by Nora Roberts
some authority into your voice. He thinks you’re a pushover.”
“Up, Merlin!” Gerry repeated, annoyed enough by Jo’s description to put some dominance into his voice. Though his reluctance was obvious, Merlin obeyed. “He did it,” Gerry whispered on a long, shaky breath. “He really did it.”
“Very good,” Jo said, pleased with both the lion and her student. “Now bring him down.” When this was accomplished, Jo had him bring Merlin from the seat. “Here.” She handed Gerry the whip. “Use the stock to scratch his head. He likes it best just behind the ear.” She felt the faint tremble in his hand as he took the whip, but he held it steady, even as Merlin closed his eyes and roared.
Because he had performed well, Jo afforded Merlin the liberty of rubbing against her legs before she called for Buck to let him out. The rattle of the bars was the cat’s cue to exit, and like a trouper, he took it with his head held high. “You did very well,” she told Gerry when they were alone in the cage.
“It was great.” He handed her back the whip, the stock damp from his sweaty palms. “It was just great. When can I do it again?”
Jo smiled and patted his shoulder. “Soon,” she promised. “Just remember the things I’ve told you and come to me when you remember all those questions.”
“Okay, thanks, Jo.” He stepped through the safety cage. “Thanks a lot. I want to go tell the guys.”
“Go ahead.” Jo watched him scramble away, leaping over the ring and darting through the back door. With a grin, she leaned against the bars. “Was I like that?” she asked Buck, who stood at the opposite end of the cage.
“The first time you got a cat to sit up on your own, we heard about it for a week. Twelve years old and you thought you were ready for the big show.”
Jo laughed, and wiping the damp stock of her whip against her pants, turned. It was then she saw him standing behind her. “Keane!” She used the name she had sworn not to use as pleasure flooded through her. It shone on her face. Just as she had given up hope of seeing him again, he was there. She took two steps toward him before she could check herself. “I didn’t know you were back.” Jo gripped the stock of the whip with both hands to prevent herself from reaching out to touch him.
“I believe you missed me.” His voice was as she remembered, low and smooth.
Jo cursed herself for being so naïve and transparent. “Perhaps I did, a little,” she admitted cautiously. “I suppose I’d gotten used to you, and you were gone longer than you said you’d be.” He looks the same, she thought rapidly, exactly the same. She reminded herself that it had only been a month. It had seemed like years.
“Mmm, yes. I had more to see to than I had expected. You look a bit pale,” he observed and touched her cheek with his fingertip.
“I suppose I haven’t been getting much sun,” she said with quick prevarication. “How was Chicago?” Jo needed to turn the conversation away from personal lines until she had an opportunity to gauge her emotions; seeing him suddenly had tossed them into confusion.
“Cool,” he told her, making a long, thorough survey of her face. “Have you ever been there?”
“No. We play near there toward the end of the season, but I’ve never had time to go all the way into the city.”
Nodding absently, Keane glanced into the empty cage behind her. “I see you’re training Gerry.”
“Yes.” Relieved that they had lapsed into a professional discussion, Jo let the muscles of her shoulders ease. “This was the first time with an adult cat and no bars between. He did very well.”
Keane looked back at her. His eyes were serious and probing. “He was trembling. I could see it from where I stood watching you.”
“It was his first time—” she began in Gerry’s defense.
“I wasn’t criticizing him,” Keane interrupted with a tinge of impatience. “It’s just that he stood beside you, shaking from head to foot, and you were totally cool and in complete control.”
“It’s my job to be in control,” Jo reminded him.
“That lion must have stood seven feet tall when he went up on his hind legs, and you walked under him without any protection, not even the traditional chair.”
“I do a picture act,” she explained, “not a fighting act.”
“Jo,” he said so sharply she blinked. “Aren’t you ever frightened in there?”
“Frightened?” she repeated, lifting a brow. “Of course I’m frightened. More frightened than Gerry was—or than you would be.”
“What are you talking about?” Keane demanded. Jo noted with some curiosity that he was angry. “I could see that boy sweat in there.”
