Summer Magic Read online

  The stillness stretched between them. Finally he spoke in a low voice. "I had no business asking." His eyes delved into hers as he squeezed her hand. "It...it wasn't fair of me."

  The tension was so palpable, she could almost reach out and touch it. She let out a steadying breath. What was the use? Michael could see right through her. Besides, it was time to shoot straight with him.

  "No, Michael. I'm the one who's unfair. Besides, I...I've held it inside for far too long." She wadded up the paper napkin she'd opened onto her lap. "His name is Charles. Charles Bergman. He was an up and coming lawyer in Manhattan. Climbed all the right corporate ladders. Hobnobbed with all the right people. We met at a surprise fortieth birthday party that Doc Largent threw for his wife. And...well...one thing sort of led to another."

  "You mean it was love at first sight?"

  She sipped her cola before continuing. "Yes--at least as far as I was concerned. Before I realized it, I was completely taken by him. It wasn't long before I believed he loved me also." She pursed her lips, blinking back a tear. "But then, why shouldn't I have? He gave me an engagement ring, swore there'd never be another. But...but then one day...one day he announced it was over. He said we weren't compatible, that I'd never understand the demands of his profession. He also told me he'd fallen in love with a district attorney. Her name was Ramona. Ramona Fullerton. Anyway...Charles said they planned to marry soon...on Valentine's Day." His face became a watery blur as a finally released tear coursed down her cheek. "It all happened so fast."

  He let go of her hand, and with infinite tenderness, brushed the tear away. "Ah, Lisa. What a fool Charles was. What a fool to let you go..."

  She couldn’t remove her gaze from him. His eyes, those deep blue pools, brimmed with understanding.

  Yet she felt suddenly exposed. Vulnerable. Pulling herself from her spiraling thoughts, she forced her attention back to what he was saying.

  "There's something I want to tell you, Lisa." He took her hand again. Squeezed it harder. "Will you hear me out?"

  "Of course. What is it?"

  "After a while the highways--the towns--well, they all start to look the same. You've got to love the circus because it's become a part of you. You've got to breathe it. Eat it. Make it your own. For me being an aerialist is who I am--not just what I do."

  "I do want that," she said. "More than anything in the world. Please believe me, my motivations involve more than just running. Working with the circus means the world to me too, Michael. Besides, I'm a survivor. I intend to give it whatever it takes."

  He didn't appear convinced. He took another bite of pizza, and chewed slowly. "Perhaps. I know we've already talked about it briefly, Lisa, but you might be up against more than you realize. Doc's first assistant lasted only three weeks. The second managed to hang on till only two weeks before her probation period was up, then threw in the towel and left anyway."

  Visions of Claudette flashed through her mind. Hadn't Michael's twin issued subtle warnings too--her own hidden agenda? Unexpectedly Lisa's anger flared. Why was everyone trying to discourage her? Or more to the point, trying to drive her away? Michael too?

  "I'm not sure where all this conversation is leading us, Michael," she said tightly, "but now it's my turn to speak." Her head throbbed. "Maybe you think I'm not going to make it with Jessell and Stern, but you're wrong. Dead wrong! I'm not sure why it should even matter to you. And if it should turn out that I become assistant number three who goes down the tube, it's my life! And I'll be darned if I'm going to let another man step in again and try to ruin it!"

  There! She'd said it. Fighting back another flood of tears, she sprang to her feet and marched towards the restaurant door.

  "Lisa! Wait! I didn't mean it that way! I...I was only trying to help." Michael sprinted after her.

  Alongside the pickup, she stopped in her tracks. He planted both hands firmly on her shoulders, waiting for her to turn and face him. "Lisa, I'm sorry. Really I am. I don't want to fight."

  She couldn't let him see the tears streaming down her face. With much effort, she choked back a sob.

  "Lisa. Look at me. Please."

  Hesitantly she turned around and lifted her gaze. The expression on his face made fresh tears fall.

  Wordlessly he reached out again to brush them away. His touch was driving her insane.

  "Oh, Michael, I'm sorry too. I must...I must be more tired than I realized." She toyed with the collar of his light-weight jacket and offered him a contrite smile. "Please forgive me?"

