Siren's Call

“You are an honored guest.” Sam held up a hand. “I’ll take care of the kitchen later.” He nodded at Nash. “You should walk Lily to her car. Just to be safe.”

“Of course,” Nash said stiffly, in a way that meant he’d rather not.

Too bad. She lifted her chin and forced a smile at Sam. “Thanks for the delicious dinner.”

“You are most welcome.”

She edged past Nash, brushing against his right arm and shoulder. Heated energy danced between them. On her end, anyway. His face was as rigid and inscrutable as ever.

“Wait,” Sam called out. “I must warn you. Although it could be aberrant behavior from rabies, consider another possibility. If a coyote singles you out in the woods. It is a sign.”

Nash gave a low growl.

Lily frowned at Nash’s rudeness. “What kind of sign?” she asked. “I remembered you once said the coyote was a mischievous, sly trickster and that it could mark an ending or beginning.”

“In this case, I would say your coyote sighting was meant as a warning.”

Her throat went dry. “Warning?”

Sam’s brown eyes held the wisdom of experience and secret knowledge. “You are being deceived.”

Chills crept up her spine as she pictured the precisely vivisected rat by her car, the Die Slut etching. Not hard to figure out the enemy. “I know who it is.”

“You do?” Nash narrowed his eyes.

“There’s this petty woman in town who hates me over something that happened years ago.”

“Why would anyone hate you?” Nash asked.

If Nash stayed around the bayou all summer, he was bound to hear the rumors of her loose morals. But she’d rather he learned it later, after he knew her better. That way, perhaps he wouldn’t judge her too quickly or unfairly. Lily shrugged, watching Sam rummage through a kitchen drawer. She hoped Sam’s isolation had kept him from hearing talk of her in town.

“There’s one,” he muttered, returning with a smudge stick in his hand. “This is for protection.”

Nash rolled his eyes.

“White sage?” Lily guessed.

“Smudge your car and your home every day. It may help keep away trouble.”

“Thank you.” And she meant it. It might not even hurt to pay Tia Henrietta a visit and get some backup voodoo protection; if nothing else, the woman was entertaining. She hadn’t seen the crusty old hag in ages.

Impulsively, Lily gave Sam a quick hug for his kindness. When she’d first met him as a child, she’d found the man intimidating with his stern features and the Native American symbols tattooed on both sides of his neck and forearms. But she’d quickly come to realize his gentle heart.

She and Nash slipped out into the humid soup that marked bayou summers. A fine coat of perspiration popped all over her body, making the scratches on her arms and leg itch.

They said nothing until she reached Jet’s truck.

“I don’t like all this talk of danger and deception,” Nash said, leaning sideways against the Chevy truck. “Grandfather’s superstitious, but you believe you really have an enemy. Who is this woman you mentioned?”

Lily sighed. Should have known Nash wouldn’t let it go. “Her name’s Twyla Fae.” Warmth flamed her face and she was thankful for the cover of darkness. “She thinks I’m after her husband, J.P.”

A beat passed. “Are you?”

“No! I have no interest in married men.”

“Then why does she think you want her husband?”

“Because J.P. dumped her for a few weeks and dated me. This was before they got married,” she hastened to explain.

“Sounds like you were the injured party.”

“No. I realized we weren’t suited before they got back together.” It had started out like all the others. She began each new relationship with hope that it would lead to love. The men groveled and proclaimed undying love—but only because of her voice and looks. No one saw her. It was always kindest to say goodbye sooner rather than later. A fact that no man appreciated and that had lead to her name turning into the town joke. Lily was that girl in the bayou. The one men were sure was an easy lay and the one women condemned as guilty.

“I don’t understand why this Twyla is still angry.”

“J.P. broke off with me when she told him she was pregnant with his child. Guess Twyla suspects he married her out of a sense of obligation.”

“That behavior’s juvenile. What’s the woman done to you?” he demanded.

“Usually she and her friends settle for whispering behind my back or giving me the cold shoulder. But yesterday morning was different. One of them called me a slut and when I went outside they’d left me a nasty surprise.” She quickly filled him in on the details.

“That’s beyond petty. She needs to be prosecuted.” His green eyes darkened to the color of an Amazon rain forest at midnight.

“You sound like my sister,” she said lightly.

“Maybe I should talk to this Twyla.”

Lily’s heart lightened at his defense. He had to care about her—at least a little bit. “No, I can handle this,” she said hastily. If Nash talked to Twyla, the woman would cast her in the worst possible light. “I was going to confront her today, but it’s too late tonight. When I do, I’ll carry the sage your grandfather gave me—as a precaution.”

Nash snorted. “The old man must be the last Choctaw who takes all the old stories and ways as truth.”

“And you don’t?” His attitude surprised her. They used to sit around for hours listening to Sam’s stories. Back then, Nash was proud of his tribe and its traditions.

“Let’s say he takes it too far. Besides, we were talking about you and your problem.”

Lily leaned into him and gave in to the urge to touch him again. She lightly ran a finger along the stern edge of his jaw. A delicious frisson of awareness shot down her spine at the contact. Nash didn’t move. Did he truly feel nothing between them?

“Don’t,” he said in a harsh, tight voice.

“Why? You don’t really believe you’re cursed, do you?” And he accused Sam of being superstitious? Her hand crept to the back of his neck, fingers combing his black, smooth hair.

Abruptly, Nash pulled her to him, lips crushing against hers. Heat flared and liquid warmth pulsed through her body. His strength was more than the physical, unyielding planes of his mouth, chest and arms. It was an aura as primal and mysterious as nature’s spring fever erupting in every creature and living organism to mate and bring forth new life. Lily parted her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

Nash thrust her away. “Goodnight, Lily.”

Shock doused her like a blanket of snow. “Wh—Why did you stop?”

He didn’t answer or look at her, but walked back to the porch, hands thrust in his jeans pockets.