Siren's Call

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.