  How could she excuse herself? Explain to him that Claudette's cruel trick had left her a trifle suspicious and a lot afraid? She had no recourse. She couldn't let him know. She'd already determined to handle it alone, and she wouldn't back down.

  "Let's just forget it," Michael said hoarsely, pulling her closer. His mouth covered hers, softly at first, then with unexpected urgency.

  She leaned into him, kissed him back, immersing herself in his tempting nearness. The kiss deepened.

  Foolishly her emotions carried her away. Yes, it had to be magic. Not merely the night sounds, the moonlight, or the stars tracking the heavens.

  The magic was Michael.

  Chapter Five

  The first part of July arrived hot and sultry. The circus had journeyed farther south, then crossed Texas through wide-open spaces dotted with cattle ranches and rolling plains that gave way to mountains and pine forests.

  Time alone with Michael had been limited, just as he'd forewarned. Many nights after the last show, Lisa met him at the stabling quarters where she helped him feed, exercise, and groom the horses. On a few occasions, they'd fixed a simple late-night meal inside his trailer, or ate with Mrs. Figaro in the motor home.

  But early each morning when they'd continued their travels, she rode with Estelle--not Michael. Somehow, she'd sensed that arrangement suited Michael too.

  Then there were her twelve hour work days, one calamity after another. As each day wore on, she found herself closer to the brink of exhaustion.

  One morning, she’d forgotten to check the latch on a cage. Three feisty chimps escaped and took refuge atop a palm tree. To make matters worse, these chimps were the star performers in a highly publicized clown act and the show was starting in less than an hour.

  The keepers and Lisa tried everything imaginable to get the chimps down. Nothing worked. The clowns were upset, making Lisa even more flustered. Dr. Woodstock only stood wordlessly by, shaking his head with disgust. Finally, a mere five minutes before curtain time, one of the riggers emerged on the scene with a tall extension ladder.

  "Everyone stand back," he'd ordered. "I'll take care of it."

  Take care of it, he did. He captured the chimps. But they were still so riled up after their escape, the clown couldn't get them to cooperate and the act was a big flop. All because of Lisa.

  Yesterday had turned out equally disastrous. Forgetting that camels have a predisposition for spitting, she'd let her guard slip. While she was helping Dr. Woodstock pour medicine down a camel's throat, the animal got upset and started spitting. The vet managed to duck clear in the nick of time, but not Lisa. Before she realized what had happened, she was half covered with the most horrid-smelling acidy liquid.

  Today Jessell and Stern was set up in a vacant lot not far from Galveston.

  "Miss Prentice, get a move on!" Dr. Woodstock barked the minute she'd reported to the clinic. "We heed to examine the elephants. Go fetch the treatment cart. The smaller one will do."

  "Right away, Dr. Woodstock." She wished he would call her Lisa instead. That might take the edge off their professional relationship. Doc Largent always had called her by her first name, but of course, he'd been not only her boss, but a good friend too.

  The cart, which was sandwiched between a metal file cabinet and small bookcase, had two shelves with compartments for first aid supplies. Quickly she retrieved it and steered it down the ramp that angled off the front steps of the motor home/clinic.
/>   "Several elephants have foot problems," Dr. Woodstock said in his usual no-nonsense way as he trailed close behind her. "Walter, the elephant trainer, will be helping us. Your job is to hand me the medication and make note of it in the records." He paused, narrowing his dark brown eyes on her. "Elephants can be extremely dangerous. But Walter's the best. He knows exactly how to handle them."

  She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

  Yes, Walter,

  she thought. She dreaded facing him. Michael had been right. He and the other trainers had taken a dim view of her. More than once she'd overhead Walter referring to her as unskilled and clumsy when he was talking with the other animal trainers. Maybe she was nothing more than an amateur, she told herself dolefully. Maybe they were right. But no, she mustn't believe that, no matter how discouraged she became. She couldn't let her confidence wane.

  Dr. Woodstock must've sensed her misgivings, because over the rattle of the treatment cart, his voice grew less gruff. "Don't worry about the elephants, Miss Prentice. They seldom suffer from a major illnesses. They usually have small things go wrong."

  "Like what?"

