Untamed

by Nora Roberts

  that bespoke taste and wealth. There was, however, none of the cool, distant polish that Jo had always attributed to the woman who had taken her son and left Frank. There was a charm to the smile that curved in greeting.

  “Jovilette, such a lovely name. Keane’s told me of you.” She extended her hand, and Jo accepted, intending a quick, impersonal shake. Rachael Loring, however, laid her other hand atop their joined ones and added warmth. “Keane tells me you were very close to Frank. Perhaps we could talk.”

  The affection in her voice confused Jo into a stumbling reply. “I—Yes. I—if you’d like.”

  “I should like very much.” She squeezed Jo’s hand again before releasing it. “Perhaps you have time to show me around?” She smiled with the question, and Jo found it increasingly difficult to remain aloof. “I’m sure there’ve been some changes since I was here last. You must have some business to attend to,” she said, looking up at Keane. “I’m sure Jovilette will take good care of me. Won’t you, dear?” Without waiting for either to respond, Rachael tucked her arm through Jo’s and began to walk. “I knew your parents,” she said as Keane watched them move away. “Not terribly well, I’m afraid. They came here the same year I left. But I recall they were both thrilling performers. Keane tells me you’ve followed your father’s profession.”

  “Yes, I . . .” She hesitated, feeling oddly at a disadvantage. “I did,” she finished lamely.

  “You’re so young.” Rachael gave her a gentle smile. “How terribly brave you must be.”

  “No . . . no, not really. It’s my job.”

  “Yes, of course.” Rachael laughed at some private memory. “I’ve heard that before.”

  They were outside now, and she paused to look thoughtfully around her. “I think perhaps I was wrong. It hasn’t really changed, not in thirty years. It’s a wonderful place, isn’t it?”

  “Why did you leave?” As soon as the words were spoken, Jo regretted them. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Of course you should.” Rachael sighed and patted Jo’s hand. “It’s only natural. Duffy’s still here, Keane tells me.” At the change in subject, Jo imagined her question had been evaded.

  “Yes, I suppose he always will be.”

  “Could we have some coffee, or some tea, perhaps?” Rachael smiled again. “It’s such a long drive from town. Is your trailer nearby?”

  “It’s just over in the back yard.”

  “Oh, yes.” Rachael laughed and began to walk again. “The neighborhood that never changes over thousands of miles. Do you know the story of the dog and the bones?” she asked. Though Jo knew it well, she said nothing. “One version is that a roustabout gave his dog a bone every night after dinner. The dog would bury the bone under the trailer, then the next day try to dig it back up. Of course, it was fifty miles behind in an empty lot. He never figured it out.” Quietly, she laughed to herself.

  Feeling awkward, Jo opened the door to her trailer. How could this woman be the one she had resented all of her life? How could this be the cold, heartless woman who had left Frank? Oddly, Rachael seemed totally at ease in the narrow confines of the trailer.

  “How efficient these are.” She looked around with interest and approval. “You must barely realize you’re on wheels.” Casually, she picked up the volume of Thoreau which lay on Jo’s counter. “Keane told me you have an avid interest in literature. In language, too,” she added, glancing up from the book. Her eyes were golden and direct like her son’s. Jo was tossed back suddenly to the first morning of the season when she had looked down and found Keane’s eyes on her.

  It made her uncomfortable to learn Keane had discussed her with his mother. “I have some tea,” Jo told her as she moved toward the kitchen. “It’s a better gamble than my coffee.”

  “That’s fine,” Rachael said agreeably and followed her. “I’ll just sit here while you fix it.” She settled herself with apparent ease at the tiny table across from the kitchen.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t anything else to offer you.” Jo kept her back turned as she routed through her cupboard.

  “Tea and conversation,” Rachael answered in mild tones, “will be fine.”

  Jo sighed and turned. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m being rude. I just don’t know what to say to you, Mrs. Loring. I’ve resented you for as long as I can remember. Now you’re here and not at all as I imagined.” She managed to smile, albeit ruefully. “You’re not cold and hateful, and you look so much like . . .” She stopped, horrified that she had nearly blurted out Keane’s name. For a moment her eyes were utterly naked.