“That was mostly excitement,” Jo told him patiently. “He hasn’t the experience to be truly frightened yet.” She tossed back her hair and let out a long breath. Jo did not like to talk of her fears with anyone and found it especially difficult with Keane. Only because she felt it necessary that he understand this to understand the circus did she continue. “Real fear comes from knowing them, working with them, understanding them. You can only speculate on what they can do to a man. I know. I know exactly what they’re capable of. They have an incredible courage, but more, they have an incredible guile. I’ve seen what they can do.” Her eyes were calm and clear as they looked into his. “My father almost lost a leg once. I was about five, but I remember it perfectly. He made a mistake, and a five-hundred-pound Nubian sunk into his thigh and dragged him around the arena. Luckily, the cat was diverted by a female in season. Cats are unpredictable when they have sex on their minds, which is probably one of the reasons he attacked my father in the first place. They’re fiercely jealous once they’ve set their minds on a mate. My father was able to get into the safety cage before any of the other cats took an interest in him. I can’t remember how many stitches he had or how long it was before he could walk properly again, but I do remember the look in that cat’s eyes. You learn quickly about fear when you’re in the cage, but you control it, you channel it or you find another line of work.”
“Then why?” Keane demanded. He took her shoulders before she could turn away. “Why do you do it? And don’t tell me because it’s your job. That’s not good enough.”
It puzzled Jo why he seemed angry. His eyes were darkened with temper, and his fingers dug into her shoulders. As if wanting to draw out her answer, he gave her one quick shake. “All right,” Jo said slowly, ignoring the ache in her flesh. “That is part of it, but not all. It’s all I’ve ever known, that’s part of it, too. It’s what I’m good at.” While she spoke, she searched his face for a clue to his mood. She wondered if perhaps he had felt it wrong of her to take Gerry into the cage. “Gerry’s going to be good at it, too,” she told him. “I imagine everyone needs to be good—really good—at something. And I enjoy giving the people who come to see me the best show I can. But over all, I suppose it’s because I love them. It’s difficult for a layman to understand a trainer’s feeling for his animals. I love their intelligence, their really awesome beauty, their strength, the unquenchable streak of wildness that separates them from well-trained horses. They’re exciting, challenging and terrifying.”
Keane was silent for a moment. She saw that his eyes were still angry, but his fingers relaxed on her shoulders. Jo felt a light throbbing where bruises would certainly show in the morning. “I suppose excitement becomes addicting—difficult to live without once it’s become a habit.”
“I don’t know,” Jo replied, grateful that his temper was apparently cooling. “I’ve never thought about it.”
“No, I suppose you’d have little reason to.” With a nod, he turned to walk away.
Jo took a step after him. “Keane.” His name raced through her lips before she could prevent it. When he turned back to her, she realized she could not ask any of the dozens of questions that flew through her mind. There was only one she felt she had any right to ask. “Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do with us . . . with the circus?”
Fo
r an instant she saw temper flare again into his eyes. “No.” The word was curt and final. As he turned his back on her again, she felt a spurt of anger and reached for his arm.
“How can you be so callous, so unfeeling?” she demanded. “How is it possible to be so casual when you hold the lives of over a hundred people in your hands?”
Carefully, he removed her hand from his arm. “Don’t push me, Jo.” There was warning in his eyes and in his voice.
“I’m not trying to,” she returned, then ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “I’m only asking you to be fair, to be . . . kind,” she finished lamely.
“Don’t ask me anything,” he ordered in a brisk, authoritative tone. Jo’s chin rose in response. “I’m here,” he reminded her. “You’ll have to be satisfied with that for now.”
Jo battled with her temper. She could not deny that in coming back he had proved himself true to his word. She had the rest of the season if nothing else. “I don’t suppose I have any choice,” she said quietly.
“No,” he agreed with a faint nod. “You don’t.”
Frowning, Jo watched him stride away in a smooth, fluid gait she was forced to admire. She noticed for the first time that her palms were as damp as Gerry’s had been. Annoyed, she rubbed them over her hips.
