01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  “So, you call ’em?” Maggie pressed, trying to sound casual.

  “Yeah.” Lie. He’d even lied to the doc. She’d threatened to make him go to a nursing home with a bunch of old people if he checked out without support. His plan was to tell her his family was here, wait until she released him, then order the cab. Push came to shove, he’d check out AMA. If she sicced social workers on him, well, they’d have to find him first.

  She lowered her chin and gave him a challenging look. “Two parents and six brothers and sisters including the adopted guy, and not one could be bothered to fly up and see you in the hospital? And don’t tell me they’re all afraid of flying. In two days, they could have driven.”

  She remembered his description of his family? That was good, wasn’t it? “They’re, uh, real busy people.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. I guess Elroy would be just that much of a jerk.”

  The last thing Tris wanted was to talk about his family. “You … you got any rodeos coming up?” Talk about her. That was better.

  “Three weeks. Over in Denver.” She cleared her throat. “I want that one bad.”

  “It’s important?”

  “Yeah. Prestigious. They’ve got some real mean bulls. I figure if I can win the women’s division again, the promoters might let me compete in men’s.”

  The thought of her endangering herself by riding mean bulls made him want to shake her. Or forbid her to go just to protect her. “You could get hurt. People get hurt rodeoing.”

  She laughed a little then. That was the first time he’d heard her laugh. It was like what he imagined her singing voice would be, throaty and sensual. “If you grow up riding wild or half-broke horses, by the time you get to be my age you’ve fractured a lot of bones.”

  “That’s awful.” The thought of her suffering any kind of pain was painful in itself.

  “Seems like cycles are worse than horses,” she threw back at him.

  “Not worse.”

  “But not better.”

  He couldn’t argue. “Guess we’re both a little addicted to the wild side.”

  Her eyes were still smiling. “You could say that.”

  Great! That was good. They had something in common after all. He’d forgotten his food. But now he took a bite of soggy green beans. She got up and came to stand nearer. Under the table, his loins responded to her nearness. She was peering at his nightstand.

  “Jack Kerouac, huh? I liked that one.”

  “Me too. Too bad I finished it.”

  “Mr. Tremaine, time for your medication.” An older nurse bustled into the room.

  “Well, I better head out,” Maggie said, edging away from the bed.

  “You don’t have to go,” Tris protested. But she’d already slipped behind the motherly nurse and was heading for the door.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said, pausing.

  “Your … your business maybe keeping you in Reno overnight?”

  She shook her head. “Got to get back to Elroy’s.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Well, thanks a lot for coming by.”

  “Not a big deal.”

  And she was gone. He wanted to shout at the motherly nurse for giving Maggie an excuse to leave. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten a number. He pushed away the tray, not caring that the meal was half-eaten or that his erection would be revealed. “I don’t need anything for pain,” he gritted.

  “Mr. Tremaine,” the nurse said in that firm mother voice that always got to him. “This is not discretionary. Antibiotics and pain medication. Right here on the order sheet.” She tapped a clipboard. “You behave and give me your arm or I’ll hook you up to an IV and put you in restraints. How will you go home Thursday if I tell the doctor you have to be restrained because you can’t be trusted to take medication?”

  Disgusted, he held out the arm with the shunt on the inside forearm. Some rebel he was.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  No news of a fatal accident on Highway 50. Damn. He’d have to drive out there and find the body. The body would be there. It had to be there. No one could have survived that hit.

  Jason chewed his lip and flipped the playing card labeled with the name of the hotel, “The Nugget,” toward the ice bucket. It fluttered onto the carpet. Shit, shit, shit! He got up and paced the room. The old woman hadn’t called him. Yet. He swallowed three Tums extra strength and about five ibuprofen. That might be counter productive. His ulcer was acting up but nothing was touching his headaches either. He hadn’t had headaches like that since.…

  Since he was fifteen. The face he hated flickered in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t think about that. He rubbed his temples. The headaches would stop once he was sure Tremaine was dead.

