by Sharon Ihle
“Rayna? Are you in here?”
Hans jerked Rayna even closer, crushing her to his chest. Then he smashed his lips against hers.
“Rayna?” Gant called again. “Oh.”
Breaking away from Rayna, grinning over her head to where Gant stood, Hans’ expression was triumphant as he said, “Can you not see that we wish our privacy? Out now.”
“I need to talk to Rayna.”
The tone of Gant’s voice told her that she was lucky she wasn’t looking him in the eye. Since she hadn’t worked out the problem with Hans, she had only one option.
“Sorry, Gant,” Rayna said from over her shoulder. “Hans and I have to work on our act. I’ll talk to you later.”
“We’ll talk now,” came his terse reply.
One look into Hans’ pale blue eyes, something that both sickened and frightened her, was all the incentive Rayna needed to do what had to be done. She drove her fingers into the German’s blonde hair and pulled his lips down to hers.
Breaking away from the brief kiss, she said, “Get out and leave us alone, Gant. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Four
The following morning just moments after the steamship pushed away from the shoreline, Gant stepped out of the pilothouse and made his way along the top deck toward the stern. Long columns of dark smoke chugged above him as the ship’s engines gathered steam. By the time he reached the aft railing, the steady rhythmic hissing of the boilers told him the ship was well underway.
Checking the propulsion system, Gant stared down at the giant red paddlewheel. It was turning effortlessly kicking up a frothy wake of muddy Mississippi River water the color of café au lait. Then another kind of movement from the lower deck caught his eye. Mollie stood with her youngest, toddler William. The child was strapped to her hip like a gun and holster. She was deep in conversation with Rayna Sebastiani.
Gant fought off a surge of unreasonable anger as he pictured the Gypsy the way he’d last seen her—in the burly arms of Hans Jahner. No reason to be angry, he told himself. Those two were a perfect match. Hans the arrogant, caustic tamer of wild beasts, and Rayna, a creature as wily and cunning as any of the German’s lions.
Gant told himself that this was for the best, that Rayna was trouble, a woman to be avoided at all costs, but it didn’t do much good. He wanted her, dammit, and he couldn’t stand the idea of Hans touching so much as one of her long black hairs. He supposed that meant he was jealous, an emotion he’d never had before. Never unless he counted the twinge of envy that seemed to pinch him whenever he ran across folks with normal lives and families. But envy or jealousy over a woman? Never.
Maybe all he felt was lust. Kissing Rayna had been a powerfully explosive experience, one that reminded him of the first time he’d fired a gun. The thrill with her had been as incredible, the charge, even more electric. Until yesterday, nothing had equaled that memory. Not the first time his father bought him a woman. And not the day he’d stepped out of prison a free man.
Gant took a deep breath and looked away from the women. Whatever those confusing feelings meant, he wasn’t having any of them. Until Rayna, Gant thought he knew himself as well as anyone, certainly well enough to know that he lacked the normal allotment of emotional attire. On several occasions, especially since he’d met the Bailey’s, he’d looked beneath the outer garments of his soul, searching for at least a few threads of love or something like it, but no matter how far he dug, the result was always the same. Empty pockets.
Today they were empty as always, if more tattered and in need of repair, but empty in any case. If he didn’t want to spend the rest of the show season repairing them, he would have to put the Gypsy out of his mind, and give her a clearer idea of what his rules meant. Her little teasing games would either come to an end, or her employment would.
Gant drew in another breath, deeper this time, squared his shoulders, and started for the staircase.
Below on the lower deck, Mollie went on about her plans for the growth of her show. “I have a motto that I like to use to help me run the circus—to live without laughter is not to live at all. I guess that’s why I like your pig act so much. You and Sweetpea make everyone laugh, regardless of age.”
Humbled by such praise from this woman she barely knew, Rayna said, “Thank you, Mollie. That means a lot.”
“I have an ulterior motive,” she said with a laugh. “I was wondering if you’d like to stretch your talents in another direction and try something a little more melodramatic. Could I talk you into doing a skit or two for us on down the road?”
“A skit?” Rayna consider the idea. “I suppose I could give it a try. What do you have in mind?”
Mollie shifted her son from one hip to the other. “Right now we only have two plays ready, East Lynn and The Old Homestead, but I’m working on several others. With your long black hair and exotic looks, I was thinking we might come up with a short skit about Cleopatra—something really dramatic. What do you think?”
Rayna shrugged. Her experience with acting had been more the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t kind, brief displays meant to hook an audience, and then reel them in for the main event. Taking part in that main event sounded attractive, legitimate somehow.
Rayna gave Mollie a bright smile. “It sounds like fun. When do we start?”
“As soon as possible. I was even thinking of using your mule in the act. Think he’ll cooperate?”
“He should. I’ve tried working on a clown act with him, something to fill the time during costume changes or whenever the performers need a break. He didn’t seem to mind.”
