Untamed (13 page)

Jo neither spoke nor moved. There was something different this time in the way he touched her. There was a gentleness and a hesitation she had not felt before. Though they looked directly into hers, she could not read his eyes. Their faces were close, and his breath fluttered against her mouth. Jo slid her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his.

Not until that moment had she realized how empty she had felt, how desperately she had needed to hold him. Her lips were hungry for his. She clung while all gentleness fled from his touch. His hands were greedy. The weeks that he had not touched her were forgotten as her skin warmed and hummed with quickening blood. Passion stripped her of inhibitions, and her tongue sought his, taking the kiss into wilder and darker depths. Their lips parted, only to meet again with sharp new demands. She understood that all needs and all desires were ultimately only one—Keane.

His mouth left hers, and for an instant he rested his cheek against her hair. For that moment Jo felt a contentment more complete than she had ever known. Abruptly, he drew away.

Puzzled, she watched as he drew out a cigar. She lifted a hand to run it through the hair he had just disturbed. He flicked on his lighter. “Keane?” She looked at him, knowing her eyes offered everything.

“You've had a long day,” he began in an oddly polite tone. Jo winced as if he had struck her. “I'll walk you back to your trailer.”

She stepped off the ring and away from him. Pain seared along her skin. “Why are you doing this?” To her humiliation, tears welled in her eyes and lodged in her throat. The tears acted as a prism, refracting the light and clouding her vision. She blinked them back. Keane's brows drew together at the gesture.

“I'll take you back,” he said again. The detached tone of his voice accelerated all Jo's fury and grief.

“How dare you!” she demanded. “How dare you make me . . .” The word
love
nearly slipped through her lips, and she swallowed it. “How dare you make me want you, then turn away! I was right about you from the beginning. I thought I'd been wrong. You're cold and unfeeling.” Her breath came quickly and unevenly, but she refused to retreat until she had said it all. Her face was pale with the passion of her emotions. “I don't know why I thought you'd ever understand what Frank had given you. You need a heart to see the intangible. I'll be glad when the season's over and you do whatever it is you're going to do. I'll be glad when I never have to see you again. I won't let you do this to me anymore!” Her voice wavered, but she made no attempt to steady it. “I don't want you to ever touch me again.”

Keane studied her for a long moment, then took a careful drag on his cigar. “All right, Jo.”

The very calmness of his answer tore a sob from her before she turned and ran from the Big Top.

Chapter Ten

In July the troupe circled through Virginia, touched the tip of West Virginia on their way into Kentucky, then moved into Ohio. Audiences fanned themselves as the temperatures in the Big Top rose, but they still came.

Since the evening of the Fourth, Jo had avoided Keane. It was not as difficult as it might have been, as he spent half the month in Chicago dealing with his business. Jo functioned. She ate because eating was necessary in order to maintain her strength. She slept because rest was essential to remaining alert in the cage. She did not find any enjoyment in food nor was her sleep restful. Because so many in the troupe knew her well, Jo struggled to keep on a mask of normalcy. Above all, she needed to avoid any questions, any advice, any sympathy. It was necessary, because of her profession, to put her emotions on hold a great deal of the time. After some struggle and some failure, Jo achieved a reasonable success.

Her training of Gerry continued, as did his progress. The additional duty of working with him helped fill her small snatches of spare time. On afternoons when no matinee was scheduled, Jo took him into the big cage. As he grew more proficient, she brought other cats in to join Merlin. By the first week in August they were working together with her full complement of lions.

The only others who were rehearsing in the Big Top were the equestrian act. They ran through the Thread the Needle routine in the first ring. Hooves echoed dully on tanbark. Jo supervised while Gerry sent the cats into a pyramid. At his urging, Lazarus climbed up the wide, arched ladder that topped the grouping. Twice he balked, and twice Gerry was forced to reissue the command.

“Good,” Jo commented when the pyramid was complete.

“He wouldn't go.” Gerry began to complain, but she cut him off.

“Don't be in too much of a hurry. Bring them down.” Her tone was brisk and professional. “Make certain they dismount and take their seats in the right order. It's important to stick to routine.”

Hands resting on hips, Jo watched. In her opinion, Gerry had true potential. His nerves were good, he had a feeling for the animals, and he was slowly developing patience. Still she balked at the next step in his training: leaving him alone in the arena. Even with only Merlin, she felt it too risky. He was still too casual. Not yet did he possess enough respect for the lion's guile.

Jo moved around the arena, and the lions, used to her, were not disturbed. As the cats settled onto their pedestals, she once more moved to stand beside Gerry. “Now we'll walk down the line. You make each do a sit-up before we send them out.”

One by one the cats rose on their haunches and pawed the air. Jo and Gerry moved down their ranks. The heat was becoming oppressive, and Jo shifted her shoulders, longing for a cool shower and a change of clothes. When they came to Hamlet, he ignored the command with a rebellious snarl.