  And even if he wasn’t dead, Jason still had time to find the son of a bitch in a hospital and finish the job. The old woman wouldn’t ever have to know he’d failed the first time.

  Taking Tremaine out in the middle of a hospital was too public though, even with a power like Jason’s. Tremaine might struggle. If Jason lost concentration the cloaking would fail. But he could sweet talk some girl nurse into telling him when Tremaine would be discharged. Jason would be there. Better yet, send someone Tremaine would trust. A woman. Say she was from his family. When he got Tremaine somewhere private…. He’d enjoy that part, take his time. Then he was home free. Free, except that the old woman could threaten him with the unthinkable.

  Did Fallon have a hospital? He popped three more Tums.

  *****

  Maggie stalked out through the busy halls of the hospital. Okay, she’d done her duty. She’d gone to visit him in the hospital. And awkward as it was, she was glad she’d come. The guy had no one who cared about him. She’d seen the lines of pain around his eyes. He was stuck in bed, having finished his book, with only TV for company.

  The fact that he made her practically a drooling, lusting idiot wasn’t his fault, exactly. It was her fault. She had no idea what was happening to her. Not that she hadn’t known what would happen if she went to see him. Why else had she talked herself out of it for three whole days? The fact that all her effort to keep him from her every waking thought had failed just meant she was weak and stupid and desperate for a man.

  Not. I’m fine on my own and piss on anyone who says otherwise.

  Then why had she driven all the way into Reno to see him? She’d had to make up some lame excuse about buying an automatic watering system. A child could have seen that she didn’t have enough money for an expensive system like that.

  She passed the gift shop and headed out. Too bad she hadn’t brought him anything. You were supposed to bring something, weren’t you? What did you get a guy like that? Not flowers.

  A book. He needed a book. She did a U-turn and headed into the gift shop. A hospital gift shop wouldn’t carry something as classy as On the Road. Didn’t matter. He was on pain meds. He needed something simple and amusing. She came to the rack of magazines first. Cosmo? He might enjoy the sex quiz, but—no. Playboy? She wasn’t pandering to that impulse. She could just see him jerking off in a hospital bed.

  Oh. Bad image. She blinked, trying to get it out of her mind. It was a real stubborn image. Men’s Fitness. Didn’t need that. The way his biceps bulged under that hospital gown.…

  Image also bad. Okay, stop with the magazines. Books. She came in for a book. She scanned the next rack. They had maybe twenty titles. Not a romance. A guy like that didn’t have a romantic bone in his body and wouldn’t be caught dead with one of those. Mystery? Kinda complicated if he was on pain meds. But hell, he’d been reading Kerouac. Okay. Mystery. Sue Grafton? Maybe. Ah! There was a new James Lee Burke. Hard-boiled Louisiana detective story. Masculine but with some of the most beautiful language she’d ever read. Perfect.

  It wasn’t like it was expensive or anything. $7.99 plus tax. So it wouldn’t mean much. “Can you just send this up to room 808?” she asked the spiky-haired cashier.

  “You don’t want to take it yourself?” the
kid asked.

  “No. No I don’t.”

  Like hell she didn’t. She wanted to go back up to that room and take his good hand and stroke her palm up the warmth of his forearm with its crisp hair to that biceps covered with tats then up farther under the hospital gown. Exactly how far did that pattern go?

  Instead, she was never going to see him again.

  That was good. Disruption over. Life back to normal. He would go on with his life like nothing happened. Because for him nothing did. It was she who was topsy-turvy right now, unable to get her bearings. She dashed across the walkway to the parking building.

  She’d paused outside the room waiting for her heart to stop pounding long enough to hear he was going home Thursday. His family would pick him up day after tomorrow. End of story.

  She stopped just at the stairs. No, they wouldn’t. She’d be willing to bet he’d never even called them. He’d probably just take a cab to a motel. Alone.

  Not her business. She was going home tonight and taking her horses down to LA tomorrow, and that was that.

