Summer Magic

by T. M. Cromer

  Alastair hadn’t been prepared for her negative response. “No? What is one animal’s life over true love?” he sneered.

  “Because I don’t have true love. The joke’s on you. As for the animal, he’s suffered enough abuse at your laboratory. I won’t return him.”

  Lightning flashed across the sky, and the immediate crack of thunder shook the very ground she sat on.

  Instead of making her fearful, his rage had the opposite effect.

  Summer gathered her calm around her like a blanket and drew from her element the power she needed. Never taking her eyes from him, she imagined the wave forming.

  The water’s reversal caught his attention. The ocean receded at an alarming rate. “Don’t! You’ll kill us both!” he shouted.

  “But then you can’t hurt Morty or Coop.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  His panic fed her power.

  “Summer, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will,” he warned, raising his hand, palm out and faced in her direction. “Stop the wave.”

  “Take a deep breath, Uncle. We wouldn’t want you to drown.”

  “You foolish girl!”

  Alastair, in a move that surprised her, lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her as the tidal wave crashed upon them.

  The force of the ocean battered the bubble he’d created to encompass them.

  “Pull it back!” he shouted over the roar of the sea. “Do it now, Summer!”

  “I can’t!” she yelled in return.

  “Goddess, we’re doomed. I can’t hold it. I’m sorry, child.”

  Just as the bubble buckled under the pressure, the water rushed away, as if it were a blanket being torn back.

  “Summer!”

  The shout sounded as if it came from far away.

  “I saved your life, Summer. I could’ve teleported, but I didn’t. Remember that.”

  In a blink, Alastair was gone, and her father stood in his place.

  “Dear Goddess, what were you thinking?” His large hands alternated between clutching her to him and shaking her. “Why would you ever take on someone like him alone? You foolish girl!”

  She pulled back from his warm embrace. “I’m an adult. I knew what I was doing.”

  Her haughty proclamation was ruined by the chatter of her teeth.

  “Then you have a damned death wish!” he thundered. “Is that it? You want to die because of that pathetic excuse for a man you claim to love?”

  Her own anger built and warmed her. “I get that you’re upset, Dad. But let me clarify a few things.” She held up her index finger. “One, Coop is not a pathetic excuse for a man. He has a kind heart, and he champions the people of Leiper’s Fork. He also would do anything to protect those he loves.”

  When Preston opened his mouth to argue, she held up her middle finger alongside the first. “Second, I don’t have a death wish. I was trying to protect my family. If that costs me my life, then I consider it well spent.”

  “You—”

  “I’m not finished,” she snapped. “From this moment forward, you’ll cease trying to intimidate Coop. Don’t think we weren’t listening at the keyhole while you threatened him with the fireball.”

  Her father smirked. “I know. I expected you to charge in any second. What kept you?”

  Her answering smirk blossomed. “Winnie and Spring held me back.”

  He turned serious. “I won’t stop intimidating him. He needs to earn your love.”

  “Aww, Dad. Please, give it a rest. Coop is never going to love me.”

  “He’d be a fool not to,” he said gruffly as he pulled her into another embrace.

  “Yeah, well, we won’t argue that. But I’m not going to waste my time pining away. The Goddess has a plan for me. By Her grace, I intend to see it through.”

  “You’re so much like your mother,” he whispered achingly sweet.

  “Everyone keeps saying that.”

  In that moment, she felt the kinship of love lost. But while she never truly held Coop’s affections, her father and mother had a love to envy.

  “Is that why you stay away from home?”

  “When I’m on location, I have full hours of forgetfulness. I can get lost in my work and research. And for a brief time, I can pretend I’m not missing half of my soul.”

  She swallowed back the emotion clogging her throat. That’s what her sanctuary and medical practice allowed her.

  “But it’s not because of you, my sunshine. I’d never stay away because of you. I need you to know that.”

  “I do, Daddy.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  “Are we really in Mexico?”

  He laughed. “Didn’t think you had that kind of power, huh?”

  “I pictured Key West.”

  Preston threw back his head and laughed.

  For once, she wasn’t ashamed of her wonky powers and laughed along with him.

  19

  Coop didn’t have time to process what he’d seen before Preston returned with Summer in tow.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as if surprised he’d hung around.

  Words refused to come. He had to touch her. Had to make sure she was alive and well. With great care, he cupped her face. The pads of his thumbs traced her sun-tinged cheekbones.

  This small woman had taken on the big baddie, attempted a strike that would’ve taken her own life in order to protect him and Morty, and verbally defended Coop against her terrifying father.

  “You’re killing me, Summer Thorne,” he said huskily. “Every time I turn around, you are throwing yourself in the path of danger to protect someone. Can you not do that anymore? Please?”

  “I can’t promise anything,” she told him. Her seriousness was endearing.

  He bit back an amused smile. “You’re wrong, you know.”

  She frowned her question.

  “I do love you.”

  “You don’t need to say—”

  Coop cut her off by gently settling his lips on hers. A butterfly kiss. “I love you, Summer.”

