Descension (14 page)

She slowed then turned onto a narrow road lined with giant Sitka spruces.

“Keep going on here until you hit a dead end,” he added.

She threw him a tentative glance. “Did our conversation hit a dead end?”

“No. There are a lot of things I want to tell you, just not while we’re driving.”

“Does my driving scare you?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I want you to be able to look at me when I tell you.”

“Oh.” That made perfect sense. “So where is it we’re going?”

“It’s a clearing,” he answered. “There are dozens like it around here, many of them right off the highway, but this one’s off the beaten path and undiscovered by tourists.”

They were definitely off the beaten path, Layla thought, turning her car around at the dead end. She cut the engine and tossed her keys in her backpack, looking over to find Quin’s jaw set.

“You okay?” she asked.

He wasn’t. He was a mess of nerves and guilt. Nerves, because a lot of people were counting on him to do this right. And guilt, because he wasn’t giving her a way to escape if he did it wrong. She’d have a hard time finding her way back from the clearing without his help.

He forced himself to relax, offering a somewhat dishonest answer. “I’m worried you won’t like hiking without a trail.” He paused, lips twitching into a smile. “I could carry you again.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she refused, a grin curving from one red cheek to the other. “I’m pretty good at navigating the ground when I have shoes on.”

Quin had no doubt. She was extremely graceful. And why wouldn’t she be? That was one part of being a witch that needed no training. He tore his gaze from her face and removed his flip-flops, slipping them into his bag.

“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“I’d rather walk on earth than shoes,” he answered, watching her gather her hair into a ponytail. “Why do you put your hair up?”

“It will get tangled if I leave it down.”

“Hmm…” he mumbled, resisting the temptation to touch the contained spirals. “Are you ready?”

She looked him over, stomach fluttering like mad. “Yeah.”

~ * * * ~

Navigating bulging roots, overgrown brush, and reaching tree limbs, Layla proved to be the lithest witch Quin had ever seen. If his stride hadn’t been longer than hers, he would have had a difficult time keeping up. Considering her parentage, her astounding grace didn’t surprise him, but it did captivate him.

“These trees are insane,” she said, tilting her head back. “It’s like looking up the side of a skyscraper.”

Quin followed her gaze to the treetops. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yes,” Layla agreed, skirting a small patch of yellow wildflowers. Then she sidestepped to avoid a cluster of shelf fungi protruding from a lichen covered tree trunk. She wrinkled her nose at the bright orange conks then glanced at Quin, blushing when she found his eyes.

“So,” she mumbled, quickly looking away, “is Karena your only aunt?”

“No. I have two. Karena’s my dad’s sister, and my mom has a sister in Alaska. But I also have a great aunt.”

“Close by?”

“Very close. My dad’s entire family lives within five acres of each other.”

“How many are there?”

“Sixteen.”

Layla stumbled to a standstill. “You live within five acres of sixteen family members?”

“Yes,” he confessed, carefully gauging her reaction.

“Wow,” she breathed. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Quin took her hand, compelling her to walk. “It’s nice. If you need something, there’s always someone around to help. Another family shares the property with us, and we’re as close to them as we are each other. You’ve met a few of them.”

Her forehead wrinkled, so he elaborated. “Brietta and Banning are the youngest of them—brother and sister. There are six others.”

“You share land with twenty-four people?” Layla asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

She suddenly halted, narrowing her eyes on him. “You’re not part of a cult, are you?”

“No,” he laughed, once again urging her forward.

“Is it a religious group?” she pressed.

“No,” he assured, “just two families who get along well enough to share land. Do you have a religious affiliation?”

“No,” she replied, adamantly shaking her head. “I mean, I’ve been to church a few times, but organized religion isn’t for me. Too much fire and brimstone. I say, as long as you’re not hurting people, live how you want to live. Not a popular slogan in the Bible belt. Oklahoma’s conservatives are glad to be rid of me.”

“It’s a good slogan,” he commended, looking forward. “We’re here.”

Layla raised her gaze as they stepped into a small clearing divided in two by a bubbling stream. Springing from a cluster of rocks capping a plant covered escarpment, the water cascaded down slick moss then trickled across the clearing, disappearing into the dark crevices of a cracked boulder.

Layla stood silent and still, opening her senses to the water and birdsong as she watched misty beams of cloudy light flood the forest floor. “It’s fantastic,” she approved, smiling at her guide. “Very peaceful.”

“That’s one reason why I like it,” he said, digging into his bag. Then he pointed toward a large boulder shaped like a jelly bean, its concaved side conveniently facing the water. “Do you want to sit?”

Layla scanned the thick, green moss carpeting the ground. “Isn’t it wet?”

“Yes,” Quin confirmed, pulling a compact raincoat from a small plastic pouch. “But I knew that.”

“Hmm…” Layla smirked, watching him drape the thin plastic over the moss. “Do you always carry a brand new raincoat in your bag?”

“No. I usually get wet.”

“How do you keep from freezing?”

He straightened, blatantly staring as she pulled the elastic band from her hair. Then he sat, nestling his back into the boulder’s arch. “It’s a trick I learned as a child,” he answered, patting the plastic to his left.

“That’s all I get?” she objected, sitting next to him.

He flashed a smile as he took her hand. “For now.”

Layla laughed as she looked at the creek. “So what else do you like about this place? Besides its peacefulness.”