  *****

  How long did this take? Damn it, he’d been sitting in discharge for twenty frigging minutes in a Goddamned wheelchair with the footrest up to keep his leg elevated, waiting for the special paperwork he needed to be discharged without anyone to claim him. The cab would be here any minute. He hoped to God they didn’t tell the babe of a surgeon. He wanted to be outta here before she could sic a social worker on him. He juggled a plastic bag full of drugs to go, prescriptions for more, and discharge instructions, along with crutches and a shopping bag holding the stuff salvaged from his cycle and the new book. Teresa had cut one leg off his jeans above the knee and helped him into his shirt. Were orderlies supposed to make yummy noises while they dressed patients? She’d admitted she bribed her male colleague to let her have “dress Tris duty.” Highlight of her week, the way she’d been grinning. Once he would have bedded her without a thought. As it was, he was a dreadful disappointment to her. Join the club, Teresa.

  Maggie had sent up that book. It must have been her, though there was no inscription and the nurse who brought it in just said the clerk in the gift shop left it.

  It might mean she cared about him. He liked that idea. $7.99 worth of caring anyway. He’d finished the book. It was long but he was a quick reader. He was going to keep it. Not because it reminded him of her, of course. Just because it was a great book. He’d be reading a lot more James Lee Burke. Man after his own heart, tight, a little closed. But one who thought up language so beautiful it could make you grin.

  A boozy broad who could be anywhere between fifty and seventy tottered in on high heels in a low-cut red dress. She was smoking a cigarette.

  “I’m here for Tristram Tremaine,” she announced to the girl at the desk in a voice hoarse from years of smoking. Old enough to be his mother, but definitely not his mother.

  Who the hell was this?

  “Put out that cigarette, ma’am,” the volunteer admonished. “You’re in a hospital.”

  “Oh.” The woman seemed shocked to see the cigarette in her hand. Was she drunk? “Oh, okay.” She looked around for an ashtray, like there’d be one in a hospital, and then finally went back out through the sliding doors to the trash receptacle with the sand on top outside. After stubbing it out, she tottered back in. “Now where is my darling boy?”

  “Right over there, ma’am.” The volunteer gestured toward Tris and his wheelchair. If she’d actually known who he was, he’d have been hard to miss. “We thought he was checking out on his own. Nice that he has someone to take care of him.”

  Like hell. Who was this broad?

  “Darling!” The woman whooshed over to him, a very unmotherly light in her eyes. “How is my baby boy?” She took his face in her veined hands and planted a sloppy kiss on each cheek.

  “Who are you?” Tris asked through gritted teeth.

  “My oh-so-handsome little invalid is crabby, is he?” She smiled a crooked smile revealing tobacco-stained teeth and stood. “Well, Mama has a wonderful surprise for you.” Her sly grin matched her sloe-eyed “come-hither” look. “Mama’s gonna take care of all your needs.”

  Right. Like Tris was going to dip his wick in that inkwell. A yellow cab pulled up outside the sliding doors. His or not, he didn’t care. “I’ll just take that cab.”

  The orderly behind him said, “In that case you have to wait for the paperwork to come down so you can sign out. A social worker is on the way with it.”

  Busted.

  “No need,” Tris’s “mother” said to the orderly. “He’ll be coming with me. I can sign if you want, and we can go right now.” She shot a significant look at Tris.

  “Fine. Let’s just get the hell out of here.” Whatever it took. Whoever this woman was. He was sick of this place. He’d ditch her for the cab once she signed him out.

  “You got it, baby-doll.”

  The little volunteer brought a clipboard over. The boozy woman signed with a flourish.

  “Let’s go,” Tris growled.

  The woman stepped behind his chair and wheeled it through the front doors. A Cadillac convertible sporting a cherry paint job in fire engine red and restored chrome was parked in the West Discharge Circle. Tris ran an appreciative eye over its long silhouette and discreet fins. A ’67, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Where’d you get the car?” he asked in spite of himself.

  “Never mind, my little stud muffin. We gotta hurry. Got an appointment to keep.”

