Magic Man Read online

  Magic Man

  Copyright © 2018 by Ashley Hastings. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design: Just Write. Creations

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Magic Man

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Prologue

  One

  For Kelly, yet again.

  Prologue

  “I think it might help you to keep a journal.” The face of the woman was sympathetic but contained no pity. The clinic was overcrowded and underfunded, and the counselor didn’t have the time or any other resource to help all the girls who came here.

  I blinked at her. I hadn’t cried this whole time. I didn’t cry when the boy held me down in the empty classroom around the corner and down the hall from the school gym and raped me during the sophomore dance. I didn’t cry when I went home and told my mom what had happened, and her first words had been concern for what my rapist’s parents might think of me. I didn’t even cry when I peed on the stick and realized that yes, you can get pregnant after having sex only once, despite what my friend Marjorie thought.

  Instead of crying, I made plans. I saw a flyer for the local health clinic, and I made an appointment. When they told me on the phone that a parent would need to accompany me if I was under the age of eighteen, I smoothly lied and said I was nineteen.

  I suffered through my first gynecological exam and acknowledged that yes, that cut in my most private of areas did hurt terribly, and it didn’t seem to want to heal. But when the doctor asked outright if I had been the victim of a sexual assault, well, I guess the lying had kicked in because without even thinking about it, I said no. I looked that doctor in the eye and told her I had sex for the first time over the weekend, and it was just more difficult than I had imagined it to be. That was basically true.

  I had been a virgin when Billy Wilson had led me to the darkened classroom three weeks earlier. I remember Miley Cyrus had been singing “Party in the USA,” and it echoed down the hallway to us from the gym full of gyrating teens, all having the time of their lives. My heart was pounding, and I was so hopeful I was about to get my first kiss.

  I got so much more than that.

  I got viciously assaulted. I got blood running down my leg and the contempt of the only boy I had ever crushed on in high school. I got tears from my mother, and oh, yes, I got a baby.

  But I didn’t cry. Not when the doctor poked and prodded at me, and I wanted to scream and cover myself up. Not when she knowingly told me to soak in a hot tub to facilitate the healing of my cuts. Not until the counselor in the health clinic saw through my lies and pushed a dollar store notebook at me. It was purple with black stripes and not even college-ruled. Lame.

  “Write down how you feel. It will help.” And she shoved some pamphlets at me about abortion and adoption, and that was it.

  I made it out to the sidewalk, and I sank down onto a short concrete wall. I looked at my future. Held it in my hands, shuffling between adoption and abortion, and the notebook fell to the ground.

  Adoption. Abortion. Adoption. Abortion.

  That’s when I started crying, because which option was I going to choose?

  One

  I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sighed. I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel to wake myself up, but I didn’t need to arrive at my stop with a red mark on my forehead.

  “Mom, stop worrying.” The confident voice came from the tiny body in the backseat that was crowded with our meager belongings.

  I turned my head to glance over my shoulder. “Who says I’m worrying?”

  “I do. That’s the third sigh I’ve heard from you in the last thirty minutes.” My daughter was wise beyond her years, that was for sure.

  I sighed again. I hadn’t even realized I had been sighing until my daughter pointed it out.

  It would help if I weren’t so damn tired. I had been driving all night, and the lack of sleep had caused the world around me to take on an unreal haze. But there was no point in complaining about my need for a nap. I didn’t have the money for a motel room, so I had decided to drive straight through. We left Texas after dinner last night in order to be here at our designated time, and after fourteen hours of driving, we had finally crossed the Mississippi River. Our final destination was now less than two hours away.

  Final destination. It sounded so grim, so...final. But it wasn’t a death sentence. It was a job, a much-needed job that paid better than any job I had before.

  The road ahead of me shimmered in the unrelenting sun, fooling the eye into thinking puddles of water were approaching. Even though it was still morning, August in Mississippi wasn’t any kinder than August in Texas.

  If anything, it was worse.

  Despite the grinding heat, everything was so green in Mississippi. I didn’t know how anything could grow in this heat. It was making me want to wither away.

  I cranked up the air conditioning a notch and prayed my rusted car would survive the journey. While God was listening, I added a prayer that this job was a good job, that I wouldn’t regret dragging my kid across several states, that I would make enough money to pay the bills, and that no one would fuck with me in the process.

  Amen.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Boo. I’m just tired and ready to get out of this car. How about you?” I glanced into the rearview mirror to catch her expression.

  Ivy smiled. I saw the wry twist of her lips, and I knew she wasn’t fooled.

  “You’re right. There is nothing to worry about. You are a straight up killer with horses, and these people are lucky to get you.” Ivy adjusted her seat belt with one hand and opened her sketchpad with the other. “And yes, I am ready to get out of this car. More than ready.”

