“And where are you staying in Krakow?” His voice was low but an undercurrent of anger laced his words. “Because you sure as hell aren’t registered at the Pulaski. Why’d you lie about that, Polina?”
“I never told you I was staying at the Pulaski. You just assumed it.”
“You lied to me.”
“No, I didn’t.” She pulled her hand away from his. “Think about it. I don’t know Krakow, and I don’t speak Polish. That makes it kind of difficult to get around if I can’t ask people for directions or tell a cabdriver where to take me. So I chose the nearest landmark to where I’m staying. You can see the Pulaski’s spires from just about anywhere in this area. No matter where I go during the day, I always look for the copper spires, and I can find my way back. Last night when we met, you asked me where I was headed, and I pointed to the spires. That’s where I was headed. You assumed that meant I planned to go to the Pulaski.”
Deep frown lines etched his forehead. “That still doesn’t tell me where you are staying.”
“What does that matter?”
“It matters to me. What are you hiding? Are you married? Or staying with a lover?”
“No, of course not!” Did he think she was like her mother? The idea turned her stomach. “Definitely not!”
“Then, why the secrecy? Why can’t you tell me where you’re staying?”
“Okay, fine.” She let him see her annoyance by rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh that sounded like air brakes on a Mack truck. “St. Tadeusz Youth Hostel.”
His jaw dropped. “That rathole down the block?”
“It’s not a rathole.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Gentlemen overdose on heroin and ladies are beaten and raped in all the finest establishments.”
She winced but refused to apologize for her accommodations choice. “I keep my door barricaded at night.”
“Jesus.” He raked a trembling hand through his hair. “You’re serious.”
“It’s not a big deal. I know how to be careful. Besides, I’ve been in worse places.”
“Really? Where? Afghanistan?”
She clamped her lips together and reached for her sock. She’d had enough. Enough of his censure and his judgment and his unsubstantiated anger. “It’s been fun, Rhys. Have a nice life.” The pain in her foot could cripple an elephant, but she fought back tears and managed to fumble the sock over her toes with some effort.
“You are the most stubborn, exasperating woman.”
Her gaze shot up level with his. “You don’t have to stay with me. Go home.”
“I’m here because I want to be here. I care about you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
He slapped his palms on the tabletop. “Whose fault is that? If you trusted me and told me the truth, maybe I could help.” Reaching across, he clasped her hand again. “Talk to me, please.”
She hated to admit how much warmth and security he communicated with that simple contact. Could she trust him? Did she dare? What had the gypsy girl said? He kissed you because you’re you. Would he be able to separate her from her mother’s past? Only one way to find out. “What do you want to know?”
“Explain how this hostel works.”
“Nothing to it. I check in every night at eight and check out every morning by ten.”
“And where do you go when you check out?”
“Wherever I need to go. I told you, my mother left me an itinerary with stuff she wants me to take care of while I’m here. I keep busy.”
“Maybe you kept busy yesterday and probably today.” He jerked his head at her foot. “But by tomorrow, that ankle is going to be useless to you.”
“I’ll be okay. I bought a wrap and an ice pack. I’ll ice it when I get into a room tonight.” If she got into a room tonight. And of course, she’d have to find a way to freeze the pack first, but she kept those concerns to herself. Her trust only traveled so far.
“I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. “Stefan? I need your help with something.”
She leaned across the table to listen in, but he immediately switched to Polish to finish the conversation.
After several frustrating minutes, he flipped the phone closed. “Let’s go get your luggage out of that place. I’m taking you somewhere else.”
Since she had no intention of going anywhere with him, she didn’t bother to argue. “I don’t have any luggage.”
“Where’s all your stuff?”
She fingered the straps of the backpack on her shoulder. “I keep it with me.”
His eyes widened. “You have two weeks’ worth of luggage in that little rucksack?”
“I pack light.”
“How light?”
“Three pairs of jeans, five shirts, a weeks’ worth of underwear and socks, an extra pair of gloves, my cell phone, my journal, passport, and my wallet.”
“That’s it?” he demanded. “That’s all you brought with you for a trip halfway around the world that will last more than two weeks?”
“What else do I need?” She sat up when she remembered something else. “Oh! I also have my mother’s ashes. But that’s temporary until I can arrange for her to be placed in her family crypt. I have an appointment with someone at the cemetery tomorrow.”
“You’ll have to cancel it. You’re coming with me—”
“No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying right here, having something to eat, and then checking into my room for the night. At Saint Tadeusz. Whatever other plans you just made, you’ll have to cancel.”
A superior, smug smile crept onto his lips. “I called my friend, Stefan. He and his wife, Agata, are expecting you. They have a spare bedroom that’s yours for the duration of your stay. Agata is a nurse so she’ll be able to properly care for your ankle. She’s also a great cook. And if we hurry, you can have bigos tonight instead of this slop. You do know what bigos is, don’t you?”
She nodded, her stomach begging her to accept this generous offer, but pride still overruling hunger. “Hunter’s stew. Uncle Leo used to make it sometimes.”
