Untamed by Nora Roberts
“To get their attention and to keep the audience awake.” She smiled reluctantly.
Keane took her arm. Instantly, Jo stiffened. “Let’s walk,” he suggested. He began to lead her away from the cages. Spotting several people roaming the back yard, Jo refrained from pulling away. The last thing she wanted was the story spreading that she was having a tiff with the owner. “How do you tame them?” he asked her.
“I don’t. They’re not tame, they’re trained.” A tall blond woman walked by carrying a tiny white poodle. “Merlin’s hungry today,” Jo called out with a grin.
The woman bundled the dog closer to her breast in mock alarm and began a rapid scolding in French. Jo laughed, telling her in the same language that Fifi was too tough a mouthful for Merlin.
“Fifi can do a double somersault on the back of a moving horse,” Jo explained as they began to walk again. “She’s trained just as my cats are trained, but she’s also domesticated. The cats are wild.” Jo turned her face up to Keane’s. The sun cast a sheen over her hair and threw gold flecks into her eyes. “A wild thing can never be tamed, and anyone who tries is foolish. If you take something wild and turn it into a pet, you’ve stolen its character, blanked out its spark. And still, there’s always an essence of the wild that can come back to life. When a dog turns on his master, it’s ugly. When a lion turns, it’s lethal.” She was beginning to become accustomed to his hand on her arm, finding it easy to talk to him because he listened. “A full-grown male stands three feet at the shoulder and weighs over five hundred pounds. One well-directed swipe can break a man’s neck, not to mention what teeth and claws can do.” Jo gave a smile and a shrug. “Those aren’t the virtues of a pet.”
“Yet you go into a cage with twelve of them, armed with a whip?”
“The whip’s window dressing.” Jo discounted it with a gesture of her hand. “It would hardly be a defense against even one cat at full charge. A lion is a very tenacious enemy. A tiger is more bloodthirsty, but it normally strikes only once. If it misses, it takes it philosophically. A lion charges again and again. Do you know the line Byron wrote about a tiger’s spring? ‘Deadly, quick and crushing.’” Jo had completely forgotten her animosity and began to enjoy her walk and conversation with this handsome stranger. “It’s a true description, but a lion is totally fearless when he charges, and stubborn. He’s not the razzle-dazzle fighter the tiger is, just accurate. I’d bet on a lion against a tiger any day. And a man simply hasn’t a prayer against one.”
“Then how do you manage to stay in one piece?”
The calliope music was just a hint in the air now. Jo turned, noting with surprise that they had walked a good distance from camp. She could see the trailers and tents, hear occasional shouts and laughter, but she felt oddly separated from it all. She sat down cross-legged on the grass and plucked a blade. “I’m smarter than they are. At least I make them think so. And I dominate them, partly by a force of will. In training, you have to develop a rapport, a mutual respect, and if you’re lucky, a certain affection. But you can’t trust them to the point where you grow careless. And above all,” she added, glancing over as he sat down beside her, “you have to remember the basic rule of poker. Bluff.” Jo grinned, leaning back on her elbows. “Do you play poker?”
“I’ve been known to.” Her hair trailed out along the grass, and he lifted a strand. “Do you?”
“Sometimes. My assistant handler, Pete . . .” Jo scanned the back yard, then smiled and pointed. “There he is, by the second trailer, sitting with Mac Stevenson, the one with the fielder’s cap. Pete organizes a game now and then.”
“Who’s the little girl on stilts?”
“That’s Mac’s youngest, Katie. She wants to walk on them in the street parade. She’s getting pretty good. There’s Jamie,” she said, then laughed as he did a pratfall and landed at Katie’s wooden stilts.
“Rose’s Jamie?” Keane asked, watching the impromptu show in the back yard.
“If she has her way. He’s currently dazzled by Carmen Gribalti. Carmen won’t give Jamie the time of day. She bats her lashes at Vito, the wire walker. He bats his at everyone.”
