Fallen

As he moved quietly through the forest, he heard the soft trickle of water up ahead. It drew him as that same sound drew all creatures, great and small. Life. He could smell the clean sweetness of it before it even met his eyes.

When he stepped through the trees, he stopped short, his ribcage tightening and his breath falling short. There she was, her skirt drawn up her legs, her feet submerged in the clear, shallow stream, her hands behind her on the ground and her face tilted toward the sun.

Something wild and ancient inside him responded. He didn’t know exactly what it was. Instinct? Some primal law of attraction? Whatever it was, it was simply part of nature’s order. Cam had studied math and English and science—Ms. West, the woman who’d eventually shared her name, had been an excellent tutor—but he’d also made nature part of his education by spending every second he could in the woods beyond the school, the only place where his soul felt truly free. The only place he’d ever felt he mattered. Not to any one person, but maybe just to some . . . system, or plan that was bigger—loftier—than the small world he’d been relegated to for his whole life up to that point.

What are you thinking?

I was thinking that I like that idea . . . that everyone who’s here is here to serve a purpose.

Their conversation came back to him. She’d put into words the things he’d felt—yearned so desperately to believe about himself—when speaking about her daughter, and it’d filled him with a wild hope, lit a small fire in his belly. It’d also caused turmoil, uncertainty, because it didn’t align with his well-laid plans. It went in opposition.

He drank her in, his eyes moving over the feminine lines of her body, her profile lifted to the sky. He’d meant what he said to Scarlett about the nestling—though he was pretty sure she knew as well as he did that he’d also been referring to himself—those primal responses determined by nature could not be avoided, nor changed. They simply were. That part he couldn’t fight, even if he tried.

Scarlett lowered her head slowly, her eyes opening and meeting his gaze. She startled slightly, sitting up straight and bringing her hand to her chest. “You’ve really gotta stop doing that,” she said on a small laugh.

“Sorry,” he murmured, stepping out of the trees and walking to the other side of the stream from which she sat facing him. He could have taken three steps and walked across it, but instead he sat down on a large rock next to him, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “One of the guys working at Lilith House said you were headed this way.” He squinted at the crystal-clear water rolling steadily over the rocks in its bed.

“Yeah?” she asked, eyeing him, obviously questioning why he’d decided to come in search of her through the woods.

What reason did he have? I’m drawn to you. I can’t seem to stay away. I think about you far more than I should. Those were all true, but he couldn’t tell her that. Wasn’t ready or willing to admit any such thing. He’d admitted far too much already. He needed to be drawing away, and instead, he was seeking her out. “I, uh”—he reached forward and scooped up some water, drank it from his cupped hand—“was really thirsty.” He gave her a wry smile, hoping his humor had worked to deflect her question.

She laughed. “Seems like you could have quenched your thirst in any number of more convenient ways.”

He squinted off behind her, smiling. “More convenient, but not half as refreshing. There’s nothing quite like flowing stream water.”

She eyed him, acquiescing with a smile. “You are correct there. I tasted it. It is indeed refreshing,” she teased.

He chuckled and for a moment they simply smiled across at each other, the chemistry in the air between them as much a moving current as the rolling water.

A hawk cried out overhead and the trees rustled in the breeze. “Peaceful out here, isn’t it?” he murmured.

“Yes, except the bird calls, which have me running for the nestling formula. I’ve apparently already been programmed like one of Pavlov’s dogs.” She laughed. “Either that or it’s PTSD.” She shook her head. “Haddie’s on day duty with her new sitter, Millie Schmidt. Do you know her?”

Cam smiled. “Yes. She’s a nice girl. You deserve the break. I’m sorry I interrupted your quiet time.”

Scarlett shook her head. “No, I’m glad you’re here.” Her cheeks colored slightly as she looked up at him from under her lashes, and if he’d questioned it the other night, he suddenly knew without doubt that she felt the same electric charge flowing between them that he did. Damn it felt good. And terrible. His eyes roamed her face, her body. He’d thought before that she was pretty, but it was more than that. She was beautiful, from her shiny golden-brown hair to her perfect unpolished toes. He leaned over and pulled a long reed of grass from the ground, needing to busy his hands.