4. Waylen

4

WAYLEN

A s I pulled up to the cabin, I glanced at the dashboard clock on my truck. It confirmed what I already knew—I was late.

It was only by a few minutes, but I was late, nonetheless.

As I parked and stepped out of the truck, I caught sight of Lyra standing by the garden, her arms were crossed over her chest and a frown pulled at her lips.

There was no doubt that she was pissed.

"Sorry I'm late," I said, trying to keep my tone light while I smoothed a hand along the back of my neck and flashed her a crooked grin I hoped came off as charming. "My eagle got distracted by a shiny object on the way here." I'd hoped the joke would diffuse the tension swirling between us, but Lyra's expression remained unchanged and she didn't speak.

So much for charming my way out of this one.

"Tools are over there." She nodded to the shed and then got back to work.

Her message was clear: Less talking, more working. I'd wasted enough of her time.

I felt off my game as I walked to the shed. Usually, my easy-going charm was enough to smooth things over with people. I'd crack a joke, they'd smile, and then we'd all move on. Lyra wasn't having any of it, though.

It was almost as though the woman was immune.

Which was a first. I'd never met someone unaffected by my charm or comedic ways. Most people either enjoyed my charm and humor or found them irritating, but no one had ever been as unresponsive to both as she was.

I grabbed a pair of loppers from the shed and made my way over to the garden bed where Lyra was working. I'd spent last night studying herbs online, hoping I'd be able to tell what was what and avoid cutting or pulling up something important.

Honestly, it all looked the same.

Setting the loppers down, I started pulling anything that looked like grass or clovers by hand, mimicking what Lyra was doing. The silence between us grew thick, becoming nearly suffocating.

I hated it.

As I cleared away weeds, I stole a glance at her. She was focused on what she was doing, her hands moving methodically, but there was a stiffness in her movements. I wondered then if her irritation wasn't just about me being late. Maybe something else was bothering her. My eagle bristled, picking up on the tension, and it left me with the uneasy feeling that there was more to this than I was seeing.

Why did getting these beds back in order mean so much to her? Was she living here with her grandmother? Was it by choice or out of necessity?

Curiosity about this woman and her situation filled me.

"Have you always been into gardening?" I asked, trying to break the ice between us. "Or is this more of a ‘saving the family legacy' kind of thing?"

Lyra lifted her gaze to me briefly before returning her attention to the plants. "A bit of both," she replied, her tone sounding clipped. "My grandmother taught me everything I know."

I waited for her to say more, but she remained quiet. It was obvious she wasn't in the mood for conversation, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at her all-business attitude. Still, despite the brick wall I seemed to be continuously hitting, I found myself drawn to her.

The urge to learn more about the woman gnawed at me.

"So, she's an herbalist, then?" I asked.

It was a stupid question. Clearly, the old woman was an herbalist. No one kept massive garden beds overflowing with such a variety of herbs unless they were.

"Yes," Lyra said without looking up.

"Are you?"

"I wouldn't call myself an herbalist, no. I'm not nearly as knowledgeable as she is," she said, her gaze still never shifting to me.

"What does she do with them?" I asked, even though it was another dumb question. "Like, what kinds of things does she make?"

I wanted to keep her talking. My eagle and I found her voice soothing—even if she was irritated with me.

"She makes teas and different tinctures for her online store," she said, a small smile gracing her lips.

So, she was capable of smiling.

Good to know.

"That's kind of witchy," I said, pulling at a particularly stubborn weed.

Which likely meant the old woman might be the one I was looking for—there was a real chance she was Maribel.

"I don't see it that way," Lyra said, surprising me. "I see it as a form of beautiful wisdom." Her eyes locked with mine then, and I saw her animal come closer to the surface.

Again, I wondered what she was.

We worked in silence for a while, knocking out a large chunk of the bed we'd been weeding together. The tension that had been between us seemed to have eased, but not by much.

She was skeptical of me, I could tell.

