Summer Magic Read online

  Last night while she lay awake she'd determined exactly what she must do. If Ebony did survive, Lisa would stay long enough to be assured of her successful recovery, then turn in her resignation. Day after tomorrow, her probation was up anyway.

  Most likely she'd have to work two jobs to pull herself out of debt, but somehow she'd find a way. She'd struggle through whatever sacrifices were necessary to cloister herself from more heartache. Fat chance Michael would try to come after her--regardless of what Claudette had thought in the beginning.

  "Lisa, before we get to work, may I have a word with you?" Dr. Woodstock's voice broke though her troubled thoughts.

  "Uh...sure."

  He pulled out a ladder-back chair from behind his desk. It screeched against the tiled floor. "Please make yourself comfortable."

  Hesitantly she sat down. From behind the desk, an old transistor radio played.

  The vet paused to turn the volume down, then hitched himself onto a stool across from her. "I know I've been kind of tough on you, but as I'm sure you've discovered, this work is not for the faint-hearted."

  "Yes, I certainly have." She lifted one shoulder. "But I wasn't totally blind, Dr. Woodstock. Even in the beginning, I never expected a bed of roses. I was just a little naive as to exactly how hard it would be." A woman's lilting voice on the radio was announcing the weather forecast.

  "Good." He clasped his hands behind his head and pursed his lips. "Then at least you didn't come here with any false expectations. Perhaps you already know that the other two assistants I hired this past year didn't work out. They both left voluntarily."

  "Uh-huh, I heard."

  "They were young, lacking experience with zoo and circus animals--just like you," he continued. He studied her for a long, contemplative moment, then readjusted his dark- framed glasses. "And as far as I'm concerned, there's no point waiting any longer to talk about your work here."

  Her heart sank. Though Dr. Woodstock hadn't a clue about her decision yet, she had hoped to leave in his good graces.

  "All right, then." She lifted her chin. "I'll check into flight arrangements as soon as I can."

  "No, no! I didn't mean that."

  "Oh?"

  "Of course not!" His face melted into a kind squint. "Last night, you removed any doubt I may have had about you." He fixed her with an apologetic look. "If it hadn't been for your quick action, getting Ebony back onto her feet and walking her, she would've surely died. You're doing an outstanding job, Lisa. I want you to stay. Without question."

  "You do?" Her voice squeaked. The radio played on, this time an old Elton John tune.

  "Yes. And...and I'm sorry if I made life hard for you these past several weeks. I don't mean to come off so gruff, but sometimes I'm afraid I do."

  "You're exhausted, just like me," she said, her voice fringed with new understanding.

  "Perhaps. But I won't attempt to make excuses for myself. I guess the reason the other assistants left was partly my fault too. Despite what they say about not teaching old dogs new tricks, I do intend to change. I promise you things will improve. You and me...we're going to make a terrific team, Lisa. I really mean that."

  She let out a long, weary sigh. "Oh, Dr. Woodstock. Thank you for the vote of confidence. Your encouragement means a lot to me. But--but..." She faltered, uncertain how to go on. At last she informed him about her decision to resign. "I guess I'm not cut out for a life of continuous travel after all," she added, side-stepping the real issue. "I'm worn-out, and maybe a little homesick also. Michael told me that someday all the towns and freeways would start to look the same." She let her breath out slowly. "Well, I guess he was right."

  "Are you sure, my dear?" His dark brown eyes mirrored his disappointment. "Are you sure I'm not the reason?"

  "I'm positive."

  He cleared his throat. "Won't you give it a little while longer till you make your final decision? I realize it's been quite an adjustment. It was for me when I first came here five years ago, too, but I guarantee it, the worst is over."

  The disc jockey was announcing the next song. In minutes the familiar lyrics drifted into the clinic. "Galveston, Oh Galveston..."

  Suddenly she felt the Texas heat warming her face, heard the waves crashing onto the beach, and saw Michael's face smiling down at her as they ran barefoot through the moist cool sand.

