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She escaped, her heart pounding. Oh, she had felt the magic.
It was the one thing she never wanted to feel again.
Chapter Two
“It’s okay to be a fake,” Poppy said under her breath as she and the children walked up a small set of steps to get to her car.
She didn’t believe in real magic any more than Last Jefferson did. She only believed in the kind she could produce under the big top, wearing a foxy bikini, a skirt with sequins and some fishnets.
The children should never know. They clung to her stories of magic, believing in fairy princesses and air-hung castles and all good things that could be found if one just wished for them.
“I could be wrong,” she said, “but it seems appropriate to encourage imagination and creativity in you two. What else are myths, fairy tales and legends for?”
Curtis and Amelia looked up at her, their dear faces round and sweet. Poppy just wanted Curtis and Amelia to have the joy of being children.
Drat the cowboy for making her wonder if reality would be better for them. Esme indeed.
“I am certain Mr. Jefferson just recited some cowboy tall tales to us,” she said. “Perhaps he doesn’t even live on a ranch. Why would a true cowboy want to fly off a cliff?”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “The same reason someone wants to walk on the moon?”
Poppy shook her head. “I do believe the gentleman was yanking our chains. Let’s forget about him.”
“I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” Curtis said. “I wonder if he has a holster.”
“Oh.” Poppy crossed the street, protectively watching for traffic. “Westerns are not reality.”
“But when John Wayne—”
“We know,” Amelia said impatiently. “No more discussions about the genius of John Wayne, Curtis.”
Poppy stopped when they were on the opposite corner of the street. She glanced down at her niece and nephew. “It may be time for you two to be enrolled in public school.”
They looked at her.
“Why?” Curtis asked. Amelia stared silently.
“Because. We may have veered too far into the land of make-believe. It’s possible that the judge is right.”
“You called him an old goat,” Curtis reminded her.
She sighed, regretting the moment of her quick tongue filing its nervous complaint. “I did. But he may be right about the stability issue.”
“Why?” Amelia asked. “You said stability was for people who accepted that adventure was dead. That fortune wasn’t built nor determined by people who wouldn’t take a chance.”
“True, but I may be working on a new hypothesis. Children who are taught the realities of life do not end up flying from cliffs.”
Their eyes went wide.
Poppy shrugged. “It’s something to consider. And I must always consider your welfare, first and foremost.” She squeezed their hands. “Kids, look. I have no experience as a mother. I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s possible the judge has reason to be concerned about the way I’m raising you.” What was so great about life under a big top or on a stage anyway?
It could be time to stop doing research. She’d made a lot of people believe in her magic. She’d proven to herself that people did want to believe, if only for the moment, and that taking their cares away for a while was a gift. Maybe that was the only magic she could really believe in. “And it could be that your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to live such a bohemian lifestyle.”
“Excuse me, for the last time,” she heard from behind her. “I swear.”
The cowboy had followed her and the children across the street. Bare-chested still. Her breath left her. If he was a stalker, he was a very handsome one.
“I need to clarify one thing,” Last said. “Just in case you ever decide to take me up on my offer.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m not planning on being around there much, at least for a while,” he admitted.
She gazed at him.
“If I’m the reason you might not consider it, that is.”
“I don’t know that the judge would approve of us picking up and leaving the state at this time. Also, my parents really need me—or at least I tell myself they do.”
Last nodded. “I understand. And to tell you the truth, while life on a ranch can be stable, we Jeffersons do not have a reputation for stability.”
She put a hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“But the ranch is in a town populated by very nice characters. Again, something to consider, just in case you change your mind. It’s the Jefferson ranch in Union Junction, Texas, better known as Malfunction Junction.”
The kids grinned. Poppy did not. “The ranch, not the town, is better known as Malfunction Junction?”
“Specifically the nickname refers to my family,” he said softly in a voice that sent silken shivers over Poppy’s skin. “It’s the bane of our existence. We are a malfunctioning crew, whether we admit it or not.”
He was a rogue and a daredevil, she realized. Perhaps a bit crazy.
Everything she did not need in her life.
“We’re late,” she told the cowboy. “I hope to never see you again.”
He looked hurt. She shook her head, turning to walk away. The kids peered over their shoulders at him.
“Oh, he looks like a puppy,” Amelia observed. “Poor cowboy.”
Poppy sighed.
“Why don’t you like him, Aunt Poppy?” Curtis asked.
“I have to be very careful,” she said, specifically thinking about rogues and daredevils who made a woman do stupid things…bedroom things.
Last was a delicious specimen of male. No illusion of magic was required to make him more visually desirable than he was.
“Malfunction Junction sounds like fun,” Amelia said.
“What we don’t need is another circus in our lives,” Poppy said firmly. “And that’s exactly what it sounds like to me.” After another moment of brisk walking, she asked quietly, “Is he still following?”
“No,” Curtis said. “He turned around and walked away a few minutes ago.”
“After waving goodbye,” Amelia said. “You know how you always tell us not to talk to strangers?”
“Yes,” Poppy said. “And now you see why.”
There was no reply for a second.
“Well,” Curtis said, “at least I finally met a real John Wayne.”
“We don’t know that,” Poppy stated. “He wasn’t wearing a hat or boots.”
“I know that,” Curtis said. “A real cowboy doesn’t need his hat to be real.”
“When the lion tamer offered to marry you, you said he was too wild,” Amelia pointed out. “When the ringmaster offered, you said his hat was too tall and you weren’t sure what was under there. The cowboy only offered us his ranch, and he won’t even be there. Wouldn’t that mean we can trust him?”
