law enforcement?
Like him, she was burning with questions. But things worked best between them when they didn’t ask.
“I sure can.” The woman’s name tag read Bea. She pushed her wire frames farther up her nose and turned her kind gaze toward Sierra. “But seeing as you need something sooner rather than later, I can point you toward the new department store.”
Boone’s brows lifted. “I saw it going up. It’s open already?”
“Just in time for the holidays. Nice addition, even if it does stick out like a box with fluorescent lights on the edge of our cute town. But they have a small selection.”
Boone took a moment to think it over, then nodded. He caught Sierra’s gaze. “Want to choose a few more things and then we’ll head over?”
I’ll pay him back.
She was tired of saying that to herself already.
Choosing thick warm socks and a pair of long johns, she added them to the pile, then wandered to the door. The woman wanted to help and had more suggestions, but Sierra was draining Boone as it was. The department store should have cheap enough clothing. They might not have discounts because they were new—
Prickles rippled over Sierra’s back. She stiffened but didn’t turn around.
“Bea!” a man roared, his cranky tone obliterating the quiet solitude of the store.
Sierra twisted, like she was casually looking over her shoulder, but she kept her gaze sharp, focused. Unease cascaded over her. She tried to dismiss the feeling—that was for her old life—but it didn’t go away.
The man limped from the long hallway that led to the back office and the exit. The owner? A manager? His bushy brows drooped over his eyes and he heaved through the racks of clothing and gear, his wide shoulders knocking into them. If he’d been invisible, she still could’ve seen his route from all the rocking displays left in his wake.
“Jim.” Bea’s voice held warning but she smiled at Boone as she handed the bag over. “What’s going on?”
“I tripped again on the heaving asphalt back there. I thought I told you to get that fixed before it snowed.”
Bea’s gaze remained placid, her smile in place as she thanked Boone. “Perhaps we should talk about this after—”
Jim shook his head like a big shaggy dog coming in from the rain. “No, dammit. It was supposed to have been dealt with.”
Was it Jim’s attitude that was adding to Sierra’s discomfort?
Boone backed away, but he must’ve had the same sense of foreboding. Something was off, and it had started when Jim had arrived.
Bea heaped more pleasantness into her smile. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. It’s been a stressful week.”
The explanation wasn’t needed. Sierra let a small amount of sympathy show on her face. Boone dipped his head, his steady gaze traveling between Jim and Bea like he was assessing the threat to Bea.
Sierra was turning to stare back out the window when skittering shadows caught her eye. She frowned and twisted around again.
Nothing.
She turned again and there it was. Skittering shadows. Jerky movements she knew all too well.
No. It couldn’t be. She was supposed to have lost those abilities with her wings.
There was a tower display full of sunglasses to her right. She relaxed her gaze and pretended to look at the selections, spinning with the rack until she faced the register where Jim was berating Bea for the busted asphalt.
At his feet, sylphs danced.
A surge of excitement built in her chest. She could still see them. Not too long ago, she would’ve palmed a dagger and yanked their filthy little asses into the Mist to stab out their interfering existence.
One bold sylph rode on Jim’s shoulder. The broken asphalt probably wasn’t more than an inch-deep dip in the ground but the small underworld demons were tripping Jim and ruining his day. Over and over, weakening the human’s mental state, leaving him open for a symaster or, even worse, an archmaster to take advantage through a full possession.
Jim was being conditioned for possession.
The realization and her current situation mingled, making her slow to respond. One of the sylphs met her gaze and stilled, his eyes narrowing.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. Humans weren’t able to see them.
She blinked and looked away, straining to keep her expression neutral, bored even. She tilted her head at Boone, who walked slow, unwilling to leave Bea to her needlessly irate husband. “Ready?”
Her whole being strained to glance back and see if she’d fooled the sylph, but she kept her gaze glued to Boone. Not a hardship, but it wasn’t like she could reassure him. It was only going to get worse for Bea and Jim, and Sierra couldn’t do a damn thing. Nor could she go to one of her kind. She’d risk their existence by talking to them.
Even if she did risk it, what would she ask Boone? Hey, can we go somewhere so I can borrow a computer and the internet and email one of my old teammates? I think someone’s still checking our email.
Boone shot one more dark look over his shoulder and opened the door for her. Sierra walked out behind him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Surprise filled his eyes. “Why?”
“It’s frustrating when you can’t do anything.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate that he has to make the first move for anything I do to be justified.”
“I doubt he’s . . . himself.” He won’t be if the sylphs keep it up.
They loaded into the pickup. She kept her gaze on the store as Boone pulled away, switching to the rearview mirror. Shadows danced along the front window. Coincidence? Or had she failed to fool the little bastards?
