She’d caught some epic pictures of the stunts in action and some slo-mo videos that were really good, and I knew that Zach would want to use them on our website. But as I flipped through the images, I began to realize that there were more photographs of me than of anyone else. Me getting suited up; me bathed in sweat after a show; me smiling; me frowning; me tearing off my leathers and pouring a bottle of water over my face as the water ran down my bare chest.
When I glanced up, she was studying my face with concern, sucking her teeth nervously and twisting her fingers together in her lap.
I tried for something neutral to say, something that wouldn’t embarrass either of us.
“You’ve got some good pictures there. I reckon Zach could use some of them.”
She gave me a small smile, but a worried frown still played across her forehead.
“Have I creeped you out?”
That made me smile.
“No, you’re good. I guess I should be flattered.”
She gave a relieved laugh.
“Oh thank you! I suddenly thought it might look a bit weird, a bit stalkerish.”
Yep, my mind definitely went there.
“That phone of yours must have a pretty good camera.”
“It’s not bad. I had a really amazing digital SLR camera, but . . .”
I met her eyes.
“Guess you left that behind.”
She nodded and looked down.
“One day you’ll tell me what you’re running from,” I said quietly.
Her expression was solemn as she looked up. She didn’t agree with me, but she didn’t deny it either.
I blew out a slow breath.
“Well, seeing as you have no plans, I guess you’d better come with us to Pomona then. Once we’re there you can figure out . . .”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence because she threw herself at me, almost toppling the chair over.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I promise you won’t regret it!”
I was half regretting it already.
But I couldn’t leave her behind either. The world was a hard place and she needed someone to look out for her.
I just wished that she hadn’t picked me.
The next morning, I was up before dawn. I knew that Luke was driving the 170 miles to Seattle to get the gears fixed on his 390 Duke. There was a KTM dealership in the city who had an on-site auto shop and he’d arranged to be there early.
Since it was a three hour drive and he had to be back for the first show at 4PM, he was leaving as the first fingers of light hovered at the edge of the horizon.
I hadn’t slept well and at the last minute I decided to go with him. It was either that or torture myself by thinking about the pain meds waiting, hidden at the bottom of my backpack, then sit on my ass and watch everyone else work all day.
His bike was already loaded into the truck, so we left quietly before anyone else was awake. To be honest, I was glad to be away from the carnival for a while. Away from Sara.
The girl confused the hell out of me. She brought out a protective side that I barely knew existed. The last time I’d felt even a fraction of what I was feeling now was when Kes broke his back in an accident and we were all trying to stop Aimee from falling apart. I felt the need to protect her then, as well.
As it turned out, she’d been tougher than she looked and she was the one who’d kept the whole outfit running: taking care of Kes and supporting him in his decision not to have surgery, even contacting his lame-ass father to try and help with the astronomical medical bills. Kes hadn’t been happy about that, but it did mean that he’d gotten to meet his half-sister, Tera. It was a few months after that when Tera and Tucker had started seeing each other. Who the hell saw that one coming? The senator’s daughter and the roughneck roustabout. Stranger things have happened.
But Sara . . .
In some ways she was an open book, but in others a complete mystery. I wondered about the father of her baby far more than I should. I think I was expecting him to turn up at the carnival to claim her, to take her back. But as each day passed and the closer it came for us to leave for Pomona, the more I hoped that he wouldn’t show up. And I know how selfish that sounds.
“Your knee hurting you?”
I turned my head, surprised by Luke’s question.
“Nah, man,” I lied.
“Hmm, well, you look like you’re having some mighty deep thoughts over there.”
“You’re not talking to Tucker now,” I shot back.
He grinned.
“You thinking about Sara?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead.
“Maybe.”
He smiled knowingly.
“She’s nice, you should go for it.”
“Ya think? Even though she’s pregnant with another man’s baby, is hiding from her family, and oh yeah, just happens to be fourteen years younger than me.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but that was Luke for you—he liked to think things over before he said them. Didn’t necessarily make him right; just meant he’d thought about it. At least that’s what I told myself.
When he did speak, his voice was serious.
“Does any of that matter if you really like her? Because the way she looks at you, I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve cured cancer lately.”
“She’s just infatuated. Like . . . like a chick that’s just hatched and latches onto the first thing it sees, whether it’s dog or a cat or a damn rock.”
“So? You could be her pet rock.”
I ignored that.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to get a laugh. Man, you’ve been Mr. Serious since she arrived. The girl has no idea that you can even smile. You need to lighten up around her. Stop trying to push her away.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I snarled, slamming the dashboard with my fist. “She should stay away from me! I’m no fucking good for her! I’m an ex-con with a history of drug addiction. I’m her worst fucking nightmare!”