  I smiled even though I wasn’t sure she could see me. Ivy was so smart, so advanced way beyond her nine years. Some of that genius was a blessing, but some of it was a curse. Being the only child of a single mom, Ivy had picked up on way too much growing up.

  She knew money was always tight. And I’m afraid she understood why I had fled Texas in such a hurry.

  I caught myself before I could sigh again.

  Damn boss with his grabby hands. I may not have money, and I may not have a fancy college degree, but I had my pride. And no man was going to play grab ass with me and make it a condition of me keeping my job.

  So when I overheard my horse trainer boss talking about some snooty estate in Mississippi that needed someone to take care of their pampered horses, I applied for the job in secret. No one was more surprised than me when I got the position.

  I loved horses. I enjoyed caring for them, riding them, and training them. And then to find out that this job would pay enough for me to go back to sch
ool and provided housing and utilities as well, I was all in. Finally, maybe this was the break Ivy and I needed.

  I didn’t want a hand out from anybody or a miracle from above. I just wanted a chance to gain a foothold and make it on my own. I could earn my own way – I had been doing that since I gave birth to Ivy when I was only a kid myself. I just needed a tiny break and a little bit of breathing room.

  “Don’t go calling me a horse killer. Doesn’t sound too good, all things considered. I want to keep this job.” I smiled as I spoke and glanced back at the mirror again in time to catch Ivy rolling her eyes.

  But she smiled, too. “It’s just an expression. I didn’t mean you really killed horses.”

  I laughed with her and then at her request, I turned on Five Seconds of Summer. We sang the rest of the way to Peacock, Mississippi, and it was the distraction I needed to calm my nerves.

  Soon enough we drove up to elaborate wrought iron gates blocking the entrance to a cobblestone driveway. An ancient sign proclaimed that this was Peacock Alley. A historical marker nearby reaffirmed that this was a place of importance.

  My new employer had money. Good. That means my paycheck probably wouldn’t bounce.

  I rolled down my window, grunting a little when it stuck. I entered the code I had been given into the small, discreet electronic keypad, and the gates swung open, revealing a shaded drive that curved out of sight beneath huge live oak trees that dripped with moss.

  Dramatic. I couldn’t help but be impressed.

  I toed the accelerator. As soon as our car rolled under the trees, I felt the temperature drop several degrees. That was a much-need relief since the stickiness that was collecting on the back of my neck told me my air conditioning was struggling to keep up with the Mississippi heat wave.

  Ivy unbuckled her seatbelt and stuck her head between the two front seats so she could see better. “I bet this place is haunted.” Her eyes were shining with excitement, and I could tell a stray ghost or two would not be a turn off to her.

  “If this place isn’t haunted, there is no place in the world with ghosts.” I drove with care and sent up another prayer. Please don’t let my car drip oil on this gorgeous driveway.

  Amen again.

  “I just hope there aren’t any ghosts in our apartment, kid. It might be crowded enough with the two of us, so we don’t want to add any strangers to the mix.” I reached back my hand to rub her hair with affection, and she giggled at my words.

  Ivy flipped open her sketchpad again, although she had read her scribbled notes so many times I knew she had committed them to memory by this point.

  “Peacock Alley was built hundreds of years ago. It is the reason the town is named Peacock. The house was here before the town. Can you imagine?” Ivy’s eyes glowed with happiness.

  My daughter, the history buff and amateur ghost hunter.

  We drove for the longest time. Ivy frowned at me. “Did we somehow miss the house? Whose driveway is actually miles long?”

  “We didn’t miss the house, but man, this estate is spooky.” A screeching interrupted me before I could finish the thought, and I jumped.

  Ivy gulped. “Was that someone screaming?”

  Before I could answer, the trees thinned out, and Peacock Alley came into view. A stunning antebellum home complete with massive white columns and dripping with Southern charm, I was intimidated by my first sight of the house.

  I needed this job to work out, but the contrast between the stately, historical home and my just plain old car was telling. Would we fit in here? Or would we be on the move again in a few weeks, looking for a home in another strange location?

  I rolled to a stop before the long front porch and hesitated before putting the car in park. I didn’t cut the engine off. How embarrassing would it be if I couldn’t get it to crank again when it came time to move it to wherever I was told to park?

  I was instructed by the hiring firm to go to the front door and ask for Maxwell. Was that Mr. Maxwell? Or Maxwell something? All I knew was the owner of the estate was Nathan Randolph, the CEO of a major corporation that manufactured guns, among other things. The mysterious Maxwell was the brains behind the house operations.

  I sighed, and this time I didn’t even try to hide it.

  “Don’t be nervous, Mom. You’ve got this.” Ivy smiled her encouragement as she slid back into her seat.

  “Thanks, kid. I appreciate the encouragement.” I opened my door and stepped out into air that was so warm it sucked the oxygen out of my lungs. Wincing, I made my way to the front door, but before I could knock, the massive oak door swung open without warning.

