by T. M. Cromer
Time caught up with a snap and a fizzle.
A gun’s report echoed.
Summer felt the impact from front and back.
11
“Summer! Oh, Goddess no!” one of the Thorne sisters screamed.
Coop rushed to Summer, where she lay on her side and clung to the chimp. Her fisted hand started to loosen.
Morty twitched against the restraint. In about two seconds, one pissed off ape was going to be given free rein of his emotions.
“Keaton, the tranq gun! Now!” He pressed his hand to the wound in Summer’s back. “Hang in there, sweetheart. We’re going to get you help. Winnie, call nine-one-one.”
Summer frowned and blinked at him, dazed. Her mouth worked but no words would come.
“I’ve got Morty, sister. You can let go,” Autumn said as tears streamed down her ashen cheeks.
Let go? What the fuck? “Hell, no she can’t let go! She’s not going anywhere.” Why would they encourage her to go into the light? Could witches even go into the light? Or were they destined for a hotter climate when they passed on? He couldn’t reconcile what he’d been taught about religion in SmallTown, USA right at that moment.
“She can let go of Morty, Coop,” Spring clarified as she laid one hand on Summer’s furrowed brow and curled the other into a fist.
Autumn scooped up the chimp and held him as if he were a small babe.
Cooper intended to see that fucking thing put down the first chance he got.
Anguished sapphire-blue eyes pleaded with him. “Please don’t shoot my Morty, Coop. Please,” Summer whispered. She arched her back as if the pain were just then registering.
“Morty will be kept safe, sister. Concentrate on me. On my fingertips on your brow,” crooned Spring.
Cooper glanced up from Summer’s wound to bark orders. “Get me a blanket, and some towels. Do you have a first aid kit?” When he noticed none of the sisters moving, he lost his shit. “Move! She’ll go into shock and every second counts here! Why are you all just standing around?”
Winnie laid a hand on his shoulder. “You need to leave, Coop. We have this.”
“I’m not going anywhere. She… it’s my fault,” he croaked out.
“Coop, I need you to listen.” Spring’s voice was grave. “We can’t help her if you won’t let her go. Right now, we can only pause her body’s reaction. I need you to release her for us to heal her.”
What the hell was Spring saying? The blood loss alone could kill Summer. Time was of the essence, and they treated this with all the importance of a damned paper cut.
“Cooper, they have it.” His brother gave him a shake and nodded to the light show taking place beside him.
The elegantly clad blonde woman appeared like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother right before his eyes. The only thing missing was the Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo song and a pumpkin, but the long wand clutched in her fist wasn’t a result of his active imagination.
She nudged him with the pointy end. “Step aside, Sheriff. ‘Every second counts here.’”
Strong arms came around him and jerked him away from Summer.
A wretched cry arose, and Coop realized belatedly the sound had come from his own throat in protest to the movement.
“She needs a doctor!” he shouted.
“Coop, this is our Aunt GiGi. She’s skilled in healing.”
“Healing? As in she can remove a bullet, stop the blood flow, and prevent sepsis?” he argued as he struggled against Keaton’s strong embrace.
A purple light arced from her wand to Summer’s wound and effectively silenced him.
He was dreaming. It was the only reasonable explanation for such a nightmarish incident as the one he currently found himself embroiled in. He was dreaming, and Summer was not lying on the ground suffering a gunshot wound he was responsible for inflicting. When he woke up, he’d head straight to her house and verify she was fine.
Except none of this felt like a dream. The metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils even as it dried on his dangling hands. The air crackled with magic and his own anxious energy.
The Thorne sisters gathered around their aunt, each chanting in a language foreign to him.
As he stared, Summer’s body rose three feet off the ground, her back arched as if she were suspended by invisible cables. Her mouth opened as if to scream her agony, but no sound emerged.
Coop surged forward only to be caught by Keaton and held tight.
Christ, this was insane. All these years, right under his nose, these women had been performing rituals, casting God only knew what type of spells.
Perhaps Keaton wasn’t wrong to believe in love spells. How else could he explain his own unnatural desire for Summer? It bordered on obsession.
Yet, hadn’t she had years to work her wiles on him? To bind him to her with some magic? If she’d wanted to do so, she would’ve done it in high school when she’d made herself his shadow.
Doubts crept in and reminded him that he’d been intent on shutting her down. Maybe that’s when she had the idea to cast a spell.
This was messed up. All of it.
How could he sit here wondering about being bewitched by Summer when he should be wondering if she was going to lose her life because of his actions?
He should’ve known better than to approach her in such a heightened state of emotion. But as he replayed the shooting over in his head, he couldn’t have predicted she’d throw herself in front of a bullet for the ape. He should’ve because it was exactly the type of thing she’d do; put herself in danger to save an animal.
She’d been too far away to be in any real peril. Yet, there she lay—er, levitated—injured.
Coop glanced over at a subdued Morty.
The chimp sat, arms wrapped tightly around his own torso as he rocked to and fro. The animal never removed its gaze from Summer.
If Coop didn’t know any better, he’d assume the little terror regretted his part in this tragedy.
