“Nash says you volunteer at the animal shelter,” she said, diverting attention from the uneaten, rearranged food on her plate.
Sam nodded. “Every Friday.”
“What do you do there?”
He chewed a piece of venison and put down his fork and knife. He always spoke carefully, as if mindful of the power of words. “Clean cages, bathe them, take them for walks.”
“That’s admirable.” She didn’t care for animals all that much. She loathed cats and the way they licked their chops around her, as if she were a delectable morsel they wanted to devour. “Jet has a dog that’s around a lot. Ugliest thing you ever saw.”
Neither man responded. Lily wanted to stamp her foot in frustration, but instead she surreptitiously studied the two.
They were similar: tall and large-boned with prominent cheekbones and the same aura of strength. Both had long black hair, although Sam’s was streaked with silver. Each had olive-colored skin, Sam’s a shade darker. Nash was a younger, more virile version of his grandfather. The only other striking difference between them was the green eyes Nash had inherited from his mother.
Those eyes that avoided her own at every opportunity. How could he resist her siren’s voice? The more he retreated, the more determined she became to get answers.
Lily took another stab at starting a dinner conversation. “The dog’s name is Rebel, and he’s supposedly a Chinese crested, but I say he’s a mutt. Got the ugliest yellow teeth and mangiest fur ever.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow. “You aren’t fond of animals?”
Rats. They would find that odd. Nash worked photographing wildlife and Sam was devoted to all kinds of animals, even nursing wild ones back to health. She remembered an orphaned squirrel he’d fed from a dropper bottle that had hung around their backyard for years before disappearing.
Lily lied for the second time. “They’re okay.”
A corner of Nash’s mouth turned up, as if realizing she wasn’t being truthful.
“I have a saltwater aquarium,” she said in defense. “It’s like an undersea rainbow of colors. I’ve got violet dottybacks, blue damselfish, spotted dragonets and orange pipefish—” Lily broke off, aware she was rambling.
Nash nodded at his grandfather. “She still fits the name you gave her long ago.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Chattering Magpie.”
“I am not—” Lily closed her mouth abruptly. Defending herself with more words was a trap. She smiled sweetly at Nash’s smirk. “Perhaps a bit.” She didn’t often have much opportunity for conversation. Truth was, she didn’t often have anyone to talk to. No girlfriends. And Mom gallivanted at sea most of the time. Jet and Shelly, her cousin, had their own lives now, complete with adoring husbands. Jet had a baby on the way and Shelly helped her husband care for his teenage brother, who had autism.
Damn, so much had changed the past two years, and not all of it in a good way. She’d always been the special one of the family, the youngest and fairest and most beloved. Now she felt alone and outcast, taking refuge in her painting. Why the hell didn’t she leave Bayou La Siryna? Undersea with the merfolk, her siren’s ability made her special—admired by male and female alike—not despised, like in this place.
“He teases you,” Sam said. “Your voice is most engaging. This old cabin’s been too quiet for too long.”
A flicker of something—guilt or annoyance?—crossed Nash’s face, and she sensed the tension between them.
“I’ve invited you to go on assignments with me,” Nash said to his grandfather, a muscle working above his jawline. “Get away from the bayou. It wouldn’t kill you to take a trip once a decade.”
“I can’t leave.”
“You don’t want to leave. Big difference.”
“My home is here,” Sam insisted with a trace of stubbornness.
“Home can be anywhere you want.”
“I have no need for traveling the world, nor the time. I provide healings for our tribe. And I have my shelter work and my fishing.”
“You can fish and work with animals anywhere,” Nash countered.
“This is my place. Bowmans have lived here since the Choctaw first claimed this land as theirs. It means something to me to walk the land of my ancestors.”
Was that a veiled jab at his grandson’s wanderlust? Sam must be lonely living so far from town. A nicer person, like Shelly, would have been thoughtful enough to visit occasionally. Lily bit her lip. It had never occurred to her. Lily took advantage of their absorption in each other to rise from the table and scrape out her almost-uneaten meal in the garbage can.
She spotted a pie on the counter. “Who’s ready for dessert?” she asked brightly. “Smells heavenly.” The third lie at dinner. She was on a roll. Lily set the pie between the men. “Is this pumpkin or sweet potato?” she asked.
“Sweet potato. Nash’s favorite.”
The tension eased at Sam’s olive branch of peace.
“Thank you, Grandfather.” Nash cut a slice. “I haven’t eaten this in...” He paused. “I guess it’s been decades.”
Lily cut a piece for Sam.
“Aren’t you having a slice?” Nash asked.
“I’m stuffed,” she said, waving a hand to dismiss his comment. She beamed at Sam. “Dinner was wonderful.”
His deep wrinkles settled into a frown as he folded his arms and nodded at the scratches on her arms and legs. “What happened?”
“Got them walking on that trail behind the cabin.” She sipped more tea, reluctant to tell more.
Neither man said anything but their unblinking stares meant they were waiting for her to elaborate. Lily flushed and twirled a tendril of pale pink hair near her neck. “I got spooked by a coyote,” she admitted.