  “No, you’re just—”

  He kissed her again, harder. “I. Love. You.”

  Tears flooded her eyes.

  A pang of fear struck. “Am I too late?”

  She stared, seemingly unable to decide.

  A sniffle from somewhere behind him reminded Coop they weren’t alone. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

  “That’s mean spirited, Sheriff. This is better than the Hallmark channel,” Autumn inserted.

  Coop hung his head and sighed. Her family was killing this for him. “Maybe you can teleport us out of here,” he suggested, hoping she’d take it as an olive branch.

  Preston laughed. “Not a good idea, Carlyle. She thought she went to Florida.”

  A fiery blush stained Summer’s skin. “He’s right.”

  “I don’t care as long as I’m there with you.” Coop brushed back her wild mane of hair.

  “Coop developed game,” Autumn crowed.

  “Or duct tape. I’d be happy if you could conjure duct tape to shut—”

  Summer’s hand flew up to cover his mouth. “She’s more skilled than I am. You might not want to go there.”

  “And she’s got a worse temper, too,” Spring added cheerfully.

  Running footsteps alerted them to company. Winnie skidded to a halt just inside the room and used the doorframe to halt her forward movement. “What did I miss?”

  “I’ll leave you all to fill her in,” Summer said as she walked toward the exit. “I need to check on Morty.”

  “The house is protected, sunshine. Not even Alastair can break the wards we put in place,” Preston assured her.

  Coop drew to a stop in front of the other man. “I’m assuming a ward is a spell to keep evil out?” When he received confirmation, Coop asked, “Does that include muggles?”

  “What the hell is a muggle?” Preston demanded.

  Spring giggled. “It’s his way of saying non-
witches, Dad.”

  “You’re referencing Harry Potter?” Summer asked incredulously.

  Coop grabbed her hand and squeezed, but otherwise ignored her question.

  Her father nodded. “Yes. It includes non-witches.”

  “How does your house determine intent? I mean, I’ve walked in twice with no one around.”

  “You obviously never intended the occupants of the house any harm,” the older man said. “We don’t lock the door. If you can open it and walk in, the wards have judged you safe.”

  “Does this only apply to the house? What about the barn and the rest of the out buildings?” Coop asked.

  Preston seemed surprised by the question. “I hadn’t thought to protect the out buildings. The Thorne grimoire is here.”

  Good grief there was a lot to learn. “What is a grimoire?”

  “Spellbook,” Summer supplied as she continued to try to pull her hand away.

  Coop nodded and addressed Preston again. “I think it would be a good idea to protect the entire property from now on, don’t you?”

  “Indeed.”

  Coop tightened his fingers around Summer’s. “Do you need Summer for this?”

  Her father’s face softened infinitesimally as he focused on his daughter. “We always need her. She’s vital to our family. But in this, her other sisters can help me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.”

  Surprised, Preston asked, “For what?”

  “For saving me from Alastair’s attack. In all the excitement, I failed to thank you properly.”

  “You can thank me by not hurting my daughter again.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  The two men shared a moment of understanding.

  Coop faced Summer and brought their joined hands to his lips. “Ready?”

  If questioned, he’d have to admit she looked as if she were going to the gallows. It didn’t bode well for his cause.

  “Morty’s welfare first, then we talk.”

  Her expression eased into a soft smile. “Morty first.”

  When they entered the attic loft Morty called home, he appeared happy as he picked banana slices from the food bowl in front of him.

  “Hey, buddy,” Coop called in low tones.

  Morty signed, and whatever he’d said had Summer placing her hand over her mouth.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘I love you’.”

  “Of course he loves you, you’re his Mama.”

  “No, Coop. He meant you.”

  Aww, hell. Didn’t that just gut a fella? He discovered the need to clear his throat.

  “I love you too, Morty.”

  The chimp put his arms up and puckered his lips. It was the first real affectionate gesture he’d shown Coop other than grooming his hair during the week Summer had been recovering.

  Coop bent and offered his face.

  Morty leaned in and… blew a raspberry on his cheek. Lips drawn back to reveal his version of a grin, Morty hooted.

  Summer’s unrestrained giggles joined Morty’s raucous laughter.

  Coop picked banana pieces off his face and out of his hair.

  “You both set me up for that one, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” she laughed. “Sir Mortimer loves a good prank.”

  “Were you toying with my affections, buddy?”

  Morty nodded vigorously and blew him a kiss.

  “Come on, you little beast. Show me what you’ve painted today.”

  Chubby fingers gripped his and dragged him toward the canvas.

  As he studied the landscape, Coop’s curiosity got the better of him. “How does he know what to paint? I’m assuming he was never in the wild, yet he paints this jungle scene like he’s been there.”

  Summer joined him, her brows dipped into a thoughtful frown. “You know, I never thought about it at length. I assumed he’d seen a picture or memorized a scene from the television.”

  He leaned closer to examine the surprisingly detailed painting. “What’s this? Is that a shovel?”

  “It is!” she exclaimed. “Why would he paint a shovel in the middle of the jungle?”

