Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3) (3 page)

The icy wind stole Sam's breath between the house and the bunkhouse where most of the crew preferred to live as they would have in the heyday of ranching. The C-Bar bunkhouse consisted of a central common area with four shared rooms spaced around it. Only the married foreman chose to live separately.

She paused at the door long enough to knock loudly and call out. No one answered, so Sam went in. To the left in the kitchen area, the sink overflowed with dishes. On the right, sofas and recliners focused on the ancient 'floor model' TV in its ornate wood cabinet and packed bookshelves that flanked the fireplace. Sam was sure they never complained for more because they didn’t want the
in the old days real men
yada yada sermon her father would give, nor the
center yourself with the universe
crock of shit from Joe.

A shuffling sound spun her to face a man
stumbling out of a darkened room.

Speak of the devil.

Despite her determination, Sam's heart sped up a little in response to Joe’s dark rumpled hair, bare chest, low-hanging pajama pants and sleepy half-smile.

"Hey, Sam." He came further into the common room and headed for the kitchen. The better light accented pale, sunken features and bleary eyes.
So he was getting sick too. Hah.

"Wa'ssup?" He passed a few feet from her and the stench of sour sweat drifted well into her space. He’d apparently been steaming away in that stupid little sweat room he’d built for the workers' purifications. Such a waste of perfectly good firewood. And the acrid odor of the various materials he added to the fire permeated any substance that drew near.

Damn she hated how much she needed his idiot ass on the ranch. But goofy Indian/cowboy/monk/Spartan was better than the precisely nothing she had without him. The other hands adored their
Josephus—
his self-appointed prophetic name—and would follow him into hell without question.

Sam forced herself to answer civilly before he could turn nasty.
"Just checking how everyone's doing. You don't look so hot." She put the pay envelopes on the desk in their usual drop-off spot and silently took back her mean prayer that he would get sick. Was it even meaner that she only took it back because she couldn’t afford him to fall ill now?

"Gee, thanks." He noisily ransacked the fridge and finally came up with a canned soda and drained it in a half dozen swallows. "
Not so long ago you didn't think that." He turned a sleazy grin her way. "You need something?"

Sam fought the urge to bristle angrily back at the asshole and lost. "Oh, just a crew smart enough to take a shot so they aren't dead sick with a serious storm blowing in."

He leaned unsteadily against the counter and ran one hand over his face. "Storm?"

"Surprised you didn’t
feel
it coming between all those war wounds and your direct line to the universe. Looks like we're about to get hammered."

"Huh. Sounds like you better get busy. None of us are in any shape to help." He chose to bless her with the little half-grin that won him the heart of nearly every female he encountered.

Even Sam's, for a time. His superior attitude quickly ruined the charm of his looks. "You're up and moving, so get ready. We're going to get some extra hay out." She would tolerate him for the sake of the animals.

He shook his head, tousled hair falling into his eyes. "'Fraid the others here are in pretty bad shape
and I can't leave them. I’ve been fasting and praying. I’m pretty sure I’ll have this thing prayed out in two more days.”

Of all the ridiculous bullshit the bastard
had ever spouted. "Well maybe if you hadn’t convinced them, and hell, every other man in the area, that getting a flu shot was a bad idea, the whole basin wouldn’t be in this trouble and you wouldn’t be hiding out here on your knees. Now we’re all paying for your crack-pot philosophy."

The insolent look he gave her, gaze trailing over her body, settling pointedly on the features he found lacking in femininity, spoke volumes. "If you stayed in the house where you belong and married like your Pap asked, the basin wouldn't have this trouble."

Oh that bastard. Cold, slow-burning anger flared for an instant in Sam's blood. Joe had quickly learned all her hot spots, and never missed an opportunity to push her buttons, but the usual bullshit hadn't sent her blood pressure into the danger zone. His clear frustration over her “rebellious” behavior confirmed Sam's suspicions that he'd been behind her father's demand she marry,
and
choice of husband. What possible stake could he have in her relationship status? Without pushing himself as the prospective groom he couldn't hope for material gain. Could he?