Bad-tempered brute, thought Jo absently as she waited for Gerry to reissue the command. He did so but moved forward as if to emphasize the words.

“No, not so close!” Jo warned quickly. Even as she spoke, she saw the change in Hamlet's eyes.

Instinctively, she stepped over, nudging Gerry back and shielding his body with hers. Hamlet struck out, claws extended. There was a moment of blind heat in her shoulder as the skin ripped. Swiftly, she was facing the cat, holding tightly onto Gerry's arm as they stood just out of range.

“Don't run,” she ordered, feeling his jerk of panic. Her arm was on fire as the blood began to flow freely. Keeping her movements quick but smooth, she took the whip from Gerry's nerveless hand and cracked it hard, using her left arm. She knew that if Hamlet continued his defiance and attacked, it was hopeless. The other cats were certain to join in a melee. It would be over before anything could be done. Already, Abra shifted restlessly and bared her teeth.

“Open the chute,” Jo called out. Her voice was cool as ice. “Back toward the safety cage,” she instructed Gerry as she gave the cats their signal to leave the arena. “I've got to get them out one at a time. Move slow, and if I tell you to stop, you stop dead. Understand?”

She heard him swallow as she watched the cats begin to leap off their pedestals and file into the chute. “He got you. Is it bad?” The words were barely a whisper and drenched in terror.

“I said go.” Half the cats were gone, and still Hamlet's eyes were locked on hers. There was no time to waste. One part of her brain heard shouting outside the cage, but she blocked it out and focused all her concentration on the cat. “Go now,” she repeated to Gerry. “Do as you're told.”

He swallowed again and began to back away. Long seconds dragged until she heard the rattle of the safety cage door. When his turn came, Hamlet made no move to leave his seat. Jo was alone with him. She could smell the heat, the scent of the wild and the fragrance of her own blood. Her arm was alive with pain. Slowly, she tested him by backing up. The safety cage seemed hundreds of miles away. The cat tensed immediately, and she stopped. She knew he would not let her cross the arena. Outrunning him was impossible, as the distance between them could be covered in one spring. She had to outbluff him instead.

“Out,” she ordered firmly. “Out, Hamlet.” As he continued to watch her, Jo felt a trickle of sweat slide down between her shoulder blades. Her skin was clammy with it in contrast to the warmth of the blood that ran down her arm. There was a sudden, vivid picture inside her head of her father being dragged around the cage. Fear tripped inside her throat. There was a lightness fluttering in the top of her head, and she knew that a moment's terror would cause her to faint. She stiffened her spine and pushed it away.

Speed was important. The longer she allowed the cat to remain in the arena after his cue, the more defiant he would become. And the more dangerous. As yet he was unaware that he held her at such a sharp disadvantage. “Out, Hamlet.” Jo repeated the command with a crack of the whip. He leaped from the pedestal. Jo's stomach trembled. She locked every muscle, and as the cat hesitated, she repeated the command. He was confused, and she knew this could work as an advantage or a curse. Confused, he might spring or retreat. Her fingers tightened on the stock of the whip and trembled. The cat paced nervously and watched her.

“Hamlet!” She raised her voice and bit off each syllable. “Go out.” To the words she added the hand signal she had used before he was fully trained to voice command.

As if rebuffed, Hamlet relaxed his tail and padded into the chute. Before the door slid completely closed, Jo sank to her knees. Her body began to quake fiercely with the aftershock. No more than five minutes had passed since Hamlet had defied Gerry's command, but her muscles bore the strain of hours. For an instant her vision blurred. Even as she shook her head to clear it, Keane was on the ground beside her.

She heard him swear, ripping the tattered sleeve of her blouse from her arm. He fired questions at her, but she could do no more than shake her head and gulp in air. Focusing on him, she noticed his eyes were unusually dark against his face.

“What?” She followed his voice but not the words. He swore again, sharply enough to penetrate the first layer of her shock. He pulled her to her feet, then continuing the motion smoothly, lifted her into his arms. “Don't.” Her mind struggled to break through the fog and function. “I'm all right.”

“Shut up,” he said harshly as he carried her from the cage. “Just shut up.”

Because speaking cost her some effort, Jo obeyed. Closing her eyes, she let the mixture of excited voices whirl around her. Her arm screamed with pain, but the throbbing reassured her. Numbness would have terrified her. Still she kept her eyes shut, not yet having the courage to look at the damage. Being alive was enough.

When she opened her eyes again, Keane was carrying her into the administration wagon. At the sound of the chaos that followed them, Duffy strode through from his office. “What the . . .” he began, then stopped and paled beneath his freckles. He moved quickly forward as Keane set Jo in a chair. “How bad?”

“I don't know yet,” Keane muttered. “Get a towel and the first-aid kit.”

Buck had come in behind them and, already having secured the items, handed them to Keane. Then he moved to a cabinet and located a bottle of brandy.