In her old life, she could’ve helped before Jim did something he’d have never done in his right mind. She could’ve solved the problem before he’d finished his angry sentence to his wife. She could’ve helped before life went to hell for Jim and Bea.
But now she couldn’t. She was as helpless as Boone in dealing with Jim. The magnitude of what she’d done, the ramifications that’d forever ripple out because there was one less angel protecting Earth, settled over her. She would have to live a long human life with that knowledge.
Chapter 4
It’d been two weeks since the trip to town when Boone had wanted to slam a fist in Jim’s face. He hated that he’d relished his anger toward the man. It’d taken his mind off the vulnerable woman who’d sifted through racks of winter gear and clothing until she found the cheapest damn things to buy.
If he could go back to Sierra wearing rags, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
The leggings she’d found at the store, with the puffy socks encompassing her little feet, didn’t hide her body like his clothing had. He’d seen her legs, but she’d been injured. The longer they stayed in his cabin together, the
healthier the glow in her face when something delighted her. And the way her eyes lit up—he was losing his immunity.
The old feeling of wanting to gather a beautiful woman into his arms had come roaring back.
At the grocery store, he’d gotten brown sugar for the oatmeal and berries and frozen fruit to have on hand. He was already planning another trip. Last year, he hadn’t gone to town more than a couple times a month for the entire six-month-long winter. But he was going again, twice in the same week. Sierra cooked better meals than he’d ever had in his life.
His wife hadn’t been—
She’d been a lot of things. The good parts he was starting to remember more lately. But cooking hadn’t been one of her strengths.
It was afternoon, and Sierra rummaged around the cupboards, planning their supper. If he hung around, he’d watch her putter around the cabin, and as he’d been doing for the last two weeks, his gaze would stroke over her ass, her hips, her breasts. One of these days, she’d catch him. The girl wasn’t exactly stuck in a cabin with him, yet she was. He had power over her, only now, she had more power than ever over him.
He couldn’t allow that. He’d have to leave the cabin, find something to do.
“Is there anything you need from town? I can make another trip this week.”
She thought for a moment. “I need to find a way to make myself useful. You’re running errands and paying for everything. I know you said until I get on my feet, but I’m mostly healed and can contribute.”
“You’ve been doing a lot around here.”
“I could be more productive than some light dusting. I can hunt.”
His surprise was probably insulting. He hadn’t expected her to mention hunting, and it wasn’t because she was a woman. That might be a little true. He’d grown up hunting deer and elk that his family and friends would field strip and haul back to the pickup. They’d live off the meat for months. He’d hunted more for food than sport, but he’d been surrounded by dudes the whole time.
Any time he’d dealt with weapons and guns, he’d been around boasting, competent males. Sure, other teams had women. Why wouldn’t they in this day and age? But his team had been mostly guys. It had been the nature of his particular job. But there was another glaring issue.
He’d trusted his team. He’d trusted the family and friends he’d grown up hunting with. And none of those times had he thought he might lose control of his weapon. But after what he’d gone through, he didn’t want to give Sierra a gun. He didn’t want anyone around while he used his rifle. It was for hunting only. His mind made the distinction. Would it if Sierra was close by?
Acid churned in his gut, crawling its way up his throat.
“You don’t trust me,” she said.
It had to be written in block letters across his face. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t even know her.
That didn’t stop him from wanting to know how soft her skin was, how her slight weight felt on his lap, or if she tasted as sweet as she looked. But none of that had to do with handing over a loaded weapon.
“I . . .”
She waved a hand. “No, I totally get it. What about the traps and snares?”
Relief sagged his shoulders. He didn’t have to explain himself further. He should’ve thought of the snares first and saved himself the heart attack. “That’d be a good place to start. Want to do it today?”
Her face lit up and she rushed to get her coat and snow pants on. He did the same and they stepped into their boots and went outside. He blinked in the light and went to the garage for his hunting knives. She trailed behind him but didn’t ask for a knife of her own. Wasn’t she interested, or was she reading the room? Either way, her easy acceptance of his need to control all things dangerous eased the tension between his shoulders.
The next couple of hours were filled with tutorials about snares. How he used aluminum wire snares for rabbits along known trails they used, and what animals caused problems, like the foxes that had nearly driven him out of his mind last year by emptying his snares before he could get out to check them.
He led her to his snare line in the trees and they walked it. She didn’t chatter, like she knew how to minimize her presence to keep from permanently scaring the critters away.
When they were done, he dug out his supplies, his wires with the nooses already made. “Where do you think we should set up another snare line?”