  Two

  The best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life stepped out onto the brick-covered front porch. Now, I know what you are thinking. We use terms like “best-looking” and “hottest” all the time, and we don’t really mean them, do we? We mean a guy is handsome or sexy or whatever, but we may have seen better before, or expect to see better one day.

  Not this time. I fanned myself, needing to cool off my overheated ovaries and to have something to do with my hands. This man was hotter than fresh Mississippi asphalt in August, and it would be embarrassing if I started feeling of his sexy chest or squeezed his ass in greeting.

  He had hair that was dark as sin with matching heavy scruff on his face. His eyes were just as black with bottomless depths to them. He was fit and wearing a suit that hugged his impressive body. My reaction to him was out of line because he had to be at least forty and I was barely twenty-five, but tell that to my pounding heart. I was struggling to breathe again, and this time it had nothing to do with the summer temperature.

  “Millicent Carter?” He held out a hand, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. Waiting on me to get my inappropriate thoughts under control, I’m sure.

  I swallowed. “Yes, but you can call me Millie. All my friends do.” I shook his hand, praying yet again. This time, I prayed that my hand wasn’t sweaty or trembling.

  Amen.

  He looked me up and down, taking his time with it. “All right, Millicent.”

  Well, then.

  “I’m Maxwell.” His voice was rolling velvet, deep and confident.

  I was still shaking his hand, and Maxwell’s eyes dropped to where we were joined together.

  Embarrassed, I let his hand go and stepped back. I needed some breathing room.

  Maxwell looked past me at my car, and I flushed again. “Let’s ride around to the barns, and I will show you where you will be living.”

  I climbed back into the driver’s seat, and Maxwell slipped into the passenger seat. The car seemed too small with him in it, and his presence was overwhelming. He twisted around to look at my daughter.

  “Hey! You must be Ivy.” He introduced himself and offered her his hand, and she shook it with enthusiasm.

  It seemed Maxwell had done his homework. I would expect him to know about my work history, and I had told the hiring representative that I would be bringing my daughter with me, but I don’t think anyone had asked for her name.

  There had been a background check, complete with fingerprints. Maybe Ivy’s name somehow came up in the check? I didn’t know how these things worked.

  Ivy started chattering about the history of the house, and Maxwell didn’t hesitate to join her in conversation.

  Impressed, I put the car in drive and headed in the direction he pointed.

  “So it looks like there are ghosts here. Like, a bunch of ghosts. Am I right? Tell me there are ghosts.” Ivy bounced in her seat, and Maxwell laughed at her eagerness.

  “I’ve experienced a thing or two here that can’t be explained.” He glanced my way when he spoke.

  Despite the extreme heat of the day, I shivered a little, and it had nothing to do with any supposed ghosts wandering the property.

  Ivy chattered on, not realizing her mother was coming undone in the front seat. “We heard screaming when we drove up the driveway. Tell me that was the ghost of a civil war soldier who
got cut off from his fellow troops, and now his soul is doomed to wander the grounds of Peacock Alley forever.”

  Maxwell glanced at me in surprise, but it was Ivy he addressed. “That’s some vocabulary you’ve got there, Little Bit. The screaming you heard was probably from the peacocks that live in the woods. But I like your version better, even if it kind of makes you a monster to want that poor guy to be miserable for all of eternity.”

  Ivy giggled, which made me smile. I was always happy when my child was happy.

  After a short drive we pulled up in front of the barn, and I parked. Despite my lingering nerves, I was relieved to have made it safely to my destination.

  I took a long look at the barn. I had worked for some wealthy people during my career as a trainer, and this was far from my first impressive barn, but damn. This was the most gorgeous barn I had ever worked in before. Made of a charming mix of antique brick, big, heavy stone, and oversized timbers, the barn stretched out before us and seemed never-ending.

  Maxwell jumped out of the car and opened the door for Ivy. “This is the main barn and where we keep all the horses. We also have buildings for an indoor arena and temperature controlled round pens and grooming areas.”

  Impressed, I opened my trunk and grabbed a suitcase. My trunk was full, along with most of the backseat, packed to the brim with our scarce belongings. Might as well grab something now and save a trip for later. Ivy picked up a box, too. We were tired and wanted to complete our move so we could finally relax a little.

  I turned to follow Maxwell and tripped over my own feet, causing the battered suitcase to bust open along the zipper. Like everything else I owned, it was second hand and had seen better days. Three pairs of lacy underwear and one frilly bra spilled out, like the most embarrassing party streamers ever.

  Maxwell swooped down on them before I could react. I heard Ivy gasp in the background, and I thought my whole body might dissolve into ash due to my fiery blushes.

  He straightened and held out one pair of panties. This one had Peppa Pig printed on the front. Any chance he would think they belonged to Ivy and not me?