Читать книгу Siren's Call - Debbie Herbert - Страница 10
ОглавлениеNash 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?”
“I come out to the island often and sketch. We’ll probably run into each other lots while you’re here.”
Nash stifled a groan. “I was—” he held up a thumb and index finger an inch apart “—this close to getting some incredible shots. You scared off my bird.”
“Ah.” Lily muttered a sound of sympathy but kept smiling. “It’ll come back.” She gave him a coy sideways glance. “You sure you didn’t think my singing was more than nice? I’ve been told my voice is quite...enchanting.”
“I noticed my shoot was ruined.”
She tapped a finger on the edge of her cupid’s-bow lips. “Hmm... Sorry, I suppose.”
An unexpected chuckle rumbled in his throat, like a motor sputtering to life after months of neglect. “You don’t have any self-confidence issues, do you?”
“Not until you started giving me a complex.”
“If people say your voice is enchanting, maybe you should have taken up the opera instead of painting.” He imagined Lily onstage—the limelight highlighting that mass of blond hair and white skin.
“I could have become a prima donna, but it didn’t seem fair.”
Again, Lily threw him off with an odd answer. The woman was either incredibly conceited or mentally defective. Perhaps both.
Fair. Was it unfair of him to compete in his field? He’d always thought he’d made a brilliant career choice. Now Lily made him wonder if he exploited his natural gifts.
“Really, your ego—” He stopped abruptly and bit back his annoyance. Lily was an old friend. He could let it go. A few weeks and he’d be on the road somewhere again. “Never mind,” he said with a casual flick of his wrist. “Who am I to shake your wonderful self-esteem? More power to you.”
“Power, indeed,” she mumbled, so faintly he wondered if he’d heard correctly.
She beckoned him with a crook of his finger. “This way.”
Nash hesitated, scowling. No harm in taking a short break, though. Now that his prey had scattered anyway. He fell in step behind Lily, his gaze involuntarily dropping to the womanly curves of her hips and luscious ass. Now that was impressive. That was power and a temptation he didn’t know if he could resist. It had been too long... His breath hitched like that of a hormonally charged adolescent. Stop it. Old friends make complicated lovers. Next assignment he’d have to do something about his self-imposed celibacy. Find some uncomplicated part-time lover with no expectations of commitment.
Lily spread out a blanket beneath a gigantic oak and began unpacking plastic containers.
He hadn’t realized until now he was hungry. And thirsty. “Got some water in there?”
“Even better. Sweet tea.” She handed him a sealed mason jar with ice cubes floating like crystals in an amber ambrosia.
Nash removed the canning lid and downed half of it in one swallow. “That’s good,” he admitted. “I’d forgotten how hot it is down here. How do you stand the heat and humidity?”
“You’ll acclimate to it again. I would think you’d be used to all kind of conditions in your line of work.”
“Nothing like Southern humidity.” He took off his shirt and used it to wipe sweat from his face and eyes.
He glimpsed Lily getting an eyeful of his chest and abs. The lady was definitely interested. Nash groaned inwardly. But what did he expect? He’d been a fool to kiss her last night. Of course she thought he was interested in her. Especially since— Well, he didn’t want to think of the last two women he’d dated. Guilt rose in his throat like bile.
“What you got?” he asked as she opened containers.
“Fried chicken, pimento cheese sandwiches, pecan pie, shrimp cocktail and lobster salad.”
He picked up a chicken wing. “I’m going to gain twenty pounds this summer,” he predicted. Nash bit into the buttermilk-soaked and flour-coated goodness and sighed. “But I’ll enjoy every damn minute along the way.”
Lily laughed and ate a spoonful of lobster salad. “Live in the moment, I always say.”
Ocean-blue eyes fixated on him and Nash couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare into those eyes. Energy crackled between them, every bit as scalding as the noon sun.
This wouldn’t do. “Show me your drawings,” he commanded, opening her sketchpad without waiting for permission.
Lily’s hand rested on his forearm and his skin tingled at the light touch.
“Just so you know, I’m mostly self-taught. I’m still learning and hoping to find a professional tutor at some point. If I can find one that deems me worthy of his time.”
So the lady’s armor of self-confidence had a chink. “Understood.” A self-taught amateur? He braced himself for convoluted drawings of fruit still lifes, paint-by-number ocean scenes or Victorian-looking flowers and hearts.
