Untamed (11 page)

Chapter Nine

The Fourth of July was a full day with a run to a new lot, the tent raising, a street parade and two shows. But it was a holiday. Elephants wore red, white and blue plumes atop their massive head. The evening performance would be held an hour earlier to allow for the addition of a fireworks display. Traditionally, Prescott's circus arranged to spend the holiday in the same small town in Tennessee. The license and paperwork for the display were seen to in advance, and the fireworks were shipped ahead to be stored in a warehouse. The procedure had been precisely the same for years. It was one of the circus's most profitable nights. Concessions thrived.

Jo moved through the day with determined cheerfulness. She refused to permit the distance between her and Keane to spoil one of the highlights of the summer. Brooding, she decided, would not change things. The mood of the crowd helped to keep her spirits light.

Between shows came the inevitable lull. Some troupers sat outside their trailers exchanging small talk and enjoying the sun. Others got in a bit more practice or worked out a few kinks. Bull hands washed down the elephants, causing a minor flood in the pen area.

Jo watched the bathing process with amusement. She never ceased to enjoy this particular aspect of circus life, especially if there were one or two inexperienced bull hands involved. Invariably, Maggie or one of the other veteran bulls would spray a trunkful of water over the new hands to initiate them. Though Jo knew the other hands encouraged it, they always displayed remarkable innocence.

Spotting Duffy, Jo moved away from the elephant area and wandered toward him. She could see he was deep in discussion with a towner. He was as short as Duffy but wider, with what she had once heard Frank call a successful frame. His stomach started high and barreled out to below his waist. He had a ruddy complexion and pale eyes that squinted hard against the sun. Jo had seen his type before. She wondered what he was selling and how much he wanted for it. Since Duffy was puffing with annoyance, Jo assumed it was quite a lot.

“I'm telling you, Carlson, we've already paid for storage. I've got a signed receipt. And we pay fifteen bucks delivery, not twenty.”

Carlson was smoking a small, unfiltered cigarette and dropped it to the ground. “You paid Myers for storage, not me. I bought the place six weeks ago.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Not my problem you paid in advance.”

Looking over, Jo saw Keane approaching with Pete. Pete was talking rapidly, Keane nodding. As Jo watched, Keane glanced up and gave Carlson a quick study. She had seen that look before and knew the older man had been assessed. Keane caught her eye, smiled and began to move past her. “Hello, Jo.”

Unashamedly curious, Jo fell into step beside him. “What's going on?”

“Why don't we find out?” he suggested as they stopped in front of Duffy and Carlson. “Gentlemen,” Keane said in an easy tone. “Is there a problem?”

“This character,” Duffy spouted, jerking a scornful thumb at Carlson's face, “wants us to pay twice for storage on the fireworks. Then he wants twenty for delivery when we agreed on fifteen.”

“Myers agreed on fifteen,” Carlson pointed out. He smiled without humor. “I didn't agree on anything. You want your fireworks, you gotta pay for them first—cash,” he added, then spared Keane a glance. “Who's this guy?”

Duffy began to wheeze with indignation, but Keane laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I'm Prescott,” he told him in untroubled tones. “Perhaps you'd like to fill me in.”

“Prescott, huh?” Carlson stroked both his chins as he studied Keane. Seeing youth and amiable eyes, he felt closer to success. “Well, now we're getting somewhere,” he said jovially and stuck out his hand. Keane accepted it without hesitation. “Jim Carlson,” he continued as he gave Keane's hand a brisk pump. “Nice circus you got here, Prescott. Me and the missus see it every year. Well, now,” he said again and hitched up his belt. “Seeing as you're a businessman, too, I'm sure we can straighten all this out. Problem is, your fireworks've been stored in my warehouse. Now, I gotta make a living, they can't just sit there for free. I bought the place off Myers six weeks ago. I can't be held responsible for a deal you made with him, can I?” Carlson gave a stretched-lip smile, pleased that Keane listened so politely. “And as for delivery, well . . .” He made a helpless gesture and patted Keane's shoulder. “You know about gas prices these days, son. But we can work that out after we settle this other little problem.”

Keane nodded agreeably. “That sounds reasonable.” He ignored Duffy's huffing and puffing. “You do seem to have a problem, Mr. Carlson.”

