Siren's Call. Debbie Herbert
Читать онлайн книгу.
hurt her in the end. Just like all the others. Nash’s fingers curled into his palm. Lily was too alluring for her own damn good. He suspected no one had ever rebuffed her advances or broken her heart.
Lily spoke, breaking the spell. “Your grandfather used to say the coyote was a clever trickster. It probably made me more afraid than it should have.”
“You can’t be too careful when you’re alone in the woods.” He regarded her sternly. “Especially when you’re alone and unarmed.”
Lily laughed, not intimidated. “Didn’t think I’d run into anything more ominous than the fairy forest dwellers.”
Grandfather and his wild, crazy stories. “His old Choctaw tales did a number on you, huh?”
“They’re fascinating. Where is he, by the way?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered around his right shoulder.
“He works at the animal shelter on Fridays. I expect him home for supper any minute.”
Damn. He shouldn’t have said that. Now the woman would stick around and try to wrangle an invitation. He narrowed his eyes. “What were you doing on our property?”
She didn’t flush or look away. “Don’t see any harm in it. I’ve walked here over the years and your grandfather’s never complained.”
Nash opened the screen door and went into the house, Lily close on his heels. He snatched his car keys from the kitchen table.
“Where are you going?” she asked quizzically.
“I’ve got errands to run.” He lowered his chin and stared at her without smiling. “I really don’t have time for your friendship. Sorry to be so abrupt, but I’m busy.” And the last thing he needed was a gorgeous woman hitting on him—again.
“Who doesn’t have time for friends?” She tilted her face to the side and studied him.
Damn, he felt like a jerk. But she was far too beautiful. What if it became more than friendship? He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Two women were already dead because of him.
“Look, you’re better off forgetting you ever knew me. I’m poison. Okay?”
Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
Nash ran a hand through his long hair. “Drop it.”
“No way. I can’t believe you’d say something like that. What’s happened to you over the years?”
“Life happened,” he said past the raw burning at the back of his throat.
“More like a woman is what I’d guess.” She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Someone break your heart?”
Other way around. An image of Rebecca, broken and bleeding, the steel frame of her car bent in two, flashed in his mind, immediately followed by an image of Connie, ashen-skinned and lifeless, a bottle of pills by her side.
“Maybe I don’t have a heart to break,” he rasped. Nash rubbed his forehead, as if by doing so he could erase the deathly images. “Besides, I’m not the only one who’s changed.”
Lily’s impossibly large eyes widened a fraction more. “How have I changed?” She swept a hand down her body. “Other than the obvious physical development, I mean. I was a flat-chested twelve-year-old girl last time we were together.”
He considered. “You used to be...more open. Easier to read. Now it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Except for the obvious fear on your face when you hightailed it out of the woods just now.”
She gave a snort that contrasted with her pristine, angelic features. “I’m hard to figure out?”
His lips twitched involuntarily. Even as a child, his nature was to retreat to silence when disturbed. And Lily would bug him until she unearthed the problem. “Guess you’re as outspoken now as when you were a kid. Always pestering me about things I didn’t want to talk about.”
“And you used to answer all my questions. How come you stopped coming every summer? I asked your grandfather, but he only said it was a family matter.”
The woman was relentless. And shameless. Better to answer what he could and get her off his back. “My parents divorced and Mom got custody. She wasn’t too hip about me spending so much time away from her, much less with my paternal grandfather.” He continued walking to the front of the house, Lily close in tow. Parents were a safe topic. Events of the past four years overshadowed painful childhood memories.
“Your mom ever remarry?”
“Nope. Don’t see that happening. She’s not the marrying sort.” After his father’s numerous affairs, his mother had soured on marriage.
They reached the front door, and Nash opened it, beckoning her out with a grand sweep of one arm. She slowly, reluctantly stepped outside.
Another twenty yards and he’d be rid of her and her questions. She made him uncomfortable and want things he had no right to want anymore. Time to turn Twenty Questions on her. “Did your mother ever remarry?”
“No. She’s not interested in marriage, just like your mom.”
Lily’s reply was quick enough, but he’d always sensed there was much left unsaid, even when they were young. She’d been an open book about most everything except her family. When they weren’t outside, they were at the cabin listening to his grandfather’s stories.
But he had met her family a few times. Lily had grown into her mother’s beauty. He remembered going into their house was like stepping into fairyland. Their huge home had an old-world, rich vibe with carelessly cluttered gold coins, heirloom pottery and solid pieces of antique furniture.
A pair of elliptical beams pierced the twilight. Nash wanted to groan. He was only a few feet away from escaping in his truck. But his grandfather would disapprove at the lack of hospitality. The old man was bound to invite Lily for dinner.
“Your grandfather,” Lily squealed. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Sam Bowman exited his truck and approached, eyes focused on Lily. “We have a guest tonight,” his baritone boomed, half statement, half question. “Hope you’re staying for dinner.”
“She was leaving. Maybe next—”
“Why yes, that would be lovely,” Lily interrupted, cutting mischievous eyes at him.
Nash stifled a groan. The more he was around Lily, the more she seemed determined to snag him. And the greater his temptation to let her.
His grandfather raised an eyebrow. “You’re the little Lily that used to run around here in pigtails with my grandson?”
“The one and only.”
“Please, come inside,” he invited. Even dressed in worn khakis and an old University of Alabama T-shirt proclaiming national championship number 12, Samuel Bowman garnered respect.
As a kid, he might have sassed his parents all day long, but when his grandfather laid down the law, he unquestioningly obeyed. Not from threat of punishment, but because of his grandfather’s unfailing politeness and show of respect to everyone, including smartass kids.
“This will be like old times.” She had a hop in her step that took Nash by surprise. Such a contrast to her guarded nature at the grocery store this morning when he’d asked about her paintings. There was something mystical about her, like she was fae or one of Grandfather’s mystical creatures come to life. For the first time he noticed her voice held a musical quality—as if several voices were harmonized into one melody. A bell tone of fairies singing in the woods, beckoning small children and the unwary to enter their realm.
Nash shook his head at the fanciful images. He wanted no part of anything that smacked of otherworldly. He had enough weirdness on his own without adding more to the mix.
If