  "Mostly foot infections and sore cuticles. I have the keepers tend to the daily treatments. But once every week, in order to assess their overall condition, I do it."

  As they drew nearer, she spied Walter. Tall, bronze-skinned, he was talking to one of the massive creatures. Each was chained to a ring in the ground by one front foot and one hind leg.

  Walter held a stick about the size of a broom handle. He called it an elephant hook, explaining that elephants and their assistants use it to gently prod the huge animals into following directions.

  "Thatta girl, Rosy," Walter said in a firm voice. "Good Rosy."

  The elephants were lined up like mammoth beady-eyed soldiers standing very close together, Rosy up front. Their massive gray bulk fascinated Lisa.

  "Is something wrong with Rosy's trunk?" she asked the veterinarian. "She's not moving it like the others are."

  "Her trunk's paralyzed," he answered. "Still she's learned to compensate. As you can see, she manages to feed herself by throwing back her head and catching her food in mid-air."

  "That's amazing," Lisa said. She pulled back the white towel that covered the treatment cart and took a quick inventory. Yes, it was all there, everything from the assorted bottles, vials, and syringes, to the scissors, gauze dressings and other odds-and-ends.

  Immediately they set to work. Using the hook, Walter nudged Rosy to lift her foot while Dr. Woodstock examined it.

  "Doesn't the hook hurt them?" she asked. She was taking a chance by asking, she knew. Walter might take her question as a personal affront. But she was concerned for the elephants. She had to know.

  "Not at all, miss," the trainer answered agreeably. "The hook...” He nodded to the curved piece of metal on the end of the stick. “It's quite dull, really. It simply lets the elephant know what I expect it to do."

  As they worked, unexpected satisfaction filled her. What had caused this turn- around? She and the two men were actually carrying on a congenial conversation. Moreover, Dr. Woodstock was treating her as a colleague. Even Walter seemed to respect her.

  Rosy passed the foot inspection successfully. But when they came to the second elephant, Dr. Woodstock noticed a badly inflamed cuticle that was oozing pus. "Hand me that bottle with the spray top," he told Lisa. "Next I'll need the Silvadene ointment."

  "Right here," Lisa answered efficiently as she opened a large plastic jar and passed it to him. They continued in that manner, moving from one elephant to the next. Finally they came to the end of the line. The last two elephants, Mildred and Bessy, were younger than the rest. Lisa remembered Estelle telling her they'd come recently to the circus all the way from Indonesia. With rapt attentiveness, Lisa watched them trunking up and munching a fresh supply of timothy hay.

  Dr. Woodstock shook his head as he probed Bessy's front foot with a gloved hand. "For crying out loud, Bessy, when are we ever going to get that sore healed? And Walter, we simply must find time to shorten Bessy's and Mildred's tusks. We've put it off far too long."

  "You're right, Doc," he replied. "How about today after the matinee?"

  "Good idea. Let's plan on it."

  "Why do you shorten their tusks?" Lisa asked. The vet pointed to a gauze pad on the treatment cart before answering. Deftly she handed it to him.

  "We perform that simple operation to make the elephants less dangerous to work with," he explained. "Usually it's done as soon as they come into the circus, but as you know, time has been scarce lately."

  "Also, elephants sometimes break their tusks," Walter pointed out. "So shortening them makes good sense for two reasons."

  "Do you have to give them any anesthetic?" she asked him.

  "Not under usual circumstances. A lot of people don't realize that elephants don't have any feeling in their tusks. All we normally use is a simple hacksaw."

  She peered again at the young elephants and smiled. They were adorable with their small pink mouths and glittering dark eyes.

  "Miss Prentice, hand me the Coppertox," Dr. Woodstock said.

  She reached for the bottle, gripping the spray top handle. A stream of liquid shot out, barely missing the top of her head. Instantly she released her grip. The liquid kept spurting. What was wrong? she wondered frantically. Why didn't it stop? By now half the stuff on the treatment cart was soaked!

  "I can't believe this!" Lisa cried. "The release valve must be stuck!"

  "For crying out loud, give me that bottle," Dr. Woodstock fumed. “I'll fix it."