“I don’t know,” Poppy said with determination. “And I love you two too much to find out.”
“Do you like any man, Aunt Poppy?” Curtis asked.
“Yes. I like you. Now forget about the cowboy, children, and let’s think about tonight’s performance.”
But she knew why he stayed on their minds. Brave, daring, somehow vulnerable—he was a very appealing character to two young children who were growing up needing a fairy-tale hero. And to the woman learning to be their mother.
LAST JEFFERSON KNEW when he’d been given the winter-frozen shoulder. No meant no, and that little lady had just handed him a very firm no.
Too bad. The kids had been cute. Whistling, he went to pick up his hang-glider, trying to decide if he had enough daylight left for another go at his technique.
Or he could go attend this “show” the children had mentioned. Tickets were public, weren’t they? And he could just look up the location on the Internet. Poppy would never know. He wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of this “magic” hocus-pocus they’d talked about.
Then again, why did he care? He’d gotten himself in enough trouble once, a long time ago, by drinking a bottle of a supposedly mystical potion. “Surely I’ve learned from my mistakes. Mystical things are bad for me.”
He should know better. He didn’t need a woman, no matter how alluring. His daughter didn’t need one more person introduced into her life in a parental role; right now assimilating her new family of Crockett and Valentine would be challenge enough.
He needed to think with his mind and not his heart—or that more traitorous region of his body.
More time in the air hanging from something should clear his mind.
And yet, he would love to make Esme change that formal, snippy tone she’d used when she’d said, “Mr. Jefferson,” to a gasping, grateful, Oh, Mr. Jefferson!
He couldn’t afford to indulge the fantasy.
“One more go?” asked the hang-glider attendant.
“I think not,” Last said. “Thanks, though.”
After changing into jeans and a shirt, he got into his truck. Two weeks driving the scenic route in north California, then heading to Africa for bungee jumping had felt like the right decision when he’d left Texas. The trip had been the perfect excuse for giving his brother and his new wife some family time.
No one knew, but it was really hard on Last to think about the new little family, no matter how much he loved Crockett. He wanted to be Annette’s only father, even if he knew that wasn’t possible. Damn lucky he was that her stepfather would be Crockett.
Still, it stung. His lips drew into a tight line, his gaze catching sight of brightly colored red tents as he drove only a few miles up the road. The tents could signify only one thing: the circus was in town and very near. He’d bet this was Esme’s gig.
He couldn’t resist.
In fact, he wouldn’t even try, he decided, parking his truck on the grounds and buying a ticket. Sneaking into the big top, he noted that his seat was far up and away from where Poppy or the children might spy him. The elderly gentleman seated beside him seemed harmless and likely to mind his own business, so Last was satisfied.
Checking his ticket stub, he realized he had about an hour to wait. He began dozing under his hat, somewhat bored by the lack of bulls and bucking broncs.
“The hottest magician on planet Earth,” he heard the announcer yell, making him sit straight up. “Poppy Peabody!”
Last’s jaw dropped as Esme rode into the arena on the back of a white pony, wearing a bikini-type garment so sexy he could only call it delightful.
No wonder the judge was having a bit of trouble seeing Poppy as a role model and a good guardian. Last grinned. The elderly gentleman next to him looked as though he’d never seen a showgirl of any kind and might have a coronary.
Esme was adorable, with black strands of cloth hanging from the bikini bottom and a feathery black sequined headdress pluming from her long ebony hair. Something jumped in his jeans, and Last realized he was more attracted to her than he’d been to anyone in his life—well worth the ticket price he’d paid to get in.
He realized the flip-flopping children in the act were Amelia and Curtis. They flipped onto the small stage where Esme dismounted, and as music filtered through the arena she put Curtis into a box, concealing him.
A moment later she was sawing through him. Last’s heart thundered. The judge was right! The children were young and impressionable and probably easily scared! Last leaned forward, knowing in his heart that Esme wouldn’t hurt them. They’d probably done this act a hundred times—but still, he was relieved when Curtis reappeared with no blood spurting from his “halved” body.
Then Last’s heart went completely still as Amelia was raised on a pulley, seemingly as if by magic wings, to the ceiling. Esme approached the center of the stage, instructing Amelia to fly. And fly she did, nearly to Last’s seat. Maybe she’d seen him! It seemed as if they’d made eye contact. Last wasn’t certain. As she swung back, to the gasps of the audience, Esme yelled, “Disappear!” and she did! Last craned his neck looking for Amelia, but she was gone. Poof!
He was very angry with Poppy Peabody.
She had certainly made a believer out of him. His entire collar was soaked with perspiration.
A second later the vein in his temple went back to normal when Curtis and Amelia stood beside their aunt, to the delighted applause of the audience. Annoyed at himself for falling for grandiose tricks and a woman in a spectacularly pleasing costume, he stomped down the stairs, preparing to exit and hit the road.
But he was stopped by a man in a very tall hat.
“You are the cowboy?” the man asked.
“I suppose,” Last replied. “Some days more than others.”
“Come with me.”
“I don’t think so,” Last said. “I paid my ticket, and that means I leave when I want.”
“Poppy wants you,” the man in the ringmaster’s costume insisted.
“Poppy?” The hottest magician on the planet—or in California or whatever—wanted him? Last blinked. “All right, stranger. Move along. I’m right behind you.”
He walked into a makeup room where Esme stood surrounded by her charges, a lion tamer, a man in a gorilla costume and the ringmaster.
“Mr. Jefferson!” Curtis and Amelia cried.
“I told you he was here, Aunt Poppy,” Amelia said.
