Lure Read online

  Praise for Lure

  “A sensual romance steeped in nature with a suspenseful undercurrent that’s tensioned with loss, danger, and lust. A must-read for romantic suspense enthusiasts.” JP

  MCLEAN, author of The Dark Dreams and The Gift Legacy Series.

  “The Native American ties with nature and spirit are beautifully portrayed. Multiple layers of mystique and suspense. An absolutely beautiful tragedy. The twists and turns will keep pages flipping wildly.” VIOLA ROBBINS, InD’Tale Magazine

  “With fluid prose, vivid descriptions of the lush natural world, and well-developed characters, Hawkin has created a captivating read, while subtly making us aware of the plight of missing Indigenous women.” GAIL M. MURRAY, Blank Spaces, The Ottawa Review of Books.

  “Haunting, thoughtful, and passionate, a must-read romantic thriller!” ANTHONY AVINA

  “An engaging and mystifying novel that brings readers to a place of compassion, understanding, and relation.” ALEXA BLYAN, Indigenous activist and motivational speaker.

  “A book for those wanting to find romance, love and acceptance for themselves, and a sense of home. Blending characters readers will connect with, a strong sense of place and mystery, readers will turn pages until the very end.” EILEEN COOK, With Malice

  “If you’re looking to get swept away in a redemption story with an engaging suspense plot, plenty of action and a strong, sexy “mountain man” kind of hero then you’re in the right place! You’ll be falling in love right alongside Jesse and Hawk.” CJ HUNT, author of the Rivers End Romance Series

  “A finely drawn romance with unique characters and a vivid sense of place. Lure doesn't shy away from the grittier aspects of small-town life, but it will sweep you away nonetheless.” AMANDA BIDNALL, editor

  “From the dedication to ‘The End,’ Hawkin had me hooked in this suspense-filled romantic story about unique and intriguing characters, who are also highly relatable. This story will stay with me.” DANIKA BLOOM, USA Today Best-Selling Author

  Praise for the Hollystone Mysteries

  “The whole narrative plays out like an HBO show waiting to be developed, combining elements of LGBTQ+ and adult storytelling into a complex character study of those who seek the answers hidden within the most complex systems of our universe, from historians and archaeologists to Wiccans and Pagans.” ANTHONY AVINA, Reader’s Entertainment Magazine

  “Hawkin writes with such fluid prose that the stage upon which she places her magical tale becomes visual and near cinematic. Superb characters and a keen sense of history and mythology blend with romance in this involving galaxy of a novel. Highly recommended.” GRADY HARP, Reader’s Entertainment Magazine

  “Highly literary, occasionally surreal, and grounded by characters clipped, matter-of-fact voice, To Sleep with Stones is a dark murder mystery that readers will have trouble leaving

  behind. The buzz for this novel is deafening.” JOHN KERRY

  “Hawkin’s tight and well-paced writing and knowledge of Celtic myths, combined with multi-layered characters, lush language and plot twists and turns, draw the reader in. The hallmark of this novel is the author’s seamless interweaving of myth and reality. She appeals to our intellect and desire for vicarious adventure. GAIL M. MURRAY, Blank Spaces, Ottawa Review of Books

  “Sweeping emotions and meticulous but seamlessly integrated socio-cultural backstory of a historical romance, the sharp edges of a psychological thriller, and the exhilaration of an epic adventure.” JUNIPER GREER-ASHE

  Lure: Jesse & Hawk

  W. L. Hawkin

  Blue Haven Press

  Lure: Jesse & Hawk

  A Lure River Romance (Book 1)

  Copyright @ 2021 W. L. Hawkin

  Issued in print and electronic format

  ISBN 978-1-7772621-2-9 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-7772621-3-6 (ebook)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied and credited to the author in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Resemblances to persons living or dead are unintended and purely co-incidental.

