Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📕

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