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.
Last crossed his arms. “Nice show,” he said, meaning costume, though now was not the time to say it. The atmosphere in the room was distinctly testosterone-charged.
“Thanks.” Poppy turned to her friends. “I thank you for your offers of marriage, all of you. However, this is the man who would like to take me to his ranch and this is the man I have chosen.”
Last stood still, not even allowing himself to blink. What was she saying? He couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t marry anyone, but especially not someone who was as unstable as he was. Together they’d be combustible!
The ringmaster nodded. “Come,” he told Last.
“I prefer to stay here,” Last said.
The gentleman seemed to take exception to that, so Last shrugged and followed the guy in the too-tall hat. “Great duds,” he said.