“Uncle Leo?”
“Mom’s godfather.” She thought about the plane ticket tucked into her wallet, and her mood, already near the basement, plummeted. “I’m supposed to go back there after…”
“After you leave here.” He finished for her. “Where is there? Where are you from in the States?”
“Everywhere and nowhere. We moved around a lot.” Like every week.
Clearly, he didn’t believe her. If his expelled breath didn’t communicate impatience, the slow shake of his head did the trick. “Dammit, Polina, I wish you’d be honest with me.”
She thumped a fist on the table. “I am being honest with you. I’ve never really had a home. Mom wasn’t the stick-around type.”
His eyes glinted like marbles, disbelief gleaming. “Where did you live?” he retorted. “In a tent?”
“Nope. A trailer.” Satisfaction rippled through her. Time to go in for the kill. “And not in a trailer park, either. I’m talking about a true mobile home.”
He didn’t even wince, just sat there, expression bland, waiting for her to say more. He wanted the truth, thought he could deal with whatever she told him. But he didn’t know the real dirt. Okay. Let’s see how fast he ran when she revealed all. Most people couldn’t wait to distance themselves from her when they heard a fraction of her past. Except for Travis. Travis, who’d only stuck around for the “fringe benefits” he assumed she’d be giving him. On a deep breath, she leaned forward to whisper, “Do you know what a ‘carny’ is?”
“A what?”
“A carny.”
“Can’t say I do.”
“It’s a person who works for traveling carnivals.”
“You traveled with a carnival?!” His voice rose several decibels, and she clamped her thighs together to keep from diving under the table.
“Yeah.” She grimaced and let the
sarcasm fly. “Trust me. It’s not as glamorous as you think.”
He clasped his hands on the table. “What was it like?”
“Lonely and back-breaking,” she replied.
“Oh, come on. There must have been fun times, too.”
“Not many,” she murmured, then shook her head to clear away the bitter memories. She needed a pleasant distraction. “What about you? What’s your family like?”
“Smothering.” He shrugged. “I’m the only son with four sisters. There were times I would’ve liked to escape by joining a carnival. Being with my family isn’t much different; it’s noisy, chaotic, and crowded.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she murmured, unable to stifle the wistful air in her tone.
Sure, her life had been noisy, chaotic, and crowded too. The difference was, for him, all those inconveniences came from family, people who knew you and loved you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. In her case, the noise, chaos, and crowds were due to strangers. In her personal life, no one remembered her birthday, knew how she took her coffee, cared if she were sick or hurting. Not even her mother, who spent most of her offstage time drunk or high.
“Most of the time,” she continued, her mind going back to all those years with Jablonski Entertainments, “I handled ride maintenance and repair. Mom was the resident gypsy, telling fortunes and predicting futures with cards or a crystal ball. But we all pitched in wherever we were needed. If you’ve seen anyone working at a carnival, chances are, I’ve done that same job at least once in my life. I sold tickets, manned the rides, ‘lifted steel.’”
“Lifted steel?”
“Basically, it’s what it sounds like. Assembling the rides and outbuildings. I also dropped awnings, which is what we call closing up shop for the night. I played the gypsy role when Mom was too blotto to do her job.”
“Was your mother a real gypsy? A Rom, I mean.”
“No. She just sort of looked like what most people consider a gypsy to look like. Dark hair, dark eyes, heavy makeup. Uncle Leo—he owns the carnival we usually traveled with—he brought my mother to the States from Krakow a long time ago, when my grandparents died. She practically grew up around the carnival.”
“And you? When did you get involved?”
“I was born in the bunkhouse.”
“What about your father?” he prompted. “Do you look like him? Was he part of the carnival too?”
“Dunno. I never met him. By the time my mother realized she was pregnant with me, she was six towns ahead with a different lover she’d left behind in each one. Even if she’d heard his name the night I was conceived, she would’ve been too incoherent to remember it. Mom went through men like most people go through toothpicks.”
And just like that, there they were. All her sins laid out flat on the table, a deck of playing cards stacked against her. She struggled to rise from the bench. Better to say goodbye, rather than watch someone else walk away from her in disgust. “I should go. Get some sleep.”
A sharp pang of regret pierced her heart when he followed her lead and got to his feet. “Absolutely.”
She knew it. As soon as anyone learned the truth about her, they couldn’t wait to get as far away from her as possible.
But Rhys wrapped his arm around her waist, bent to catch her knees, and then scooped her up. “Come on. Stefan and Agata are waiting.”
Chapter 5
To his surprise, she put up no protest as he scooped her against his chest. He grabbed her gloves and dangled her boot from his fingertips, then carried her out of the grease pit. The icy December air refreshed his face and allowed him to breathe freely after four miserable hours stuck inside the overheated fast food place.
Fate.
She’d been planning to get coffee in this dump this morning so he took a chance she’d come back here for lunch. Lunch had nearly turned to dinner, and he’d almost given up, but she’d finally appeared. Hurt and hurting, but safe.