Luke was silent and I leaned back in my seat, furious that I’d lost my temper, helpless to stop the emotions churning inside me, hopeless that there’d ever be a good outcome. I could no longer deny that Sara had somehow worked her way under my skin.
“I think,” Luke said slowly, “that her worst nightmare is whatever she’s running away from.”
I didn’t answer, but I wish I knew what was hurting her.
When we went inside to talk bike at the KTM dealership, one of the guys in the auto shop recognized us. So we ended up signing a few programs and getting our picture taken. Apparently, a video of my most recent accident had already made it to YouTube, and soon the whole shop was watching it and commenting. They all agreed that I’d been damned unlucky. I had to agree.
Luke went to work with their mechanic to figure out why the gear was sticking in neutral and I shot the breeze with a couple of the guys until some more customers came in.
I watched Luke work for a while, frustrated that I couldn’t help, then decided to go for a walk (hop and shuffle) down the street.
I was just about to sit my ass down and drink a cup of Starbucks in the town that invented it, when I noticed a shop across the road that sold large black and white photographic prints and cameras.
Despite how I was feeling after my cozy little chat with Luke, I didn’t consider myself dumb. I knew how people looked at me, what they think when they see the beard, the tats, the leather jacket. Most think biker first, or start looking to see if I’m patched up, because that always scares the shit out of people. Not everyone, of course, but enough that I noticed it.
So when I swung my crutches over the threshold of that upscale art shop, I already knew that I didn’t fit there. It didn’t bother me, in fact a lot of the time, I got a laugh out of it.
At least the assistant knew that I wasn’t on a shoplifting spree—unless I was the dumbest criminal around. I suppose there were enough of those. I wouldn’t be doing a snatch and
grab.
“Hi there! May I help you with something.”
“Yeah, I was just wondering—how much does a good camera cost?”
She looked surprised and amused.
“Well, the model would depend on what you want to do with it—whether it’s a hobby or for work.”
“It’s for a friend. She lost her camera, but she likes taking photographs of people, well, of everything around her. Some distance shots, some close-ups, action shots, too, motorcycles. She’s good, could be really good. I’ve seen some of the photographs she took on her iPhone and they’re amazing. I want to get her a camera that’s even better. Maybe one with a video app, too. She used to have a SLR, but she . . . lost it. I’d like to replace it. Something with a good zoom function, I guess.”
The woman looked at me thoughtfully.
“You don’t know what she had before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, there’s the Nikon Coolpix L340 with 28x Zoom Bridge Camera, and that retails for $199.99.”
I nodded, so she continued.
“Or at the other end of the scale is the Nikon D810—it’s a DSLR with excellent resolution, a robust build—a good value camera. This retails at $3,399.99.”
She smiled again.
“And we have pretty much every price range in between.”
I appreciated her being candid but I wasn’t sure how much that helped me when I knew nothing about digital SLR cameras.
I scratched my chin.
“What would someone who’s interested in photojournalism buy?”
Her eyes lit up.
“In that case . . . !”
And she rattled out facts about reporters working in the field and sending shots back to the office, super speed USB and connectivity, wi-fi compatibility, zooms, attachments, until my head spun. I couldn’t blame her; it was the equivalent of someone who rode a bicycle walking into the KTM dealership and asking if they had something with two wheels and an engine.
I ended up shelling out for a camera, zoom attachment, tripod and a bunch of other shit to the tune of four grand. I didn’t care—I wanted to get Sara something that would last.
With some difficulty, I slung my bag of purchases over my shoulder and limped out the door.
Luke was just finishing up and loading his bike back into the truck. He saw the bag on my shoulder and stowed it behind my seat in the truck for me. He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask questions.
On the way back to Moses Lake, we talked about adaptations to the show now there were only three riders, and whether or not the ramps needed to be modified after my latest accident. We’d even thought about doing a Globe of Death like some motorcycle acts, but personally, I found those as boring as shit, but they worked well for smaller environments like a Big Top. Our jumps were about scale: higher, longer, more dangerous. I’m not saying that the spherical cages they used for the Globe of Death acts were easy, hell, no. It required extreme precision and pinpoint timing. I’d seen a Brazilian team where they had seven them in the cage. Seven motorcycles spinning around in there. Impressive. But ultimately, just a cage. I’d had enough of those.
We were nearly home when he said, “When you buy someone gifts, it means you’re interested in them.”
“She’s a friend.”
“She won’t see it like that. You already know that she . . . cares about you.”
I rubbed my eyes, tiredness catching up with me.
“I just want to do something nice for her—she doesn’t have anything.”
He gave me a sideways glance.
“Aimee plans to take her clothes shopping and we’re all going to pitch in a couple of hundred bucks since she doesn’t have any clothes of her own. You want in?”
“Of course I do! How come no one told me about this?”
“Because you were in the hospital having your knee put back together and you’ve been a miserable asshole ever since.”
