Page 34 of Wind Called

Enough people were occupying the space that Bellamy knew she and Marc couldn’t share any confidences regarding his visions or the strange voices she’d heard on the wind the night before. That was all right, though; she liked simply standing there and sipping at her glass of Mule’s Mistake and listening to the murmur of the creek as it wound its way through the canyon and down to the spot where it joined the Verde River several miles to the south. Cottonwoods and oaks and sycamores clustered on the creek’s bank, making the place feel like a green oasis in northern Arizona’s high desert.

“What’s it like in the winter?” Marc asked out of seemingly nowhere, and she smiled.

“Colder.”

He shook his head. “Do you get much snow?”

“Not really. Sure, we’ll get a storm every once in a while that drops a few inches, but most of the time, it’s melted within a few hours. We don’t usually have the kind of storm that leaves you stuck in the house or anything, although it does happen sometimes.” She paused there, remembering a few choice occasions when Main Street had gotten plowed but all the little side streets in Jerome were left buried under six inches or more of snow. People broke out their sleds and skis to get around — and were extremely grateful once all the white stuff finally melted.

That didn’t happen very often, though, and much less here in Page Springs, which was about a thousand feet lower in elevation than Jerome.

“But the trees will be bare until late March or early April, and we definitely have four seasons here.” She paused and looked up at him, at the fine outline of his nose and jaw and brow as he gazed at the creek. “Why? You thinking of relocating or something?”

His dark eyes glinted. “It’s tempting.”

Because of the natural beauty of the area, which clearly had enchanted him…or maybe another reason, one she wasn’t sure either of them should voice aloud?

“I suppose you could make a case for that,” she replied, doing her best to sound nonchalant. “I mean, your mother is from Jerome, so that makes you half a Verde Valley guy, right?”

Now he turned toward her, and something about the way his eyes met hers made her wish they were all alone out here so he could take her in his arms and kiss her the way he had last night.

But then he grinned, saying, “I’m not sure it works that way.”

No, it didn’t. Or at least, while witches and warlocks moved into different territories from time to time, it was only because they’d fallen in love and made a commitment to someone from another clan. It wasn’t as if they picked up and moved whenever the mood struck them.

“Maybe not exactly,” she allowed. “But….”

She let the word trail off because she honestly wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. That she was pretty sure she was already falling for him…falling hard…and that she’d be more than happy to have him living in the Verde Valley permanently?

Of course she wouldn’t blurt out something so crazy, not when she’d only known Marc Trujillo for a couple of days.

On the other hand, nothing was stopping her from thinking it.

Thinking it hard.

His free hand stole toward hers where it rested on the balcony’s railing, his fingers folding around hers, warm and reassuring. Even that gentle touch was enough to send a rush of heat through her, and she lifted her glass of wine to her lips so she could take a sip to hide the tumult of her thoughts.

“I like it here,” he said quietly. Then, “I like you.”

The words came out before she could stop them. “Just ‘like’?”

A corner of his mouth quirked. “Okay, maybe a little more than that.”

Well, there it was. No, they hadn’t come out and declared their undying love for each other, but on the other hand, Bellamy thought they’d just taken an enormous step forward.

She swallowed the last of the wine in her glass, then said, “You want to get out of here?”

“Absolutely.”

Although they didn’t do anything so undignified as run straight back to the tasting room, their steps were much more hurried than they would have been under other circumstances. And once they were back out on 89A, Marc spoke again.

“Did you want to go to your place, or would you rather see the Airbnb I’m renting?”

“The Airbnb,” she said promptly. No, of course Ike hadn’t done anything so Victorian as to forbid her from having gentleman callers or anything like that, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure how she felt about spending the inevitable end to their afternoon at the ranch. For whatever reason, Marc’s vacation rental felt much more like neutral ground.

So he drove to a quiet neighborhood just north of the main drag and maybe ten minutes at most from the place where she was currently living. The Airbnb was a small two-bedroom house with whimsical Southwest decor, maybe not something she would have chosen for herself but which she thought fit the location perfectly.

She didn’t have much time to examine the interior after that, because Marc pulled her into his arms and kissed her, kisses redolent of rich red wine and something else, a warm flavor that she thought was his and his alone. Now a heat that rivaled the upper nineties outside surged through her body, telling her that she didn’t care whether she’d only met him the day before yesterday, that she didn’t care about anything at all except getting into the bedroom as quickly as possible.

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