As if he sensed Coop’s regard, Morty turned his soulful eyes on him. The chimp signed something Coop didn’t understand. Never more so in that moment had Morty appeared like a lost child.
“Please don’t shoot my Morty, Coop.”
Damn it all to hell.
Coop squatted and opened his arms.
Morty didn’t pause. He ambled over to Coop and lifted his arms for comfort.
“Your mama’s going to be okay, buddy. Mama’s going to be okay.”
If Coop repeated it often enough, it might be so.
12
Summer opened her eyes and winced at the bright light streaming through her bedroom window. Her dry mouth felt stuffed with cotton.
“Welcome back.”
The husky baritone sounded like Coop, but she’d be damned if she could recall ever inviting him up to her room. The last thing she remembered was Autumn’s party in Maine. Had she returned home and summoned Coop for a booty call? After all this time, it pissed her off to think doing the deed with him was unmemorable.
Her eyes closed as she struggled to recall. She hadn’t realized how much time had passed until she felt chubby fingers sifting through her hair. Morty.
“Are you grooming Mama, sweet boy?” she managed to croak out the question.
Coop perched on the edge of her bed and ran a hand over Morty’s back. “He’s been worried about you.”
“Why? What happened?”
In the process of sitting up, the sheet fell to her waist.
Coop’s indrawn breath alerted her to the fact she was naked.
Aghast, she jerked up the covers. What the hell?
A deep frown drew his brows low over his questioning steel-blue gaze. “You don’t remember?”
“Did we play hide the salami?”
Horrified amusement had him sputtering a laugh.
Heat started in her chest and spread to her cheeks in an instant.
Okay, they hadn’t bumped nasties.
“Um, where are my sisters? Did the
y just let you in my room to creep on me while I’m sleeping?”
He scrubbed a hand across his lower face. A clear indication he attempted to hide his grin.
Summer had seen that move at least two-hundred times since she’d known him.
“Spring is in the garden. Winnie mentioned internet orders to fill. And Autumn took over your barn chores with help from Keaton.”
She clutched the sheet tighter and her eyes flew about the room, looking for some clue as to the date. “How… how long was I out, and why?”
“A week.” He cleared his throat. “Because I shot you.”
The sheet fell from her cold, unfeeling fingers. Disbelief and a sense of shock rolled about in her brain. All ability to comprehend the situation lost. “A week? Shot me? Like with a gun?”
Without gawking at her exposed tatas, Coop settled a gentle hand on her shoulder and eased her back. He managed to cover her, while keeping his eyes focused on hers.
“A robe?” Coop asked.
“Behind the door.”
He retrieved the article of clothing in question and kept his head averted while he held out her fuzzy, gray robe with the hot pink hearts.
“You seem to have a secret love of all things hot pink,” he said, with a nod to the pillows on her window seat.
Summer slipped into her cover-up and tied the knot at her waist. “It appears so. Coop, can I ask you to get me a glass of water? I’d do it myself, but I’m—”
“I’ll be right back.”
After he left, she rushed to her bathroom to relieve her bladder and freshen up. A glance in the mirror showed she looked damn fine for a woman who’d slept seven days straight.
A week! She still couldn’t wrap her brain around it.
What had happened? Cooper said he shot her. Why was she drawing a blank? Was a wiped memory the result of healing magic? Having never been on the receiving end, she didn’t know about side effects.
The mystery of Cooper Carlyle in her bedroom also remained to be solved.
She came out of the bathroom to find Coop playing a game of hide and seek with Morty in the covers.
Her heart melted.
The two of them playing Morty’s favorite game spoke of a familiarity. Coop must’ve taken care of her beloved chimp while she was asleep.
“I thought the two of you only tolerated each other up to now.”
Coop shot her a half-smile. “Morty and I reached an understanding. Haven’t we, son?”
Her chimp’s head nodded up and down in an emphatic gesture as if he understood and one-hundred percent agreed with Coop.
Coop rose and brought her the glass of water. “How are you feeling?” Coop asked after a quiet study of her.
“Fine.”
“No lingering discomfort?”
“Please, can you just put me out of my misery already and tell me what happened?”
“The short version? Keaton and I showed up last week. Emotions ran high and Morty, being the staunch defender of all things Summer Thorne, rushed me.”
She gasped and reached for him.
Coop stared down at their joined hands. His became clammy under hers, and he pulled them back to rub down the legs of his jeans. His withdrawal disturbed her, but she found it difficult to focus on the reason.
“Coop?”
He cleared his throat and crossed to the window. “I shot you.”
A memory stirred. Brief glimpses only, but enough for her to start arranging pieces of the puzzle. “You were going to shoot Morty. I was in the way, I think.”
“No!”
The harsh word jerked her head up.
“No, Summer, you weren’t ‘in the way’. You froze everything around you and put yourself directly in the path of my discharging weapon,” he gruffly informed her.
The steely gaze—more gray than blue in his irritation—pinned her in place.
He knew she was a witch!
As if he read her mind, he said, “Yes. I know what you are.”
And he hated it. No need to say it, his feelings crystalized in his cold eyes.
As if a trap door had been opened in her mind, memories slammed her. The report of the gun. The terror for Morty. The agony of the bullet ripping through flesh and muscle. The additional agony of Aunt GiGi’s magical surgery.
