Читать книгу Siren's Call - Debbie Herbert - Страница 7

Chapter 1

“Look at her...”

Snicker. “Thinks she’s somethin’...”

“Heard about her latest?”

Lily ignored the whispers and kept the corners of her lips slightly upturned as she studied the dead fish on display. Her insides churned as cold and slushy as the fishes’ beds of ice.

“Miss Bosarge!” The portly seafood manager beamed behind the counter. “What can I get ya?”

She pointed to her selection and he wrapped it in white paper, all the while looking her up and down, a lecherous glimmer in his eyes. He winked. “I’ll make a special deal for you.”

The buzzing from behind grew louder.

“Disgusting.”

“Slut.”

That was going too far. Lily placed the fish in her cart and withdrew her makeup compact. She held it up and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss, checking out her latest tormentors. Yep, Twyla Fae was with a couple of friends and no doubt the ringleader. Twyla still smarted from the time her then-boyfriend-now-husband briefly dumped her to pursue Lily. You’d think the woman would be over something that happened two years ago.

Lily composed the habitual all-is-well smile as she faced Twyla. “How’s J.P. doing?” she asked with double-sugar-fudge politeness. “I haven’t heard from him in the longest. I really should drop by and say ‘hey’.”

Twyla paled beneath her tan but quickly recovered and glowered. “You stay away from J.P.” She shifted the whining toddler in her arms. “We’re a family now.”

Lily moved her cart straight at the trio. They jumped out of the way.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” she threatened in honeyed tones, strolling down the aisle. Never let them see you care—her mantra since puberty, when her siren’s voice had developed and unleashed its power over the entire male population of Bayou La Siryna.

Lily took her time filling the cart with dozens of cans of sardine and tuna and cases of bottled water. The usual fare.

An explosion of green bean tins hit the floor, but she didn’t flinch. A teenaged stock boy gathered the spillage, so focused on Lily he made a worse mess and cans rolled in all directions. Almost without fail, men ran into stuff or dropped what they were doing when she walked by. She would have helped the boy, but experience proved it would make matters worse. He’d say something stupid or his girlfriend would see them and get mad, or he’d continue to bumble on or... It was always something.

The grocery store’s sliding glass doors opened, bringing in a wave of humid Alabama air. A tanned stranger walked in with an aura as hot and powerful as the bayou breeze. He didn’t look around the store to get his bearings, but immediately turned right and went to the produce department. He had a patrician vibe, as if he were Mr. Darcy strolling across English moors, not a local good ole boy grocery shopping at Winn-Dixie.

Lily leaned against the cart and watched as he efficiently grabbed a sack of potatoes and loaded it in his cart, paying no attention to the admiring glances of all the women. Something about the angle of his jaw and the gleam of his long, dark hair looked familiar.

Tingles of awareness prickled her arms and legs. She had to get closer. He drew her like a thirsty traveler to an oasis. Is this how men felt around her? The same clawing need for contact? It was a new experience, and Lily wasn’t sure she liked the loss of control—no matter how exciting the sensations.

Ignoring the dirty looks from other women, she approached. Bettina, once an elementary school friend, rolled her eyes and deliberately jostled against Lily.

“Fresh meat, huh?” Bettina whispered, breath whooshing against Lily’s neck like a poisonous vapor. “Can’t you leave one guy for the rest of us?”

Lily refused to glance at her old friend, afraid of losing it. Bett had deserted her like all the other jealous bitches. She lifted her chin and continued toward the stranger, who was culling through vegetables. What to say? The only opening line running through her brain—Hey, haven’t we met before?—was way tacky. But really, it didn’t matter what she said. The mere sound of her voice would be enough.

“Hello,” she purred, pulling her cart alongside Mr. Darcy-cum-Brad Pitt.

He threw some corn in his cart without looking up. “Hi,” he answered in a voice so clipped he might as well have said back off.

Shock disconnected Lily’s brain from her limbs and she stood immobile while pounding blood made her ears ring. How odd. He acted impervious to the dulcet tones that made other men cross-eyed. Lily stiffened her spine. She’d bowl him over with more talking, would force him to look into her ocean-blue eyes. That ought to do the trick.

“Are you from around here?” she asked.

“No.” He pushed away and started down the dairy aisle, his back to her.

What the hell? Lily froze again as she tried to grasp the foreign concept of being snubbed by the opposite sex. It really kind of sucked. Snickering noises from all around sent heat rushing to the back of her neck.