  Rachael smoothed over the awkwardness. “I don’t wonder you resented me if you were as close to Frank as Keane tells me. Jovilette,” she said softly, “did Frank resent me, too?”

  Helpless, Jo responded to the hint of sadness. “No. Not while I knew him. I don’t think Frank was capable of resentments.”

  “You understood him well, didn’t you?” Rachael watched as Jo poured boiling water into mugs. “I understood him, too,” she continued as Jo brought the mugs to the table. “He was a dreamer, a marvelous free spirit.” Absently, she stirred her tea.

  Consumed with curiosity, Jo sat across from her and waited for the story she sensed was coming.

  “I was eighteen when I met him. I had come to the circus with a cousin. The Colossus was a bit smaller in those days,” she added with a reminiscent smile, “but it was all the same. Oh, the magic!” She shook her head and sighed. “We tumbled into love so fast, married against all my family’s objections and went on the road. It was exciting. I learned the web routine and helped out in wardrobe.”

  Jo’s eyes widened. “You performed?”

  “Oh, yes.” Rachael’s cheeks tinted a bit with pride. “I was quite good. Then I became pregnant. We were both like children waiting for Christmas. I wasn’t quite nineteen when I had Keane, and I’d been with the circus for nearly a year. Things became difficult over the next season. I was young and a bit frightened of Keane. I panicked if he sneezed and was constantly dragging Frank into town to see doctors. How patient he was.”

  Rachael leaned forward and took Jo’s hand. “Can you understand how hard this life is for one not meant for it? Can you see that through the magic of it, the excitement and wonder, there are hardships and fears and impossible demands? I was little more than a child myself, with an infant to care for, without the endurance or vocation of a trouper, without the experience or confidence of a mother. I lived on nerves for an entire season.” She let out a little rush of breath. “When it was over, I went home to Chicago.”

  For the first time, Jo imagined the flight from Rachael’s point of view. She could see a girl, younger than herself, in a strange, demanding world with a baby to care for. Over the years Jo had seen scores of people try the life she’d led and last only weeks. Still she shook her head in confusion.

  “I think I understand how difficult it must have been for you. But if you and Frank loved each other, couldn’t you have worked it out somehow?”

  “How?” Rachael countered. “Should I have taken a house somewhere and lived with him half a year? I would have hated him. Should he have given up his life here and settled down with me and Keane? It would have destroyed everything I loved about him.” Rachael shook her head, giving Jo a soft smile. “We did love each other, Jovilette, but not enough. Compromise isn’t always possible, and neither of us were capable of adjusting to the needs of the other. I tried, and Frank would have tried had I asked him. But it was lost before it had really begun. We did the wisest thing under the circumstances.”

  Looking into Jo’s eyes, she saw youth and confidence. “It seems cold and hard to you, but it was no use dragging out a painful situation. He gave me Keane and two years I’ve always treasured. I gave him his freedom without bitterness. Ten years after Frank, I found happiness again.” She smiled softly with the memory. “I loved Frank, and that love remains as young and sweet as
the day I met him.”

  Jo swallowed. She searched for some way to apologize for a grudge held for a lifetime. “He—Frank kept a scrapbook on Keane. He followed the Chicago papers.”

  “Did he?” Rachael beamed, then leaned back in her chair and lifted her mug. “How like him. Was he happy, Jovilette? Did he have what he wanted?”

  “Yes,” Jo answered without hesitation. “Did you?”

  Rachael’s eyes came back to Jo’s. For a moment the look was speculative, then it grew warm. “What a good heart you have, generous and understanding. Yes, I had what I wanted. And you, Jovilette, what do you want?”

  At ease now, Jo shook her head and smiled. “More than I can have.”

  “You’re too smart for that,” Rachael observed, studying her. “I think you’re a fighter, not a dreamer. When the time comes to make your choice, you won’t settle for anything less than all.” She smiled at Jo’s intent look, then rose. “Will you show me your lions? I can’t tell you how I’m looking forward to seeing you perform.”

