Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  “Excellent,” Quin approved, compelling her to walk. “So did you listen to Morrigan’s CD?”

  “Yes,” Layla beamed, forgetting about her insecurities and worries. “It’s amazing. Do you really know that woman?”

  “Very well. I’ll introduce you some time.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to say,” Layla countered. “It would be like meeting a rock star. Why haven’t I heard of her?”

  “She doesn’t play professionally,” Quin explained, leading her across the café deck, “just in her spare time.”

  “That’s a shame,” Layla replied, catching a whiff of the world’s best coffee. “She’s incredibly talented.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so,” he offered, holding the door open.

  Apparently Quin was popular around the café, because the moment they entered, a male clerk waved them over. He was average in height, but brawny in build, and his light blonde hair was close-cropped, accentuating his bulky frame. He energetically drummed his hands on the bar, flashing a bright smile that pinched his cheeks and stretched into sparkling blue eyes.

  When Quin and Layla approached, the clerk ceased his drum roll, but remained lively. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Quin returned. “This is Layla.”

  The clerk stretched his arm across the counter. “Nice to meet you, Layla. Banning Gilmore, but you can call me Bann.”

  As Layla accepted his hand, an odd tingle shot up her arm, but she hid her surprise well, not flexing her fingers until he’d released them. “Nice to meet you, too, Bann.”

  “Do you know what you want?” Quin asked, keeping his eyes on Layla’s face as he leaned on the counter. “Besides coffee, of course.”

  “Of course,” she replied, staring at his smirking lips. Then she tore her gaze away to scan the breakfast menu.

  After taking their order, Banning disappeared into the kitchen, and Quin moved around the counter, helping himself to coffee while suggesting Layla pick a table. She chose the same corner she had the night before, sitting with her back to the wall, so it was like déjà vu when Quin sat across from her.

  “You like this table,” he noted.

  “It brought me luck,” she divulged, watching him add the perfect amount of cream and sugar to her coffee.

  “I like that,” he confessed, sliding her cup over.

  “What?” she asked.

  “That you found it lucky to meet me.”

  She smiled. “How do you know I wasn’t referring to the discounted room at the inn?”

  “Now you’re breaking my heart,” he feigned, lifting a hand to his chest.

  Layla laughed then sipped her sublime brew. “I have to admit, it wasn’t the room.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She raised her cup. “I really like coffee.”

  “I almost believe that,” he laughed.

  “You’re wondering.”

  “About a lot of things,” he confirmed. Then Banning appeared with a tray.

  “That was fast,” Layla noted, looking down at the sliced apple fanned out beside a perfect stack of pancakes. “Thanks.”

  “Sure,” Banning replied. “Give me a shout if you need anything else.”

  “Okay,” Layla agreed, and Banning returned to the counter, offering coffee refills along the way.

  “He’s nice,” Layla said, watching him go.

  “He’s a good kid,” Quin agreed.

  “How old is he?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but it’s close enough to his birthday to round up.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Does he look older? He’d love to know that.”

  “He acts older,” Layla explained. “All the seventeen-year-old guys I went to school with were more interested in booze and sex than anything else. Working the early shift on a Saturday was their idea of hell.”

  Quin frowned. “A lot of people choose unwisely when first given the freedom to. You need experience to learn the true value of your priorities.”

  “But then it’s too late,” she observed. “You’ve missed your chance to do it right, to spend your time wisely.”

  “Until the next time,” he agreed, thoughtfully searching her face. “Is there something you missed?”

  “As a teenager?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “No. I was right where I wanted to be.”

  “And where was that?”

  Layla’s fork lay idle as she watched his move around his plate. “Oklahoma,” she eventually answered.

  “Oklahoma,” he repeated.

  She nodded her confirmation, and he grinned. “Clever.”

  Layla watched him eat, waiting for him to insist she elaborate on her clever answer, but he didn’t, so she went back to her pancakes.

  When Quin’s plate was nearly empty, he motioned to hers. “I thought you were hungry.”

  “I was.”

  “You ate two pancakes and an apple.”

  “That’s two pancakes more than I usually eat for breakfast.”

  “So you run on coffee.”

  “If only it were that easy.”

  He laughed, took another bite then set his fork down. A few seconds later, Banning appeared, gathering the dirty dishes and balancing them in one large hand. “I’ll refill your coffee,” he offered, gathering their cups.

  Once he walked away, Quin leaned forward. “Will you be blessing me with your company for a while longer?”

  He seemed nervous, which was odd considering he was the most confident guy Layla had ever met, and for good reason. He was handsome, polite and extremely charming. “I don’t have any plans,” she answered, fidgeting with a napkin holder, “so if you have one, I’m in.”

  “I don’t have a plan,” he confessed, “but whatever I do will be more enjoyable with your company.”

  “Then I guess we need a plan.”

  “I guess we do. Anything in particular you’d like to see in Cannon Beach?”

  “Not really. You’re the local. Fill me in on the secrets.”

  “Secrets,” he mumbled, leaning back in his chair as he ran a hand over his jaw. “So you’re leaning away from tourist traps.”

  “I’d like to take advantage of the inside knowledge while it’s available,” she confirmed. “I can follow the brochures anytime.”

  “That’s wise,” he agreed, contemplating his options. “There’s a slice of unspoiled nature about twenty miles away. It’s not impressive enough for the tourists, but I like it. Would you like me to show you?”

  More than anything, she thought. “Yes.”

  Banning returned with their coffee, and Layla smiled as she added cream and sugar. “Thanks, Bann.”

  “My pleasure. Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

  “You will if you keep serving coffee like this.”

  “It’s been the same for thirty-three years. I doubt it’ll change anytime soon.”

  “Then you’ll definitely see me again.”

  “I look forward to it,” he replied, smiling brightly. Then he turned to Quin. “Anything else?”

  “Nope,” Quin answered, offering Layla his hand. “Ready?”

  “Sure,” she agreed, and he pulled her to her feet, giving Banning an absent wave as they left the café.

  Chapter Eleven

  Barely visible through a looming canopy of branches, the cloudy sky shed little light on the rural road Quin led Layla to. She flipped on her headlights then glanced at him, deciding by his posture that he was uncomfortable riding with her.

  “You could have driven,” she offered.

  He stared at her for a long time before responding. “I don’t know how to drive.”

  “What?” she blurted.

  “I don’t know how to drive,” he repeated.

  Layla considered this, realizing she hadn’t seen his car, nor had he mentioned one. So how had he gotten home the night before? Unless he stayed at the inn. But he wore different clothes—olive g
reen shorts instead of brown, and his white t-shirt looked freshly laundered. His flip-flops were the same—dark brown and comfortable.

  “How do you get around?” she asked.

  “I walk a lot.”

  “Apparently. But how do you travel long distances?”

  He didn’t answer. He just stared at her for what seemed like ages.

  “Take your next right,” he instructed, breaking the heavy silence.

  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 jellybean, its concave 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 w
as 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 last year, 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 girl out there who wouldn’t think you’re gorgeous, Quin.”