“Let me see what you got there,” he said huskily, conscious of her fingers over his knuckles working magic on his libido.
Lily released her hand and the tingling ceased. Nash opened the sketchpad and gave a low whistle at the detailed pen-and-ink drawings of birds, sea grass, fish and trees. This was more than mere talent. It was...seeing the bayou through Lily’s eyes. Each composition was vibrant and unique as a thumbprint.
“What do you think?” Her voice was high and reedy, anxious. She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “If you don’t like them, it’s okay. Like I said, I’m—”
“I don’t like them.” He paused at a watercolor depicting swirls of light in dark liquid. “I love them.” He studied it closer—saw an outline of individual fishes swimming in a school spiraling upward, their bodies incandescent in an inky darkness, like a lamp lit undersea. At the bottom of the painting was a large chunk of coral, the top alit in a violet haze and underneath gray shadows bottomed out to black. He flipped the painting toward Lily. “What kind of fish are these?”
“Myctophids, also known as lantern fish. They’re as common under the sea as squirrels in a cove of oaks.”
“Amazing.” As much as Nash’s soul longed to traverse the world, seeing new landscapes and animals, so it now also longed to be undersea, to capture the ocean’s deep magic—an unexplored galaxy. Again, he had the oddest tingling that something about Lily was different. Too perfect. Too powerful. He looked up from the sketchpad and caught her twirling the ends of her hair—a nervous gesture she’d had when they were kids. Underneath her confident exterior was a sensitive artist. He returned his gaze to the sketchpad and examined the drawings.
In the midst of shades of gray pencil drawings, he came upon another watercolor popping with vibrancy. Striated bands of blue and green progressed from deep to lighter hues as if Lily’s perspective originated on the ocean floor, looking toward the sky as the sun’s reflection filtered down. The perspective was unusual.
“How did you capture this image?” He opened the book to the watercolor and laid it open between them. “Do you visualize the scenes in your mind or do you paint from photos?”
Lily took a long swallow of tea, canting her long neck upward, exposing the vulnerable hollow of her throat. Damn. He’d never before admired a woman’s neck, for Pete’s sake.
Her head tilted forward and she delicately patted her upper lip before speaking. “That one was inspired by a picture Jet took swimming one day. Have you done underwater shoots?”
“No. But I’d love to.” Would he be any good? His talent came from an unnatural connection to the earth and its creatures. But fish? Undersea life? He didn’t have a clue.
“I stopped by and saw your grandfather this morning,” she said, turning the conversation. “He showed me a collection of your work. Very impressive.”
Nash shrugged, but his gut warmed that his grandfather was so proud of him. “Did he give you any more sinister warnings?”
“No.” A shuttered look crossed her face and she glanced sideways, as if expecting another coyote to leap from behind a tree.
“Old man got to you, huh? Used to scare me as a kid sometimes with his tales of the supernatural.”
Lily giggled. “Every rustle I hear in the woods, I look for the Little People sneaking up on me.”
“Ah, the Kowi Anukasha,” he nodded. “They’re mischievous and like scaring humans, but they aren’t evil. Not like the Nalusa Falaya.”
Lily’s smile dropped. “The Soul Eater.”
“Our Choctaw version of the bogeyman.” Nash scooped up a couple of shrimp and popped them into his mouth. “Grandfather has plenty of tall tales.”
“Who’s to say they aren’t true?” She set down her plate and gave him another of her unnerving stares.
Nash shifted, uncomfortable with the question. He didn’t want to believe. Life was tough enough without looking for monsters in the shadows. And despite his gift, he’d never seen anything to support the old Native American legends. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. The bayou’s full of magic and mystery.” Lily leaned into him, so close her breath flamed his jaw and neck. “Can’t you feel it?” she whispered.
He felt something, all right—a fierce longing to meld into her essence. The need was even stronger than it had been last night. Nash closed his eyes, let the inevitable happen. Lily’s lips brushed his. Talk about magic. His body thrummed at the contact.
“How do I wrangle an invitation to this picnic?” a cheery voice called out.
Nash winced at Opal’s abrupt appearance. Normally, he heard others approach from great distances. It was a real testament to how Lily engrossed his senses. He squelched a renewed flush of irritation—this time because he wanted to be alone with Lily, wanted to explore her curves and secret places. He shouldn’t feel this way. He should welcome the interruption.
