Siren's Call. Debbie Herbert
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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.