Untamed (2 page)

Dawn was hovering over the horizon as the circus caravan drew up in a large, grassy field. Colors were just a promise in a pale gray sky. In the distance was grove upon grove of orange trees. As Jo stepped from the cab of her truck, the fragrance met her. It's a perfect day, she decided, then took a long, greedy breath. To her, there was no more beautiful sight than dawn struggling to life.

The air was vaguely chilly. She zipped up her gray sweat jacket as she watched the rest of the circus troupe pouring out of their trucks and cars and trailers. The morning quiet was soon shattered by voices. Work began immediately. As the Big Top canvas was being unrolled out of the spool truck, Jo went to see how her lions had fared the fifty-mile journey.

Three handlers unloaded the traveling cages. Buck had been with Jo the longest. He had worked for her father, and during the interim between his death and Jo's professional debut, he had worked up a small act with four male lions. His shyness had made his retirement from performing a relief. To Buck, two people were a crowd. He stood six-feet-four, and his build was powerful enough for him to pad the sideshow from time to time as Hercules the Strong Man. He had an impressive head of wild blond hair and a full, curling beard. His hands were wide, with thick, strong fingers, but Jo remembered their gentleness when the two of them had delivered a lioness of a pair of cubs.

Pete's small frame seemed puny beside Buck's. He was of indeterminable age. Jo guessed between forty and fifty, but she was never certain. He was a quiet man with skin like polished mahogany and a rich, low-pitched voice. He had come to Jo five years before, asking for a job. She had never asked where he had come from, and he had never told her. He wore a fielder's cap and was never seen without a wad of gum moving gently in his teeth. He read Jo's books and was the undisputed king of the poker table.

Gerry was nineteen and eager. He was nearly six feet and still carried the lankiness of his youth. His mother sewed, and his father was a souvenir salesman, or a candy butcher, as circus jargon had it. Working the big cage was Gerry's dream, and because it had been hers, Jo had finally agreed to tutor him.

“How are my babies?” she demanded as she approached. At each cage she paused and soothed a nervous cat, calling each by name until they had settled. “They've traveled well. Hamlet's still edgy, but it's his first year on the road.”

“He's a mean one,” Buck muttered, watching Jo move from cage to cage.

“Yes, I know,” she replied absently. “He's smart, too.” She had twisted her hair into one thick braid and now tossed it to her back. “Look, here come some towners.” A few cars and a smattering of bikes drew into the field.

These were the people from the outlying towns who wanted to see a Big Top raised, who wanted to see the circus, if only for a moment, from the other side. Some would watch while others would lend a hand with tent poles, stretching canvas and rigging. They would earn a show pass and an unforgettable experience.

“Keep them clear of the cages,” Jo ordered, nodding to Pete before she moved toward the still flaccid canvas. Buck lumbered beside her.

The field was alive with ropes and wire and people. Six elephants were harnessed but idle, with their handlers standing by the stake line. As workers pulled on guy ropes, the dusky brown canvas billowed up like a giant mushroom.

The poles were positioned—side, quarter, center—while the canvas muffled the sounds of scrambling workers. In the east the sun was rising fast, streaking the sky with pink. There were shouted instructions from the head canvas man, laughter from adventuresome boys and an occasional oath. As the quarter poles were driven into the sag of canvas, Jo signaled Maggie, the large African elephant. Obligingly, Maggie lowered her trunk. Jo stepped nimbly into the
u,
then scrambled onto the wide, gray back.

The sun grew higher by the second, shooting the first streams of light onto the field. The scent of orange blossoms mingled with the odor of leather harnesses. Jo had watched the canvas rise under a lightening sky countless times. Each time it was special, and the first raising each season was the most special of all. Maggie lifted her head and trumpeted as if pleased to be around for another season. With a laugh Jo reached back and swatted her rough, wrinkled rump. She felt free and fresh and incredibly alive. If there were a moment, she thought suddenly, that I could capture and bottle, it would be this one. Then, when I'm very old, I could take it out and feel young again. Smiling, she glanced down at the people swarming below her.

Her attention was caught by a man who stood by a coil of cable. Typically, she noted his build first. A well-proportioned body was essential to a performer. He was lean and stood straight. She noted he had good shoulders but doubted if there was much muscle in his arms. Though he was dressed casually in jeans,
city
stood out all over him. His hair was a dark, rich blond, and the early breeze had disturbed it so that it teased his forehead. He was clean-shaven, with a narrow, firm-jawed face. It was an attractive face. It was not, Jo mused, smoothly handsome like Vito the wire walker's but more aware, more demanding. Jo liked the face, liked the shape of the long, unsmiling mouth, liked the hint of bone beneath his tawny skin. Most of all she liked the directness of the amber eyes that stared back at her. They're like Ari's, she observed, thinking of her favorite lion. She was certain that he had been watching her long before she had looked down. Knowing this, Jo was impressed with his unselfconsciousness. He continued to stare, making no effort to camouflage his interest. She laughed, unperturbed, and tossed her braid from her shoulder.