She chewed the inside of her lip. She’d been quiet, asked intelligent questions, and was competent from the word go, like she’d been born to do this. The tip of her nose was pink and it was too damn adorable for her own good. Her snow gear covered her from head to toe, so that was going for him. They might have to do this every day or he’d regress to a grunting, horny caveman. He should hand over his rifle just so she could put him out of his misery.
After Phoebe, he hadn’t wanted a woman again. He was a guy. He had needs, but they were all physical, and he could deal with them on his own. But he didn’t want to risk getting close to another person again.
He’d do well to remember everything Phoebe had cost him. Just how alone he was in life.
Sorrow swarmed him again, but it was weaker than usual.
No. No. He couldn’t forget. He’d never forget what he’d lost.
He focused on the snares. They weren’t far from the cabin. It was visible through the trees. “You know what, let’s just clean the two rabbits we found and call it a day.” Blood and guts should make his lust shut the hell up.
Her face went ashen.
“Stripping bunnies bothers you?” She’d eaten everything he’d trapped and hunted.
“No.” She wrinkled her nose and pressed her hand against her stomach. “My brain has no issue with it. Obviously, I know what needs to be done. But for some reason my stomach isn’t totally on board.”
“It’s okay.” She’d handed him a reprieve. He’d stay outside and clean the meat. “Want to go back to the cabin and figure out what we’ll have with it?”
Her face regained some much-needed color and she nodded. “I can do that.”
She went inside and he went about cleaning their meal for the next couple of nights. When he was done, he stopped in the garage and wrapped the meat in paper before going inside.
Sierra was at the stove. She plopped a cover on what was probably rice. He didn’t keep much variety in the house but she worked magic with broth and spices.
“Perfect timing,” she said while he was toeing out of his boots. “The oven’s warmed up and I got out the seasonings.”
He set the meat down and unwrapped it. A strangled groan came from his side and he looked in time to see her swaying on her feet.
“Sierra?”
Her gaze popped up to his and her eyes rolled back. He dropped what he was doing and caught her. Swooping her up, he rushed to the bed and set her down, leaning over her.
“Sierra?” He shrugged out of his coat and snow pants, dropping them to the floor, forgotten, as he inspected his fallen angel.
She groaned and shifted under him. Her eyelids fluttered open, taking a few seconds to focus on him. A lazy smile spread across her face. “Hey, you.” She rubbed her hand along his beard, her fingers tangling in the strands.
It was a beard. It wasn’t his dick, but her touch lit him up like a Chicago office plaza. Nerve endings he’d ignored for a long time fired up and blood rerouted. His eyes went half-mast and he leaned into her touch.
“You’re really good-looking, you know that?”
He knew he wasn’t ugly. Before Phoebe, he’d never had trouble getting dates. Once he’d been on Phoebe’s radar, he’d been toast.
As gorgeous as Phoebe had been, she wasn’t this fallen angel who radiated both strength and vulnerability. This woman who fainted at the sight of rabbit meat and woke to give him a compliment instead of complaining about the long hours he worked.
He briefly closed his eyes. This wasn’t his old life. This was nothing like his time before he’d com
e to Montana. He was in danger of Sierra dragging him back to himself.
“Your lips look really soft.” She ran her thumb along his lower lip and he dipped his head farther until his mouth hovered above hers. How could he not?
“Yours do too,” he murmured.
Her smile grew. “You’re a good guy, Boone Reamer. You’re the best guy I’ve ever met.”
Her words sobered him and he yanked himself away.
She blinked out of her daze and half sat up, pushing her hair off her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said gruffly. She’d passed out and then he’d been all over her, ready to devour every sweet ounce she’d give him. She hadn’t been in her right mind. He had no excuse.
“I don’t know what came over me. I never get sick over simple things.”
She might be okay ignoring what had almost happened, but he had to address it head-on. “We can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Kiss and stuff. I’m helping you. I don’t need anything in return.”
She rolled her lips in, her cheeks flushing with either embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. “I have no plans to sell my body.”
“I promise I would never ask you to do anything like that.”
She steadied her solemn blue eyes on him. “Where I come from, promises aren’t made arbitrarily.”
“Then we must come from the same place. I mean what I say.”
Disappointment emanated from the hard set of her chin, but her gaze was full of respect. “I meant what I said, Boone. You’re a good guy. I’m lucky you’re the one who found me.”
“You were lucky anyone found you.”
She drew in a long breath and lay back. “I know.”
He filled in what she didn’t say. No one was supposed to have found her. He’d figured out that much. Whoever had hurt her and dumped her in the middle of the Montana wilderness hadn’t meant for anyone to see her. His curiosity swelled, a thousand questions scrambling to get out. She’d been vague about what had happened to her and he wanted details.
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 5