“Want to talk about it?”
Jo turned quickly to find Jamie behind her in full clown gear. She knew her preoccupation had been deep for her to be caught so completely unaware. “Oh, Jamie, I didn’t see you.”
“You haven’t seen anything but Prescott since you stepped out of the cage,” Jamie pointed out.
“What are you doing in makeup?” she asked, skirting his comment.
He gestured toward the dog at her feet. “This mutt won’t respond to me unless I’m in my face. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“About Prescott, about the way you feel about him.”
The dog sat patiently at Jamie’s heels and thumped his tail. Casually, Jo stopped and ruffled his gray fur.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Look, I’m not saying it can’t work out, but I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know how it is to be nuts about somebody.”
“What in the world makes you think I’m nuts about Keane Prescott?” Jo gave the dog her full attention.
“Hey, it’s me, remember?” Jamie took her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Not everybody would’ve noticed, maybe, but not everybody knows you the way I do. You’ve been miserable since he went back to Chicago, looking for him in every car that drove on the lot. And just now, when you saw him, you lit up like the midway on Saturday night. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you being in love with him, but—”
“In love with him?” Jo repeated, incredulous.
“Yeah.” Jamie spoke patiently. “In love with him.”
Jo stared at Jamie as the realization slid over her. “In love with him,” she murmured, trying out the words. “Oh, no.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “Oh, no.”
“Didn’t you have enough sense to figure it out for yourself?” Jamie said gently. Seeing Jo’s distress, he ran a hand gently up her arm.
“No, I guess I’m pretty stupid about this sort of thing.” Jo opened her eyes and looked around, wondering if the world should look any different. “What am I going to do?”
“Heck, I don’t know.” Jamie kicked sawdust with an oversized shoe. “I’m not exactly getting rave notices myself in that department.” He gave Jo a reassuring pat. “I just wanted you to know that you always have a sympathetic ear here.” He grinned engagingly before he turned to walk away, leaving Jo distracted and confused.
***
Jo spent the rest of the afternoon absorbed with the idea of being in love with Keane Prescott. For a short time she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation, the novel experience of loving someone not as a friend but as a lover. She could feel the light and the power spread through her, as if she had caught the sun in her hand. She daydreamed.
Keane was in love with her. He’d told her hundreds of times as he’d held her under a moonlit sky. He wanted to marry her, he couldn’t bear to live without her. She was suddenly sophisticated and worldly enough to deal with the country club set on their own ground. She could exchange droll stories with the wives of other attorneys. There would be children and a house in the country. How would it feel to wake up in the same town every morning? She would learn to cook and give dinner parties. There would be long, quiet evenings when they would be alone together. There would be candlelight and music. When they slept together, his arms would stay around her until morning.
Idiot. Jo dragged herself back sternly. As she and Pete fed the cats, she tried to remember that fairy tales were for children. None of those things are ever going to happen, she reminded herself. I have to figure out how to handle this before I get in any deeper.
“Pete,” she began, keeping her voice conversational as she put Abra’s quota of raw meat on a long stick. “Have you ever been in love?”
Pete chewed his gum gently, watching Jo hoist the meat through the bars. “Well, now, let’s see.” Thrusting out his lower lip, he considered. “Only ’bout eight or ten times, I guess. Maybe twelve.”
Jo laughed, moving down to the next cage. “I’m serious,” she told him. “I mean really in love.”
“I fall in love easy,” Pete confessed gravely. “I’m a pushover for a pretty face. Matter of fact, I’m a pushover for an ugly face.” He grinned. “Yes sir, the only thing like being in love is drawing an ace-high flush when the pot’s ripe.”
Jo shook her head and continued down the line. “Okay, since you’re such an expert, tell me what you do when you’re in love with a person and the person doesn’t love you back and you don’t want that person to know that you’re in love because you don’t want to make a fool of yourself.”