“Want a ride?” she called out. Too many strangers had walked in and out of her world for her to be aloof. She watched his brow lift in acknowledgment of her offer. She would see if it was only his eyes that were like Ari's. “Maggie won't hurt you. She's gentle as a lamb, just bigger.” Instantly, she saw he had understood the challenge. He walked across the grass until he stood beside her. He moved well, she noted. Jo tapped Maggie's side with the bull hook she carried. Wearily, the elephant knelt down on her trunklike front legs. Jo held out her hand. With an agility that surprised her, the man mounted the elephant and slid into place behind her.

For a moment she said nothing, a bit stunned by the trembling that had coursed up her arm as her palm had met his. The contact had been brief. Jo decided she had imagined it. “Up, Maggie,” she said, giving her mount another tap. With an elephantine sigh, Maggie obeyed, rocking her passengers gently from side to side.

“Do you always pick up strange men?” the voice behind her inquired. It was a smooth, well-keyed voice, a good pitchman's voice.

Jo grinned over her shoulder. “Maggie's doing the picking up.”

“So she is. Are you aware that she's remarkably uncomfortable?”

Jo laughed with genuine enjoyment. “You should try riding her a few miles in a street parade while keeping a smile on your face.”

“I'll pass. Are you in charge of her?”

“Maggie? No, but I know how to handle her. You have eyes like one of my cats,” she told him. “I like them. And since you seemed to be interested in Maggie and me, I asked you up.”

This time it was he who laughed. Jo twisted her head, wanting to see his face. There was humor in his eyes now, and his teeth were white and straight. Liking his smile, she answered with one of her own. “Fascinating. You asked me to take a ride on an elephant because I have eyes like your cat's. And no offense to the lady beneath me, but I was looking at you.”

“Oh?” Jo pursed her lips in thought. “Why?”

For several seconds he studied her in silence. “Strange, I believe you really don't know.”

“I wouldn't ask if I did,” she returned, shifting her weight slightly. “It would be a waste of time to ask a question if I knew the answer.” She shifted again and turned away from him. “Hold on now. Maggie's got to earn her bale of hay.”

The poles hung between the canvas and the ground at forty-five degree angles. Quickly the elephant's chains were hooked to the metal rings at the base of the quarter poles. Jo urged Maggie forward in unison with her coworkers. Poles skidded along the ground, then up into place, pushing the canvas with it. The Big Top billowed to life under the early morning sky.

Her job done, Maggie moved through the flaps and into the light. “Beautiful, isn't it?” Jo murmured. “It's born fresh every day.”

Vito walked by, calling out to Jo in Italian. Sending him a wave, she called back in his own language, then signaled to Maggie to kneel again. Jo waited until her passenger had dismounted before she slid off. It surprised her, when they stood face to face, that he was so tall. Tilting back her head, she judged him to be only two inches shy of Buck.

“You looked shorter when I was up on Maggie,” she told him with her usual candor.

“You looked taller.”

Jo chuckled, patting Maggie behind the ear. “Will you see the show?” She knew that she wanted him to, knew as well that she wanted to see him again. She found this both strange and intriguing. Men had always taken second place to her cats, and towners had never interested her.

“Yes, I'm going to see the show.” There was a slight smile on his face, but he was studying her thoughtfully. “Do you perform?”

“I have an act with my cats.”

“I see. Somehow I pictured you in an aerial act, flying from the trapeze.”

She sent him an easy smile. “My mother was an aerialist.” Someone called her name, and looking, Jo saw Maggie was needed for raising the sideshow tent. “I have to go. I hope you like the show.”

He took her hand before she could lead Maggie away. Jo stood still, again surprised by a trembling up her arm. “I'd like to see you tonight.”

Glancing up, she met his eyes. They were direct and unselfconscious. “Why?” The question was sincere. Jo knew she wanted to see him as well but was unsure why.

This time he did not laugh. Gently, he ran a finger down the length of her braid. “Because you're beautiful, and you intrigue me.”