One more betrayal among so many shouldn't hurt, but it did. She would love nothing more than to fire
Joe and send him on down the road. She'd even done it once. Then her father refused to back her up, undermining any degree of authority she might have possessed over the men. As soon as they saw him make her publicly apologize to Gavin and offer him his job back, she dropped to the bottom of the pecking order on the ranch. Even the adolescent boy who carried firewood and did other menial chores too insignificant for one of the hands to be delegated to had more authority.

And
Joe stood there in front of her now, probably aware of every thought running through her mind since he was also part psychic, according to him. Maybe it was time to give him something else to think about.

Sam grinned at him, deliberately exaggerating the expression until she knew it looked unbalanced. "Let me tell you something
Josephus
, something you would do well to remember. I'm an only child, my father's only legal heir. He isn't getting any younger. In fact, this flu is taking a serious toll. You wouldn't recognize him now." Her conscience pricked a little at even using such a threat, but the narrowing of Joe’s eyes spurred her on. "Who can say how long the old goat has left? And when he's gone, the C-Bar is mine. If you like it here, if you think you might want to stay on whenever I take over, you would do well to remember that maybe very soon, I
will
have the final say here. Do I make myself clear?"

The insolent half-smile faded and the sexy mouth compressed into a thin line of unexpressed anger. "Crystal clear. But just so you know…" The cocky slow grin returned. “I’m like the son your father never had.”

The brief satisfaction she’d gotten from shaking the bastard's confidence disappeared. The most painful part of that statement was how true it was. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if her father made him heir since he clearly saw her as incapable from the day she was born, no matter how hard she tried to prove the opposite. "Get dressed. We roll in thirty or you’re fired.” She turned for the door. "And just so you know, the line of succession for this land is iron-clad. It goes to the eldest surviving direct descendent of Papa Orrin. When Daddy's gone, that's me." She stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

It was stupid and petty and Sam knew it. The idiot was sick and wouldn’t admit it and taking a sick man out into a blizzard was unthinkable no matter how much she hated him. But
there was nothing wrong with making Joe think she would. Letting him know the ranch was hers no matter what was a mistake too. Soon enough he'd figure out the stipulation only applied to the land, not the stock and other assets. Then she'd be screwed six ways from Sunday.

CHAPTER THREE

Kassern clapped Toren on the shoulder. “You understand the ground rules?”

Toren sniffed the air
, sampling the corruption. “This place is cursed.”

“I knew I sensed something off,” Dorn muttered.

“Yes,” Kassern agreed. “Not a highly unusual dilemma in this realm.”

True.
A huge storm was maybe two hours out, adding to the new concern. He needed to hurry. “I understand the rules.” Impatience swirled the mercury through his veins, pushing hard, insisting he get started. Invisibly hovering above the ground as they discussed the finer points of his role in the mission felt like a massive waste of time.

“If you have any questions, now is the time to ask,” Dorn said. “Once you're on the farm, you’re quarantined for her protection. We’ve added reinforcements to the shield you placed around the
perimeter for extra precaution but we can't depend on that to be enough. Such a huge geographical area and so many life forms will stretch even the most impenetrable shield thin. The slightest taste of angelic powers will bring a literal horde of demons right to you. Your woman will be the primary target. And don’t ever forget the demon Kharef marked her and we have no clue how that will affect her should she gain her memory somehow, but we can be sure the demon will do absolutely anything to have her back. And I hope you’re right about appearing to her before your couple kisses.”

“She’s seen me already.”

“But it’s not specifically what Uriel called for,” Dorn argued.

“I checked with Uriel,” Toren said. “This way works.” Dorn made him feel like a novice warrior, reminding him of simple concepts that had become ingrained over the hundreds of
millennia of his lifetime. He was intimately aware of what he could and couldn’t do once he entered the shield.

Perhaps sensing Toren's building impatience, Kassern concluded the meeting with a light clap. “We’ll stay as close as we can in case you need us for anything. We'll be occupied with other tasks, so remember to call early enough to give time to get to you.”