Opal plopped onto the blanket between them so that the three formed a triangle.
“Thought you were miles away,” he said, relieved Opal didn’t mention seeing them kiss.
“Started that way this morning, but steadily edged closer here, following a blue heron.” Her smile was toothy and catching. “And then I heard this...angelic singing.”
Lily waved a hand. No blush stained her face and her manner gave no indication of embarrassment at being caught kissing. “Sorry I interrupted everyone’s work. I come here occasionally to draw,” she told Opal.
Opal leaned his way and glanced at the open sketchpad.
“Wow. You can paint and sing and look like a goddess. It’s so not fair.” Her smile stayed intact and the words didn’t seem malicious. That’s what he liked about Opal—she was an open book and was never catty.
“Your job must be fun. Bet there’s not many women who can do what you do,” Lily said.
“There’s a few.” Opal lifted her face to the sun and raised both arms by her sides. “I love working outdoors. The more primitive, the better.”
“Can I see the pictures you took this morning?” Lily asked.
“Sure.” Opal shifted her weight toward Lily and unhooked the camera cord from her neck. She tapped a button on the digital screen, revealing a dozen close-ups of a blue-gray crane.
Lily scanned the photos. “These are beautiful.”
Opal grinned at him. “Hear that, boss? Remember that at my next performance evaluation.” She turned back to Lily. “Nash takes the superhard shots, though, catching wildlife at intimate or rare moments hardly ever witnessed by humans.”
Lily handed the container of chicken wings to Opal. “His grandfather showed me his work this morning, and I was impressed.”
Nash finished another chicken wing and polished off a few more shrimp while the two exchanged pleasantries. It allowed him time to cool off and regain his composure. If a mere kiss made him fevered, what would it be like to make love to Lily? Don’t even think about it. He scrambled to his feet.
“You can’t be going back to work already.” Lily pointed to the pie. “You haven’t had dessert yet.”
A few more minutes alone and she would have been dessert. Nash studied the slight upturn at the corners of Lily’s mouth but couldn’t decide if her remark was a deliberate sexual innuendo. “Been fun, ladies, but time for me to go hunt that clapper rail again.” He took off his bandana and swiped the sweat from his face again.
“Why don’t we take a quick swim and cool off?” Opal suggested. “The heat’s brutal.”
Lily shook her head. “I can’t swim.”
Opal gaped at her. “You practically live on an island and can’t swim?”
“I had a bad experience as a child. Went to swim before a storm and an undertow almost swept me away. Been afraid of the water ever since.”
He’d forgotten that. When they were young, Lily had gamely kept up with him on the hiking and biking but refused to ever get in the water. “Yet you paint it so much—one as if you were actually undersea,” he mused aloud.
Lily set aside her plate of lobster salad. “Our fears become our obsessions.”
“But couldn’t you go in the water up to your knees and splash yourself if we stand with you?” Opal pleaded. “It would be fun.”
“’Fraid not.”
“Later, ladies.” He pulled back on his T-shirt, slung the camera carrier around his neck and took several steps before remembering his manners. He turned around and waved. “Oh, and thanks for lunch, Lily.”
Nash sucked in a breath of hot air laced with a bracing, salty tang. Good thing Opal had come along when she had. He’d taken this assignment not only to visit Grandfather, but also to escape from women constantly chasing him and from the memory of his last two disastrous relationships.
From here on, Lily was off-limits.
* * *
Lily touched her lips and sighed as he walked away. That kiss had been pure magic.
Opal gave a little laugh. “Enjoying the view? I totally see why the ladies all go for him. He’s a hunk, all right.”
Lily gazed at her curiously, wondering if Opal had feelings for Nash. “What about you?”
“Nah, I’ve got someone in my life. And it’s never a good idea to date anyone you work with, especially your boss.”
Lily prodded for more details. “So women swoon over him?”
“Breaks hearts everywhere he goes. Women constantly fall at his feet.”
And I’m behaving like every other woman. “He have anyone serious in his life?” She put lids on some of the containers and returned them to the basket.
“Not anymore. Not since—” Opal broke off, staring out at sea.
“Not since what?”
“Not since his last girlfriend, Connie, died.” Opal dug into the lobster salad. “Mmm...de-lish.”
Lily gasped and stopped packing up food. “That’s awful. What happened?”
“Suicide. Connie was found dead one morning, an empty bottle of pills on her nightstand.” Opal downed a long swig of tea. “Sad, huh?”