Oh, yeah.
And clothes were a lot more practical than a damn camera.
I was having second and third thoughts about my impulsive purchase, wondering what message it would give her. I’d just wanted to do something nice because she seemed so lost.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry, because when we arrived back at the carnival, she wasn’t speaking to me.
She saw the truck arrive and gave Luke a strained smile and a wave.
“Hi, Luke,” then walked away.
I stared at her retreating figure then turned to Luke.
“Did that really just happen?”
“Totally did. What have you done to piss her off now?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Breathe?”
He shook his head, grinning to himself, and wheeled the bike back to the rig.
I stomped inside the RV but Sara had disappeared. I slung the bag of camera accessories onto her bed and took a quick shower, then collapsed into a deck chair outside.
My leg was killing me and I knew I should have rested it this morning, but sitting around with time to think wasn’t something I enjoyed, but now I had no choice. So I propped my leg up on another chair and closed my eyes, letting the sun’s heat soak into my body.
I think I must have fallen asleep because when I woke the sun had shifted and Sara was staring at me, the camera bag clutched in her hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Seattle?”
“What?” I croaked, my brain playing catch up.
“I woke up and you were gone!”
“I was with Luke.”
“I know that now!”
Her tone was irritating me, but I tried to stay calm.
“I couldn’t sleep and Luke was leaving early; I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
She deflated a little at that, but then held out the bag.
“What’s this for?”
Her tone was aggressive and her mouth was clamped in a thin line. Her eyes were flashing in a most un-Sara like way.
“It’s a gift,” I said patiently.
“What for?”
I rubbed a hand across my beard.
“A late birthday present?”
She tapped her foot on the grass.
“Why are you buying me thousands of dollars’ worth of camera equipment, Zef?!”
I held her gaze.
“Because you’re good. Because I saw what you could do with your cell phone and I could tell that you missed having a decent camera when you talked about your school newspaper.”
“You can’t just go off and buy me stuff like this!”
I closed my eyes again.
“If you don’t want it, get Zach to drive you to Seattle and you can take it back.”
There was a long pause.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”
Then an even longer pause.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
My eyes flew open when I felt her lips on my cheek.
She hovered beside me, her mouth inches from mine, and then she stepped away slowly, her cheeks stained with pink.
Desire.
I felt those first warm, sweet tendrils of desire snaking through my body. I followed her with my eyes, taking in those long, coltish legs, the slight curve of her hips, her still narrow waist, her small apple breasts, her long neck, her delicate heart-shaped face, the long silky hair and those pale blue eyes, now watching me watching her without fear; watching me watching her with hunger in our eyes.
And then she turned away, hugging the camera bag to her chest as she walked back inside the RV.
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.
She’s not for you.
Two days later, we left for Pomona. No one had come for Sara. I knew it was wrong to feel relief, but I did. Deep, heartfelt relief that she’d be traveling with us for a little longer.
The night before, we’d had a huge bonfire and all the carnies had come, Kes promising that we’d be traveling with them again in
the Spring as we said our goodbyes.
The Reynolds family who owned the carnival knew that without his name on their billboard, making money would be a lot harder. They didn’t say it, but they counted on us to bring in the crowds for the first part of the season. Moses Lake was their last big hurrah before they started touring the smaller fairgrounds.
I felt bad for them and I knew that Kes did, too. We were heading in different directions: they’d be touring small rural towns in the north west, getting maybe a couple of thousand people each day, if they were lucky, and we’d be heading to a square mile site and ten thousand people at each of our racetrack arena performances.
I climbed into the rig, frustrated at how long everything took with my gimpy leg. I saw Tucker watching but he didn’t offer to help because he knew I’d turn him down.
It was going to be harder work for him because we didn’t have a spare driver, so he’d be doing the whole of the journey, 1200 miles and at least twenty hours of driving, probably more.
The plan was to spend the night at Kes and Aimee’s log cabin in Arcata which was just over halfway, take a short breather, then finish the drive the day after.
Tucker pressed the start button on the rig and it roared into life, vibrations making the chassis tremble, and I felt the usual excitement that we’d be hitting the road, the possibilities of new places.
Just as he was about to pull out, Sara jumped in front of him, waving wildly.
“Can I ride with you guys?”
He gave a huge smile.
“I know I’m irresistible, sweet cheeks, but you don’t have to embarrass us by throwing yourself at me.”
Her cheeks turned pink and I punched him in the shoulder.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Sorry, I forgot that job’s already taken,” he shot back.
I opened the door and swung out, hopping slightly as I landed on my good leg. Sara gave me a quick smile and climbed in. She had a sweet butt, small and round and perfect. I closed my eyes and tried not to groan. For the next twelve hours, I’d be staring at those long, suntanned legs stretched out in front of me.
Carnival (The Traveling Series #4) Page 9