“A complicated state of affairs,” Keane commented. He twisted Jo’s hair around his fingers. “Romance seems to be very popular in circus life.”
“From what I read,” she countered, “it’s popular everywhere.”
“Who dazzles you, Jovilette?” He gave her hair a tug to bring her face around to his.
Jo hadn’t realized he was so close. She need do no more than sway for her mouth to touch his. Her eyes measured his while she waited for her pulse to calm. It was odd, she thought, that he had such an effect on her. With sudden clarity, she could smell the grass, a clean, sweet scent, and feel the sun. The sounds of the circus were muted in the background. She could hear birds call out with an occasional high-pitched trill. She remembered the taste of his mouth and wondered if it would be the same.
“I’ve been too busy to be dazzled,” she replied. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were curious.
For the first time, Jo truly wanted to be kissed by a man. She wanted to feel again what she had felt the night before. She wanted to be held, not lightly as he had held her before, but close, with his arms tight around her. She wanted to renew the feeling of weightlessness. She had never experienced a strong physical desire, and for a moment she explored the sensation. There was a quiver in her stomach which was both pleasant and disturbing. Throughout her silent contemplations Keane watched her, intrigued by the intensity of her eyes.
“What are you thinking of?”
“I’m wondering why you make me feel so odd,” she told him with simple frankness. He smiled, and she noticed that it grew in his eyes seconds before it grew on his mouth.
“Do I?” He appeared to enjoy the information. “Did you know your hair catches the sunlight?” Keane took a handful, letting it spill from between his fingers. “I’ve never seen another woman with hair like this. It’s a temptation all in itself. In what way do I make you feel odd, Jovilette?” he asked as his eyes trailed back up to hers.
“I’m not sure yet.” Jo found her voice husky. Abruptly, she decided it would not do to go on feeling odd or to go on wanting to be kissed by Keane Prescott. She scrambled up and brushed off the seat of her pants.
“Running away?” As Keane rose, Jo’s head snapped up.
“I never run away from anything, Mr. Prescott.” Ice sharpened her voice. She was annoyed that she had allowed herself to fall under his charm again. “I certainly won’t run from a city-bred lawyer.” Her words were laced with scorn. “Why don’t you go back to Chicago and get someone thrown in jail?”
“I’m a defense attorney,” Keane countered easily. “I get people out of jail.”
“Fine. Go put a criminal back on the streets, then.”
Keane laughed, bringing Jo’s temper even closer to the surface. “That covers both sides of the issue, doesn’t it? You dazzle me, Jovilette.”
“Well, it’s strictly unintentional.” She took a step back from the amusement in his eyes. She would not tolerate him making fun of her. “You don’t belong here,” she blurted out. “You have no business here.”
“On the contrary,” he disagreed in a cool, untroubled voice. “I have every business here. I own this circus.”
“Why?” she demanded, throwing out her hands as if to push his words aside. “Because it says so on a piece of paper? That’s all lawyers understand, I imagine—pieces of paper with strange little words. Why did you come? To look us over and calculate the profit and loss? What’s the liquidation value of a dream, Mr. Prescott? What price do you put on the human spirit? Look at it!” she demanded, swinging her arm to encompass the lot behind them. “You only see tents and a huddle of trailers. You can’t possibly understand what it all means. But Frank understood. He loved it.”
“I’m aware of that.” Keane’s voice was still calm but had taken on a thin edge of steel. Jo saw that his eyes had g
“I don’t understand why.” In frustration, Jo stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned away.
“Neither do I, I assure you, but the fact remains that he did.”
“Not once in thirty years did you visit him.” Jo whirled back around. Her hair followed in a passionate arch. “Not once.”
“Quite true,” Keane agreed. He stood with his weight even on both legs and watched her. “Of course, some might look at it differently. Not once in thirty years did he visit me.”
“Your mother left him and took you to Chicago—”
“I won’t discuss my mother,” Keane interrupted in a tone of clipped finality.