“Great.” Mollie beamed, and then waved at someone. “Gant, come here a minute.”
Rayna had been dreading this moment, and now that it was upon her, she couldn’t look Gant in the eye. Thankfully when he approached, he stood beside her, addressing only Mollie.
“What is it?”
“Rayna here’s agreed to help us put together a Cleopatra skit with her playing the lead. If we get busy on it, maybe we can get it worked up before we make our first stop.”
Still focusing on Mollie alone, Gant said, “You know I don’t know much about the entertainment part of this business. If that’s what you think will draw them in, then I’m all for it.”
He finally glanced at Rayna, but it was brief, impersonal. Then his gaze went back to Mollie. “If you’re about done here, Gus wants to know when you want Toby to fire up the calliope.”
“I’m on my way,” she said. “First, I’ve got a little problem I need some help with. Have either of you come across a pink enamel brooch with a picture of Dan Rice painted in the center?”
“Dan Rice the clown?” Rayna asked, aware that he was considered America’s first great clown, and that for years he’d been an on-again-off-again adversary of her former employer, Doctor Spaulding.
“That’s him,” Mollie said. “You seen the brooch?”
“No,” she said, and Gant echoed the sentiment.
“Dang it all, anyway. I’ve been wanting to wear that brooch as a good luck charm each time we open the circus in a new city. I thought I left it on my table in the dressing room, but I’ve turned the place upside down, and still no sign of it. Be sure to keep a lookout for me.”
“Will do, but I wouldn’t worry too much,” Gant said. “It will turn up.”
“I sure hope so.” Mollie glanced up at the gray skies as she headed for the staircase. “We’ve got enough clouds overhead as it is. Don’t need bad luck to go with them.”
After Mollie was out of earshot, Gant turned to Rayna and said, “If you can spare a minute, I’d still like to have that talk with you.”
There was no hint of Gant’s devastating smile, not so much as a flicker of mirth in those dark eyes. With a sigh, Rayna said, “I have some time now. What is it?”
“Let’s talk over there.”
Pointing to the aft railing where the slap, slap, slap of the paddlewheel would keep their conversation private, Gant
took Rayna by the elbow and guided her there.
Measuring his words, he said, “I thought I warned you about this in your cabin last night, but in case it got lost in the conversation, I thought it worth mentioning again. This is a small circus, a tight little organization with no room for scandalous behavior from anyone. Understand what I’m saying?”
Rayna raised one eyebrow. “Perfectly. You’re trying to apologize for attacking me the way you did, and to make sure that I don’t mention it to anyone on board. Correct?”
As she’d hoped, accusing him before he could point the finger at her had the desired affect. Gant looked stunned, and immediately went on the defensive.
“I, ah, wouldn’t exactly say that I attacked you.” He cleared his throat and avoided her gaze. “It seems to me that you had something to do with what happened in your cabin. If I’m wrong, then, yes, I apologize.”
Rayna inched closer to him and smiled. “Apology accepted. If there’s nothing else, I should really join Mollie up top.”
“That’s it?” Gant held out his hands, palms up. “Aren’t you at least going to apologize for stabbing me?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I could, but then why should I? I was only defending myself.”
It was then Gant realized that Rayna was a lot more than something so relatively simple as trouble. She was also as tough as sun-dried rawhide. Skipping past a point he knew he could not win, he went on to the main reason he’d called her aside.
“Fine then,” he said impatiently. “Don’t apologize for stabbing me. I just hope you feel at least a little embarrassed about the rest of last night.”
Green eyes wide with innocence, she said, “Whatever do you mean?”
“You know damn well that I’m referring to the disgusting display you and Hans made of yourselves in the barn.”
Her chin came down a notch, revealing a crack in that tough exterior. “That was nothing, just an embrace between old friends.”
“It looked like more than a simple embrace.” He was losing his temper, Gant could feel it setting off sparklers at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t seem to dampen the fuse. “I believe I already told you that I expect you and your mother to think of the members of this troupe as family, and to treat them as such. I don’t what I saw fulfills those requirements. I will not stand by and watch you turn the men on this ship against one another.”
“In that case,” she said, and rather arrogantly. “I suggest that you don’t watch.”
The fuse ignited then, setting off explosions of anger and something akin to jealousy.
“If that’s your position,” Gant said, jaw tight. “Then I suggest that you and your mother get off of this ship the first time we dock. And don’t forget to take that disgusting pig with you.”
He then turned on his heel as if to stomp off, but Rayna quickly blocked his way. She’d taken the offensive with Gant to keep him from prying too deeply into her relationship with Hans. Even Rayna didn’t know exactly what it could be called. She only knew that Hans had given her two choices; take up with him again, or explain her incarceration to her new employers. Last night she’d been able to put the German off, telling him she needed time in which to think about his ultimatum, but how long could she keep him at bay?