“Just a minute.” Pete squeezed his eyes tight. “I got to think this one through first.” For a moment he was silent as his lips moved with his thoughts. “Okay, let’s see if I’ve got this straight.” Opening his eyes, he frowned in concentration. “You’re in love—”
“I didn’t say I was in love,” Jo interrupted hastily.
Pete lifted his brows and pursed his lips. “Let’s just use you in the general sense to avoid confusion,” he suggested. Jo nodded, pretending to absorb herself with the feeding of the cats. “So, you’re in love, but the guy doesn’t love you. First off, you’ve got to be sure he doesn’t.”
“He doesn’t,” Jo murmured, then added quickly, “Let’s say he doesn’t.”
Pete shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, then shifted his gum to the other side of his mouth. “Okay, then the first thing you should do is change his mind.”
“Change his mind?” Jo repeated, frowning at him.
“Sure.” Pete gestured with his hand to show the simplicity of the procedure. “You fall in love with him, then he falls in love with you. You play hard to get, or you play easy to get. Or you play flutter and smile.” He demonstrated by coyly batting his lashes and giving a winsome smile. Jo giggled and leaned on the feeding pole. Pete in fielder’s cap, white T-shirt and faded jeans was the best show she’d seen all day. “You make him jealous,” he continued. “Or you flatter his ego. Girl, there’re so many ways to get a man, I can’t count them, and I’ve been gotten by them all. Yes, sir, I’m a real pushover.” He looked so pleased with his weakness, Jo smiled. How easy it would be, she thought, if I could take love so lightly.
“Suppose I don’t want to do any of those things. Suppose I don’t really know how and I don’t want to humiliate myself by making a mess of it. Suppose the person isn’t—well, suppose nothing could ever work between us, anyway. What then?”
“You got too many supposes,” Pete concluded, then shook his finger at her. “And I got one for you. Suppose you ain’t too smart because you figure you can’t win even before you play.”
; “Sometimes people get hurt when they play,” Jo countered quietly. “Especially if they aren’t familiar with the game.”
“Hurting’s nothing,” Pete stated with a sweep of his hand. “Winning’s the best, but playing’s just fine. This whole big life, it’s a game, Jo. You know that. And the rules keep changing all the time. You’ve got nerve,” he continued, then laid his rough, brown hand on her shoulder. “More raw nerve than most anybody I’ve ever known. You’ve got brains, too, hungry brains. You going to tell me that with all that, you’re afraid to take a chance?”
Meeting his eyes, Jo knew hypothetical evasions would not do. “I suppose I only take calculated risks, Pete. I know my turf; I know my moves. And I know exactly what’ll happen if I make a mistake. I take a chance that my body might be clawed, not my emotions. I’ve never rehearsed for anything like this, and I think playing it cold would be suicide.”
“I think you’ve got to believe in Jo Wilder a little more,” Pete countered, then gave her cheek a quick pat.
“Hey, Jo.” Looking over, Jo saw Rose approaching. She wore straight-leg jeans, a white peasant blouse and a six-foot boa constrictor over her shoulders.
“Hello, Rose.” Jo handed Pete the feeding pole. “Taking Baby out for a walk?”
“He needed some air.” Rose gave her charge a pat. “I think he got a little carsick this morning. Does he look peaked to you?”
Jo looked down at the shiny, multicolored skin, then studied the tiny black eyes as Rose held Baby’s head up for inspection. “I don’t think so,” she decided.
“Well, it’s a warm day,” Rose observed, releasing Baby’s head. “I’ll give him a bath. That might perk him up.”
Jo noticed Rose’s eyes darting around the compound. “Looking for Jamie?”
“Hmph.” Rose tossed her black curls. “I’m not wasting my time on that one.” She stroked the latter half of Baby’s anatomy. “I’m indifferent.”
“That’s another way to do it,” Pete put in, giving Jo a nudge. “I forgot about that one. It’s a zinger.”
Rose frowned at Pete, then at Jo. “What’s he talking about?”
With a laugh, Jo sat down on a water barrel. “Catching a man,”