To Catch a Wolf (12 page)

Morgan slammed his glass on the sawhorse that served as a table. "I am a convict.

Does that change your friendship, Professor?”

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"No. It only convinces me that you must speak of these things to someone if you are to

put them behind you.”

"As you've put your past behind you?" Morgan laughed. "I—”

The tent flap opened and Tamar eased inside. She glanced at Ulysses and ignored him,

making straight for Morgan.

"I waited for you," she said.

Morgan eyed her coldly. "I was not aware we planned to meet.”

"But you do not wish to spend this night alone.”

"You make yourself foolish, Tamar," Ulysses said, the words clipped like a Yankee's.

"I do not care for your opinion, little man.”

"Morgan wants no part of you.”

"Oh, does the mannequin speak for you now, my wolf?”

She sat on the cot beside Morgan and breathed in his ear. "Is he your master? Or are

you in love already with the little girl in the chair?”

Morgan stiffened. "If you want tender sentiments, look somewhere else.”

"Ah, but I find love as tedious as you do. We have much in common, you and I. We

share only what we wish to share, no more." Her long tongue curled about his earlobe.

"Come. Come away, and let me show you.”

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Morgan's body had begun to throb in a way he had ignored one too many times. This

was pain he didn't have to endure, especially when the cure was so free of

consequences. He and Tamar could use each other without illusions or expectations.

Ulysses and Caitlin thought he was attracted to Athena Munroe. There was one way of

making them see how wrong they were—and purging his own senses of Athena's

unsettling effect.

He got up, pulling Tamar with him. "Very well," he said. "We'll give each other what we

want. But don't expect a lover. I am in no mood for gentleness.”

The pupils of her eyes were large with desire and excitement. "I do not want it." She

darted forward and kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He responded with

equal violence, despising himself. As she led him from the tent, she cast a final,

triumphant glance at Ulysses.

Morgan did not look back.

The streets of Denver's business district were everything Morgan hated. He stalked up

Sixteenth Street, keeping his eyes fixed on his course, head down against the

occasional stares and doing his best to ignore the cacophonous noise and overripe

smells of horses, dung, spoiled food, smoke, unwashed human flesh, and the scent of

many humans crowded together.

He would rather not have come here at all. The Munroes' boundless generosity had

provided the circus's principal performers with lodgings at Denver's finest hotel, the

Windsor. Morgan might have been included among those so favored, but he would

sooner hang than stay in the city. Visiting it was bad enough.

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So he remained on the lot with the roustabouts, crew, and lesser performers, watching

the circus come to life again. At the end of the first few days in Denver, French's

Fantastic Family Circus was back in trim, busy with practice and preparation for the

orphans' performance to be held at the end of the week. Everyone had enough to eat,

and new costumes were being constructed by the seamstress to replace those that had

worn out or burned in the fire.

Harry supervised the improvements and restorations with even more joviality than

before. Caitlin had groomed her horses to a satin sheen of renewed health, Florizel and

his cohorts were perfecting a new clown act of which he was inordinately proud, and the

jugglers, aerialists, acrobats, and dog trainers went about their tasks with cheerful

absorption. Hope wafted in the air like a seductive perfume.

Morgan kept to himself. He did not visit Tamar again. His one night with her had been

more than enough to purge him of any desire to share her bed a second time. She was

easy to put from his thoughts.

The same could not be said of Athena Munroe. They hadn't met again, yet her eyes and

her scent came back to him both waking and sleeping. There was no reason in it, and

no sense. On the day that Miss Munroe and her society friends were to have their

promised tour of the circus, he made an immediate decision to visit Ulysses at the

Windsor and remain there. The only way to rid his thoughts of Athena Munroe was to

avoid her as much as possible until the troupe left Denver.

It could not be soon enough for him. He walked in the street just off the plank sidewalks,

preferring the feel of gravel to dead wood, and constant clouds of dust to human

contact. He wore shoes, so as not to attract too much attention—that was one of his few

concessions to civilization. And he would not embarrass Ulysses.

He slipped between carriages, drays, and wagons bearing every kind of freight. Water

tank wagons sprayed the dirt in a vain effort to keep down the dust, and dirty water ran

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down the ditches on either side of the street. Fetid odors from the river and smelters

hung in the still air. Bands of idle boys stood about and mocked passersby, though they

left Morgan strictly alone.

He winced at the continual din of sawing and hammering as new construction went up

throughout the district.

The tall brick and iron buildings on either side of the street seemed to draw inward a

little more with each step he took, as if they intended to crush him. He passed

numerous Chinese laundries squeezed between saloons and mercantiles, the Mint with

its disintegrating bricks, and the vast Tabor block at the corner of Larimer.

The Windsor Hotel rose a full five stories at the busy intersection of Eighteenth and

Larimer, ponderous in heavy gray stone. Morgan stared up at it, all the hairs on his body

standing at attention. Men and women, most well-dressed and prosperous, went blithely

in and out the door as if the sheer weight of the construction might not topple over upon

them at any moment.

"Are you drunk?" someone shouted. "Get out of the way!”

