Smoking Hot (3 page)

“Your dad was the best sheriff this town ever had.” He slipped his arm across her shoulder and squeezed.

“Yes, he was.” For a moment, the past rushed back. She looked down the narrow hallway and could almost see her father's jacket hanging on a peg, his holstered gun on another. Hank McCandless had been larger than life, and when the sun sparkled off the silver badge pinned to his shirt, Raine thought he must be part of Heaven above. A bright star that fell from the sky to shine on her life.

“Then your mother ran off with that greasy salesman,” Grandpa said, drawing her back to the present. “I told Hank the guy was bad news. Lucy never needed none of that junk the salesman sweet-talked her into buying. Hank couldn't afford to spend that kind of money on her, but he did anyway. He never was the same after she took off.”

A deep ache began to build inside her.
No, don't let the past come back!

Except she couldn't stop it. Raine's world tumbled down around her the day Lucille McCandless hugged her and said she had to find her own life, that Lucille felt suffocated on the ranch. Raine had been eleven.

At the time, Raine didn't understand what she meant. Lucille made a phone call and left. Her father rushed in the house twenty minutes later, taking the stairs two at a time, then came back down, stumbling. The paper drifted from his limp hand as he sat hard on the stairs, as though his legs wouldn't hold him.

Raine picked up the note and read her mother's words, then folded the sheet into a small square and tucked it inside her back pocket. Her mother wasn't coming home. She drew a deep breath and climbed the stairs to sit beside her father. His hand was frigid, and the cold seemed to reach all the way to her heart.

His tears were the hardest for Raine to accept. That day her father stepped down from the pedestal she'd put him on. He was only human after all. She swore no one else would hurt him and took up the reins. But she couldn't keep her promise.

A few years later, when he was lying in his casket, she remembered thinking his hand felt as cold as the day her mother walked out. It stood to reason, since that was the day he changed from a loving father to a walking corpse.

“I know the people in town say crazy runs in our family, but your dad weren't any crazier than me,” her grandfather said.

Startled, she looked at him, having forgotten the thread of their conversation.

“What?” she asked.

“Crazy don't run in the family,” he stated more forcefully.

She hugged him. “Of course it doesn't.”

“Dillon will fix everything.”

“Dillon?”

“Yep. Our angel. Now, let's get something to eat. I'm starved.”

Oh yeah, the angel who hypnotized her with his blue eyes. The one who told her she would die tonight.

Maybe crazy did run in the family because she wasn't thinking about dying. Her thoughts were centered on how Dillon had made her feel for one brief moment.

She rubbed the cold chills that popped up on her arms and hoped like hell she never laid eyes on her intruder again. She didn't like losing control, ever.

“So, you've entered the land of the living,” Chance said as he leaned back in the saddle.

Dillon studied the man he'd called friend for a few centuries. If Chance was being sarcastic, Dillon didn't see it. “Yeah, it would seem I have.” He nudged the sides of his horse. The mare reluctantly raised her head from the clump of grass she'd been chewing and set off at a nice easy pace. Chance nudged his horse's sides and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

“It's about time, too,” Chance commented.

Dillon looked around at the hills dotted with pecan and oak trees, thick green grass dancing on the breeze that rolled across the land. Longhorns grazed where their ancestors once roamed. Above them, a hawk soared across the deep blue sky, floating on a current of air. The landscape was incredible. He felt as though he was seeing it anew.

Dillon's thoughts immediately turned to Raine. She'd made him feel alive for the first time in a long time.
As
alive
as
Lily
had
made
me
feel?
He sucked in a deep breath as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He tried not to think about her because inevitably pain and guilt followed.

Besides, Lily and Raine were as different as night and day. There was nothing strong about Lily. She was a fragile orchid in a garden filled with weeds. Mortal men worshipped her, ready to do her bidding. And then she captured the heart of a nephilim. Dillon knew he wasn't supposed to interact with mortals, but he couldn't resist her beauty. Because of him, a demon also noticed her.

He gripped the reins a little tighter. Demons were soul stealers. They promised mortals a better life with untold riches until they gladly signed a contract with the devil. The demons failed to disclose all the facts, though. They would get nothing until they met their own quota of souls. After that, they would be cast into the fires of Hell until all semblance of humanity was charred from their bodies. Only after that would they become full-fledged demons, but by then they would be as hollow as the demon who recruited them.

He didn't care that the demons were keeping their distance and it was unlikely they would bother Raine. He was finished and refused to become emotionally involved with another mortal. They carried way too much baggage.