“I need to get moving. Storm's coming. She needs me.” Energy pulsed through him, making his mercury shield glow eerily red and warning the others of the impending tempest raging within him.

“Do you even have a plan?” Dorn ignored the warning of the red glow, his rigid tone remind
ing Toren of what was at stake. 

Toren shrugged with the fluid motion of his
ever-changing temperament. “Play it by ear.”

Dorn shook his head, clearly finding the tactic asinine. Didn’t matter, that’s how Toren always operated. He let his mercury slither out a path for him. Not like he could predict a damn thing in this scenario anyhow.
No one could.

“Well, we’re a call away.” Kassern sounded as eager to leave as Toren was.

“Yeehaw.” Toren tipped his hat and promptly disappeared himself to the backside of Sam’s ranch home before walking casually to the front door and knocking.

A
thirty-something year old woman answered the door. Her soft green eyes widened under nearly transparent blonde brows that matched her hair. “Hello, can I help you?” She tucked hair behind her ears and gave him a genuinely warm smile while smoothing her clothes in a subconscious effort to make herself more presentable.

Toren returned her smile with one of his own. “I’m here to answer the ad? My name's Toren.”

Her thin lips parted in astonishment. “You don’t say! I swear I never would’ve guessed a computer could do something like that. Come in, please. I’m Kassie, the housekeeper. And cook.” She held her hand out and Toren looked at it briefly then gave it a gentle shake with only his fingers, careful to remember the fragility of human skeletons. The woman's expression momentarily betrayed her subconscious awareness of his ability to crush her with no effort.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here.” She stepped aside
for him to pass and looked him up and down as he walked in. “My, my. You look like you done stepped out of a magazine.”

Great. Judging by her tone, he was overdressed. “I have to admit, I did get new clothes to apply. Wanted to make a good first impression.” Toren took in the warm little kitchen, instinctively using his mercury senses to become intimate with everything about it while seeking out Samantha. Not there. The room felt cheery and kind, no doubt a comfort to anyone who entered. If this Kassie were the primary occupant of the kitchen, she possessed a pervasive goodness that saturated her environment. A valuable resource to have.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?" She bustled across the kitchen, clearly expecting an affirmative reply. "I’ve got some new concoctions I’ve been working on.” She started taking down dishes and rattling pans. "Toren, huh? What an unusual name! Is it German? Or maybe Swedish?"

What could she mean? "Um, I'm not sure."

The front door opened and Toren held his breath as he waited for confirmation of Samantha's presence.

“Kassie?” A woman called out, her voice clear as a bell despite her obvious attempt to deepen it by holding it low in her throat. “I’m putting on a few more layers and going run the farm errands.”

Eyes closed, Toren couldn't contain the mercurial urge to explore her, soaking in every nuance of her presence. The deep breath he took made matters worse, drawing in the spicy tones of her scent with its undertones of pure womanhood. The fragrance prompted an unfamiliar stirring in his body, something he instinctively knew to conceal.

“Sam? We’ve got company in here.”

The musical tones of Kassie's voice pulled him from his fascination before he made an utter fool of himself.

“Company?” The clip-clop of boots brought Toren to his feet, anxious to make a good first impression. She stopped abruptly in the door jamb, gaze roaming over him head to toe.

Kassie cackled. “Forgot to say he’s a eat your heart out Calvin Klein,”

Toren didn’t really know what she meant and was too busy staring at Samantha to try and figure it out. “I’m here to answer your ad?” Those haunting bright blue eyes remained wide and those perfect lips parted in astonishment. The heavy fall of mahogany hair glistened over her shoulder and down her back. While re-familiarizing himself with her delicate features, Toren hoped her awed expression stemmed from the same reasons as Kassie's. She finally seemed to remember her manners and gasped before blurting, “Hi!”

“Howdy.” Toren tipped his hat.

A surprised little laughed bubbled up and transfixed Toren.
Her features tightened immediately and the scent of camaraderie wafted from her. "Kassie, you know better than to let strangers into the house. He could be a murderer."