  A swirl of emotion washed over her. She would hold onto the memory forever, tuck it safely away in a secret corner of her heart. And at some point in time, during that long, lonely future that stretched bleakly ahead, she would take it out again. She'd dust it off, remember, and smile through her tears. But not even memories could change the bitter truth. Michael would never be hers. Not as long as she lived.

  "Lisa?" Dr. Woodstock's voice was gentle, nudging her back.

  She got to her feet and rested her hand on the counter top to steady herself. "I'm sorry, Dr. Woodstock, but I've made up my mind. I know now there can be no turning back."

  *****

  "Hey, babe! Where’re you headed?"

  Lisa hesitated, then slowed her pace. Who was that? It was the end of another long day. She was heart-broken and weary. All she wanted to do was phone her brother, tell him about her plans to leave, and turn in for the night. For two whole days now, she and Michael hadn't exchanged one word.

  "I said, where you headed?" The voice grew more insistent.

  She turned around and recognized the good-looking stunt motorcyclist who'd sized her up that night she and Michael were walking to his trailer.

  "Come here. Talk to me. What's going on?" He jerked his head to one side, sending her a self-assured smile.

  She smiled back at him, suddenly flattered. "I...I was just about to go off to my trailer to make an important phone call on my cell." Her smile grew wider. Why not give Michael a taste of his own medicine? Why not show him? Far be it from her to sit around all teary-eyed, pining after the likes of the super star himself.

  The guy sauntered up to her, giving her the once-over. "Ah, I’m sure your call can wait. It can’t be that important. Like some company tonight?"

  "Well...sure. But I...I don't believe we've met. At least not officially." He was even better looking up close--a trifle taller than Michael perhaps and his hair was close-cropped, a shade darker with a tawny cast. Tonight he wore tight-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt with the Jessell and Stern logo.

  He chuckled, crossing his muscular arms across his thick chest, causing the shirt to strain. "No, I guess we haven't met. But believe me, Lisa Prentice, I've been keeping close tabs on you."

  "Oh, have you?" she asked coyly, flashing him her most stunning smile. "So what's your name?"

  "Patrick. Patrick O'Banion."

  "Hmm, an Irishman, no less."

  "Uh-huh. Second generation." His green eyes laughed down at her with a teasing awareness. "So you like Irishmen, eh?"

  "Well..." she stalled with her answer in an effort to flirt back.

  "Not even a wee bit?"

  "I adore Irishmen."

  "Good. At least we've got that much straight.” He paused. “I hope you're not planning on tying up with Figaro tonight."

  "No. Why?"

  "I just saw him and that new showgirl pretending they were hard at work. The rest of the flyers were nowhere in sight."

  She set her jaw, struggling to hold her suspicions at bay. Were Michael and Rita doing more than just practice? Or was Patrick lying in hopes of furthering his own agenda? With difficulty she shrugged it off and met Patrick's smile again.

  He sidled up to her a little closer. "Wanna go for a ride? On my bike?"

  She remembered the way during performances he'd zoomed through the air over a low string of barrels. If he meant that, he was out of his head. "Y...your motorcycle?" she stammered.

  "No, my dirt bike. I've got two, one for each of us. How 'bout you and me kickin' up a little dust in that big field behind the back lot?"

  "Well..." she stalled some more. "I've never d
riven anything other than a car before--and a hot cycle when I was a little kid. But I have carved down some pretty wild slopes when I was into snowboarding," she added, not wanting to sound like a complete coward. No point telling him about the accident though.

  "No sweat. You can sit nice and snug behind me and let me do the driving." He cocked his head to one side. "Besides, it's early. Nobody around here turns in before midnight. After we're done riding, maybe we can head out for a beer. I know of a cool little pub down the road."

  "All right. Let's go."

  On their way back to Patrick's truck and trailer where he stored his bikes, they came up behind Estelle, Claudette, and Olivia, who were sauntering along, absorbed in conversation. As far as Lisa could tell, they had no inkling she and Patrick were behind them. It felt strange, though, to be with Patrick instead of Michael.

  “Killer work-out...”

  “Michael's almost got Rita flying triples..." At first Lisa could only catch snatches of the conversation between the two sisters who were positioned on either side of their mother.