“Oh.” Jo considered. She had never thought of herself as beautiful. Striking, perhaps, in her costume, surrounded by her cats, but in jeans, without makeup, she doubted it. Still, it was an interesting thought. “All right, if there's no trouble with the cats. Ari hasn't been well.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

There was another loud summons for Jo, and both looked toward it. “I see you're needed,” he said with a nod. “Perhaps you could point out Bill Duffy for me before you go.”

“Duffy?” Jo repeated, surprised. “You can't be looking for a job?” There was incredulity in her voice, and he grinned.”

“Why can't I?”

“Because you don't fit any of the types.”

“Are there types?” he asked, both interested and amused. Jo shook her head in annoyance.

“Yes, of course, and you don't fit into any of them.”

“Actually, I'm not looking for a job, so to speak,” he told her, still smiling. “But I am looking for Bill Duffy.”

It was against Jo's nature to probe. Privacy was both guarded and respected in the circus. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Jo looked around until she spotted Duffy supervising the raising of the cookhouse tent. “There,” she said, pointing. “Duffy's the one with the red checked jacket. He still dresses like an outside talker.”

“A what?”

“You'd call it a barker, I imagine.” With easy grace she mounted the patient Maggie. “That's a towner's term, not a circus one.” She smiled at him, then urged Maggie into a walk. “Tell Duffy Jo said to give you a pass,” she called over her shoulder, then waved and turned away.

Dawn was over, and it was morning.

Chapter Two

Jo stood at the back door of the Big Top waiting for her cue. Beside her was Jamie Carter, alias Topo. He was a third generation clown and wore his bright face and orange wig naturally. He was young and limber and used these traits as well as his makeup to bring enthusiasm to his craft. To Jo, Jamie was more brother than friend. He was tall and thin, and under his greasepaint his face was mobile and pleasant. He and Jo had grown up together.

“Did she say anything?” Jamie demanded for the third time. With a sigh, Jo tossed closed the flap of the tent. Inside, clowns were performing around the hippodrome track while hands set up the big cage.

“Carmen said nothing. I don't know why you waste your time.” Her voice was sharp, and Jamie bristled.

“I don't expect you to understand,” he said with great dignity. His thin shoulders drew straight under his red polka dot shirt. “After all, Ari's the closest you've come to being involved with the opposite sex.”

“That's very cute,” Jo replied, unoffended by the jibe. Her annoyance stemmed from seeing Jamie make a fool of himself over Carmen Gribalti, the middle sister of the flying Gribaltis. She was darkly beautiful, graceful, talented, selfish and sublimely indifferent to Jamie. Looking into his happy, painted face and moody eyes, Jo's irritation dissipated. “She probably hasn't had a chance to answer the note you sent her,” she soothed. “The first day of a new season's always wild.”

“I suppose,” Jamie muttered with a grudging shrug. “I don't know what she sees in Vito.”

Jo thought of the wire walker's dark, cocky looks and rippling muscles. Wisely, she refrained from mentioning them. “Who can account for taste?” She gave him a smacking kiss on his round, red nose. “Personally, I get all wobbly when I see a man with thick, orange hair.”

Jamie grinned. “Proves you know what to look for in a man.”

Turning, Jo lifted the flap again, noting Jamie's cue was nearly upon them. “Did you happen to notice a towner hanging around today?”

“Only a couple dozen of them,” Jamie answered dryly as he lifted the pail of confetti he used to finish the gag now being performed inside.

Jo shot him a half-hearted glare. “Not the usual type. About thirty, I think,” she continued. “Wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He was tall, six-one, six-two,” she went on as laughter poured out of the open flap to drown out her words. “He had dark blond straight hair.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” Jamie nudged her out of his way and prepared to make his entrance. “He was going into the red wagon with Duffy.” With a wild, high-pitched scream, Topo the clown bounded into the Big Top in size fifteen tennis shoes, brandishing his bucket of confetti.

Thoughtfully, Jo watched Jamie chase three other clowns around the track. It was odd, she thought, for Duffy to take a towner into the administration trailer. He had said he wasn't looking for a job. He wasn't a drifter; there was an unmistakable air of stability about him. He wasn't a circus hand from another show, either. His palm had been too smooth. And, her mind added as she vaulted onto Babette, a pure white mare, there had been an undeniable aura of urbanity about him. Success, as well, she thought. And authority. No, he had not been looking for a job.

Jo shrugged, annoyed that a stranger was crowding into her thoughts. It irritated her further that she had scanned the crowds for him during the parade and that even now she wondered if he sat somewhere in the circular arena. He hadn't been at the matinee. Jo patted the mare's neck absently, then straightened as she heard the ringmaster's whistle.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called in deep, musical tones. “Presenting the most spectacular exhibition of animal subjugation under the Big Top. Jovilette, Queen of the Jungle Cats!”