  What appointment? “Thanks for springing me. But now I’ll take the cab.” He set the bags with his earthly possessions on the ground while he fumbled with his crutches. He could only use one right now because of the sling and that made him a little wobbly.

  “No dice, handsome. I got my orders. You’re coming with me.” She grabbed his other crutch and whirled to open the back door of the Caddy.

  “Orders from whom? Who sent you anyway?”

  “Your mother.”

  More likely Kemble. Kemble knew everything. Of course. The insurance. Would charges have hit already? He should have declared himself indigent. Only that felt like cheating. The thought of his family knowing he wrecked himself and sending this woman to collect him like she was picking up trash just made him feel sick.

  *****

  Maggie pulled her truck slowly down the street next to the huge hospital complex, looking for the West Discharge Circle. That’s where the operator said patients were released. Her windows were rolled down. Eighty-five was hot when you didn’t have air. Lord knew what she was doing here. She’d already be in LA if she’d loaded the mustangs and left when she’d planned. She’d watered the horses, fed them. She’d cleaned Mr. Bad Boy’s blood out of the truck. Then she’d been reduced to making up odd jobs around the shack and the lean-to that held the hay to keep herself busy and her thoughts off him.

  Hadn’t worked. And she wasn’t even good at lying to herself. She’d known for two days what she was waiting for. Thursday morning. Just stupid. And you can’t fix stupid, as the comedian used to say. But she couldn’t get Mr. Biker out of her mind and she just knew he was going to go to some crummy motel, and … and she just didn’t want to see him alone and in pain.

  Oh, hell. She just wanted to see him again.

  He didn’t care about her or anybody else. Hadn’t she had enough of the “love-’em-and-leave-’em” type with Phil the Rat? She didn’t want to be abandoned again. And she’d been fighting against becoming the one to abandon other people all her life just so she wouldn’t be like her mama. Why else stay with Elroy?

  No connections. That was her motto. You couldn’t be either left or a leaver if you didn’t care.

  But maybe she’d been looking at this the wrong way. Hey, lighten up. Hanky-panky with a good-looking guy might be just what the doctor ordered. Tris seemed interested, against all odds. At least enough for a one-night stand. Two could play his game. Didn’t mean she cared.

  Who was sh
e trying to kid?

  She was already obsessed with Tris. Any way you looked at it, he’d be a disaster for her. She’d be hurt when he left. And her only protection against that was leaving first.

  So not doing either of those.

  Yet here she was. Looking for the West Discharge Circle. Stupid.

  There it was, behind some construction signs. Hospital was building a new tower, even in a down economy. Not surprising. She knew firsthand about health care bills.

  Two cars were parked in the circle: a yellow cab and some red classic car. Tris Tremaine was standing with one crutch under his good arm, a wheelchair abandoned on the sidewalk. A woman in a clingy red dress to match the car was pulling on the arm in his sling. Tris was resisting, but he was at a disadvantage. Mama? But what mother would treat her son like that? A mother just like Elroy, that’s who.

  Maggie eased the Ford up just inside the two cars on the circle. “Get in the car,” the woman hissed. Tris looked about to fall. That would so not be good.

  “Look, whoever you are,” Tris protested. The baritone rolled through Maggie with more force every time she heard it. “I just want to get to the Motel Six over on Wells. A cab is fine.” The cabby got out of his cab, looking confused.

  So the woman wasn’t his mama.

  “Your mother trusted me to take care of you,” the woman said.

  “I doubt that,” Tris said, looking even more exasperated. “You tell Kemble to go to hell.”

  Maggie stopped the truck. There was just room enough for Tris to squeeze between the two other cars. She leaned over and pushed open the truck door. It hit the red car’s bumper, bringing a wince from Tris.

  “If you’re looking for a ride, you can get in,” she called.

  “Butt out, whoever you are,” the woman spat. “He’s coming with me.”

  Tris looked relieved when he saw her. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  Maggie hopped out of her side of the truck and strode over to the sidewalk. “Let me get these.” She picked up both his bags in her left hand. “You just get yourself in.”