“About time she had a comeuppance,” Bettina said with a loud snort.

Lily faced her directly. “What’s your problem?” she snapped. “What have I ever done to you?”

Bettina’s lips curled. “You really don’t get it, do you? How about stealing Johnny Adams in junior high? And then Tommy Beckham in high school?”

It’s not my fault, she wanted to scream. But they would never understand. Their dislike and mistrust ran as deep as the Gulf waters, their tears and anger as salty and bitter as the sea that encompassed the bayou. Forget them.

Lily shoved away in a huff, turning her attention once again to the handsome stranger’s retreating figure. Her fingers gripped the cart handle until her knuckles were white as sea foam against her already pale skin. She lifted her chin. Nobody ignored her. Envied, yes. Lusted, of course. Later left humiliated and angry at her inevitable rebuff, check. But never this total lack of interest.

Lily hurried toward the mystery man. “Hey, you. Wait a minute.”

He slackened his pace but didn’t stop as she drew close.

“Have we met before?” She’d thought so at first, but she must be wrong. This brutal disregard would have been memorable.

The man turned so slowly, Lily had a sense of inevitability as the seconds wound down into a series of freeze-frames. One: broad shoulders flexing under a dove-gray T-shirt. Two: a profile of a strong chin and deep facial planes. Three: a lock of obsidian hair falling across high, prominent cheekbones.

It wasn’t a tan after all; his skin was the shade of light cinnamon from Native American heritage. Leaf-green eyes lit upon her, so shot through with a golden starburst they were startling in their brightness. Not a speck of recognition sparked in them, though.

But, oh, Lily knew those eyes. “Nash,” she breathed. “Nashoba Bowman.”

He frowned slightly. “Do I know you?”

She swallowed down the burn at the back of her throat. Not only was he immune to her siren’s voice and unaffected by her physical beauty, but also he didn’t even remember her. A riptide of humiliation washed over Lily. Only years of hiding her emotions kept her from betraying hurt. She licked her parched lips. “You used to spend summers here with your grandfather when you were little.”

Nash stared long and hard. The brightness of his pupils deepened to a darker hue as the seconds—minutes?—sped by.

He had to remember. She held up her right hand and twirled her wrist. His gaze shifted to the colorful beaded bracelet he’d given her when they were children. Friends forever, he’d said when he’d tied it on her wrist. Lily willed him to recall those long-ago walks on the shore, the jaunts in the woods, the picnics and bike rides and... A glimmer of warmth lit his face.

“Lily?”

“Yes,” she whooshed in an exhale of relief.

He gave her the once-over, a slow appraisal that left her hot and breathless. His dilated pupils and smoldering aura suggested he might not be as indifferent to her as he tried to act. Or it might be wishful thinking on her part.

Did Nash also remember that chaste, sweet kiss they’d once shared as curious twelve-year-olds?

His eyes met hers again, blazing green and gold. Yet the stoic, expressionless face more resembled Nash’s inscrutable grandfather than the kid she used to know. The heat from his skin and a faint, familiar scent drew her closer, strong as the full moon’s pull on the tide. The same odd compulsion to approach Nash now drove her to touch him. Lily dropped her gaze and rested her pale hand against his bronzed forearm, admiring the contrast of fair and dark. Her gaze swept lower, noting that no gold band adorned his fingers.

Nash’s skin was hot as the Southern sun and his muscles rumbled and flickered under her touch, like thunder over deep waters. His jaw tightened at the brazen contact, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled tightly on his cart. Indifferent, my ass. Lily closed her eyes and inhaled, using her heightened senses to identify Nash’s enticing scent—a woodsy, sandalwood base with wisps of pine and cedar and perhaps a touch of oak moss. He smelled like the backwoods they used to roam together.

Bet his kiss was anything but chaste now.

“There you are!” a trilling voice bore down upon them.

She opened her eyes and watched a tall redhead grin as she lifted a couple of plastic bags. “I picked up the last of what we need for the shoot. Doughnuts and dozens of protein bars while we stalk the elusive mating habits of Alabama clapper rails.”

Lily blinked and glanced at Nash as he subtly inched away from her touch. The loss of contact left her oddly disoriented. “Elusive... What did you say?” she asked the woman, feeling stupid.