  Published by Blue Haven Press

  Edited by Eileen Cook & Amanda Bidnall

  Author Photo by Debbi Elliott

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. DEERSLAYER

  2. BROTHERS

  3. PREDATOR & PREY

  4. SISTER

  5. LURE

  6. THE KISS

  7. APPALOOSA

  8. MAKWA’S TOOTH

  9. STORM

  10. BONES

  11. PROM NIGHT 1

  12. SWEAT LODGE

  13. WILD MINNESOTA

  14. QUEST

  15. INJURED

  16. BUSH DOCTOR

  17. BUNNY BROTH

  18. TRAVOIS

  19. PROM NIGHT 2

  20. TRAPS

  21. YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING

  22. WOMEN

  23. COWBOY SHERIFF

  24. FATHERS & SONS

  25. TEA & BISCUITS

  26. STALKER

  27. PROM NIGHT 3

  28. RIVENDELL

  29. ONE-EYED JACK

  30. RIVER WALK

  31. CAVE CROCUS

  32. MRS. FLANAGAN’S CHEVY

  33. STRAWBERRY MOON

  34. PROM NIGHT 4

  35. HAUNTED

  36. LOST

  37. ANGEL GIRL

  38. TRACKER

  39. AWAKENING

  40. PROM NIGHT 5

  41. REDEMPTION

  42. TRUTH

  43. RESURRECTION

  44. CEREMONY

  45. Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by W. L. Hawkin

  Dedicated to missing Indigenous women everywhere.

  May you find your way home and may this madness end.

  1

  DEERSLAYER

  Jesse held her breath, her muscles as tense as the trees hiding her. Through the telephoto lens on her old Nikon F2, the buck appeared close enough to touch. Angled perfectly, he browsed a patch of wild strawberries at the edge of the thicket. Sunlight broke through the pines and stretched across the glade, framing the deer in a golden glow. Jesse was downwind. The light was ideal. The moment was perfect.

  The buck glanced up, uneasy. Perhaps perceiving her presence with some intuitive force known only to animals surviving in the wild.

  Stay with me. I won’t hurt you. I only want to show the world how beautiful you are.

  The faintest crackling twig, blurred wave, scratch, or yawn would send the buck dashing, white tail erect. She knew he’d bolt at the first click of the shutter and was glad of it. His wariness would keep him alive. But the first shot had to be the best.

  He dropped his head to browse, and she sipped in a breath. Then he raised it again, turned his thick neck, and stared in her direction. The white rectangular patch on his neck matched that of his inner ears and the edge of his black button nose. Jesse focused on the eyes. Black and intense, they bored straight through her soul.

  Pressing her finger to the shutter, she heard the motor drive fire. One. Two. Three.

  Then, a soft whoosh. A muted thwack.

  Glazing hard, the black eyes slid from view as she stared through the lens, heart racing, mind spinning.

  The buck crashed to his knees, shaking the earth as he hit the ground.

  Letting go of the shutter release, Jesse sprang from the bushes. But her right foot caught one leg of the tripod and sent her sprawling into a patch of stinging nettles. Cursing, she picked herself up and ran to the deer, wringing her throbbing hands.

  Smeared berries marred the buck’s moist black nose. The dead eye
s stared. She knelt and touched the tip of his thick bulbous antlers; they’d not yet hardened into points. He was young and healthy. Tears burned in her eyes. Working as a nature journalist, she encountered wounded and dead animals at times, but each one broke her heart.

  “You poor thing. What happened?”

  When she noticed blood beneath the buck’s left foreleg, she used both hands to shift the body. A broken arrow jutted from a gash. Head up, she took a quick breath. Hunters. Where?

  Glancing around the glade, she searched for camouflage or neon flashes. Seeing nothing, she stared back down at the deer. Studded with the feathers of a red-tailed hawk, the arrow was blood-spattered and driven into the soil. Its sapling shaft had splintered under the buck’s weight. Had the arrow pierced its heart?

  She hadn’t expected to encounter hunters here on the reservation. Deer season didn’t start until September, and it was only June. Shaking her head, she fumed. Unbelievable! Hunting out of season and with a homemade arrow. Then she realized that the whoosh she’d heard had been the arrow whizzing past, and her stomach flipped. He’d been standing behind her the whole time. What if his aim had been off and he’d hit me instead?