As she looked into Gant’s dark eyes, at the rage in his expression, Rayna realized that Hans was the least of her problems. If she didn’t smooth Gant’s ruffled feathers, and now, she and Maria would not be working for the Bailey Circus much longer.
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “Sorry for stabbing you and for taking your complaints so lightly. Hans means nothing to me. His embrace was nothing more than the European equivalent of a handshake.”
Gant’s expression, while no longer filled with rage, became skeptical. He uttered a short laugh.
“All right,” she conceded. “Maybe there was more to it than that, but only on Hans’ part. We were companions once, and he seems to have trouble remembering that those days are in the past.”
Gant’s anger was fading. Rayna could see this in his expression and in the suddenly crooked set of his jaw.
He almost smiled as he said, “Then I suggest you remind Hans of this, and often, even if you have to stab him with your knife.”
Trying to lighten his mood even more, Rayna reached into her apron and pulled out her dagger. “You mean this little old thing?”
Gant immediately took two steps back. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “I’d just as soon you kept that knife in your cabin from now on.”
Rayna returned the knife to its sheath. “I’ll think about it.”
Gant eyed her crimson apron. “What else do you have in there that might be dangerous?”
Lifting the apron, Rayna twisted it inside out, displaying the sheath that contained the dagger as well as a row of small pockets sewn along the waistband.
“Let’s see,” she muttered, pointing out each little pouch as she went. “I have fortune telling cards in this one, a few coins in that one, and over here is a regular deck of playing cards. They’re all props that I use in my act. Nothing terribly dangerous here unless you happen to draw the Queen of Spades.”
“Except for the knife,” Gant said. “Just how do you use that in your act?”
“I don’t. I just keep it for protection.”
Again Gant’s hand went to his neck.
“I didn’t mean to cut you,” Rayna said, moving closer. She dropped her apron, palming a small coin in the process, and gently brushed the fingers of that same hand across his shoulder. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.”
Gant shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Rayna pulled the collar of his shirt aside and stood up on tiptoes for a better look. The wound was small, possibly deeper than it looked, but not nearly as bad as she’d feared.
“Oh, it’s worse than I thought,” she suddenly exclaimed. “Look at this.”
Gant flinched and glanced at his shoulder. A gold coin sparkled from between Rayna’s fingers.
“Don’t tease me, Gypsy,” he said, forcing a gruff tone. “I’m not a man you want to trifle with.”
“I don’t trifle, Just Gant, nor do I tease. I am what I am.”
Gant’s expression softened then and he closed the short distance between them. As their eyes met, again Rayna felt a connection to this man, sensed a watery image of what his life must have been like. He struck her as a lonely, closed-up soul who lived in a world of darkness. Whatever had gone on in his life before the circus?
Their gazes still locked, the storm clouds above suddenly parted, spilling a wide splash of sunshine over Gant’s curly, sable brown hair. A few of those dark strands stood out as a rich caramel color, while others seemed streaked with gold. Even his features seemed more distinct now, clearer somehow. Now Rayna could see the Apache blood, the wide cheekbones and firm square jaw, even though they were smoothed over by the seeds of his father’s Texas heritage. Now she could better understand the quick rage in his ebony eyes, the savage way he’d dragged her into his arms back in the cabin. Had there ever been a woman strong enough to tame this man—for even one night?
Intrigued by the idea of testing her own strength with him, and even though her mother’s warnings rang in her mind, Rayna found herself starting at Gant’s mouth with open hunger. Her entire system narrowed its focus, shutting out everything but the volatile man before her. The river splashed down off the ship’s paddles in a noisy waterfall, but all Rayna could hear was Gant’s irregular breathing. A lush expanse of willow and cottonwood trees beckoned from the banks of both Mississippi and Louisiana, but all she could see was Gant. The cool spring breeze lifted loose strands of her hair, and then let them fall, tickling her neck--all she could feel was Gant and his overpowering masculinity. Rayna leaned into him, inviting him to take whatever he wanted.
Desire burned in him, but Gant managed to stay his ground. He didn’t trust this woman, a Gypsy who could bedazzle him with a single look. She was
a bewitching goddess, more icon than peasant, and yet here she was practically inviting him to touch her, to claim her as his own. Was that what she really wanted, or was he reading too much into her expression? Wanting what could never be truly his.
Gant glanced around the bend of the ship’s stern, and then up to the decks above, convincing himself that he was only curious about the whereabouts of the other performers. Deep inside he knew that he was just looking for the best way to ensure their privacy, to feel secluded enough to drag Rayna into his arms and bury his mouth in the soft petals of her lips Gant’s knee brushed against her skirt, grazing the woman beneath. One of his hands went to the back of Rayna’s neck, gripping her there as a stallion seizes a mare before mating. The other, fingers gentle, caressing, went to her cheek to cradle and fondle. As Gant lowered his head, intent on that full, ripe mouth, his desire was suddenly blasted to bits by a series of ear-splitting screeches from the ship’s calliope.