The other three nephilim, Chance, Ryder, and Hunter, said he needed to let go of the past. That wasn't always easy. But if they thought answering an old man's prayer to watch over his granddaughter was returning him to a life he'd just as soon forget, then he was better off. It would give him a rest.

“Be careful.” Chance shifted in his saddle and met Dillon's gaze.

In other words, don't let his emotions rule. There was no chance of that happening again. The others never let him forget. Sometimes they reminded him of overprotective fathers.

Chance and Ryder had known each other longest. Dillon joined up with Hunter when a pesky demon almost fried his ass and Hunter jumped into the fray and saved him. Hunter didn't say a whole lot. He didn't mingle much, either. Dillon and Hunter had run into Chance and Ryder late one evening when they were scrounging for food.

They were just kids back then who left home once they realized they had special powers. Chance and Ryder were afraid their town would come under attack by demons. The demons were afraid of the new race created to keep mankind safe. They liked nothing better than to kill the young offspring of angels. And why not? It seemed the angels were not overly concerned with their young's welfare.

Dillon left because he couldn't stomach the spiteful aunt who cared for him after his mother died. She was always jealous of her beautiful younger sister. When she discovered her sister's son was fathered by an angel, her jealousy turned to anger because she wasn't chosen. She took every opportunity to tell Dillon his father left him to fight against demons without the skills he needed to survive. Before he left, he told his aunt that his father gave him exactly what he needed, an aunt who was worse than any demon he would ever meet. He never saw her again.

Hunter became his family. Then when Dillon and Hunter met up with Chance and Ryder, they figured four nephilim trying to survive were better than two, so they joined forces. They had each others' backs.

Except Ryder was gone. He left behind a gaping hole of ache. “Do you miss him?” he suddenly asked, knowing Chance would know who Dillon meant.

Chance didn't say anything.

Dillon wondered if Chance heard his question until he noticed Chance gripped the reins until his knuckles turned white. His grip loosened and the color returned.

“Yeah.” Chance cleared his throat. “I miss him a hell of a lot.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts, until the cry of a hawk broke their reverie.

“Don't let this woman get to you,” Chance said, turning the conversation back to Dillon.

“That won't happen.”

“You're sure?”

“She reminds me of the runt in a litter.” She did in the beginning, anyway. Dillon thought he'd be safe when he saw her getting out of the pickup. Raine did a good job of downplaying her looks. The hat cast her face in shadow, hiding her delicate features. The loose-fitting shirt didn't add anything remotely inviting.

“That bad?” Chance asked.

No, not bad at all. He frowned. “She smells good. Like jasmine and honey. Intoxicating.” And she had a nice ass, but Dillon figured he'd keep that to himself.

“Sometimes all it takes is a woman's scent to drive a nephilim insane with desire. It's rare, but it can happen.”

“Not with this woman. She's not my type.”

“How so?”

“She's kind of mannish. I like them a little more feminine. She likes taking charge.”

“Be careful.”

“I always am. Besides, I've warned Raine about tonight. The rest is up to her.” She might not have believed him, but he bet she would be more cautious.
There's nothing I can do. It's in her hands. I'm out of her business…and safe.

If that were the case, then why the hell did he feel as though nothing good would come out of this? He kicked the sides of his horse and yelled, “I'll race you.”

“You can't win!” Chance grinned as his horse lunged past.

Dillon didn't care. He just needed to feel the wind on his face. Most of the time, he tried to stay away from mortals. Raine's grandfather had been persistent, though. For some strange reason, Sock's prayer kept attaching itself to Dillon's every thought. No matter how hard Dillon tried to block his plea, the old man's voice penetrated until Dillon had to answer or go stark raving mad.

Then Dillon met him. He should've walked away, but he'd hung around because he liked listening to the stories the old man told. Tales about when he bought his ranch and how he worked the land. Dillon understood exactly how Sock felt. The land could take a broken man and make him feel whole again.

That quickly changed as soon as Sock started rambling on about his granddaughter. Dillon had felt a heavy thud hit him center chest, a premonition, then nothing. He knew Raine would die soon if he didn't intervene. He grimaced. Raine didn't need a guardian angel; she needed a full-time sitter to keep her out of trouble.

Dust swirled when Chance pulled back on the reins in front of the barn. As soon as the air settled, he turned in his saddle with a wide grin plastered on his face.