Sam glanced at Nash.
He nodded. “I checked it out. We may have a rabies outbreak.”
Sam turned back to her. “Why did it spook you?”
“It...it stared at me weird. After a few seconds—or maybe minutes—I don’t know—it lowered its head and started toward me. I took off. Was I wrong to be scared?”
Sam frowned. “Normally a coyote is more afraid of you than the other way around. But rabies can make animals do strange things.”
“That’s what Nash said, too.”
Sam pushed away from the table. “Think I’ll sit on the back porch a spell. I’m sure the two of you have lots of catching up to do.”
Nash rose immediately. “Actually, I’m retiring early. Got to get up before dawn to catch the first ferry to Herb Island.”
Lily sighed inwardly. No gracious way to stay longer and probe for clues to explain Nash’s strange indifference to her voice and his cryptic remarks about poison. She stood also. “I’ll clean up in here and head on out.”
“You are an honored guest.” Sam held up a hand. “I’ll take care of the kitchen later.” He nodded at Nash. “You should walk Lily to her car. Just to be safe.”
“Of course,” Nash said stiffly, in a way that meant he’d rather not.
Too bad. She lifted her chin and forced a smile at Sam. “Thanks for the delicious dinner.”
“You are most welcome.”
She edged past Nash, brushing against his right arm and shoulder. Heated energy danced between them. On her end, anyway. His face was as rigid and inscrutable as ever.
“Wait,” Sam called out. “I must warn you. Although it could be aberrant behavior from rabies, consider another possibility. If a coyote singles you out in the woods. It is a sign.”
Nash gave a low growl.
Lily frowned at Nash’s rudeness. “What kind of sign?” she asked. “I remembered you once said the coyote was a mischievous, sly trickster and that it could mark an ending or beginning.”
“In this case, I would say your coyote sighting was meant a
s a warning.”
Her throat went dry. “Warning?”
Sam’s brown eyes held the wisdom of experience and secret knowledge. “You are being deceived.”
Chills crept up her spine as she pictured the precisely vivisected rat by her car, the Die Slut etching. Not hard to figure out the enemy. “I know who it is.”
“You do?” Nash narrowed his eyes.
“There’s this petty woman in town who hates me over something that happened years ago.”
“Why would anyone hate you?” Nash asked.
If Nash stayed around the bayou all summer, he was bound to hear the rumors of her loose morals. But she’d rather he learned it later, after he knew her better. That way, perhaps he wouldn’t judge her too quickly or unfairly. Lily shrugged, watching Sam rummage through a kitchen drawer. She hoped Sam’s isolation had kept him from hearing talk of her in town.
“There’s one,” he muttered, returning with a smudge stick in his hand. “This is for protection.”
Nash rolled his eyes.
“White sage?” Lily guessed.
“Smudge your car and your home every day. It may help keep away trouble.”
“Thank you.” And she meant it. It might not even hurt to pay Tia Henrietta a visit and get some backup voodoo protection; if nothing else, the woman was entertaining. She hadn’t seen the crusty old hag in ages.
Impulsively, Lily gave Sam a quick hug for his kindness. When she’d first met him as a child, she’d found the man intimidating with his stern features and the Native American symbols tattooed on both sides of his neck and forearms. But she’d quickly come to realize his gentle heart.
She and Nash slipped out into the humid soup that marked bayou summers. A fine coat of perspiration popped all over her body, making the scratches on her arms and leg itch.
They said nothing until she reached Jet’s truck.
“I don’t like all this talk of danger and deception,” Nash said, leaning sideways against the Chevy truck. “Grandfather’s superstitious, but you believe you really have an enemy. Who is this woman you mentioned?”
Lily sighed. Should have known Nash wouldn’t let it go. “Her name’s Twyla Fae.” Warmth flamed her face and she was thankful for the cover of darkness. “She thinks I’m after her husband, J.P.”
A beat passed. “Are you?”
“No! I have no interest in married men.”
“Then why does she think you want her husband?”
“Because J.P. dumped her for a few weeks and dated me. This was before they got married,” she hastened to explain.
“Sounds like you were the injured party.”
“No. I realized we weren’t suited before they got back together.” It had started out like all the others. She began each new relationship with hope that it would lead to love. The men groveled and proclaimed undying love—but only because of her voice and looks. No one saw her. It was always kindest to say goodbye sooner rather than later. A fact that no man appreciated and that had lead to her name turning into the town joke. Lily was that girl in the bayou. The one men were sure was an easy lay and the one women condemned as guilty.
“I don’t understand why this Twyla is still angry.”
“J.P. broke off with me when she told him she was pregnant with his child. Guess Twyla suspects he married her out of a sense of obligation.”
“That behavior’s juvenile. What’s the woman done to you?” he demanded.
“Usually she and her friends settle for whispering behind my back or giving me the cold shoulder. But yesterday morning was different. One of them called me a slut and when I went outside they’d left me a nasty surprise.” She quickly filled him in on the details.
“That’s beyond petty. She needs to be prosecuted.” His green eyes darkened to the color of an Amazon rain forest at midnight.