“I don't have a problem,” Carlson countered. His smile suffered a fractional slip. “You've got the problem, unless you don't want the fireworks.”

“Oh, we'll have the fireworks, Mr. Carlson,” Keane corrected with a smile Jo thought more wolfish than friendly. “According to paragraph three, section five, of the small business code, the lessor is legally bound by all contracts, agreements, liens and mortgages of the previous lessor until such time as all aforesaid contracts, agreements, liens and mortgages are expired or transferred.”

“What the . . .” Carlson began with no smile at all, but Keane continued blandly.

“Of course, we won't pursue the matter in court as long as we get our merchandise. But that doesn't solve your problem.”

“My problem?” Carlson sputtered while Jo looked on in frank admiration. “I haven't got a problem. If you think . . .”

“Oh, but you do, Mr. Carlson, though I'm sure there was no intent to break the law on your part.”

“Break the law?” Carlson wiped damp hands on his slacks.

“Storing explosives without a license,” Keane pointed out. “Unless, of course, you obtained one after your purchase of the warehouse.”

“Well, no, I . . .”

“I was afraid of that.” Keane lifted his brow in pity. “You see, in paragraph six of section five of the small business code it states that all licenses, permits and warrants shall be nontransferable. Authorization for new licenses, permits or warrants must be requested in writing by the current owner. Notarized, naturally.” Keane waited a bit to allow Carlson to wrestle with the idea. “If I'm not mistaken,” he continued conversationally, “the fine's pretty hefty in this state. Of course, sentencing depends on—”

“Sentencing?” Carlson paled and mopped the back of his neck with a handkerchief.

“Look, tell you what.” Keane gave Carlson a sympathetic smile. “You get the fireworks over here and off your property. We don't have to bring the law in on something like this. Just an oversight, after all. We're both businessmen, aren't we?”

Too overwrought to detect sarcasm, Carlson nodded.

“That was fifteen on delivery, right?”

Carlson didn't hesitate but stuck the damp handkerchief back in his pocket and nodded again.

“Good enough. I'll have the cash for you on delivery. Glad to help you out.”

Relieved, Carlson turned and headed for his pickup. Jo managed to keep her features grave until he pulled off the lot. Simultaneously, Pete and Duffy began to hoot with laughter.

“Was it true?” Jo demanded and took Keane's arm.

“Was what true?” Keane countered, merely lifting a brow over the hysterics that surrounded him.

“‘Paragraph three, section five, of the small business code,'” Jo quoted.

“Never heard of it,” Keane answered mildly, nearly sending Pete into orbit.

“You made it up,” Jo said in wonder. “You made it all up!”

“Probably,” Keane agreed.

“Smoothest con job I've seen in years,” Duffy stated and gave Keane a parental slap on the back. “Son, you could go into business.”

“I did,” Keane told him and grinned.

“I ever need a lawyer,” Pete put in, pushing his cap further back on his head, “I know where to go. You come on by the cookhouse tonight, Captain. We're having ourselves a poker game. Come on, Duffy, Buck's gotta hear about this.”

As they moved off, Jo realized that Keane had been officially accepted. Before, he had been the legal owner but an outsider, a towner. Now he was one of them. Turning, she lifted her face to his. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you.” She saw he understood precisely what had been left unsaid.

“I'll see you at the game,” she said before her smile became a grin. “Don't forget your money.”

She turned away, but Keane touched her arm, bringing her back to him. “Jo,” he began, puzzling her by the sudden seriousness of his eyes.

“Yes?”

There was a brief hesitation, then he shook his head. “Nothing, never mind. I'll see you later.” He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek, then walked away.

***

Jo studied her hand impassively. On the deal, she had missed a heart flush by one card and now waited for someone to open. Casually, she moved her glance around the table. Duffy was puffing on a cigar, apparently unconcerned with the dwindling chips in front of him. Pete chewed his gum with equal nonchalance. Amy, the wife of the sword swallower, sat beside him, then Jamie, then Raoul. Directly beside Jo was Keane, who, like Pete, was winning consistently.

The pot grew. Chips clinked on the table. Jo discarded and was pleased to exchange a club for the fifth heart. She slipped it into her hand without blinking. Frank had taught her the game. Before the second round of betting, Jamie folded in disgust. “Should never have taken Buck's seat,” he muttered and frowned when Pete raised the bet.