Dillon slowed his horse, patting the animal's neck when they came to a complete stop. She was a good mount, but couldn't beat the other horses. It didn't bother him. He never let much of anything annoy him.

“Like I said, you can't win.”

Dillon grinned. “Then let's get a beer.”

“Yeah, I bet you swallowed plenty of my dust.”

“I'm glad I have my boots on because the bullshit is getting deeper.” He swung to the ground, then drew in a deep breath of country air. This was where he was supposed to be, at their ranch, not answering prayers. Mortals were a strange breed. Why Ryder had been so intrigued by their lives was beyond him. They carried way too much baggage. He was glad to be finished with Sock and his granddaughter.

After they took care of the horses, they walked to the house and straight to the den. Chance was the first to the refrigerator, too. Coming in second didn't bother Dillon, especially when Chance handed him a cold beer. Dillon twisted off the cap and took a drink. Yep, the most he wanted to worry about was if it might rain. Even that didn't overly concern him.

Chance broke the silence. “So, you're not returning?”

Dillon carried his beer to the lounge area and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Returning where?”

“To the girl.”

“Raine?” He shook his head. “Why would I do that?”

“You had glimpses of a bank robbery. You said she would get shot.”

He took another drink, trying not to think about Chance's words. “I warned her.”

“You think she listened?”

“She's not stupid.”

Dillon watched him from the corner of his eye. Chance took a drink, then sat on the sofa across from him. “She can take care of herself,” he finally said when Chance didn't continue the conversation.

“I'm glad.” Chance shifted to a more comfortable spot, then sighed.

Anyone would think Chance had dropped the subject, but Dillon wasn't buying it. He waited for round two until he could no longer stand the silence. “Hey, I answered a damn prayer. What more do you want?”

“We're not keeping score,” Chance calmly pointed out. “Answer prayers if you want. It's not a requirement. We only started answering them because we were bored.”

“I know what you and Hunter have been thinking.”

One eyebrow shot up. “Really? You can read minds now?”

“Both of you figure I'm afraid to get involved. That I don't want to screw up again.”

“You didn't screw up the last time. It wasn't your fault.”

Dillon slammed his beer down on the end table and came to his feet. “Don't you think I know that? She gave up her soul because it was easier than trusting me. She bought the demon's lies easy enough, though.” He should've protected her better.

“Because she wanted what the demon offered: wealth, power, to always be beautiful,” Chance quietly said.

As though Chance swung a sledgehammer toward him, Dillon flinched and turned away. “She wasn't like that. The demon made her that way.”

“You never could see the truth when it came to her. She manipulated you. She still is. It's time you forgot about her.”

Dillon's head jerked around. Their eyes locked. “Forget Lily?” His laugh was bitter. “I can't.” He was the reason she'd been swayed by a demon. He'd failed, and it cost Lily her soul. Dillon would never understand why the others couldn't see just how fragile and beautiful Lily had been.

“Stop feeling guilty.”

“Don't you think I would if I could?” he answered honestly. “Every day it eats away at me.” That was why he didn't talk about her. If he kept her in a little box at the back of his mind, maybe he could bear the blame he felt.

The room began to close in on him. He had to get away. “I'm going to the cabin.” He closed his eyes.

“Don't,” Chance said. “Dammit, you've never been able to see what she was…”

His words trailed off as Dillon transported. The wind rushed past, lights swirled. A few minutes later, he stood on solid ground and was finally able to breathe again.

He opened his eyes and looked around. The land was rough and rugged, the terrain uneven. Oaks reached out with gnarled limbs, scraggly cedars stood like aged sentinels, and mesquites were like unruly children ready to poke the unmindful with their thorny branches.

He stood in front of the cabin. The structure was small, only one room and a small bedroom that branched off. There was a fireplace for cold winter nights and a kitchen with the basic appliances. This was all Dillon wanted. Peace settled over him. Here was his sanctuary. Nothing could touch him.

There was a small barn next to the cabin. He went inside and grabbed a tool belt hanging from a peg on the wall. He eased more tension fixing fences for one hour than he could doing anything else.

He worked until sundown then dove into the cold river to wash off the sweat and dirt. When he crawled into bed, there wasn't an ounce of stress left inside him.

Except for a persistent humming that had been with him most of the day. Now that he was still, the humming sound began to evolve into words.

Dillon groaned, grabbing the pillow and turning on his side. “Go away, Sock!”

The old man's voice grew louder and louder.

“Damnation! I did what you asked! Leave me be!” But he couldn't block the infernal man's prayers. His words droned like angry bees.