  So Patrick was right, Lisa realized with a sinking feeling. Michael had ended the practice early in order for Rita and him to work out alone. Deep inside, she had hoped Patrick was lying.

  "I don't like this one bit..." Olivia Figaro's voice, louder now, pulled Lisa from her thoughts. The woman shoulders were slumped as the three quickened their pace. "Michael's working himself to a frazzle," she continued. "My son's exhausted and pale. Are you kids sure a fourth flyer is really necessary? Does Michael need to spend so much time coaching Rita?"

  "Yes, Mom," Claudette answered levelly, her voice empty of all feeling. "We're sure."

  "Sis," Estelle said, sending Claudette a furtive look. "Don't you think it's time--" She tossed a glance over her shoulder, then bit off her words.

  The color drained from her face when she caught sight of Patrick and Lisa striding behind them.

  *****

  In the moonlit lot next to the fairgrounds, Lisa sat close behind Patrick on his dirt bike, roaring across the rolling terrain. Full tilt, they mounded the next crest, then dipped again, spewing a trail of dust behind them.

  What an absolute thrill, Lisa thought as the shadowy landscape whizzed by. The whine of the engine, the rush of adrenaline, the heady sensation of freedom and speed! The only thing that would make it better would be if Michael could see her right now...which might not be too unlikely if Estelle had decided to tell him.

  They rode on and on. Patrick gunned the engine as he cut a wide swath in the dirt before he clamored to a stop.

  Laughing, Lisa tossed back her head and adjusted her helmet. "Oh, please! Just one more time, Patrick! Please don't stop now!"

  He angled a look over his shoulder, grinning broadly. "Like that, babe?"

  "I loved it!"

  "All right! Here we go again. Hold on tight!"

  "Lisa Prentice!" Michael shouted from the edge of the field. Lisa struggled to hold back a smile. It was working...just as she'd hoped. Michael's voice grew louder as he strode directly towards them. "What are you trying to do, Lisa? Kill yourself?"

  "What's the matter?" she asked. "Patrick's a pro. He's not going to let us crash."

  "He's a dare-devil biker," Michael insisted, tight-lipped.

  "Hey, man, lay off. You heard the little lady!" Patrick glowered as he swung his leg over the side of the bike and got to his feet.

  "You lay off, O'Banion," Michael shot back.

  "Get out of here, Figaro. Lisa's mine tonight!" He planted his feet wide, his stance unmistakably defensive.

  "Michael! Patrick! Stop--this minute," Lisa broke in desperately, just as Patrick took a swing at Michael, but missed by a narrow margin. She'd just wanted to stir up a little jealousy in Michael--not have them punch each other out.

  "Please! Both of you!" she hollered, her voice rising. "Stop right now."

  "Lisa, come on," Michael ground out, righting himself as he tugged at her hand. "But Patrick and I aren't done yet! We're still--"

  "Yeah, get out of her face, Figaro," Patrick interrupted. "Who invited you here in the first place?"

  "Lisa, please." Michael's voice was steeped with forced control. "Let's go. Now."

  A pang shot through her. She longed to do as he asked, but her pride held fast. Hesitantly she met his gaze. His eyes were steady and uncompromising. She knew in an instant she could resist him no longer.

  "You win, Michael," she said in barely a whisper, yanking off her helmet and handing it to Patrick. She turned back to him a second time, but already Michael was hurrying her away. "Patrick, I'm sorry, but thanks anyway. It was fun."

  "Yeah Lisa, babe. Come look me up when you change your mind," he hollered after them, his voice fringed with sarcasm.

  By the time they'd reached his trailer, Michael was still gripping her hand so tightly, he'd caused it nearly to go numb. "Lisa, what in the heck's come over you, going off with O'Banion like that? As soon as Rita and I were done rehearsing, Estelle found me. She told me she'd seen you with him."

  She squirmed beneath his angry gaze. "What are you worried about, Michael? Riding on Patrick's dirt bike was perfectly safe. It was even his idea I wear a helmet, just like he was."

  She couldn't help wondering about the motivation fueling Michael's anger. Jealousy as she'd hoped? Or had she simply assaulted his male ego?