“You got out cheap, kiddo,” Duffy told him dolefully as he tossed in chips. “I'm only staying in so I don't change my standard of living. Money'll do that to you,” he mumbled obscurely.

“Three kings,” Pete announced when called, then spread his cards. Amid a flutter of complaints cards were tossed down.

“Heart flush,” Jo said mildly before Pete could rake in the pot. Duffy leaned back and gave a hoot of laughter.

“Attagirl, Jo. I hate to see him win all my money.”

During the next two hours the cookhouse tent grew hot and ripe with the scents of coffee and tobacco and beer. Jamie's luck proved so consistently poor that he called for Buck to relieve him.

Jo found herself with an indifferent pair of fives. Almost immediately the betting grew heavy as Keane raised Raoul's opening. Curiosity kept Jo in one round, but practicality had her folding after the draw. Divorced from the game, she watched it with interest. Leaning on her elbows, she studied each participant. Keane played a good game, she mused. His eyes gave nothing away. They never did. Casually, he nursed the beer beside him while Duffy, Buck and Amy folded. Studying him closely, Pete chewed his gum. Keane returned the look, keeping the stub of his cigar clamped between his teeth. Raoul muttered in French and scowled at his cards.

“Could be bluffing,” Pete considered, seeing Keane's raise. “Let's raise it five more and see what's cooking.” Raoul swore in French, then again in English, before he tossed in his hand. Taking his time, Keane counted out the necessary chips and tossed them into the pot. It was a plastic mountain of red, white and blue. Then, he counted out more.

“I'll see your five,” he said evenly, “and raise it ten.”

There was mumbling around the table. Pete looked into his hand and considered. Shifting his eyes, he took in the generous pile of chips in front of him. He could afford to risk another ten. Glancing up, he studied Keane's face while he fondled his chips. Abruptly, he broke into a grin.

“Nope,” he said simply, turning his cards face down. “This one's all yours.”

Setting down his cards, Keane raked in a very sweet pot. “Gonna show 'em?” Pete asked. His grin was affable.

Keane pushed a stray chip into the pile and shrugged. With his free hand he turned over the cards. The reaction ranged from oaths to laughter.

“Trash,” Pete mumbled with a shake of his head. “Nothing but trash. You've got nerve, Captain.” His grin grew wide as he turned over his own cards. “Even I had a pair of sevens.”

Raoul gnashed his teeth and swore elegantly in two languages. Jo grinned at his imaginative choice of words. She rose on a laugh and snatched off the soft felt hat Jamie wore. Deftly, she scooped her chips into it. “Cash me in later,” she requested, then gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth. “But don't play with them.”

Duffy scowled over at her. “Aren't you cashing in early?”

“You've always told me to leave 'em wanting more,” she reminded him. With a grin and a wave, she swung through the door.

“That Jo,” said Raoul, chuckling as he shuffled the cards. “She's one smart cracker.”

“Cookie,” Pete corrected, opening a fresh stick of gum. He noticed that Keane's gaze had drifted to the door she had closed behind her. “Some looker, too,” he commented and watched Keane's eyes wander back to his. “Don't you think, Captain?”

Keane slipped his cards into a pile as they were dealt to him. “Jo's lovely.”

“Like her mother,” Buck put in, frowning at his cards. “She was a beaut, huh, Duffy?” Duffy grunted in agreement and wondered why Lady Luck refused to smile on him. “Always thought it was a crime for her to die that way. Wilder, too,” he added with a shake of his head.

“A fire, wasn't it?” Keane asked as he picked up his cards and spread them.

“Electrical fire.” Buck nodded and lifted his beer. “A short in their trailer's wiring. What a waste. If they hadn't been in bed asleep, they'd probably still be alive. The trailer was halfway gone before anybody set up an alarm. Just plain couldn't get to the Wilders. Their side of the trailer was like a furnace. Jo's bedroom was on the other side, and we nearly lost her. Frank busted in the window and pulled her out. Poor little tyke. She was holding onto this old doll like it was the last thing she had left. Kept it with her for I don't know how long. Remember, Duffy?” He glanced into his hand and opened for two. “It only had one arm.” Duffy grunted again and folded. “Frank sure knew how to handle that little girl.”