  Jesse’s flesh prickled as she sensed his presence. The great hunter had come to claim his kill. Reaching out, she curled her fingers around a jagged rock. She’d chosen to live out here, alone in the bush, and she would take a stand—for herself and the deer. This beautiful head wouldn’t adorn some killer’s wall if she could help it. And if he tried to take more than a trophy, she’d give him a fight.

  Thrusting out her chin, she threw back her head defiantly, turned and yelled, “Murderer!”

  But her first glance sent her sliding back onto her hip. Backlit by the sun, the man was shrouded in gold, his face obscured by shadows. Wavy blond hair hung long and loose well past his thick shoulders. He’d braided red-tailed hawk feathers down one side. A small bag hung from a rawhide thong around his neck and lay against the blond hairs on his muscular chest. A skin quiver packed with arrows dangled from his shoulder. He was naked except for a rag of buckskin laced low along his pelvis.

  Jesse’s breath caught, and she coughed. Then, catching herself staring, she glanced down at the deer to calm her racing heart. Her gut told her the man wouldn’t harm her, and she trusted it. She had to, living out here.

  He only wants the deer. So, give him the deer. The voice in her head was confident and condescending. Undeniably Alec. Sweat trickled into Jesse’s eyes, and she rubbed it with a fist. No. It’s not right.

  She tried to predict the hunter’s next move. He was movie-star hot. Perhaps they were filming on the reservation, or he was engaged in some historical reenactment. When he approached, she saw his boots: deerskin moccasins with puckered seams. She’d bought a pair like that at the local trading post, but hers were tall to her knees and decorated with fancy beadwork. His were plain and laced tightly around his ankles—decidedly homemade. Pale yellow hairs feathered his tanned legs. The man was clearly not Chippewa. But what, then? An actor? An eccentric? A lunatic?

  A rush of adrenaline tightened her gut and brought her up to her knees.

  The hunter’s hot breath brushed her neck as he reached down to claim his kill.

  Incensed, Jesse turned, and their eyes locked. A rush set her fingers trembling. Then, regaining her composure, she flung her arm around the buck’s neck. “No! Leave it.” She pounded the ground with her free fist.

  Rocking back on his heels, the hunter laughed and shook his head in derision.

  Jesse squeezed the rock, wanting to smack the smug grin from his face, even knowing he was armed and could best her. Tall and wiry, the man seemed as innate to the bush as the buck, the two somehow conjoined. Was this how he lived? She wanted to know.

  “Can’t you speak?”

  Still, he stared at her with that crooked mocking grin and said nothing, though his arrogant eyes spoke reams.

  What’s your story? Do you live out here on the land? Is this how you survive? Her mind flung questions she couldn’t voice.

  She ran her fingers between the deer’s dead eyes and thought of the soldiers who’d shot thousands of buffalo and left them rotting on the plains. A murderous means to a murderous end—a strategy intended to starve and cripple a people.

  But what if this man needed to eat? She thought of his moccasins and that deerskin rag around his hips. He wasn’t just a trophy hunter. He was something else; something she didn’t understand.

  Huffing, she released her grip on the buck.

  Seizing the deer, he hefted it over his shoulders, turned, and swaggered into the forest.

  “Murderer!” she yelled again, claiming the last word to soothe her indignity.

  When he disappeared, she stood and brushed herself off. As she stamped back to salvage her camera gear, she chastised herself for giving in to this raw-skinned stranger. It galled her that he’d ridiculed her for something she truly believed in—saving animals by showing the world their beauty.

  Still, she couldn’t get her heartbeat to slow—or his face out of her mind. Nostrils flaring from a long, sharp nose. Slender cheeks pulled taut over high bones. Full lips pulled straight between heavily bearded cheeks. And those eyes. Lucid and entrancing one moment, dancing disdainfully the next, and silver as moondust.