Jo bit off a retort, spinning away from him again. Still she could not find the reins to her control. “What are you going to do with it?” she demanded.
“That’s my business.”
“Oh!” Jo spun back, then shut her eyes and muttered in a language he failed to understand. “Can you be so arrogant? Can you be so dispassionate?” Her lashes fluttered up, revealing eyes dark with anger. “Do the lives of all those people mean nothing to you? Does Frank’s dream mean nothing? Haven’t you enough money already without hurting people to get more? Greed isn’t something you inherited from Frank.”
“I’ll only be pushed so far,” Keane warned.
“I’d push you all the way back to Chicago if I could manage it,” she snapped.
“I wondered how much of a temper there was behind those sharp green eyes,” Keane commented, watching her passion pour color into her cheeks. “It appears it’s a full-grown one.” Jo started to retort, but Keane cut her off. “Just hold on a minute,” he ordered. “With or without your approval, I own this circus. It might be easier for you if you adjusted to that. Be quiet,” he added when her mouth opened again. “Legally, I can do with my—” he hesitated a moment, then continued in a mordant tone “—inheritance as I choose. I have no obligation or intention of justifying my decision to you.”
Jo dug her nails into her palms to help keep her voice from shaking. “I never knew I could grow to dislike someone so quickly.”
“Jovilette.” Keane dipped his hands into his pockets, then rocked back on his heels. “You disliked me before you ever saw me.
“That’s true,” she replied evenly. “But I’ve learned to dislike you in person in less than twenty-four hours. I have a show to do,” she said, turning back toward the lot. Though he did not follow, she felt his eyes on her until she reached her trailer and closed the door behind her.
***
Thirty minutes later Jamie sprang through the back door of the Big Top. He was breathless after a lengthy routine and hooked one hand through his purple suspenders as he took in gulps of air. He spotted Jo standing beside the white mare. Her eyes were dark and stormy, her shoulders set and rigid. Jamie recognized the signs. Something or someone had put Jo in a temper, and she had barely ten minutes to work her way out of it before her cue.
He crossed to her and gave a tug on her hair. “Hey.”
“Hello, Jamie.” Jo struggled to keep her voice pleasant, but he heard the traces of emotion.
“Hello, Jo,” he replied in precisely the same tone.
“Cut it out,” she ordered before taking a few steps away. The mare followed docilely. Jo had been trying for some time to put her emotions back into some semblance of order. She was not succeeding.
“What happened?” Jamie asked from directly behind her.
“Nothing,” Jo snapped, then hated herself for the short nastiness of the word.
Jamie persisted, knowing her too well to be offended. “Nothing is one of my favorite topics of conversation.” He put his hands on her shoulders, ignoring her quick, bad-tempered jerk. “Let’s talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Exactly.” He began massaging the tension in her shoulders with his white gloved hands.
“Oh, Jamie.” His good-heartedness was irresistible. Sighing, she allowed herself to be soothed. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m not here to be flattered.”
“I had an argument with the owner.” Jo let out a long breath and shut her eyes.
“What’re you doing having arguments with the owner?”
“He infuriates me.” Jo whirled around. Her cape whipped and snapped with the movement. “He shouldn’t be here. If he were back in Chicago . . .”
“Hold it.” With a slight shake of her shoulders, Jamie halted Jo’s outburst. “You know better than to get yourself worked up like this right before a show. You can’t afford to have your mind on anything but what you’re doing when you’re in that cage.”
“I’ll be all right,” she mumbled.
“Jo.” There was censure in his voice mixed with affection and exasperation.
Reluctantly, Jo brought her gaze up to his. It was impossible to resist the grave eyes in the brightly painted face. With something between a sigh and a moan, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Jamie, he makes me so mad! He could ruin everything.”
“Let’s worry about it when the time comes,” Jamie suggested, patting her hair.
“But he doesn’t understand us. He doesn’t understand anything.”
