Siren's Call

He raised a brow. “I’ve never known coyote to chase humans. It’s probably more afraid of you than you of it.”

“Not this coyote.” She shook her head. “The way it looked at me...” She bit her lip. “As if he were sizing me up for dinner. Instead of running off, it lowered its head and stepped toward me. I didn’t hang around to see if it chased me or not.”

He’d accuse Lily of making a ploy for attention, but she didn’t know he’d returned to the cabin and he could see her fear was real. “Go up on the porch and I’ll take a look around.”

“Why?”

“If a coyote really chased you, it must be eat-up with rabies. It’s not normal behavior. If it’s got rabies, the kindest thing would be to put it out of its misery. And it sure as hell doesn’t need to infect other animals and cause an epidemic.”

“Be careful,” she said in a trembling, faint voice.

Lily’s vulnerability left him flushed with an overwhelming desire to protect her from all danger. And he didn’t like the feeling a bit, didn’t like the peculiar pull she had on his senses. He stalked toward the woods and tried to concentrate on the immediate problem. If the animal was sick or deadly, he’d pick up on it easily. He’d been near infected, diseased creatures before. Rabies had a metallic smell of pus combined with sweaty musk from an animal’s scrambling terror over its changed condition.

Nash entered the tangle of trees and shrubs, into a world he was uniquely attuned and equipped to master. A world where sound was amplified and the energy of every living thing—animal, mineral and insect—vibrated inside him at a cellular level. Even the energy of trees, moss and stone whispered its presence. The rustling of the wind in branches and leaves was nature’s murmur and sigh.

He used to struggle more against this odd communion, creeped out by the immersion of his senses. He’d even tried staying indoors most of the time, only emerging to go places in the city surrounded by people and the noisy clutter of civilization. But it was no use. The abstinence made him restless and edgy. Midway through college he changed from a business degree to photography, determined to put his skills to use as a wildlife photographer.

But it was an uneasy compromise. Yes, he worked outdoors. But he erected strict mental barriers to keep from being entirely sucked in by his senses. Lily disturbed this equilibrium. Something about her was too different...too intense. She drew him to her like a force of nature.

Nash inhaled deeply and slipped into the woods’ living essence. Beneath the pervasive undercurrent of sea brine nestled the scent of pine and leaf mold. He paused, listening. A faint crackle of dry leaves, a bit of rustling of branches from above, a squirrel several yards away scrambling up an oak. He went farther up the trail, which he well-remembered traversing with Lily. What had she been doing out here? Was the woman determined to hound him? He’d come home to escape that kind of attention.

There. Faint, but detectable, was the smell of sickness. A rabid animal had indeed run along the trail. But the scent was so subtle, he knew it was no longer in the area. He’d have to be on the lookout for the coyote and alert a wildlife management officer of the potential danger.

Nash trudged back down to the cabin where Lily waited on the steps, eyes troubled.

“Did you see it? I didn’t hear a shot.”

“It was long gone.” Nash walked past her and put the shotgun away. “I did pick up a trace of something, though.”

“How do you do that?”

He shrugged. “You get a feel for it when you’re in the woods for long stretches all your life.” Nobody’s business about his freakish talent.

“Hmm,” Lily said, cocking her head, as if assessing something left unsaid between them.

Nash crossed his arms, daring her to challenge his answer.

“So you say,” she drawled.

He stared into mesmerizing blue eyes that he was sure had enticed many a man. The world narrowed until every detail of Lily enveloped his senses. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, found his own breath synchronizing to hers.

No. This won’t do. If you get involved, you’ll only 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?”