Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,18

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