The woman chuckled
, seeming familiar with the gentle humor. “Nonsense. I'm a good judge of character. He could be dangerous, but he's a good man. He even comes with old fashioned manners and all.” Kassie hurried to him with a cup of warmth.

“Thank you.” Toren took it and carefully practiced the human social skill
. Kassie’s unquestioning defense of him made him wonder about her. He couldn’t help be amazed at his mercury temperament and how much it wanted to explore everything about humanity and experience everything human. Particularly Samantha. His gaze returned to her and lingered, absorbing every molecule of her.

She looked up at him, a bold eyebrow arched in question and he realized he'd committed a social no-no by staring at her. He glanced into the cup and welcomed the aroma with his absorption powers on high.

“It’s coffee.” Samantha's good-humored voice touched him with nearly physical properties.

Toren looked up to find her three paces closer with a bemused look on her face. A look that said Toren was failing once more
as a human, much less a cowboy. “Sorry, I just haven’t had coffee in forever.”

Samantha
scanned him with a quizzical gaze. “Where are you coming from?”

Prison? He felt the word on the tip of her tongue. But it wasn’t entirely serious, mostly curious, and he sensed
she withheld the word because it wasn’t an appropriate reply. He searched for something proper and suitably indirect to say. “Judging by the storm on the horizon, I’d say from heaven and in the nick of time.”

Kassie laughed and yet Toren felt the sad thread running through it. She was lonely deep down in her soul. He resisted the urge to use more of his powers to figure out why and kept his
gaze leveled on Samantha’s keen stare. He grimaced at his first sip of the dark brown liquid, burnt and bitter flavored. A man’s drink no doubt, and an acquired taste. It must take a very long time to acquire the taste.

“Well you got that right. Are you ready to head out? I’ve got a million things to do and only a minute to do them in. And the only man standing on the
ranch, besides you now, is busy fasting and praying the flu epidemic away.”

Toren smiled at that bit of gold. She thought the one doing the praying was a hypocrite and hated that sort of person.
Beautiful. There'd be no competition for her affections from that direction. “Well, maybe he was praying for help. And here I am.”

She snorted. “How did you know to come? Did God tap you on the shoulder and say, hey, hot dude dressed like a cowboy, go on down to the C-Bar and help the woman in distress? Or did you read my ad on the computer?”

He grinned fully. She called him hot. That was the slang equivalent for sexy. “I did read your ad.”

She gave him a no shit nod. “And if
God heard anybody’s prayer, it was mine, not that arrogant self-righteous Spartan prick's who’d rather stay on his knees praying than get his ass out and help me save my ranch. Like God can’t hear people when they’re walking or working. What a moron.” Sam looked at Kassie. “Mark my word, the second Daddy dies,” she raised both hands, “not saying I want him to anytime soon, but it'll happen eventually, want it or not, and
when
he does, that bastard is so fired." Her eyes flashed with passion and anger. Clearly she had no use for the man.

Toren looked forward to meeting the moronic bastard simply for the entertainment factor.
Meanwhile, Samantha's strong voice swirled the mercury hot inside him. She was like a fire in his spirit and his shield wanted to wrap around her entirely and sink into her pores, hungry to learn everything about her. She definitely had something it wanted and once again, Toren could hardly contain his excitement to give it exactly what it needed. What that actually was remained to be discovered. “I love a women with a plan. I’m entirely at your disposal. Use me however you like.” He smiled, making clear he meant the double entendre, and that he'd be glad to give her ideas.

Something sparkled in her blue eyes and Toren heard her pulse accelerate.

“Oh my.” Kassie gave a mischievous giggle. “However you like Sam, you heard him.”

“Loud and clear.” Samantha walked to the sink and turned it on. "I'll have to think up something real interesting." Eyes still sparkling, she leaned and drank water straight from the running faucet.

Toren angled his head, mesmerized by the way the water slid across her lips and into her mouth. Why did she sound unconvinced or suspicious                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     with his offer? Even as she flirted back, and her body betrayed her interest, an undertone in her voice worried he had ulterior motives.