Untamed (14 page)

“Hold on, Jo.” This time Buck spoke firmly. As he took her uninjured arm, he felt the tremors shooting through her. “She's too upset to know what she's saying,” he told Keane.

There was a mask over Keane's face which concealed all emotion. “Oh, I think she knows what she's saying,” he disagreed quietly. For a moment there was only the sound of Jo shuddering and the splash of brandy being poured into a glass. “You do what you have to do, Jo,” he said after drinking again. “You're perfectly correct that I haven't any rights where you're concerned. Take her into town,” he told Buck, then turned back to the window.

“Come on, Jo.” Buck urged her to the door, slipping a supportive arm around her waist. Even as they stepped outside, Rose came running from the direction of the midway.

“Jo!” Her face was white with concern. “Jo, I just heard.” She glanced at the bandage with wide, terrified eyes. “How bad is it?”

“Just scratches, really,” Jo assured her. She added the best smile she could muster. “Buck's going to take me into town for a couple of stitches.”

“Are you sure?” She looked up at the tall man for reassurance. “Buck?”

“Several stitches,” he corrected but patted Rose's hand. “But it's not too bad.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” She fell into step beside them as Buck began to lead Jo again.

“No. Thank you, Rose.” Jo smiled with more feeling. “I'll be fine.”

Because of the smile, Rose was able to relax. “I thought when I heard . . . well, I imagined all sorts of terrible things. I'm glad you're not badly hurt.” They had reached Buck's truck, and Rose leaned over to kiss Jo's cheek. “We all love you so.”

“I know.” Squeezing her hand, Jo let Buck help her into the cab of his truck. As he maneuvered from the lot, Jo rested her head against the back of the seat and shut her eyes. Never could she remember feeling more spent, more battered.

“Hurt bad?” Buck asked as they switched to an asphalt road.

“Yes,” she answered simply, thinking of her heart as much as her arm.

“You'll feel better when you're patched up.”

Jo kept her eyes shut, knowing some wounds never heal. Or if they did, they left scars that ached at unexpected times.

“You shouldn't have gone off on him that way, Jo.” There was light censure in Buck's voice.

“He shouldn't have interfered,” Jo retorted. “It's none of his business.
I'm
none of his business.”

“Jo, it's not like you to be so hard.”

“Hard?” She opened her eyes and turned to Buck. “What about him? Couldn't he have been kinder, shown even the barest trace of compassion? Did he have to speak to me as if I were a criminal?”

“Jo, the man was terrified. You're only looking at this from one side.” He scratched his beard and gave a gusty sigh. “You can't know what it's like to be outside that cage, helpless when someone you care about is facing down death. I had to all but knock him unconscious to keep him out of there until we got it through his head that he'd just get you killed for sure. He was scared, Jo. We were all scared.”

Jo shook her head, certain Buck exaggerated because of his affection for her. Keane's voice had been hard, his eyes angry. “He doesn't care,” she corrected quietly. “Not like the rest of you. You didn't swear at me. You weren't cold.”

“Jo, people have different ways—” Buck began, but she interrupted.

“I know he wouldn't want to see me hurt, Buck. He's not heartless or cruel.” She sighed as all the force of anger and fear washed out of her body and left her empty. “Please, I don't want to talk about him.”

Buck heard the weariness in her voice and patted her hand. “Okay, honey, just relax. We'll have you all fixed up in no time.”

Not all fixed up, Jo thought. Far from all fixed up.

Chapter Eleven

As the weeks passed, Jo's arm lost its stiffness. She healed cleanly. The only traces were thin scars that promised to fade but not disappear. She found, however, that some spark had gone out of her life. Constantly, she fought against a vague dissatisfaction. Nothing—not her work, not her friends, not her books—brought about the contentment she had grown up with. She had become a woman, and her needs had shifted. Jo knew the root of her problem was Keane, but the knowledge was not a solution. He had left the circus again on the very night of her accident. Nearly four weeks later he had not returned.

