by Azure Boone
“It can. Last night's weather report said it could start north of here early this evening, which means we don’t have a minute to spare. If we're going to get hit, it could start any time now.” Sudden urgency launched Sam into action and she grabbed a plastic container from under the cabinet and began loading it with Kassie’s pastries. “I’m praying somebody answers the ad in time, because once it hits, we’re deaf, dumb and blind. Hopefully the money’ll draw them.” More like the promise of money. She was paying them on faith. She had a few things she could hock though, if push came to shove.
"Not so long ago everyone would have jumped in to help just because. Now they have to get paid extra to do a good deed." Kassie dropped a pan into the sink full of hot water with an angry sizzle. "Makes me wonder what this world's coming to." The bitterness in her tone betrayed a personal hurt. But Sam knew better than to ask, she’d tried that enough times to know the woman didn’t tell her secrets.
Sam snapped the lid onto the loaded dish, ignoring the odd tremble in her hand. More like her entire body. Ever since she’d returned from the convent, it seemed to never go away. “I offered more than we have to give but there’ll be nothing if the cattle die." She'd become pretty good at hiding the almost painful quake that constantly wracked her muscles. It made her feel like a rabbit caught in the path of a cattle stampede with no bolt hole. Some monumental disaster was bearing down on them like a panicked herd with flaming hooves and Sam fought to keep her head.
"Are the cattle in that bad a shape?" Kassie's words drew Sam back to the conversation.
She shook her head and continued to pack supplies for herself and the one man she prayed would answer the ad and come with her for several days roughing it as they dealt with the cattle and the storm. Without the help of at least one experienced hand, she might as well stay at the house. "Thomas saw a couple of early calves on the ground when he made his last hay run. A few calves won't break us any worse than we're already broke." She shrugged. "We have just enough hay to get through decent weather until spring, but that can be dealt with later. The real problem is stock getting stranded out of reach of hay or water. That'll spell a death sentence for anything not in top condition." So many things needed doing, it’d take a miracle getting them done.
But something in her bones propelled her to hope. She'd never given up without a fight yet, and had no intention of starting, so she would keep trying until it was all over.
Before heading out to the crew, Sam checked the weather again and that sick knot grew into a full-fledged panic. The coming storm was a monster, with heavy snow fall and lethal temperatures for at least five days before it began to taper off. Even now, the radar showed light snow beginning to fall in the area.
Five minutes on the phone confirmed that every male in the vicinity had caught Joe’s Spartan disease and thought himself invincible, refusing the vaccine. The vast majority were down with flu epidemic still sweeping the area. The news meant all her neighbors were in the same boat. With no spare hands to be had, every cow in the region was at risk.
Her glance landed on the laptop again, praying it provided their way out.
“I’ll come with you,” Kassie called from the kitchen.
“No, stay here and get everything ready you can.” With no time to lose, she headed out to check on the crew. Any man able to move would have to suck it up.
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 dow
n 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.
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 reminding 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 b
efore 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.