Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3) by Azure Boone, Kenra Daniels Page B

forced her mind not to get distracted with the smooth skin of his corded muscular neck, or the memory of her lips on it. Or the way his skin tasted. She pointed her finger at him. “I’m havin some strange memories mister. If I find out that you…slipped me some mushroom juice with my medicine?” She nodded with wide eyes, finger pointing as she worked out a justified punishment for such a crime. “I’m…I’m…”
    “Gonna fire me?”
    She coughed a you wish laugh. “A lot worse, you’ll wished you’d never laid eyes on me, that you can be sure.”
    He cracked a devastating slow grin. “I highly doubt that.”
    Ohhh, shit, jiggly honey words again.
    “You stay the hell away from me, you hear? I need you to help me through this catastrophe and I’m willing to pretend nothin ’ happened in this little shack. You followin’ me dumbo?” Damn it he had her so flustered she sounded like a backwoods hick.
    “I am.”
    “And I’ll pretend you don’t have that sarcastic smirk on your… mouth.” It felt like a crime not attaching an insult to that body part, but only things like sexy, gorgeous, delicious came to her damn mind. “Are you a scorcerer? Because I’m not feelin’ like myself. Did you put some kind of spell on me?”
    He looked innocent enough as he chuckled his no.
    This one was good.
    She pointed a hard finger at him. “I’ve got a hawk’s eye on you bubba.”
    He gave her an aw shucks look. “Yes ma'am. You ready?”
    Dammit she hate d the way he cooperated so easily. She was used to Joe, who always and forever had some kind of comeback that never failed to be somehow disrespectful, but not directly enough that she could legitimately punch him out.
    She grabbed up stuff until her hands were full and Toren did the same, without being told. “Need to get back and check on ole mashed potato for brains. Make sure he hasn’t prayed and fasted himself to damn death.”
    They walked out to the truck and Sam found her hat and smashed it on her head to finish off her puny boy look. She started the old truck and grinned. “Thank you God for this faithful jalopy.” Sam jerked her gaze to the giant of a man who made a noise suspiciously like a groan. “Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ sick.”
    “No, not at all. Thank you for your concern.”
    She put the truck in gear and backed up, knowing where the road was by heart. “I’m concerned for my ranch mister, and if you’re sick, it dies. No offense.”
    “None taken.”
    She refused to meet his grin as she maneuvered the truck/snowplow through the mess, pushing snow aside with the angled blade on the front as she slowly went, carving out a road. “I hope to hell everybody’s okay.”
    "Including Mashed Potato Brains?" A little twinge of what might be jealousy gave his voice an odd little lilt.
    Sam glanced at him, trying to figure his angle once more. Nothing came to mind. " Joe? Can't stand the bastard. Nothing would make me happier than having him off my ranch. It wouldn't bother me a bit to put a bullet in his brain, just like I would a bull gone too mean for the cows. The only reason I haven't is it'd be too much work to bury him." She glanced at him again.
    A little grin flirted around his mouth. "If I promise to dig the grave, can I get rid of the competition?" He grinned full on , fit to stop her heart.
    The unexpected words accompanied with the highly lascivious reaction she had to them had her mentally scrambling to hide. Normally her mind would effortlessly block all reality that attempted to breech the protective man-wall around her, but holding that fort was proving to take actual effort with this guy. She searched the white landscape desperate for a distraction big enough to aid her. Nightmare visions of piles of dead cattle half submerged in false drifts came to her rescue, putting her mind back on task. “God, please protect my ranch, please,” she mumbled, squinting in the strange bright sun. She peered all around. “What