  “Yes, of course.” Jo stood, then hesitated. She held out her hand. “I’m glad you came.”

  Rachael accepted the gesture. “So am I.”

  ***

  Throughout the rest of the day Jo looked for Keane without success. After meeting and talking with his mother, it had become even more imperative that she speak with him. Her conscience would have no rest until she made amends. By show time she had not yet found him.

  Each act seemed to run on and on as she fretted for the finish. He would be with his mother in the audience, and undoubtedly she would find him after the show. She strained with impatience as the acts dragged.

  After the finale she stood at the back door, unsure whether to wait or to go to his trailer. She was struck with both relief and alarm when she saw him approaching.

  “Jovilette.” Rachael spoke first, taking Jo’s hands in hers. “How marvelous you were, and how stunning. I see why Keane said you had an untamed beauty.”

  Surprised, Jo glanced up at Keane but met impassive amber eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you how much. The day has brought me some very precious memories. Our talk this afternoon meant a great deal to me.” To Jo’s surprise, Rachael leaned over and kissed her. “I hope to see you again. I’m going to say goodbye to Duffy before you drive me back, Keane,” she continued. “I’ll meet you in the car. Goodbye, Jovilette.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Loring.” Jo watched her go before she turned to Keane. “She’s a wonderful person. She makes me ashamed.”

  “There’s no need for that.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and watched her. “We both had our reasons for resentments, and we were both wrong. How’s your arm?”

  “Oh.” Jo’s fingers traveled to the wound automatically. “It’s fine. There’s barely any scarring.”

  “Good.” The word was short and followed by silence. For a moment Jo felt her courage fail her.

  “Keane,” she began, then forced herself to meet his eyes directly. “I want to apologize for the horrible way I behaved after the accident.”

  “I told you once before,” he said coolly, “I don’t care for apologies.”

  “Please.” Jo swallowed her pride and touched his arm. “I’ve been saving this one for a very long time. I didn’t mean those things I said,” she added quickly. “I hope you’ll forgive me.” It wasn’t the eloquent apology she had planned, but it was all she could manage. His expression never altered.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Keane, please.” Jo grabbed his arm again as he turned to go. “Don’t leave me feeling as if you don’t forgive me. I know I said dreadful things. You have every right to be furious, but couldn’t you—can’t we be friends again?”

  Something flickered over his face. Lifting his hand, he touched the back of it to her cheek. “You have a habit of disconcerting me, Jovilette.” He dropped his hand, then thrust it into his pocket. “I’ve left something for you with Duffy. Be happy.” He walked away from her while she dealt with the finality of his tone. He was walking out of her life. She watched him until he disappeared.

  Jo had thought she would feel something, but there was nothing; no pain, no tears, no desperation. She had not known a human being could be so empty and still live.

  “Jo.” Duffy lumbered up to her, then held out a thick envelope. “Keane left this for you.” Then he moved past her, anxious to see that all straggling towners were nudged on their way.

  Jo felt all emotions had been stripped away. Absently, she glanced at the envelope as she walked to her trailer. Without enthusiasm, she stepped inside, then tore it open. She remained standing as she pulled out the contents. It took her several moments to decipher the legal jargon. She read the group of papers through twice before sitting down.

  He’s given it to me, she thought. Still she could not comprehend the magnitude of it. He’s given me the circus.

  Chapter Twelve

  O’Hare Airport was an army of people and a cacophony of sound. Nearly losing herself in the chaos of it, Jo struggled through the masses and competed for a cab. At first she had merely gawked at the snow like a towner seeing his first sword swallower. Then, though she shivered inside the corduroy coat she had bought for the trip, she began to enjoy it. It was beautiful as it lay over the city, and it helped to turn her mind from the purpose of her journey. Never had she been north so late in the year. Chicago in November was a sensational sight.