  "Helmet or not helmet, O'Banion's still a dare-devil stunt man," Michael said hotly. "And a pretty sleazy one at that."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Haven't you heard? He was fired today. He's been ordered out of here first thing tomorrow."

  "Why?"

  "Unethical conduct. Pilfering. A whole list of stuff. Management has been keeping an eye on him for a long time. Finally they got enough evidence on him."

  She gave an indifferent shrug, though her insides were churning. What if she had gone off later tonight with Patrick?

  "So you rescued me, Michael," she said. "I assure you, though, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

  "Maybe you are. But meanwhile, I need to talk to you." He dug inside his hip pocket and produced the key to his truck.

  "Whatever it is, make it fast. I'm tired."

  "You weren't too tired to hang out with O'Banion," he reminded her, the edge in his voice still apparent.

  "That's beside the point." Truth was she didn't trust herself to be alone with Michael. One certain smile, only a fleeting touch...that's all it would take for her to melt back into his arms.

  "Let's go for a drive," he said impatiently, jangling the keys. He glanced over his shoulder as two clowns, still clad in baggy polka-dot costumes, ambled by.

  "Can't we talk right here?"

  "No."

  Michael didn't drive far before he turned off the main highway onto a side road and brought the truck to a stop beneath a grove of maple trees that hugged a meandering stream.

  Rolling down his window, he released a slow, ragged breath. "I'm sorry," he began. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of O'Banion. But there's something else too. We need to talk about what happened with Ebony."

  She fixed her gaze on some indiscernible spot straight ahead. "We already did."

  "I know. But I don't think you believed me the first time when I apologized. And...and I guess I can't blame you. I mean, just saying you're sorry must sound pretty lame after she nearly died."

  "Yes. You're darned right it sounds lame." She swallowed hard. "But now since we've been told she's going to pull through, you don't have to beat yourself up anymore."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  Streams of moonlight slanted inside the truck, pearly and translucent. Crickets chirped, mingling with the soft sounds of the moving water. How she longed to feel the magic of his embrace. Feel his lips on hers. Hear him whisper how much he loved her. But here they were, their nerve endings raw and exposed, barely able to look at each other.

  "I know how much you love Ebony," he continued. "We a
ll do. I should've been watching her more closely. It was wrong to have left that up to you. After all, you're only one person too. You can't be with her all the time anymore than I can."

  "Have you told your father about what happened?" she asked.

  "I talked to Pop late last night after Mom phoned him for their daily chat." He pinned her with a meaningful look. "And I gave you all the credit, Lisa. Every bit of it."

  "Well, you should have."

  "Pop was devastated, of course," he went on, ignoring her last remark. "He wanted to fly home on the spot, but I assured him that wouldn't be necessary." Michael reached out to take her hand, but she pulled it away.

  "Now it's my turn to talk," she said, mustering up the courage she wasn't feeling inside. "There's something you need to know too, Michael, and I might as well get it over with right here and now."

  "What?" He arched an eyebrow.

  "As soon as Ebony comes back and I can see her again, I'm flying home."

  "But why?"

  "Why not?"

  "Because Doc Woodstock wants you to stay. He's even told me so." Michael's voice broke as he avoided her eyes. “And so do I, Lisa."

  "No, I must go. You were right from the start, Michael. I can never make a life for myself with Jessel and Stern. I never should've accepted Dr. Woodstock's offer in the first place. Next to getting involved with Charles, it was the worst mistake I've ever made."

  "But that's not true! I was wrong. So was everyone else who might've doubted you. You've already proven that when you saved Ebony. Don't go, Lisa. I want you to stay." He scowled. "Besides, it's high time you forget Charles."

  "How can you say that? How can you say that while you keep shutting me away?"

  "Shut you away?"

  "Yes. We never see each other anymore. All you ever do is practice, practice, practice. And when I asked you about your promise to Claudette, you simply refuse to answer me."

  "It's not just me. Claudette's made us all swear not to tell. Estelle and Uncle Rudy too." The shadows from a swaying tree branch played across his face. "Just hang in there a little while longer. Will you, Lisa?"