  She moved towards him, stumbled and fell hard against the cart, dropping the spray bottle. The cart crashed to the ground. The medical supplies scattered. Then a brown jug flipped on its side and started rolling directly towards Bessie.

  In one quick motion, the elephant bobbed her head, let out an ear-shattering squeal and lunged forward. The vet and trainer sprang out of her way.

  Lisa cringed, squeezing her eyes shut. The sound of Bessie's tusk as it struck a large metal drum thundered in her ear.

  Slowly she forced open her eyes. She blinked, paralyzed with disbelief. There on the ground next to the emptied spray bottle lay Bessy's broken-off tusk.

  Silence. An eternity of silence. At least Bessy had calmed down.

  Gathering her courage, Lisa finally looked at Dr. Woodstock. The artery in his neck throbbed. His face was crimson with anger.

  "Miss Prentice!"

  "I'm sorry," she gasped. Tears prickled her eyes, but she blinked them back. No. She would absolutely not let them see her cry.

  "I've already told you the first day you came, you never startle the animals!"

  "That's right!" Walter jumped in. His voice trembled with controlled anger. His eyes flashed. "You could've gotten us all killed!"

  "I'm sorry," she stammered again, willing her hands to stop shaking. "It was an accident. I...I don't know why that spray bottle got stuck."

  The vet sent her a cold, hard glare then rolled up his sleeves. "Well, Walter. Let's get to work. Bessie's tusks will have to be shortened. There's no point waiting any longer."

  *****

  Late that night in an open field that joined the circus grounds, Lisa rode Ebony. They were galloping at full speed, just as the day's events continued to gallop through her mind. She yearned to be alone, to unravel her frenzied thoughts. Right now not even Michael could comfort her.

  All she needed was peace and solitude--plus one special horse.

  Happy sounds drifted from the auditorium, contrasting her melancholy. The last minutes of the evening show. The applause from the crowds. The roll of drums. The explosion of sound from the marching band. As they started galloping around the next loop, a swirl of dust rose, a chalky billow in the gray twilight. What if Michael's right? she wondered as the clopping of Ebony's hoof beat faded into her thoughts. What if I'm forced to leave? What if I can't pass my probation? I'm already half way thr
ough. Can I redeem myself in the remaining four weeks?

  Michael. The thought of him twisted her heart. She couldn't face him now. Most likely, he'd already heard what had happened. She was certain everyone at Jessell and Stern had heard. As they slowed to a cantor, she breathed in the tangy smells of salt water. The beach wasn't far away, she remembered. The ribbon of highway they'd traveled early that morning had paralleled the coastline's lengthy expanse--miles and miles of white sand stretching along the Gulf of Mexico.

  What she'd give to be there now. Away from Dr. Woodstock and the trainers. Away from the circus. Away from her problems.

  Even away from Michael.

  A movement in the shadows caught her attention, making her look up. Michael was sprinting towards her. She felt the color drain from her face. "Why didn't you let anyone know where you were taking Ebony?" he asked, relief filling his voice.

  "I told Estelle. She must've forgotten."

  "Oh. Maybe she did." In the purple darkness, she could feel him regarding her earnestly. "Are...are you all right, Lisa?"

  "Yes. Just exhausted." She jerked her eyes away, her voice hushed. "I suppose you heard."

  "Uh-huh." He paused. "Come on. Get down. Let's take Ebony back to the horses' tent."

  Without protest, Lisa dismounted and, gripping the halter, started walking. "I...I needed to get away by myself with Ebony," she explained half apologetically. "I needed to think things through." The rustle of the parched field grass beneath their feet melded with the sound of their voices.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No. I'm fine now." She avoided looking at him. If she did, he'd surely read it in her eyes. He'd know she was lying.

  They sidestepped a large rock, then came to the gate. "Listen, Lisa. Even if you don't need to talk, there's something I have to say."

  "What?"

  "Don't beat yourself up. Everyone learns by their mistakes."

  "But Walter was right! I could've gotten us all killed!" Her head still throbbed as she recalled his outburst of anger.

  "All right. But now you've learned. And as far as the broken tusk goes, Doc and Walter were going to shorten it anyway. Besides--" His voice softened. "It wasn't your fault that bottle went crazy and you knocked over the treatment cart."