  She had learned, after the initial shock had worn off, that Keane had not only given her the circus but a responsibility as well. Almost immediately there had been contracts to negotiate. She had been tossed into a sea of paperwork, forced to rely heavily on Duffy’s experience as she tried to regain her balance. As the season had come to a close, Jo had attempted a dozen times to call Chicago. Each time, she had hung up before Keane’s number could be dialed. It would be, she had decided, more appropriate to see him in person. Her trip had been postponed a few weeks due to Jamie and Rose’s wedding.

  It was there, as she had stood as maid of honor, that Jo had realized what she must do. There was only one thing she truly wanted, and that was to be with Keane. Watching Rose’s face as their vows had been exchanged, Jo had recalled her unflagging determination to win the man she loved.

  And will I stay here? Jo had demanded of herself thousands of miles away from him. No. Her heart had begun to thud as she had mapped out a plan. She would go to Chicago to see him. She would not be turned away. He had wanted her once; she would make him want her again. She would not live out her life without at least some small portion of it being part of his. He didn’t have to love her. It was enough that she loved him.

  And so, shivering against the unfamiliar cold, Jo scrambled into a cab and headed across town. She brushed her hair free of snow with chilled fingers, thinking how idiotic she had been to forget to buy a hat and gloves. What if he isn’t home? she thought suddenly. What if he’s gone to Europe or Japan or California? Panic made her giddy, and she pushed it down. He has to be home. It’s Sunday, and he’s sitting at home reading or going over a brief—or entertaining a woman, she thought, appalled. I should stop and call. I should tell the driver to take me back to the airport. Closing her eyes, Jo fought to regain her calm. She took long, deep breaths and stared at the buildings and sidewalks. Gradually, she felt the tiny gurgle of hysteria dissipate.

  I won’t be afraid, she told herself and tried to believe it. I won’t be afraid. But Jovilette, the woman who reclined on a living rug of lions, was very much afraid. What if he rejected her? I won’t let him reject me, she told herself with a confident lift of her chin. I’ll seduce him. She pressed her fingers to her temples. I wouldn’t know how to begin. I’ve got to tell the driver to turn around.

  But before she could form the words, the cab pulled up to a curb. With the precision of a robot, Jo paid the fare, overtipping in her agitation, and climbed out.

  Long after the
cab had pulled away, she stood staring up at the massive glass-girdled building. Snow waltzed around her, sprinkling her hair and shoulders. A jostle from a rushing pedestrian broke the spell. She picked up her suitcases and hurried through the front door of the apartment buildings.

  The lobby was enormous, with smoked glass walls and a deep shag carpet. Not knowing she should give her name at the desk, Jo wandered toward the elevators, innocently avoiding detection by merging with a group of tenants. Once inside the car, Jo pushed the button for the penthouse with a nerveless forefinger. The chatter of those in the elevator with her registered only as a distant humming. She never noticed when the car stopped for their departure.

  When it stopped a second time and the doors slid open, she stared at the empty space for ten full seconds. Only as the automatic doors began to close did she snap out of her daze. Pushing them open again, she stepped through and into the hall. Her legs were wobbly, but she forced them to move forward in the direction of the penthouse. Panic sped up and down her spine until she set down her bags and leaned her brow against Keane’s door. She urged air in and out of her lungs. She remembered that Rachael Loring had called her a fighter. Jo swallowed, lifted her chin and knocked. The wait was mercifully brief before Keane opened the door. She saw surprise light his eyes as he stared at her.

  Her hair was dusted with snow as it lay over the shoulders of her coat. Her face glowed with the cold, and her eyes were bright, nearly feverish with her struggle for calm. Only once did her mouth tremble before she spoke.

  “Hello, Keane.”

  He only stared, his eyes running over her in disbelief. He was leaner, she thought as she studied his face. As she filled herself with the sight of him, she saw he wore a sweatshirt and jeans. His feet were bare. He hadn’t shaved, and her hand itched to test the roughness of his beard.

  “What are you doing here?” Jo felt a resurgence of panic. His tone was harsh, and he had not answered her smile. She strained for poise.

  “May I come in?” she asked, her smile cracking.

  “What?” He seemed distracted by the question. His brows lowered