“Pretty much everything,” he answered, playing with her fingers as he looked around. “Its undisturbed vegetation tops the list, along with its size and seclusion. With so much natural beauty packed into such a tiny space, you’re guaranteed an entrancing view.” He paused, looking from the waterfall to her face. “I like that you like it.”

Layla’s cheeks grew hot, so she dropped her gaze and fidgeted with a lost leaf. Quin remained silent, still playing with her fingers. Then he took her wrist and raised it in the air.

Layla looked over, finding him examining her hand. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Admiring your hands,” he answered.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Why?” he returned. “They’re nice to look at.”

She skeptically searched her hand, looking for nice features. “They’re okay,” she decided, “now that I can wear my nails long.”

“Why couldn’t you wear them long before?”

Damn.
Layla should have anticipated the question; he was so damn thorough. But she hadn’t; now she was stuck. Unnerved and pressured by his continuous stare, she looked away, anxiously rubbing the side of her neck as she watched a bird hop from branch to branch. She’d never told the story to anyone and wasn’t sure she could get through it without making a blubbering fool of herself.

“You don’t want to talk about it,” Quin concluded.

Layla swallowed, blinking back dreaded moisture. “I… I’m not sure how.”

“Because it’s sad?”

She nodded, still looking away.

“You don’t want me to see you cry,” he realized.

Layla smirked and looked forward, glad the move didn’t jar any tears loose. “Isn’t that kind of a buzzkill?”

“Maybe to some,” he conceded, “but I ask questions because I want to know you. Why would I fault you for giving me the honor?”

Despite his assurance, Layla didn’t want to bawl in front of him, so she took a deep breath before finding his eyes. “I kept my nails short for my mom. She had a stroke the year I graduated high school, and I don’t have a dad or siblings or anything, so I took care of her. Until she died… about two months ago.” She turned away, wiping her eyes before looking back. “See? Buzzkill…” Her voice trailed off as Quin’s forefinger touched her lips.

“No,” he countered, lowering his hand. “You made a difficult sacrifice for someone you love—a choice worthy of admiration and respect. I’m sorry you faced such tragedy alone. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”

“It hurt like hell,” she mumbled, licking her tingling pout. Then she cleared her throat and looked at the water. “But life goes on, right? I was a zombie when she was sick, and I got even worse when she died. It took two very good friends to make me realize I hadn’t died with her.”

“I’m glad you had them.”

“Me, too,” she agreed, picking up a twig and twirling it through her fingers. “They’re the reason I’m getting a guided tour of Oregon from a good-looking guy.”

“You think I’m good-looking?” he asked.

“Like you didn’t know,” she smirked.

“I hoped,” he confessed, “but I didn’t know.”

Layla raised an eyebrow then shrugged. No point in denying the obvious. “I doubt there’s a woman out there who wouldn’t think you’re gorgeous, Quin.”

“You’re not like other women, Layla.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t think; I know.”

“Yet you claim not to know I find you good-looking.”

“That’s just one reason why you’re different,” he explained. “It’s obvious when other women find me attractive. With you, I can’t be so sure.”

“Just mildly sure,” she returned, knowing her attraction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Maybe she didn’t throw herself at him like other women, but there was no way he hadn’t figured out why she blushed every time he spoke.

“Sure,” he confessed with a grin.

“I’m not a mystery, Quin. I can’t help but be obvious.”

“Why do you try so hard to avoid it?”

“Why does anyone?”

“Nice sidestep,” he noted, dimples deepening.

She puckered and looked at her twig. “You’re not the most obvious person either.”

He’d been rubbing his thumb over her fingernails, but suddenly stopped, silently watching her for several seconds. Then he laid her palm on his warm knee, covering it with his warm hand. “What do you want to know?” he offered.

Layla boldly met his stare, determined to take advantage. “Do you treat everyone the way you treat me?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Are you always this polite and vocal about your feelings?”

“I like to think so.”

“Then why aren’t you married?”

“What?” he laughed.

Layla’s gaze remained level as she elaborated. “A polite, good-looking guy who openly expresses how he feels. It reads like a fantasy personal add. I bet there are unattractive jerks everywhere using that line as we speak. So tell me,” she insisted, wiggling her hand under his, “why isn’t there a ring on your finger?”

He stared at his hand for a moment then found her eyes. “The women I’ve been with were great, but not what I was looking for.”

“Really,” she dryly replied. “Within two hours of meeting you, you introduced me to two incredibly beautiful women. I’m going to assume there are more. So what are you waiting for, your soul mate?”

“No,” he casually answered. “I’ll probably never meet her.”

“You think she’s out there?”

“Yes.”

“You’re serious,” Layla realized. “You believe in soul mates.”

“Yes,” he confessed, “but not everyone’s destined to find theirs. With work and forgiveness, the love between two people who aren’t soul mates can be nearly as beautiful and just as fulfilling.” He paused, watching her incredulous expression. “I guess you don’t believe.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Quin could feel it coming—the perfect intro to an unusual subject. “There are a lot of things people don’t see,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“But that’s like saying anything’s possible,” she argued.

Quin’s heart skipped a few beats, his free hand flexing as nerves erupted, twitching his entire body. Everything was riding on how he handled the next few minutes. “So you need proof to believe in something,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but his anxiety was at an all time high.

Layla thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. In order for me to say I honestly believe in something, I need proof. I could consider a theory, and find it plausible, but that doesn’t equal belief.”

“So if I told you I have a pair of jeans at home,” he teased, trying to ease his tension, “you wouldn’t believe me?”