Jo nudged Babette with her heels and raced into the arena. The applause rose to meet her as the audience appreciated the dashing figure she cut. Swathed in a black cape, raven hair flying free under a glittering tiara, she galloped bareback on the snow white mare. In each hand she held a long, thin whip, which she cracked alternately overhead. At the entrance to the big cage she leaped from the still racing horse. While Babette galloped out of the back door and into the care of a handler, Jo shifted both whips into one hand, then removed the cape with a flourish. Her costume was a close-fitting, one-piece jumpsuit, dazzling in white and spangled with gold sequins. In dramatic contrast, her hair hung straight and severe down her back.

Make an entrance,
Frank had always said. And Jovilette made an entrance.

The twelve cats were already in the cage, banding its inside edge as they perched on blue and white pedestals. Entering the main cage appeared routine to the audience, but Jo knew it was one of the most dangerous moments of the act. To enter, she had to pass directly between two cats as she moved from the safety cage to the main arena. She always stationed her best behaved cats there, but if one was irritated, or even playful, he could easily strike out with a powerful paw. Even with sharp claws retracted, the damage could be deadly.

She entered swiftly and was surrounded by cats on all sides. Her spangles and tiara caught the lights and played with them as she began to move around the cage, cracking the whip for showmanship while using her voice to command the cats to rise on their haunches. She moved them through their routine, adjusting the timing to compensate for any feline reluctance, letting one trick begin where the last ended.

Jo disliked overdone propping, preferring action and movement. The contrast of the big, tawny cats and the small white and gold woman were the best props available to her. She used them well. Hers was a
picture act,
relying on style and flash, rather than a
fighting act,
which emphasized the ferocity of the big cats by employing blank-bulleted guns and rehearsed charges, or
bounces.
Her confidence transmitted itself to the audience, making her handling of the cats appear effortless. In truth, her body was coiled for any danger, and her mind was focused so intently on her cats, there might have been no audience at all.

She stood between two high pedestals as the cats leaped over her head from both directions. They set up a light breeze, which stirred her hair. They roared when she cued them, setting up an echoing din. Now and then one reached out to paw at the stock of her whip, and she stopped him with a quick command. She sent her best leaper through a hoop of flame and coaxed her best balancer to walk on a glistening silver ball. She ended to waves of applause by trotting Merlin around the hippodrome track.

At the back door Merlin jumped into a wheel cage and was turned over to Pete. “Nice show,” he said as he handed her a long chenille robe. “Smooth as silk.”

“Thanks.” Cold, she bundled into the robe. The spring night was frigid in contrast to the hot lights and heat in the big cage. “Listen, Pete, tell Gerry he can feed the cats tonight. They're behaving themselves.”

Pete snapped his gum and chuckled. “Won't he be riding high tonight.” As he moved to the truck that would pull the cage to the cat area, Jo called after him.

“Pete.” She bit her lip, then shrugged when he twisted his head. “You'll keep an eye on him, won't you?”

Pete grinned and climbed into the cab of the truck. “Who you worried about, Jo? Those big cats or that skinny boy?”

“Both,” she answered. The rhinestones in her tiara sparkled as she tossed her head and laughed. Knowing she had nearly an hour before the finale parade, Jo walked away from the Big Top. She thought of wandering to the cookhouse for some coffee. Mentally, she began replaying every segment of her act. It had gone well, she thought, pleased with the timing and the flow. If Pete had said it had been smooth, Jo knew it had. She had heard his criticisms more than once over the past five years. True, Hamlet had tested her once or twice, but no one knew that but Jo and the cat. She doubted if anyone but Buck would have seen that he had given her trouble. Closing her eyes a moment, Jo rolled her shoulders, loosening tight, tensed muscles.

“That's quite an act you have.”

Jo whirled around at the sound of the voice. She could feel her heart rate accelerate. Though she wondered at her interest in a man she barely knew, Jo was aware that she had been waiting for him. There was a quick surge of pleasure as she watched him approach, and she allowed it to show on her face.

“Hello.” She saw that he smoked a cigar, but unlike Duffy's, his was long and slim. Again she admired the elegance of his hands. “Did you like the show?”

He stopped in front of her, then studied her face with a thoroughness that made her wonder if her makeup had smeared. Then he gave a small, surprised laugh and shook his head. “Do you know,” he began, “when you told me this morning that you did an act with cats, I had Siamese in mind rather than African.”