Three times Jo had sat down to write him, needing to assuage her guilt for the harsh things she had said to him. Three times she had torn up the paper in frustration. No matter how she rearranged the words, they were wrong. Instead, she clung to the hope that he would come back one last time. If, she felt, they could part as friends, without bitterness or hard words, she could accept the separation. Willing this to happen, she was able to return to her routine with some tranquility. She rehearsed, performed, joined in the daily duties of circus life. She waited. The caravan moved closer to Chicago.

***

Jo stood in the steaming Big Top on a late August afternoon. Dressed in a leotard, she worked on ground exercises with the Beirot Brothers. It was this daily regimentation that had aided in keeping her arm limber. She could now move into a back walk-over without feeling any protest in her injured arm.

“I feel good,” Jo told Raoul as they worked out. “I feel really good.” She did a quick series of pirouettes.

“You don't keep your shoulder in shape by dancing on your feet,” Raoul challenged.

“My shoulder's fine,” she tossed back, then proved her point by bending into a handstand. Slowly, she lowered her legs to a forty-five-degree angle, bringing one foot to rest on the knee of the opposite leg. “It's perfect.” She executed a forward roll and sprang to her feet. “I'm strong as an ox,” she claimed and did a quick back handspring followed by a back flip.

She landed at Keane's feet.

The cascade of emotions that raced through her reflected briefly in her eyes before she regained her balance. “I didn't—I didn't know you were back.” Instantly, she regretted the inanity of the words but could find no others. The longing was raw in her to hurl herself into his arms. She wondered that he could not feel her need through the pores of her skin.

“I just got in.” His eyes continued to search her face after his hands dropped to his sides. “This is my mother,” he added. “Rachael Loring, Jovilette Wilder.”

At his words, Jo's gaze moved from his face. She saw the woman beside him. If she had seen Rachael Loring in a crowd of two thousand, she would have known her for Keane's mother. The bone structure was the same, though hers was more elegant. Her brows were golden wings, flaring out at the end, as Keane's did. Her hair was smooth, brushed up and away from her face with no gray to mar its tawny perfection. But it was the eyes that sent a jolt through Jo. She had not thought to see them in anyone's face but Keane's. The woman was dressed simply in an unpretentiously tailored suit that bespoke taste and wealth. There was, however, none of the cool, distant polish that Jo had always attributed to the woman who had taken her son and left Frank. There was a charm to the smile that curved in greeting.

“Jovilette, such a lovely name. Keane's told me of you.” She extended her hand, and Jo accepted, intending a quick, impersonal shake. Rachael Loring, however, laid her other hand atop their joined ones and added warmth. “Keane tells me you were very close to Frank. Perhaps we could talk.”

The affection in her voice confused Jo into a stumbling reply. “I—Yes. I—if you'd like.”

“I should like very much.” She squeezed Jo's hand again before releasing it. “Perhaps you have time to show me around?” She smiled with the question, and Jo found it increasingly difficult to remain aloof. “I'm sure there've been some changes since I was here last. You must have some business to attend to,” she said, looking up at Keane. “I'm sure Jovilette will take good care of me. Won't you, dear?” Without waiting for either to respond, Rachael tucked her arm through Jo's and began to walk. “I knew your parents,” she said as Keane watched them move away. “Not terribly well, I'm afraid. They came here the same year I left. But I recall they were both thrilling performers. Keane tells me you've followed your father's profession.”

“Yes, I . . .” She hesitated, feeling oddly at a disadvantage. “I did,” she finished lamely.

“You're so young.” Rachael gave her a gentle smile. “How terribly brave you must be.”

“No . . . no, not really. It's my job.”

“Yes, of course.” Rachael laughed at some private memory. “I've heard that before.”

They were outside now, and she paused to look thoughtfully around her. “I think perhaps I was wrong. It hasn't really changed, not in thirty years. It's a wonderful place, isn't it?”