“They’re birds. Also known as marsh chickens or clappers.” The redhead held out a hand. “I’m Opal Wallace, Nash’s photographic assistant.” Opal’s face was sprinkled with freckles, and a faint scar marred one cheek. A bit plain overall, but her wide smile and merry eyes made up for any lack of sculptured perfection.

A flush of pleasure shot through Lily at Opal’s kind greeting. It had been a long time since a female, outside of family, had bestowed a genuine smile her way. She shook the proffered hand, pathetically grateful for the friendly gesture.

Opal winked. “Figured I’d introduce myself since Nash appears speechless.”

Nash cleared his throat. “You didn’t give me a chance to introduce you,” he answered, frowning slightly. He lifted a hand in Lily’s direction. “This is Lily Bosarge, an old friend.”

“Hey, ole buddy Lily.” Opal waggled her eyebrows. “How close of friends were you two?”

“Purely platonic,” Lily joked. Well, mostly. Except for one experimental kiss. “Can’t get into too much trouble before the teen years.” Nash had been long gone by the time she’d developed her siren voice. Not that it mattered; he seemed unaffected by its magic. This time, she was the one flushed and bewildered in the presence of the opposite sex.

And she didn’t like it one little bit.

“Let’s get together one evening, okay?” Opal whipped out a business card from one of the many pockets on her khaki vest and pressed it into Lily’s palm. “Gotta run. There’s a ton of stuff I need to set up before we get to work.” She gave Nash a brisk wave. “See you on the island in a couple days, boss. I’ll have the area scouted out and set up, the usual.”

As suddenly as she’d intruded, Opal disappeared in a swirl of red hair and a cheerful smile.

Awkward silence descended and Lily felt an odd jolt of dismay when Nash glanced down at his watch. She didn’t want to say goodbye. If he walked out now, would she ever see him again, ever discover why he acted immune to her enchantment? Besides, he was the last good friend she’d ever had, and certainly the only one in the male species. Everything had turned to shit in junior high when the guys started chasing her unmercifully. At first it had been tremendous fun—for maybe half a year. Until the girls turned as one against her like a tsunami of destruction.

Lily grasped at the first conversational thread that popped into her head. “I hear you’re a famous wildlife photographer now. I remember how you used to carry around an old 35 mm camera your grandfather bought at a thrift store.”

“Most of the time I didn’t have enough money to actually load it with film.” The taut muscles in his jaw and chin relaxed and the green eyes grew cloudy. He shook his head slightly, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a semismile.

Warmth spread inside at this glimpse of the boy she used to know.

“And you were never without your sketchpad,” Nash said. “You were damn good, too. The detail of your drawings impressed me. Please tell me you still draw.”

Lily returned the smile, delighted she’d drawn him into a real conversation. “I do some. Mostly, though, I paint with watercolors.” She kept her tone deliberately light and casual, as if painting were a mere hobby and not a passion.

His brow furrowed. “Watercolors?”

“It’s not like the kiddie paintings you make with cheap dime-store kits,” she answered quickly. Too quickly, judging from his knowing expression, as if he’d guessed her art was more than a casual hobby.

“I see. Didn’t mean to belittle your art.”

Lily shrugged, let her facial features smooth into its familiar mask. Nash wasn’t the only one who’d learned to hide emotion over the years. “I’m no artist.”

“So you say.”

Perceptive eyes drilled into her, as if he saw past the pretty, past the superficial shell she presented to everyone in town who only viewed her as the slutty dumb blonde who’d worked as a hairdresser until a few months ago.

It was exhilarating.

It was scary.

Lily retreated like a trembling turtle, so different from the young girl who had scouted the piney woods and shoreline with Nash. Deflection time. “I’m not surprised you photograph animals. You have some kind of...rapport...or something with all living creatures. It was downright eerie.”

Nash shrugged and the warmth left his eyes. “Not really.”

“Yes, you do,” Lily insisted. “Anytime we were in the woods it seemed the trees would fill with birds and we’d almost always startle a deer or raccoon by getting so near them. Once we even found that den of baby foxes—”

“So what?” Nash cut in, lips set in a harsh, pinched line. “This place is so isolated even the animals are bored out of their minds. Makes them overly excited when anyone draws close.”

Ouch. What kind of nerve had she hit with her innocent remark? “You used to love coming here in the summers,” she reminded Nash. “Said it was an escape from the city and a chance to run free.”