“You sound like my sister,” she said lightly.
“Maybe I should talk to this Twyla.”
Lily’s heart lightened at his defense. He had to care about her—at least a little bit. “No, I can handle this,” she said hastily. If Nash talked to Twyla, the woman would cast her in the worst possible light. “I was going to confront her today, but it’s too late tonight. When I do, I’ll carry the sage your grandfather gave me—as a precaution.”
Nash snorted. “The old man must be the last Choctaw who takes all the old stories and ways as truth.”
“And you don’t?” His attitude surprised her. They used to sit around for hours listening to Sam’s stories. Back then, Nash was proud of his tribe and its traditions.
“Let’s say he takes it too far. Besides, we were talking about you and your problem.”
Lily leaned into him and gave in to the urge to touch him again. She lightly ran a finger along the stern edge of his jaw. A delicious frisson of awareness shot down her spine at the contact. Nash didn’t move. Did he truly feel nothing between them?
“Don’t,” he said in a harsh, tight voice.
“Why? You don’t really believe you’re cursed, do you?” And he accused Sam of being superstitious? Her hand crept to the back of his neck, fingers combing his black, smooth hair.
Abruptly, Nash pulled her to him, lips crushing against hers. Heat flared and liquid warmth pulsed through her body. His strength was more than the physical, unyielding planes of his mouth, chest and arms. It was an aura as primal and mysterious as nature’s spring fever erupting in every creature and living organism to mate and bring forth new life. Lily parted her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.
Nash thrust her away. “Goodnight, Lily.”
Shock doused her like a blanket of snow. “Wh—Why did you stop?”
He didn’t answer or look at her, but walked back to the porch, hands thrust in his jeans pockets.
“Of all the rude, inconsiderate...” Lily sputtered, at a loss. She was the one who walked away from men, not the other way around. She folded her arms and smiled grimly at his fading figure.
You can run, Nashoba Bowman, but we aren’t done. I’ll find out all your secrets. And in the end, I’ll be the one to decide when it’s over.
Chapter 4
Nash crept closer, honing in on the low, slow snorting. Bup-bup-bup. Definitely not the high-pitched clattering of the common Rallus longirostris. Ever so carefully, he raised his binoculars. There... This bird was the size of a chicken, rusty-feathered, long-beaked. It lifted its head, revealing chestnut-hued cheeks instead of the gray of its close relative, the common clapper. He’d found the species he’d come to photograph.
Camera replaced binoculars. Nash focused the telescopic lens and started snapping away. Good enough shots, but he wanted something spectacular, more worthy of the Nashoba Bowman standard he’d developed over the years. He crept ahead on all fours, the razor-sharp sea grass edges cutting his fingers and palms. It didn’t matter.
His heart fluttered faster, like that of the bird. For every yard forward, Nash halted five seconds, until he drew so close the bird lifted its beak and black, wary eyes focused on him.
Not here to hurt. I’m admiring you. Nothing to fear. Nash pushed the thoughts toward the Clapper Rail before raising his camera again and taking one incredible close-up.
A haunting melody sounded through the brackish bayou island, disrupting their connection. Startled, the clapper opened its beak. Bup-bup-bup-bup. In a bustle of feathers and churned water, the bird half flew, half swam in a mad scramble for safety.
Damn. He’d been so close to connecting with the bird, so close to slipping into its essence and establishing trust.
The singing grew louder, sounding like a chorus of perfectly blended tones. Did Opal have a hidden talent for singing? He’d never heard her sing before. But she knew better than to interrupt a shot. Besides, she was supposed to be on the other side of the island
photographing another species.
Lily emerged from a clump of cypress trees. Only this time when she came out of the woods she was smiling, not running from a demented coyote. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and grinned and waved, holding up a wicker picnic basket.
“Hello,” she sang out.
Nash frowned. He should have guessed it was Lily. Looking as damn beautiful in the summer sun as she had last night under the moonlight. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly, tamping down the memory of that scorching kiss.
Her smile faltered. “Didn’t you hear me sing?”
What a strange response; the woman made no sense. “Of course I heard. You were so loud you scared off the bird I was stalking.”
“Loud?” Lily’s eyes widened. “That’s all you have to say about my voice?”
He cocked a brow. She sounded mildly outraged when he was the injured party here. Although to be fair, Lily might not have realized she was interrupting. “It was...uh...nice, I suppose.”
“Nice?”
“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say? ’Cause I’ve got lots of work to do.”
Blue eyes blinked and she breathed deeply, as if to regain her composure. “You are an unusual man, Nashoba.”
She didn’t know the half of it. Only Opal might have an inkling that he’d gained fame as a wildlife photographer because of his unnatural ability to sense animals’ thoughts and calm them with his own form of mental telepathy—or whatever the hell it was that gained their trust for the few nanoseconds it took to get the perfect picture.
Lily held up the basket. “Figured working outside would make you hungry, so I brought us a lunch.”
She assumed too much from that short kiss. It meant nothing. Nash pointed to the sketchpad in her other hand. “What’s that for?”
Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 4