Poor Nash. No wonder he’s bitter. “Tragic,” Lily quietly agreed. “Did she leave a note?”
Opal nibbled on a chicken wing and delicately wiped her mouth before answering. “None was ever found. But he’d broken up with her a couple days before.”
“How long ago did she...did this happen?”
“About a year ago. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except...” Her voice trailed off.
Lily didn’t see how the story could get any worse. “Except what?”
“I really shouldn’t say anything. It kind of slipped out, ya know?”
“C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging.”
Opal spooned up more salad and chewed, as if mulling over the answer. “Thing is,” she said at last, setting down the plate, “two years earlier, another of his girlfriends died. Rebecca.”
The knot of dread in Lily’s stomach grew. “How?” she whispered.
“They had an argument—probably over his lack of commitment—and she drove home. Hours later, apparently drunk, she got back in her car but lost control of it, ran off into a ditch and hit a tree.”
Goose bumps pricked Lily’s arms and legs and a chill set in that no blistering Southern sun could warm. I’m poison. Nash’s clipped words echoed round her brain like gunshots in a canyon. No wonder the guy was aloof. She’d be bitter, too.
“That’s—that’s horrible,” Lily said, putting her face in her hands. How the hell did someone cope with that much pain? One death was bad enough. But two? She shuddered.
“Sure.” Opal sighed. “The doctors said Rebecca died instantly. So there’s that.”
Lily didn’t want to hear any more details. It was too much to take in all at once. She wanted to be alone and deal with the knowledge of all Nash had suffered, was still suffering. Lily abruptly gathered up food containers and stuffed them in the picnic basket; even the smell of it nauseated her. “Don’t say anything else.” Lily shut the picnic basket with a snap. “Nash will tell me when he’s ready.”
“Sorry to spoil your lunch.” Opal eyed the pie. “Mind if I keep a piece for later this afternoon?”
Lily wrapped the whole thing in aluminum foil, her movements jerky with haste. She thrust it at Opal. “Take it.”
“Thanks. I’ll share it with Nash.”
They both rose unsteadily to their feet.
Opal frowned. “Look, I hope I didn’t scare you off Nash. He’s a great guy who’s had a bit of bad luck lately.”
“A bit of bad luck?” Lily snorted. “I’d say it’s more serious than that.”
Opal flushed. “Absolutely. You’re right. It’s— I like you, Lily. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”
“No need for the warning. Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said curtly, wanting to end the conversation.
“Of course not.” Opal squeezed Lily’s shoulder and dropped her hand to her side. “Just thought you should know. I’d hate to see him break your heart.”
“Some would say I have no heart to break,” Lily muttered.
“Why would they say that?”
“Not important.”
Opal’s face crumbled. “You don’t trust me to keep my mouth shut. Which I can totally understand, given how I blabbed Nash’s history during lunch.”
“It’s not that.” Lily’s fingers rubbed an itchy scratch on her leg leftover from the run in the woods. She supposed this was what girlfriends did, exchanged secrets and confided in one another. Maybe Opal had done her a favor in revealing Nash’s painful past. At least now she knew the problem and could be mentally prepared when Nash brought up the news himself.
And it would be wonderful to have a real friend because Jet and Shelly were busy now with their own lives. She drew a deep breath. “Okay, you’ll probably hear this anyway if you meet people in town, but I don’t have a great reputation.”
“Why’s that?”
“I went through a bit of a wild stage years ago and no one will let me forget it. That’s a small town for you. You’re doomed to never live down your past. Although, in my defense, rumors of my promiscuity are greatly exaggerated.”
Opal patted her shoulder. “Poor Lily. Don’t worry—I won’t say anything to Nash.”
Lily shifted uncomfortably. Opal made her feel...beholden. Guilty. As if they shared something dirty. “Doesn’t matter. He’s bound to hear the talk, too.”
“Maybe not. He and his grandfather live pretty isolated. And Nash has been reclusive the past couple of years. He doesn’t get out much.” Opal winked. “So you see, probably nothing to worry about.”
Again, a prickly unease settled over Lily. She smiled uncertainly. “If you say so,” she agreed. Her family had grown up secluded from the townsfolk, making it easier to keep their shape-shifting abilities a secret.
Secrecy was a habit she’d have to let slip if she wanted a girlfriend.
