Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,19
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.
“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