  He’d hefted the buck over his shoulders like it was a mere hide when it must have weighed at least a hundred and fifty pounds. And what was he wearing? He looked like some Viking warrior playing at being seventeenth-century Chippewa. No one dressed like that. It was all denim and cotton tees. This was twenty-first-century America.

  Baffling and beguiling, the man had effectively paralyzed her without uttering a word.

  Embarrassed that she’d given in so easily, Jesse vowed that, if she ever saw him again, she’d hold her ground. But the thing that gnawed at her the most was how much she wanted to see him.

  2

  BROTHERS

  Padding along the scrubby game trail that swept the lake, Jesse swatted blackflies from her burning cheeks. The bloodsuckers seemed to sense her heightened emotions. Perhaps the heat from her flushed face attracted them.

  As she emerged from the forest, one of the feral cats skittered off the bleached gray steps of her porch in a black-and-white streak. Weathered by countless storms, the log cabin had been built by trappers in the 1850s—at least that’s what the ad had said. Jesse had always wanted to live in a cabin in the bush, and now here she was. This was her haven, at least until the fall. Growing up a Seattle woman, she couldn’t commit to a Midwest winter alone in the woods in this rustic cabin. There was no electricity or plumbing, and the old plank outhouse was a haven for spiders. Still, the lake was glorious, and she could rough it for a summer.

  She’d focused relentlessly on her freelance career and finally secured a contract with an international magazine. The reservation teemed with wildlife, and she’d promised photographic essays for several spreads. But more importantly, with Alec gone, the assignment gave her an opportunity to contemplate her future.

  A puff of smoke belched from the old stone chimney. Someone was stoking the fire. He wouldn’t follow me home, would he? A rush of goosebumps careened up Jesse’s bare arms at the thought of him being here in her cabin. The daring part of her hoped he was, but the other part wanted to throw up. She peered through the grimy window as her best friend turned from the stone hearth. Rainy. Jesse released a breath as a perplexing mix of disappointment and relief swamped her heart.

  The metal latch screeched when she hefted it, and she shoved open the heavy wooden door with her shoulder. “Hey, I love your surprise visits.” Jesse set down her camera gear on the planked floor, and they hugged as old friends do.

  When they parted, Rainy gave her a sideways glance. “What’s going on, Jess? You look weird.”

  “Well, I just had a very weird encounter.”

  “With what?”

  “Not a what. A who. A man. A rather stunning man. And
that’s just how I acted. Stunned. He must think I’m a lunatic, but then again, he was acting like a lunatic. Standing over me, all haughty and self-assured, like God’s gift to the bush.”

  Jesse knew she was ranting, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to get it out, and Rainy would be nothing but supportive. They’d been best friends forever, having grown up in Seattle as next-door neighbors. Social Services had farmed Rainy out to a foster home far across the country, and she hated everything and everyone but Jesse. As soon as she could, Rainy had fled back home to the reservation, where they now stood.

  “You’re still stunned. Like, deer-in-the-headlights stunned. Tell me what happened—slowly, and in great detail.”

  “Deer. Yes. But first, tea.” After checking the cast-iron kettle for water, Jesse set it on the grate over the fire and added another log. Daytime temperatures soared at the end of May, but nights could dip to fifty, and the old cabin had only two tiny windows to let in the sunlight. Smoke deterred the bugs, and the fire gave her comfort. Plus, it smelled better than the small propane stove. She took down two mugs from a shelf above the table and shook a little orange pekoe into each one.

  “So . . . stunning man in the woods . . .” Rainy waved her on.

  Jesse exhaled. “Right. Well, I was photographing a white-tailed buck, and I had the perfect shot, and then this man . . . he just . . .” She threw up her hands. “Well, he shot it with a bow and arrow. I got the whole thing on film, and that murder sequence is definitely going into one of my spreads. It’s not even deer season.” She pointed to her camera bag and shook her head. “And you should have seen what he was wearing . . . or not wearing, I should say. And this arrow. It was straight out of another century and decorated with hawk feathers. When I ran over to the deer, he stalked out of the bush, pretty much naked, with feathers braided in his long blond hair, and this bushy beard—”