“I get it.” His lips curled. “I’m Indian, so I must have a special communication with nature, right? Since we live so close to nature and worship Mother Earth and the Great Spirit and all. Well, that’s bullshit.”

Damn. Her own temper rose at the unjust accusation. “I don’t deserve that. We used to be friends and I thought we still could be. Guess I was wrong. You’re nothing like the guy I used to hang out with every summer.”

First Twyla and Bett, and now this. Lily jerked her cart forward, eager to escape the grocery trip from hell. Sexy or not, some men weren’t worth the trouble.

Warmth and weight settled on her right shoulder. Fingers curled into her flesh, halting her steps. “Hey,” Nash said. “Look at me.”

Lily turned. The harsh stranger melted and his face softened.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger deflated in a whoosh. If Nash was anything like his grandfather or the guy she used to know, he spoke the truth. Lily nodded. “Well, okay, then. Let’s start over.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “How about dinner at my place tonight or whenever you’re free? Your grandfather’s invited too, of course.”

Nash rubbed his jaw, as if debating whether to accept the invitation. Any other man would have followed her home then and there. Any other man wouldn’t have picked a fight or brushed off her advances.

But Nash wasn’t like any other man she’d ever met. And Lily was more than a little intrigued.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m pretty busy right now. Maybe after I finish this assignment on Herb Island we can get together. Grandfather always liked you. He’d enjoy seeing you again.”

The novelty of male rejection left Lily nonplussed until the sting of it burned through the haze of disbelief. “You’re turning me down?” she squeaked.

Nash retreated a step. “Like I said, I’m swamped at the moment. Good running into you again, though. Take care.”

Unbelievable. Lily mustered her tattered pride. “Okay, then,” she said in a high falsetto, gripping the cart. “Tell your grandfather I said ‘hey.’”

She hurried down the aisle, not daring to look back and risk exposing her feelings. The air pressed in around her, leaving her a bit dizzy. She scrambled through the line, paid the cashier and stumbled out of the refrigerated environment into the untamed, sizzling bayou air that always held the droning of insects and an echo of the ocean’s wave. First thing when she got home, she’d go for a long, cool swim underwater, get her bearings.

Instead of heading immediately to the car, Lily strode down the boiling sidewalk to the drugstore next door. She left the cart by its front door—it would be safe for a minute. Inside the store, Lily hurried to the makeup aisle and gathered up half a dozen lipsticks in every color from baby-doll-pink to siren-red. She peeked at the mirrored glass lining behind the shelves, half expecting to see some glaring new imperfection marring her appearance. But no—same long, flaxen hair, creamy skin and large blue eyes.

So what had gone wrong with Nash? Why hadn’t he been attracted to her?

Lily grabbed some blush and a tube of mascara. She’d have to try harder. She hastened over to the cashier and dumped her ammunition on the counter. I’ll go see him. Pay a visit looking my best. She dug into her pocketbook for a credit card, but the purse lining blurred and morphed into a pool of filmy sludge.

“Are ya crying?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked.

“I’m not—” Lily paused, hands touching her damp cheeks. “Guess so,” she admitted in surprise.

The lady handed over an opened box of tissue. “Yer a pretty little thing. Some man ain’t treating ya right, get you another.”

“Right,” Lily sniffed, swiping her cheeks. She had to get out, get herself together before she ran into anyone she knew. Twyla Fae and Bettina would find the tears a hoot. “Um, thanks. I’ll take the tissue, too.” She paid, retrieved her grocery cart and got to the car. Another five minutes and she could be alone with her thoughts and cry as much as her heart desired. Lily carelessly shoved in the bottled water, bags of seafood and tuna cans. Almost home free.

She corralled the cart and returned to her car, not noticing anything amiss until she almost stepped on it.

A dead, bloody rat lay directly outside the driver’s door. The entrails were fresh, and blood was seeping into the shelled pavement. Its skin was precisely cut down the tender underbelly.

Lily pressed a hand to her mouth as bile threatened to creep up her throat. It’s only a rat. No big deal. Just an accident.

She clutched her purse tightly against her side and glanced around the parking lot. The few people around paid her no attention, yet the tingles shooting along her spine alerted Lily that someone was indeed watching.

Watching and enjoying her fear.

She turned back to the car and noticed the long key scratch that started from the front left tire all the way down to the fender. Anger outweighed fear as she read the large, childlike scrawl etched on the car door.

D-i-e S-l-u-t.