Bile filled the back of her throat, and she rushed for the bathroom. Dry heaves bucked her frame where she bent over the toilet. With nothing but a sip of water in her belly, the spasms were especially painful.
Exhausted, she sat back against the pale pink bathroom wall. The running water caught her attention. Summer met Coop’s contemplative gaze in the mirror above the sink.
“Have you ever cast any type of spell on me?”
Goddess, she was tired of his constant distrust. “Would you believe me if I said I haven’t?”
“Maybe.”
She dropped her head back with a light thud. “I haven’t. Magic—real magic—can’t be manipulated for personal gain.”
“Personal gain?” He squatted before her and wiped her face with the damp cloth in his hand. “A desire spell is personal gain?”
A desire spell? What the hell was a desire spell?
His eyes dipped to her mouth and blazed a trail to her gaping robe.
Ah, a desire spell. She snorted. “I’m afraid there’s no such thing as a desire spell, Sheriff. If you’re feeling froggy, it’s all on you.”
His gaze snapped to her steady stare.
She held up three fingers and quirked a brow. “Scout’s honor.”
“Cut the crap. You weren’t a Girl Scout.”
“I was a Brownie in second grade. It counts. Once a scout, always a scout,” she lied.
He tossed the rag in her face and stood, ignoring her sputtered outrage.
“Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. I want details.”
“Of my days serving in the Brownie Brigade?”
His bark of genuine laughter pleased her in a warped, self-torturous sort of way. She didn’t have long to bask in the sensation before he turned serious and left her alone in the room.
Yeah, so he felt desire. Big deal. He was still fearful. She sensed it in the air around him, in the wary light at the back of his eyes.
Tears threatened, and she pressed the heel of her palms to her closed lids. Crying would do no good. It changed nothing. Besides, she’d shed enough tears over Coop back in high school. She refused to cry any more. Not for him. Not for herself.
Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, she slowly regained her feet. First and foremost, she needed to brush the fuzzy feeling from her mouth.
When she’d stalled long enough, she made her way downstairs.
Coop was in the kitchen, cutting up a banana for Morty.
“This is a change from the man who wanted to put him down.”
Her words were a mistake.
His expression closed off as he set the knife next to the sink and wiped his hands. Reaching behind him, he gripped the edge of the long porcelain sink and cleared his throat.
“I can’t apologize enough for the shooting, Summer.” His attention was focused on the floor, as if he didn’t dare look into her eyes. Inch by inch, his gaze lifted to where Morty sat happily consuming the contents of his fruit bowl. “I was wrong.”
“Thank you.”
Surprised, he straightened.
She laughed at the dumbfounded expression. “Did you think I would yell or call you a horrible person?”
“Yes.”
Her humor died. “Yeah, well, I won’t. You did what you thought was right at the time.”
“At the expense of your life.” Self-disgust; he was wallowing in it.
Summer didn’t know how to ease his emotional trauma. “Coop, look at me. Please.”
His impenetrable mask was in place.
She’d seen it enough times to know the front he’d put up was intended to keep people at a distance. Keep her at a distance. Heartache mingled with regret and self-loathing.
After all this time, her need for his affection bordered on pitiful.
“I don’t blame you for what happened, and I’m perfectly fine. No one died. Nothing and no one was injured beyond repair.”
She stepped forward.
He shifted away.
She inhaled sharply. When would she get it through her thick skull he didn’t want or need anything from her?
“Summer—” he began.
She held up a hand palm out. The immediate loss of his tan clued her in to his aversion to her magic. Just as quickly, she dropped her arm. “I suppose this is the perfect lead-in to the next topic. Witchcraft. What do you want to know?”
Long moments ticked by as he topped off his cup of coffee and stared out the window over the sink.
She’d given up hope he intended to speak when he finally asked, “Have you ever used your magic against me?”
Her stomach dropped somewhere around her kneecaps. “I thought we clarified that the day you showed up. Yes.”
He nodded as if he’d expected as much. “How many times?”
“Against you personally? Only the two times. In your presence, I can’t recall. We, my sisters and I, levitated Eddie from the pool on occasion. And the goat incident… there might have been some magic involved there.”
“Might’ve been or was?” His tone was hard and demanded truth.
“Was.”
“I’m sure I know, but what did you do to me?”
“In the barn, I didn’t want to take the chance Morty would hurt you. I suspended movement for you both.”
“That’s once. What was the second time?”
“On the stairs.”
“You threw me into the wall.”
“Not on purpose, Coop. I needed to stop you, but you were struggling against the hold.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m an embarrassment to the Thorne line. My powers are wonky at the best of times.”
“You threw me into a wall, Summer!” he charged, slamming his mug on the counter. “Your face was full of smugness that day. You did it on purpose.”
“No!” she shouted. She stepped toward him, and again, he backed up. “I didn’t, Coop. I swear. I was holding you, you struggled, and I couldn’t maintain the magic. You flying backward was a result of how hard you were fighting the pull.” His disbelieving look broke her heart. “If I was smug, it was because, for once, it seemed I could control the magic.”