If it wasn't for the very shapely woman standing at the
bottom of the California cliff, Last Jefferson might not
have miscued his hang-glider landing, ending up in three
feet of ocean instead of on the beach as he'd planned.
Last appreciated the female form, as did all of his
brothers. Hers, he thought as she walked toward him, was
worth the ocean water bath.
Until he saw the little boy and girl beside her. Had he
realized from his airborne position that the beautiful
lady had two young children with her, he might have stayed
dry. Unfortunately he'd been mainly focused on her sinuous
shape and on the lovely cleavage gleaming above her bikini
top.
The water was warmish, at least. He pulled off his helmet,
grimacing. "Are you all right?" the little boy asked. "You
made a big splash when you hit the water."
"A big splash," his sister confirmed. "I bet the sea lions
on their rocks heard it."
Last dragged himself out of the water, checking his canopy
to make certain it was still in good shape. "You two
remind me of my niece and nephew back home. And they're
nothing but trouble," he said wryly. "You two run on back
to your mom. I'm fine." And I don't need any more
wisenheimer children in my life.
Nor did he need a woman. He'd had enough trouble with the
female gender. He should have saved himself the crash
landing. He was on a mind-clearing sabbatical here in
California, and he'd learned the hard way that one-night
stands were not mind-clearing exercises.
His toddler daughter was proof of that.
The shapely brunette finally caught up with her
children. "Are you all right?" she asked him.
His mouth watered as he got a closer look at her
face. "Yes. Thank you." Okay, God must have let one of his
angels drop from the sky, because this woman was stunning.
Maybe she was a model. Wasn't California full of models
and actresses? "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Only by staying away," he said bluntly, although he
appreciated her sun-browned waist above a long black
sarong. Beneath the crepe fabric he could see very shapely
legs. Orange-painted toenails peeped from her leather
thongs. "I'm a loner."
"We're loners, too," the young boy said. "My mom's a
magician."
Great. Just what he needed — someone who excelled in
disappearing acts.
The Jefferson clan already possessed more disappearing
acts than they needed, from their missing father Maverick
to their eldest brother Mason, who had a habit of running
off when he didn't want to deal with his feelings for a
certain lady. Right now Last was focused on his own
disappearing act, while his brother Crockett tried to make
a family with his new wife, Valentine — who just happened
to be Last's former one-night stand and the mother of
Last's daughter, Annette. Privacy had seemed like the
proper thing for Last to give the new family, and he'd
chosen not to hang around like a disgruntled shadow.
No matter how pretty this young mother was, he wouldn't
hang around here, either. "Goodbye," he said, hauling his
hang-glider down the beach. "Hey," the boy said, running
after him. "My mom can pull a quarter from your ear."
"Look," Last said, not wanting to be mean, "I'll pull a
ten-dollar bill from yours if you scram."
"Really?" The boy beamed while his sister looked on with
doubt.
"Sure." Last took a ten from the elastic-covered hidden
pocket of his long swim trunks, folded it, then handed it
to the boy.
"Hey! That wasn't my ear!"
"But it is a ten. Now scram."
"I beg your pardon!" The gorgeous-vixen mother with dark
hair and snapping blue eyes snatched the money from her
son and handed it back to Last.
It had been in poor taste. Last opened his mouth to
apologize, except the woman whirled around, dragging her
kids, one in each hand, away before he could speak.
Hellfire. He shouldn't care, should he? He'd wanted them
to bug off, and that's what they were doing. But he hadn't
meant to hurt anyone's feelings.
"Jeez," he said under his breath, situating his canopy
carefully on the sand. He ran after the brunette, noting
that her rear view was as eye-pleasing as her front view.
Which meant spoon-style lovemaking would be a very
pleasant option.
Whoa, he said to his unruly thoughts. With determination,
he took his eyes off the swaying black sarong. "Excuse me."
She didn't turn around.
He jogged in front of her, holding up his palms in
surrender. "Look, I'm sorry," he said.
"A sorry excuse for a gentleman," she snapped, passing him.
Gentleman? No one had ever accused him of being that.
Gamely, he hustled past her. "My name's Last Jefferson.
From Texas."
She marched past him.
The boy turned huge eyes toward him as the family walked
away. "That's a weird name," he told Last. "Sort of like
my mother's stage name."
Last trotted after the child, figuring he was the more
receptive target for an apology. "What's your mother's
stage name?"
"Poppy Peabody."
"Poppy Peabody?" That was a stage name.
"The hottest female magician performing today," the little
girl said proudly. "Get your popcorn, take your seats,
fellas —"
Poppy grimaced, tugging the children up the beach faster.
The "hot" part they had right. Last kept jogging alongside
the boy, recognizing that the stubborn set of Poppy's
shoulders meant he wasn't getting anywhere with her. "So
what's your name?" he asked the boy.
"Curtis. My sister's name is Amelia."
"Nice names."
"Thanks. Is Last your stage name?"
"No." Last wished Poppy would slow down. Her legs were
nearly as long as his and obviously far more used to sand
power-walking. "It's all mine. Does your mother have a
real name?"
"She's not really my mother," Curtis said in a
confidential tone. "She's our aunt."
Aunt. Hmm. Last ignored the pleasure the knowledge gave
him. "Name?"
Finally Poppy stopped. "Esmerelda Hastings," she said
curtly. "I prefer Aunt Poppy to Aunt Esmerelda, and Poppy
in general."
He blinked. "I can see where you might, although Esme is
kind of cool, you have to admit. Not as dramatic, I guess."
"Poppy and Last," Amelia murmured, frowning.
"That won't do. You're not The One."
"Amelia!" Poppy said. "I apologize," she told Last, her
blush quite appealing. "They are home-schooled and quite
precocious."
"I was homeschooled, for the most part," Last said. "We
did go to public school for a few years, but more as a
social exercise." Now that he had her attention, he
refused to let it go. "Can we start over?" he asked with a
smile.
"I suppose," she said reluctantly. "Although I try to
discourage the children from talking to strangers. And
certainly taking money from them is inappropriate."
"You speak just like Mary Poppins," Last said.
"Very proper. Are you British?"
"Mary Poppins flew by parasol," Amelia interrupted. "And
Mr. Last flew by hang-glider, though not very well," she
finished thoughtfully. "It's something in common."
"I thought Mr. Jefferson did quite fine, except on the
landing," Curtis said. "They probably have lots in common."
"Whew," Last said, "these two are certainly trying to set
you up. I'm sorry I'm not available, if for no other
reason than to see what they're up to."
Poppy smiled sadly. "My sister passed away a year ago, and
it is the children's opinion that if they can marry me
off, they will have a whole family. Like most children,
having a whole family is their greatest wish."
"No father?" Last asked quietly, watching as the children
were sidetracked by a bird flying overhead.
Poppy shook her head. "No one knows where he is."
"I know that routine," he said with a sigh.
"Sorry?" Poppy said.
Last hadn't seen his own father in years, though Mason
kept up a diligent search. But Last wasn't ready to go
into that, not here and not with a woman as pretty as
Poppy/Esmerelda.
"Hey, let's have lunch," he said instead. "I want to hear
more about this magician's life you lead. Wasn't it 'the
hottest female magician performing today'?"
Poppy blushed. "The children hear that every night from
the announcer. Pay no attention to it."
"How can I not?" He grinned at the kids as they turned
their gazes back to him. "It's true — at least the hot
part. Now, magic, I don't believe in."
The children gasped. Poppy looked horrified. "How do you
think Mary Poppins flew?" Amelia demanded.
"Ropes and pulleys?" Last asked.