Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)(51)

Half a dozen men and women were dancing while others huddled in small groups, talking and laughing. She smelled some sort of meat cooking and spotted a long table at one end of the clearing. The heated buffet trays on top of it were connected to a generator.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“My cousin’s wedding. They’re having a church ceremony this weekend. Tonight is the traditional ceremony,” Beck explained. “My father is full-blooded, so we were raised with the religion and traditions of his tribe.”

“Wow,” she murmured. “What made you want to bring me here?”

Beck faced her, and she gazed up at him, too aware of his size and nearness once more. He didn’t try to touch her or move closer.

“Easy,” he said. “I’ve never brought anyone to meet my extended family or to see the other half of my life.”

Morgan’s breath caught. The warmth and intensity were back. He was sharing something with her that he’d never shared with any of his blonde girls.

“I don’t want to walk away from you. You want me to make up my mind. I just did,” he continued. “Now, it’s your turn.”

He winked and spun, leaving her with her jaw on the ground and her mind roaring. He had just thrown down the gauntlet. Suddenly, she wanted to beg him to take it back, to let them return to their strange tug-of-war.

Because he was right; she was terrified. He liked her enough to bring her here. It was what she feared more than falling for him, that he might fall for her. That somehow, when she ran away, she’d leave behind a mess.

The earth memories showed her just how good of a person he was. He didn’t deserve someone like her.

At the same time, she ached to know what it would be like to have all his warmth, gentle humor and goodness to herself. To know someone like him was not only interested, but wanted to be with someone as flawed as she was.

Morgan’s gaze followed him as he entered the small clearing. He was greeted cheerfully and immediately went to the circle with elderly women to hug them all. Smiling and happy, Beck made his rounds.

Morgan approached and lingered at the edge of the clearing. Her mother’s Italian family had some strong customs they weren’t shy about ensuring newcomers knew about. She didn’t want to make a wrong move or say something she shouldn’t.

“Tree me!” one of the kids shouted at Beck.

Another echoed, and they surrounded him. Beck picked up a little girl then turned to the others. The earth sank beneath them, swallowing them to mid-calf. The children squealed in delight and spread out their arms, swaying in place to mimic trees.

Morgan smiled. The idea of sinking into the earth – of being confined at all – scared her, but the kids loved it.

“The fun part is watching them dig themselves out,” a male voice said near her.

She glanced over to see a middle-aged man with long, dark hair clasped at his neck and dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. His eyes were warm, his features familiar.

“I’m Beck’s uncle Ben,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Morgan,” she replied and shook. “I’m his … ah … friend.”

He smiled. “You guys came from the fundraiser?”

She nodded.

“Every year, Michael tries to talk me into going. Every year, I tell him no.”

“You’re not missing much,” she agreed.

“Come sit down with us.”

She followed him to one of the fires, where he sat with a couple of women his age and a few kids.

“Everyone, this is Morgan, Beck’s girl,” Ben said.

Morgan almost gasped. The people around the fire looked at her curiously but moved to make room for her to sit on one of the logs.

Beck had stripped off his jacket and tie and was dancing with the little girl in his arms. Morgan watched him for a moment. His disarming charm worked on people of all ages. They sensed how good of a person he was.

“My daughter Linda and Tony over there are getting married this weekend,” Ben told her, pointing to a young couple a few years older than she was whispering and snuggling with each other by their own small fire in the center of the clearing. “Poor fools.”

The woman beside him slapped him on the arm with a stern look. Morgan laughed.

“Are you a witchling?” one of the teen girls asked her curiously. “Like our cousins?”

“Yes,” Morgan answered. She stretched forward to the fire and reached into it. The others gasped. She loved the shock value of her magick. She retrieved a flame and sat back on her seat. “Fire.”

“Like Decker!” one of the girls exclaimed.

Morgan nodded and tossed the flame back.

“Michael got the magick and the wife with the nice … personality,” Ben said ruefully.

“Rania’s had two kids. I’ve had six,” his wife snapped.

Giggling, Morgan quickly looked away as his wife glared at her this time.

“I’m Lisa, and I’m earth,” one of the girls said. “Linda is air. I’ve never met a fire witchling.”

“Did Beck teach you to dance?” the second asked.

“Um, no,” Morgan replied.

“Come on!” Lisa stood and held out her hands.

Morgan took them. While she had great hand-eye coordination for fighting, she couldn’t dance to save her life. She moved with Lisa to the end of the line of dancers. The men were facing the women, and Morgan wondered how she’d get out of this one, before they saw how bad of a dancer she was.