And now, after he’d learned about her unusual upbringing, so many pieces of her puzzle fit together. Oh, he still had plenty of questions, but they could wait.
“You can put me down now,” she said, her breath warm against his neck.
He tightened his hold. “No, I can’t. If I put you down, I have no guarantee you won’t try to run away again. And you can’t walk on that ankle anymore, much less run, without doing even more damage. So get comfortable. You’re stuck here ‘til we get to the car. And then I’m going to drive you to the Nowaks’ house and put you directly into Agata’s hands.”
“How far away is your car?”
“Two blocks up in my company’s employee garage.” He jerked his head toward the thirty-story steel structure, incongruous in this part of Krakow.
“Why didn’t you drive when we were touring the cathedral this morning?”
“Because parking in town is a bear. It’s easier to leave the car and walk. But Stefan lives about five miles from here, and while you may be a lightweight, I don’t think I have the energy to carry you that far on foot.”
She said nothing for about fifty meters before she murmured, “I’m not going to sleep with you, Rhys. I’m not my mother.”
Jesus. Did she really think that was all he cared about? What kind of louts was she accustomed to dealing with? His thoughts traveled back to her comment about her room at Saint Thadeusz. I’ve stayed in worse places. Where? What had it been like for her, growing up among carnival folk?
Later. He’d find time to get additional info out of her, but she’d already given him so much of herself, how could he possibly ask for more?
“I never met your mother,” he remarked in a bland tone, “which means I’ll have to take your word on the contrast between you two.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I already told you, Polina, I’m a patient man. I just hope you didn’t take a lifetime vow of celibacy because that would really suck.”
She actually laughed, but only for a moment before smile flipped to frown. “Are you sure your friends won’t mind us just showing up?” A tremor of fear rattled her words.
“We’re not ‘just showing up.’ I already called them. They’re expecting us. Don’t you know anything about Polish hospitality? They have an old proverb here: ‘When you welcome a guest, you’re welcoming God into your home.’ The Polish people believe that.”
He made it to the parking lot and found his car in his assigned slot. “I’m going to put you down for a moment to unlock the doors. Promise not to take off?”
She shrugged and gave him a quelling look. “How far could I get?”
“Smart girl.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. She drew back, surprise in her eyes and a frown on her lips. “Don’t worry. I don’t consider that foreplay.”
“Funny.”
After gently placing her on her feet, he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys and unlocked the car doors. He then swept open the back door. “Get in.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was right. You are a serial killer, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “No. I want you to be able to stretch out and keep that leg elevated. Back seat is more accommodating than the front when it comes to length. Now, hop to it.”
To his amusement, she actually did hop on her right foot until she aligned herself with the bench seat. She sat on the edge, then slid backwards to the opposite side of the car. “All set, Mr. Dahmer.”
“Don’t make me get the duct tape.” On that quip, he slammed the passenger door, then got into the driver’s seat.
Within ten minutes, she was sound asleep. He drove the rest of the way to the Nowaks’ house, listening to her even breathing.
I’m not going to sleep with you, Rhys.
Casting a quick glance at her sleeping form in his back seat, he smiled to himself. She’d definitely need more time before she’d admit it, but she was already sleeping with him. Not in the way she meant the state
ment, and certainly not in the way he hoped their relationship would eventually proceed, but this was a start. She trusted him. Considering her background, he sensed she didn’t offer that gift lightly.
He arrived at their destination a short time later, and pulled into the driveway of a cozy two-story home on a quiet street. Before he turned off the car’s headlights, the front door opened, and Stefan stepped out onto the stoop. Rhys cut the engine.
In the back seat, Polina stirred and slowly sat up. “Pretty house.”
“Stay there,” Rhys said. “I’ll come get you.”
“No.” She reached for her boot on the floor near her feet. “You’re not carrying me inside like an invalid.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“I mean it, Rhys. I don’t want your friends thinking I’m some helpless orphan you found roaming the streets of Krakow, a Polish version of the Little Match Girl.”
Pride. She was letting her pride overrule common sense. He gauged the distance from the driveway to the front door. A good forty-five meters. He needed a counter-offer. Fast. “I won’t carry you,” he assured her, “but how about you lean on me?”
“No. I can walk it.”
Stepping out of the car, he muttered to himself about stubborn women who didn’t know what was good for them. When he opened the back door, she was struggling to get her swollen foot into the boot. “Oh, for God’s sake! You can hop into the house braced on me if you can’t stand the idea of looking like an invalid, but there’s no way you’re getting that boot back on your foot. So swallow your pride and accept a little help. No one’s going to think less of you for it. Especially once they get a good look at your ankle.”
Even in the darkness, he noted the glimmer in her eyes from unshed tears. He couldn’t tell if she cried out of pain, frustration, or embarrassment.
Or maybe it was surrender, because she finally sighed and nodded, giving up her struggle with the boot. “Okay, Rhys, you win.”
He would have liked to tell her it wasn’t a question of win or lose, but he sensed that would only anger her. Instead, he went for humor. “You doing the sock hop or the rock-a-bye baby?”
Mistletoe and Magic Page 15