“It's not too bad,” Jo managed. Because her voice was tolerably steady, she screwed up her courage and looked down. Keane had fastened a rough bandage from the remains of her sleeve. Though the flow of blood had slowed, there were streaks of it down her arm, and too much spreading from the wound to be certain how extensive the cuts were. Nausea rocked in her stomach.

“How do you know?” Keane demanded between his teeth as he began to clean the wound. He wrung out the towel in the basin Buck set beside him.

“It's not bleeding that badly.” Jo swallowed the queasiness. As her mind began to clear, she frowned at the tone of Keane's voice. Feeling her stare, he glanced up. In his eyes was such fury, she pulled away.

“Be still,” he ordered roughly and gave his attention back to her arm.

The cat had delivered only a glancing blow, but even so, there were four long slices in her upper arm. Jo set her jaw as pain ripped through her. Keane's brusqueness brought more hurt, and she fought to show no reaction to either. The aftermath of fear was bubbling through her. She longed to be held, to be soothed by the hands that tended to her wound.

“She's going to need stitches,” Keane said without looking at her.

“And an antitoxin shot,” Buck added, handing Jo a generous glass of brandy. “Drink this, honey. It'll help settle you.”

The gentleness in his voice nearly undid her. He laid his big hand against her cheek, and for a moment she pressed against it.

“Drink now,” Buck ordered again. Obediently, Jo lifted the glass and swallowed. The room whirled, then snapped into focus. She made a small sound and pressed the glass to her forehead. “Tell me what happened in there.” Buck crouched down beside her as Keane began to apply a temporary bandage.

Jo took a moment to draw air in and out of her lungs. She lowered the glass and spoke steadily. “Hamlet didn't respond, and Gerry repeated a command, but he stepped forward. Too close. I saw Hamlet's eyes, and I knew. I should have moved faster. I should have been watching him more carefully. It was a stupid mistake.” She stared into the brandy as she berated herself.

“She stepped between the boy and the cat.” Keane bit off the words as he completed the bandaging. Rising, he moved to the brandy and poured. Not once did he turn to look at Jo. Hurt, she stared at his back before looking back at Buck.

“How's Gerry?”

Buck urged the glass back to her lips. A faint tint of pink was creeping into her cheeks. “Pete's with him. Got his head between his knees. He'll be fine.”

Jo nodded. “I guess I'll have to go to town and have this seen to.” She handed the glass to Buck and wondered if she dare attempt to rise yet. With another deep breath, she glanced at Duffy. “Make sure he's ready to go in when I get back.”

Keane turned from the window. “Go in where?” His face was set in hard lines.

In response, Jo's voice was chilled. “In the cage.” She turned her eyes to Buck. “We should be able to have a short run-through before the evening show.”

“No.” Jo's head snapped up as Keane spoke. For a long moment they stared at each other with odd, unreasonable antagonism. “You're not going back in there today.” His voice held curt authority.

“Of course I am,” Jo countered, managing to keep the combination of pain and anger from her words. “And if Gerry wants to be a cat man, he's going in, too.”

“Jo's right,” Buck put in, trying to soothe what he sensed was an explosive situation. “It's like falling off a horse. You can't wait too long before you get back up, or you won't ride again.”

Keane never took his eyes from Jo. He continued as if Buck hadn't spoken. “I won't permit it.”

“You can't stop me.” Indignation forced her to her feet. The brisk movement caused her arm to protest, and her struggle against it showed momentarily in her eyes.

“Yes, I can.” Keane took a long swallow of brandy. “I own this circus.”

Jo's fists tightened at his tone, at his careless use of his authority. Not once since he had knelt beside her in the cage had he given her any sign of comfort or reassurance. She had needed it from him. To masquerade its trembling, she kept her voice low. “But you don't own me, Mr. Prescott. And if you'll check your papers and the legalities, you'll see you don't own the lions or my equipment. I bought them, and I maintain them out of my salary. My contract doesn't give you the right to tell me when I can or can't rehearse my cats.”

Keane's face was granite hard. “Neither does it give you the right to set up in the Big Top without my permission.”

“Then I'll set up someplace else,” she tossed back. “But I
will
set up. That cat will be worked again today. I won't take the risk of losing months of training.”

“But you will risk being killed,” Keane shot back and slammed down his glass.

“What do you care?” Jo shouted. All control deserted her. The cuts were deep on her emotions as well as her flesh. She had passed through a terror more acute than she had known since the night of her parents' death. More than anything else, she wanted to feel Keane's arms around her. She wanted to know the security she had felt when he had let her weep out her grief for Ari in his arms. “I'm nothing to you!” Her head shook quickly, tossing her hair. There was a bubble of hysteria in her voice, and Buck reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Jo,” he warned in his soft, rumbling voice.

“No!” She shook her head and spoke rapidly. “He hasn't the right. You haven't the right to interfere with my life.” She flared at Keane again with eyes vivid with emotion. “I know what I have to do. I know what I
will
do. Why should it matter to you? You aren't legally responsible if I get mauled. No one's going to sue you.”