“Siamese?” Jo repeated blankly, then laughed. “House cats?” He brushed her hair behind her back while Jo giggled at the thought of coaxing a Siamese to jump through a flaming hoop.

“From my point of view,” he told her as he let a strand of her hair linger between his fingers, “it made more sense than a little thing like you walking into a cage with a dozen lions.”

“I'm not little,” Jo corrected good-naturedly. “Besides, size hardly matters to twelve lions.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.” He lifted his eyes from her hair and met hers. Jo continued to smile, enjoying looking at him. “Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.

Jo gave him a curious look. “Why? Because it's my job.”

By the way he studied her, Jo could see that he was not satisfied with the simplicity of her answer. “Perhaps I should ask
how
you became a lion tamer.”

“Trainer,” Jo corrected automatically. To her left, she could hear the audience's muffled applause. “The Beirots are starting,” she said with a glance toward the sound. “You shouldn't miss their act. They're first-rate acrobats.”

“Don't you want to tell me?” His voice was soft.

She lifted a brow, seeing that he truly wanted to know. “Why, it's not a secret. My father was a trainer, and I have a knack for working with cats. It just followed.” Jo had never thought about her career past this point, and she shrugged it aside. “You shouldn't waste your ticket standing out here. You can stand by the back door and watch the rest of the act.” Jo turned to lead the way to the performer's entrance but stopped when his hand took hers.

He stepped forward until their bodies were nearly touching. Jo could feel the heat from his as she watched his face. Her heart was thudding in a quick, steady rhythm. She could hear it vibrate through her the same way it did when she approached a new cat for the first time. Here was something new, something untested. She tingled with the excitement of the unknown when he lifted his hand to touch her cheek. She did not move but let the warmth spread while she watched him carefully, gauging him. Her eyes were wide, curious and unafraid.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked in a tone that expressed more interest than desire.

His eyes lit with humor and glittered in the dim light. “I had given it some thought,” he answered. “Do you have any objections?”

Jo considered a moment, dropping her eyes to his mouth. She liked its shape and wondered how it would feel against hers. He brought her no closer. One hand still held hers while the other slid around to cradle her neck. Jo shifted her gaze until their eyes met again. “No,” she decided. “I haven't any objections.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as he tightened his hold slightly on the base of her neck. Slowly, he lowered his head toward hers. Curious and a bit wary, Jo kept her eyes open, watching his. She knew from experience that you could tell more about people and about cats from the eyes. To her surprise, his remained open as well, even as their lips met.

It was a gentle kiss, without pressure, only a whisper of a touch. Amazed, Jo thought she felt the ground tremble under her feet. Dimly, she wondered if the elephants were being led by. But it can't be time, she thought in confusion. His lips moved lightly over hers, and his eyes remained steady. Jo's pulse drummed under her skin. They stood, barely touching, as the Big Top throbbed with noise behind them. Lazily, he traced her lips with the tip of his tongue, teasing them open. Still there was no demand in the kiss, only testing. Unhurried, confident, he explored her mouth while Jo felt her breath accelerating. A soft moan escaped her as her lids fluttered down.

For an instant she surrendered utterly to him, to the new sensations swimming through her. She leaned against him, straining toward pleasure, sighing with it as the kiss lingered.

He drew her away, but their faces remained close. Dizzily, Jo realized that she had risen to her toes to compensate for their difference in height. His hand was still light on the back of her neck. His eyes were gold in the darkening night.

“What an incredible female you are, Jovilette,” he murmured. “One surprise after another.”

Jo felt stunningly alive. Her skin seemed to tingle with new feelings. She smiled. “I don't know your name.”

He laughed, releasing her neck to take her other hand in his. Before he could speak, Duffy called out from the direction of the Big Top. Jo turned to watch as he moved toward them in his quick, rolling walk.

“Well, well, well,” he said in his jolly, rough voice. “I didn't know you two had met. Has Jo been showing you around already?” Reaching them, he squeezed Jo's shoulder. “Knew I could count on you, kiddo.” Jo glanced at him in puzzlement, but he continued before she could form a question. “Yes, sir, this little girl puts on quite a show, doesn't she? Always a grabber. And she knows this circus like the back of her hand. Born and raised to it,” he continued. Jo relaxed. She recognized that Duffy was into one of his spiels, and there was no stopping him. “Yessiree, any questions you got, you just ask our Jo, and she'll tell you. 'Course, I'm always at your disposal, too. Anything I can tell you about the books or accounts or contracts and the like, you just let me know.” Duffy puffed twice on his cigar as Jo felt her first hint of unease.