  “You think this is why old Uncle Al wants him? For his talent?”

  “No. My uncle is only ever after anything that will help him amass power. It’s why I don’t understand his reason for wanting Morty…”

  Her face took on a contemplative expression, and she rushed to the covered canvases at the back of the room. With a care for the paintings, she ripped off the sheet. “Help me bring them over by the light.”

  Even Morty got into the act. Soon, four more canvases were lined up along the wall in front of the window.

  The images were of pyramids, a jungle, a beach which looked remarkably like the one Summer teleported to, and a snow-capped mountain. Each scene had a shovel resting against a tree.

  “Are these all his paintings?” Coop asked, glancing around the attic.

  “Yes. He paints constantly. We erase the canvases and give them back to him.”

  “So we have no idea if he’s created any scenes other than these.”

  Summer shrugged and shook her head. “Most days one of us praises his work, wipes the canvas, and replenishes his paint supply. I feel like an idiot for not seeing this before now.”

  “I think we may know why your uncle wants him. Did White Labs always have him in their custody?”

  “I don’t know. Aunt GiGi might.”

  “I wonder if she knew Morty was painting treasure maps.” Coop whipped out his smartphone and took photos from various angles of each painting. “Let’s find a way to keep hidden what we have here. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone. Not even your sisters.”

  “Coop, we don’t hide anything in our family.”

  He shot a nervous glance around the room and covered the paintings.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, helping him straighten the sheet.

  “When your sisters scried for you, we witnessed your conversation with Alastair on the beach. I don’t want what we discuss overheard. I got the impression if you possess the ability, you can spy on anyone with only a mirror.”

  “Yes. Most witches wouldn’t because we all know we wouldn’t like to have our privacy invaded.”

  “Right, but what if Morty is painting these scenes, these treasure maps of sorts, and Alastair is spying and documenting each scene?”

  Comprehension dawned. “He can’t. The wards prevent it. If the paintings were outside the house, then maybe he could.”

  “Okay. I feel marginally better, but let’s not take chances okay?”

  “I agree.”

  Their gazes collided, and Coop knew the time was at hand to discuss their relationship.

  She knew it, too.

  He extended his hand and waited while she made up her mind.

  For every second Summer delayed, Coop died a thousand deaths. But he deserved her distrust. Time and time again, he’d crushed her hopes when she offered her love. Sometimes on purpose, and sometimes accidentally.

  Right now she had the power to crush his.

  Her rapid breathing indicated her uncertainty, and Coop hated himself for his part in building on her insecurities.

  “I won’t hurt you again, sweetheart. Not on purpose.”

  * * *

  Summer, frozen with indecision, contemplated the hand reaching for her. If she gave in, if she trusted him again and he betrayed her, a part of her soul would shrivel and die.

  But what was the alternative? A long, lonely life without Coop.

  He’d been her obsession for the better part of a quarter of a century.

  To him, her crush started in high school.

  For her, love started the day he handed her his cone when they were small children.

  She’d seen his inner light and wanted part of that beautiful glow for her own.

  Nothing had changed. She still wanted him. She always would. But it didn’t mean theirs was a healthy relationshi
p. And what did it say if she continued to forgive him at every turn?

  Alastair said she wasn’t the courageous one, but he was wrong. It took strength and determination to continually hold her head high when everyone mocked her.

  She peeked at Coop and bit her lip.

  The intensity in his eyes was shaded by worry.

  If she refused him now, a nail would be added to the coffin of their relationship.

  He knew it.

  She knew it.

  And yet she didn’t have it in her to place her hand in his.

  Bleakness settled like shutters over his blue eyes.

  Coop dropped his hand.

  “I’m sorry, Coop. I can’t.”

  “I understand. I do.” His gaze fell to the floor. “I’ll, um, I’ll send Knox to help out around here until we determine Alastair’s plan.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I’d feel better if there was another man around in addition to your dad.”

  “We can take care of ourselves.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Summer, please,” he pleaded softly. “Humor me on this one. At least until this situation with your uncle is resolved.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Coop squatted in front of Morty. “You take care of Mama, buddy.”

  Morty’s forlorn expression caused an ache in her heart.

  When Coop straightened, he caught her eye and graced her with a bittersweet smile. “Well, that’s it then. Catch ya on the flip side, Summer Thorne.”

  Words left unsaid floated in the air around them.

  “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Goodbye, Cooper.” The finality in her tone couldn’t be ignored.

  Summer stared at the doorway long after he’d left. Her shaky legs were unable to hold her, and she dropped to the wooden floor. In an attempt to offer comfort, Morty curled up in her lap, and Saul snuggled against her neck.

  She had her boys. She’d be all right. Or so she kept telling herself. A large part of her wanted to sob her grief. But she’d sworn to herself after the last time she wouldn’t give in to tears. Wouldn’t give in to the crippling emotions lost love provided. The wretched feeling would pass—eventually.

  Only a little more wallowing, then she’d get off this floor and finish packing for her move.