Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3) by Azure Boone, Kenra Daniels Read Free Book Online Page A

bitterness leaked through and had Toren wondering if he might be the son and heir her daddy wanted.
    "He's lucky."
    "Lucky?" She laughed, unbelieving. "I know I didn't hear that right."
    "You did. He's lucky to have a daughter so determined and strong to bring his heritage into the future and keep it healthy at the same time."
    She shook her head. "No one could ever convince him of that." Time to change the subject before she said more than she should or choked on her shock until she passed out. The headlights picked out suddenly huge snowflakes. "Would you look at that? I can't remember the last time I saw flakes that large." They passed a few minutes with light-hearted debate over the biggest snowflakes they ever witnessed.
    Even while they talked, Toren possessed such a watchful bearing that Sam grew self-conscious and gradually let the conversation die out. Did he expect Old West rustlers to leap from behind the nearest bush, or something? Whatever it was, anyone wanting to sneak up on him would have to work at it. That must be another by-product of the war.
    "How much longer until we get to the hay?" His question emphasized some unfamiliar quality in his voice or accent.
    His English was perfect and other than a few odd word choices, nothing seemed out of place. But there was still something Sam just could not put her finger on that made her feel like English wasn't his first language. With a mental shake of her head, she decided to put the puzzle away for later. She had enough to worry about at the moment. "We'll come within sight of it soon, once we top that next rise." She flicked her fingers toward the southwest in the general direction of the nearest hay storage. "We have a half dozen more sheds, but there's no way we'll make them all tonight. If we're lucky, we'll get to two more after this before we have to go in."
    Toren nodded but didn't say anything more and Sam wondered what he might be thinking. Did he have a family? A wife, perhaps, and children that missed him? Or aging parents that drove him nuts by clinging to the past?
    The snow was starting to accumulate, covering the ground with a layer of downy fluff. The old truck's headlights glinted off individual flakes sending shards of light bouncing through the premature twilight. "I'm glad the snow blade is on the truck. We might need it before we get done."
    They crested the rise and the hay storage shed squatted like a dark monster low on the shoulder of the hill. Cattle huddled in small groups scattered through the valley taking whatever shelter they could in the contours of the land.
    Sam stopped the truck at the side of the hay shed and left it running, donning hat, gloves and scarf before she climbed out into the biting cold. The wind immediately made her lower her head to use her hat brim to keep the blowing snow out of her eyes.
    A glance at Toren made her stop and watch. He'd crammed a too-small hat on his head backward and begun to inspect his leather gloves as if he'd never seen such a thing. Finally he seemed to work out how to get them on. Finished, he grinned, flexed his hands, then looked up to catch her staring.
    "Something wrong?"
    Sam decided to ignore the thing with the gloves, but the hat was just too much. "Your hat is backwards. Actually, it looks too small."
    He snatched it off his head and peered closely. "Damn, I picked up the wrong hat." He tossed it back in the duffel bag he'd taken his stuff from. He didn't bother to further explain and instead just unrolled his coat.
    Whoa. Sam's father was the only other man she'd ever seen wear that kind of coat for work. The worn leather duster hung well below Toren's knees and the collar flipped up to cover his ears. Well, except for the hat thing, he seemed to have his own shit at least. She shrugged and slammed the truck door. So he wasn't entirely unprepared. That didn't mean he knew a cow's ass from its head. Perhaps she'd know by the time the storm passed.
    The latch on the gate into the