He sprang to the side just as a heavily laden wagon bore down on the place he had

been standing. His ears ached with the noise. He could run away from it—either back to

the lot or into the hotel.

He stepped up onto the sidewalk and braved the doors. A pair of befrilled matrons, busy

with their conversation, bumped into him coming out. They paused to gawk at him and

then hurried on their way.

The lobby opened up around him, a glittering cavern of gilded ornamentation, wrought

iron, and polished brass. Chairs and sofas with velvet cushions were arranged in

groupings with potted plants. Laughter and conversation echoed. Morgan caught the

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smell of freshly cooked food from another entrance, which he guessed must lead to the

Windsor's dining room.

He kept close to the edge of the vast space and worked his way to the desk where

young male clerks waited on guests with their bags and bundles. Morgan stood to the

side while the nearest clerk finished with the elderly couple at the desk, summoned a

uniformed bellboy, and noticed Morgan.

"May I help you?" he asked, assessing Morgan with a practiced eye.

"Ulysses Wakefield," Morgan said. "His room.”

The clerk consulted a ledger and nodded. "Yes, he is a guest with us. Mr. Wakefield is

expecting you?”

"Tell me where he is, and I'll find him.”

"I will send a boy to let him know you are here, Mr.—”

"Holt.”

"Very good, Mr. Holt." He rang a bell. "Just a moment.”

Morgan leaned against the counter, his ears pricking at every sound. Drifts of choking

perfume streamed after fashionably gowned women like invisible trains. The artificial

fragrances that human females used so freely almost succeeded in covering up their

natural scents. Yet one such scent came to him, newly familiar, and he surveyed the

room to find its source.

He picked her out from among yet another cluster of prattling females—one of the

parrots who had come after Athena Munroe to see the circus. He quickly identified two

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more of the remaining three ladies as among those who had been with Athena on the

lot. Only the black-haired one was missing.

Morgan stepped away from the registration desk to get a closer look. Athena was not

among the women, but he heard the name "Munroe" rise above the general

conversation.

"Sir?”

Ignoring the clerk's query, Morgan made a sudden decision and started after Athena's

friends. No one noted his passage. He followed the women as far as the entrance to the

dining room, where an officious-looking man directed them to a large table nearby.

Morgan paused to study the room.

It was a much fancier place than any hash house or saloon Morgan had been in before

his imprisonment, and there were many women as well as men eating and drinking at

the white-linened tables. They sipped their wine and ate their steaks without a care in

the world.

The attendant gave Morgan a dubious look, as if he would have liked to direct Morgan

to some less high-toned establishment. "Luncheon for one, sir?”

A small, unoccupied table stood fairly close to the ladies'. "Bring a steak to that table,"

he said. "Rare. And plain water." He showed his teeth. "Don't worry. I can pay for it.”

The man opened and closed his mouth. "Very good, sir.”

Morgan didn't wait to be shown to his place. He sat down on the upholstered chair,

sifting through the interwoven conversations.

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"Oh, but really, dear, you did not miss much. We were invited to view a rehearsal today,

but I declined.”

"And I. Once was quite enough.”

The two voices belonged to Athena's friends. Morgan cocked his head without turning it.

"Was this Athena's idea?" a third woman asked.

"So her brother says. And isn't it just like her, bringing an entire circus to Denver for her

orphans?”

"Really—it is too ridiculous. She cannot resist trying to surpass what anyone else does,

and make herself look like a saint—Oh, I do apologize. I speak too freely.”

"You know you are among friends here. And we all agree that Athena—well, how can

we help but pity her? How can we but humor her projects, no matter how inconvenient?”

"You can say that, Marie, but you have not been called upon five times in the past

month for some new scheme or other. I have had to miss a luncheon and two

receptions because of her. And having to look at her, in that chair—”

"Poor thing. She will never be married.”

"But she will never be one of us—how can she? If she hadn't been gallivanting about

like a street urchin when she was younger, instead of learning proper behavior and

decorum like the rest of us, she would not have been crippled. But her father spoiled her

and let her run wild. Now she has nothing to do but make herself superior to everyone

else.”

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"That is true, Suzanne. Those expensive French gowns are wasted on her. How can

she display them properly when she cannot stand, let alone dance? And she is so good.

I feel a positive ogre in her presence.”

"She must try even harder to be perfect when she has such a very great

defect.”

One of the women lowered her voice to a whisper. "Let us not forget the rumor that her

mother

”

"Millicent! Remember where you are.”

"Let us also not forget that her brother is a very important and eligible man in our city,"

said the first woman in a droll voice. "It would not be wise to snub his sister." She

paused to sip at her drink. "We must face facts, my dears. Athena is our charity case,

and we must accept that burden.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and the discussion turned to the menu. Morgan

stared at his hands, clenched on the table.

So these were Athena's friends. These were the ones who had seemed so deferential

and filled with praise when they were with her, the companions Athena looked upon with

obvious trust. They spoke of her as if she were an object of disdain, not admiration.

Morgan tried, and failed, to understand his seething emotions. Athena Munroe was not

even present, and yet she created a storm in his belly and heart that would not let him