“Well, then it’s up to us to make him understand, isn’t it?”
Jo looked up and wrinkled her nose. “You’re so logical.”
“Of course I am,” he agreed and struck a pose. As he wiggled his orange eyebrows, Jo laughed. “Okay?” he asked, then picked up his prop bucket.
“Okay,” she agreed and smiled.
“Good, ’cause there’s my cue.”
When he disappeared behind the flap, Jo leaned her cheek against the mare and nuzzled a moment. “I don’t think I’m the one to make him understand, though.”
I wish he’d never come, she added silently as she vaulted onto the mare’s back. I wish I’d never noticed how his eyes are like Ari’s and how nice his mouth is when he smiles, she thought. Jo ran the tip of her tongue gingerly over her lips. I wish he’d never kissed me. Liar. Her conscience spoke softly in her ear: Admit it, you’re glad he kissed you. You’ve never felt anything like that before, and no matter what, you’re glad he kissed you last night. You even wanted him to kiss you again today.
She forced her mind clear, taking deep, even breaths until she heard the ringmaster announce her. With a flick of her heels, she sent the mare sprinting into the tent.
It did not go well. The audience cheered her, oblivious to any problem, but Jo was aware that the routine was far from smooth. And the cats sensed her preoccupation. Again and again they tested her, and again and again Jo was forced to alter her timing to compensate. When the act was over, her head throbbed from the strain of concentration. Her hands were clammy as she turned Merlin over to Buck.
The big man came back to her after securing the cage. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded without preamble. By the underlying and very rare anger in his voice, Jo knew he had observed at least a portion of her act. Unlike the audience, Buck would note any deviation. “You go in the cage like that again, one of those cats is going to find out what you taste like.”
“My timing was a little off, that’s all.” Jo fought against the trembling in her stomach and tried to sound casual.
“A little?” Buck glowered, looking formidable behind the mass of blond beard. “Who do you think you’re fooling? I’ve been around these ugly cats since before you were born. When you go in the cage, you’ve got to take your brain in with you.”
Only too aware that he was right, Jo conceded. “I know, Buck. You’re right.” With a weary hand she pushed back her hair. “It won’t happen again. I guess I was tired and a little off-balance.” She sent him an apologetic smile.
Buck frowned and shuffled. Never in his forty-five years had he managed to resist feminine smiles. “All right,” he muttered, then sniffed and made his voice firm. “But you go take a nap right after the final
“Okay, Buck.” Jo kept her voice humble, though she was tempted to grin. The weakness was going out of her legs, and the dull buzz of fear was fading from between her temples. Still she felt exhausted and agreeable to Buck’s uncharacteristic tone of command. A nap, she decided as Buck drove Merlin away, was just what she needed, not to mention that it was as good a way as any to avoid Keane Prescott for the rest of the day. Shooing this thought aside, Jo decided to while away the time until the finale in casual conversation with Vito the wire walker.
Chapter Four
It rained for three days. It was a solid downpour, not heavy but insistent. As the circus wound its way north, the rain followed. Nevertheless, canvas men pitched the tents in soggy fields and muddy lots while straw was laid on the hippodrome track and performers scurried from trailers to tents under dripping umbrellas.
The lot near Waycross, Georgia, was scattered with puddles under a thick, gray sky. Jo could only be grateful that no evening show had been scheduled. By six, it was nearly dark, with a chill teasing the damp air. She hustled from the cookhouse after an early supper. She would check on the cats, she decided, then closet herself in her trailer, draw the curtains against the rain and curl up with a book. Shivering, she concluded that the idea was inspired.
She carried no umbrella but sought questionable shelter under a gray rolled-brimmed hat and thin windbreaker. Keeping her head lowered, she jogged across the mud, skimming around or hopping over puddles. She hummed lightly, anticipating the simple pleasures of an idle evening. Her humming ended in a muffled gasp as she ran into a solid object. Fingers wrapped around her upper arms. Even