“Why did you leave?” As soon as the words were spoken, Jo regretted them. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“Of course you should.” Rachael sighed and patted Jo's hand. “It's only natural. Duffy's still here, Keane tells me.” At the change in subject, Jo imagined her question had been evaded.

“Yes, I suppose he always will be.”

“Could we have some coffee, or some tea, perhaps?” Rachael smiled again. “It's such a long drive from town. Is your trailer nearby?”

“It's just over in the back yard.”

“Oh, yes.” Rachael laughed and began to walk again. “The neighborhood that never changes over thousands of miles. Do you know the story of the dog and the bones?” she asked. Though Jo knew it well, she said nothing. “One version is that a roustabout gave his dog a bone every night after dinner. The dog would bury the bone under the trailer, then the next day try to dig it back up. Of course, it was fifty miles behind in an empty lot. He never figured it out.” Quietly, she laughed to herself.

Feeling awkward, Jo opened the door to her trailer. How could this woman be the one she had resented all of her life? How could this be the cold, heartless woman who had left Frank? Oddly, Rachael seemed totally at ease in the narrow confines of the trailer.

“How efficient these are.” She looked around with interest and approval. “You must barely realize you're on wheels.” Casually, she picked up the volume of Thoreau which lay on Jo's counter. “Keane told me you have an avid interest in literature. In language, too,” she added, glancing up from the book. Her eyes were golden and direct like her son's. Jo was tossed back suddenly to the first morning of the season when she had looked down and found Keane's eyes on her.

It made her uncomfortable to learn Keane had discussed her with his mother. “I have some tea,” Jo told her as she moved toward the kitchen. “It's a better gamble than my coffee.”

“That's fine,” Rachael said agreeably and followed her. “I'll just sit here while you fix it.” She settled herself with apparent ease at the tiny table across from the kitchen.

“I'm afraid I haven't anything else to offer you.” Jo kept her back turned as she routed through her cupboard.

“Tea and conversation,” Rachael answered in mild tones, “will be fine.”

Jo sighed and turned. “I'm sorry.” She shook her head. “I'm being rude. I just don't know what to say to you, Mrs. Loring. I've resented you for as long as I can remember. Now you're here and not at all as I imagined.” She managed to smile, albeit ruefully. “You're not cold and hateful, and you look so much like . . .” She stopped, horrified that she had nearly blurted out Keane's name. For a moment her eyes were utterly naked.

Rachael smoothed over the awkwardness. “I don't wonder you resented me if you were as close to Frank as Keane tells me. Jovilette,” she said softly, “did Frank resent me, too?”

Helpless, Jo responded to the hint of sadness. “No. Not while I knew him. I don't think Frank was capable of resentments.”

“You understood him well, didn't you?” Rachael watched as Jo poured boiling water into mugs. “I understood him, too,” she continued as Jo brought the mugs to the table. “He was a dreamer, a marvelous free spirit.” Absently, she stirred her tea.

Consumed with curiosity, Jo sat across from her and waited for the story she sensed was coming.

“I was eighteen when I met him. I had come to the circus with a cousin. The Colossus was a bit smaller in those days,” she added with a reminiscent smile, “but it was all the same. Oh, the magic!” She shook her head and sighed. “We tumbled into love so fast, married against all my family's objections and went on the road. It was exciting. I learned the web routine and helped out in wardrobe.”

Jo's eyes widened. “You performed?”

“Oh, yes.” Rachael's cheeks tinted a bit with pride. “I was quite good. Then I became pregnant. We were both like children waiting for Christmas. I wasn't quite nineteen when I had Keane, and I'd been with the circus for nearly a year. Things became difficult over the next season. I was young and a bit frightened of Keane. I panicked if he sneezed and was constantly dragging Frank into town to see doctors. How patient he was.”