However, before I could think much on it, the cabin door opened, and for the first time all morning, Lyra's grandmother made an appearance. I watched her as she walked slowly to the edge of the porch, her gaze focused on me.

"Hey there," I said, flashing her my most charming smile.

The old woman didn't return my smile. Instead, she shifted her attention to Lyra.

"Why don't you take a break?" she said. "You've been out here all morning. Head inside and drink some water. I'm sure Waylen would love a glass, too."

Lyra stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Actually, a break sounds nice." She glanced at me. "Do you want some water?"

"Sure. Thanks."

I started to follow her inside the cabin, but the old woman stopped me when I reached the steps.

"I'd like to go over the garden beds with you, show you a few spots that need extra care, if you don't mind," she said, though her expression hinted that she wasn't entirely asking.

"All right. Sure," I agreed, nodding as Lyra slipped inside.

The moment she was out of earshot, her grandmother turned toward me, a sly, sharp smile playing on her lips. She motioned for me to follow her. Once we reached the farthest garden bed, she shifted to look at me again. "You're not much of a gardener, are you?"

My heart skipped a beat. "I—uh—what do you mean?"

Shit, this old woman had seen right through me.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Don't play coy with me, boy. I sent the true gardener away an hour before you showed up. Lyra might think we need to hire someone to get these old beds in order, but I've been working from them like this for years. A few weeds never hurt anything."

"You knew?" I blinked, completely taken aback. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Of course I knew. I've lived a long time, and I'm not easily fooled." She smiled and then shrugged her shoulders. "Figured I'd see what you were up to, especially after I noticed the way you and my granddaughter looked at each other."

"Does Lyra know?" I asked, wondering if that was the cause of the skepticism I'd picked up on from her.

"No. I wanted to see how this played out between you two. Also, I wanted to get a little free labor out of you first." She winked.

"Free labor?"

She arched a brow at me. "Of course, you didn't think I'd pay an imposter, did you?"

I laughed, unable to help myself. "You're something else, ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me," she insisted. "My name is Alma."

"Alma," I repeated.

She hadn't said Maribel, which meant she wasn't who I was looking for.

Well, that complicated things.

"Expecting my name to be something else?" she asked, her intense gaze fixed on me.

I hesitated for a second, then figured there was no harm in being honest. After all, the woman already knew I wasn't who I'd claimed to be. "I was hoping you were someone I've been looking for—a woman named Maribel."

Alma bent to pluck a yellowed leaf from a basil plant. "I'm not Maribel, but I know her."

"You do?"

Maybe this hadn't been a total waste of time.

She nodded. "If it's information about her you're after, you'll have to earn it."

This old woman had spunk, no doubt about it, and her sharp wit made it clear she wasn't one to be underestimated.

"Let me guess—by taming these jungle garden beds you have?" I asked with a smirk.

"Bingo." She bent down again, this time to push an overgrown plant I didn't recognize away from the edge of the bed. "A tip, every herb in these beds are labeled. Find the popsicle sticks and pay attention to what the plant looks like behind it. Then weed out what's around it."

How had I missed that?

"Thanks," I said, right as Lyra stepped out onto the porch with a glass of water in hand.

"You're welcome," Alma replied.

Lyra started down the porch steps, heading for us. "I didn't know you were making lavender lemon scones."

"I figured we could all use a special treat." Alma smiled.

I met Lyra halfway and took the glass of water from her. "Thanks."

She didn't say a word to me. Instead, her attention remained on Alma. "What were you two talking about?"

"We were looking at the mint," the old woman said without missing a beat. "Waylen was saying how surprised he is to see that it hasn't overtaken this whole garden bed since mint grows so quickly. I told him that while it might not look like it, I'm more than capable of maintaining these beds on my own."

Lyra sighed, and I gathered this was a conversation they'd had at length. I downed my water while the two of them bickered and then I got back to work. I needed information on Maribel, but Alma wasn't going to give me anything more than she already had.

Not until I earned it.