Rachael leaned forward and took Jo's hand. “Can you understand how hard this life is for one not meant for it? Can you see that through the magic of it, the excitement and wonder, there are hardships and fears and impossible demands? I was little more than a child myself, with an infant to care for, without the endurance or vocation of a trouper, without the experience or confidence of a mother. I lived on nerves for an entire season.” She let out a little rush of breath. “When it was over, I went home to Chicago.”

For the first time, Jo imagined the flight from Rachael's point of view. She could see a girl, younger than herself, in a strange, demanding world with a baby to care for. Over the years Jo had seen scores of people try the life she'd led and last only weeks. Still she shook her head in confusion.

“I think I understand how difficult it must have been for you. But if you and Frank loved each other, couldn't you have worked it out somehow?”

“How?” Rachael countered. “Should I have taken a house somewhere and lived with him half a year? I would have hated him. Should he have given up his life here and settled down with me and Keane? It would have destroyed everything I loved about him.” Rachael shook her head, giving Jo a soft smile. “We did love each other, Jovilette, but not enough. Compromise isn't always possible, and neither of us were capable of adjusting to the needs of the other. I tried, and Frank would have tried had I asked him. But it was lost before it had really begun. We did the wisest thing under the circumstances.”

Looking into Jo's eyes, she saw youth and confidence. “It seems cold and hard to you, but it was no use dragging out a painful situation. He gave me Keane and two years I've always treasured. I gave him his freedom without bitterness. Ten years after Frank, I found happiness again.” She smiled softly with the memory. “I loved Frank, and that love remains as young and sweet as the day I met him.”

Jo swallowed. She searched for some way to apologize for a grudge held for a lifetime. “He—Frank kept a scrapbook on Keane. He followed the Chicago papers.”

“Did he?” Rachael beamed, then leaned back in her chair and lifted her mug. “How like him. Was he happy, Jovilette? Did he have what he wanted?”

“Yes,” Jo answered without hesitation. “Did you?”

Rachael's eyes came back to Jo's. For a moment the look was speculative, then it grew warm. “What a good heart you have, generous and understanding. Yes, I had what I wanted. And you, Jovilette, what do you want?”

At ease now, Jo shook her head and smiled. “More than I can have.”

“You're too smart for that,” Rachael observed, studying her. “I think you're a fighter, not a dreamer. When the time comes to make your choice, you won't settle for anything less than all.” She smiled at Jo's intent look, then rose. “Will you show me your lions? I can't tell you how I'm looking forward to seeing you perform.”

“Yes, of course.” Jo stood, then hesitated. She held out her hand. “I'm glad you came.”

Rachael accepted the gesture. “So am I.”

***

Throughout the rest of the day Jo looked for Keane without success. After meeting and talking with his mother, it had become even more imperative that she speak with him. Her conscience would have no rest until she made amends. By show time she had not yet found him.

Each act seemed to run on and on as she fretted for the finish. He would be with his mother in the audience, and undoubtedly she would find him after the show. She strained with impatience as the acts dragged.

After the finale she stood at the back door, unsure whether to wait or to go to his trailer. She was struck with both relief and alarm when she saw him approaching.

“Jovilette.” Rachael spoke first, taking Jo's hands in hers. “How marvelous you were, and how stunning. I see why Keane said you had an untamed beauty.”

Surprised, Jo glanced up at Keane but met impassive amber eyes. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, I can't tell you how much. The day has brought me some very precious memories. Our talk this afternoon meant a great deal to me.” To Jo's surprise, Rachael leaned over and kissed her. “I hope to see you again. I'm going to say goodbye to Duffy before you drive me back, Keane,” she continued. “I'll meet you in the car. Goodbye, Jovilette.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Loring.” Jo watched her go before she turned to Keane. “She's a wonderful person. She makes me ashamed.”

“There's no need for that.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and watched her. “We both had our reasons for resentments, and we were both wrong. How's your arm?”