Tempting the Ringmaster (15 page)

But it still didn’t measure up to losing Graham. Things had been rocky ever since they’d met, but she’d finally thought they’d reached a place of understanding. She’d begun to dream about the future. Then he’d betrayed her. Twice. Once by running background checks on her people, and then with his words: “Just make a mess and move on.”

Salt stained her lips, making her realize she’d been crying ever since Graham’s broad shoulders had vanished into the darkness. “Damn,” she wiped her face on the back of her hand. “Damn.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” The woman’s body was warm and familiar. Still dressed in the outfit she wore to perform, Dorothy wore a melancholy smile on her face. “There’s no reason to hide a few tears. No reason to be ashamed of wanting more than a metal trailer and a life on the road. I always thought I’d settle down myself one day. Of course, my husband wouldn’t hear of it. His heart’s always been in the circus.” She shrugged. “Maybe I should have run off
with a town boy like your Graham.”

“He’s not mine.”

“No,” Dorothy allowed, “but he might have been.”

“No,” Belle had been wrong to imagine that they had a future together. “It was always impossible.”

Graham didn’t understand. Joining the circus wasn’t a way to avoid responsibility. She wasn’t flitting around playing all the time. She was working hard to protect her friends, her family, and her way of life. She wasn’t aimless, directionless. She had a direction. Whichever way the road took her and straight on until morning. One jump after another until they found a place to spend the winter, and in the spring she’d start it all over again.

She had a home, and sometimes she had more responsibilities than she could
bear. When she made a mess, she couldn’t just move on. The mess moved with her. It needed to be dealt with. In a few weeks, she’d just be a memory to the people of Buck Falls—a bad taste in Graham’s mouth—but she’d still be dealing with the fallout from the fire. She’d still be scrounging for a new tent for spring and a place to spend the winter.

If Graham couldn’t understand that then he didn’t deserve her.

“Belle?” Dana Jarvis had taken her daughter back to the family trailer to change out of her costume, but Mikhail had stayed behind to hear the verdict.

Forget the law. When it came to the circus, it was Belle’s job to be judge jury and executioner. The strongman’s shoulders were tight with tension as he waited to hear what she had to say. His family’s future waiting in the balance.

“I have savings—”

“Keep your money.” Whatever the strongman had, it wouldn’t be enough for a new tent. They both knew that. “I’ll think of something.”

“And Petra? She’s a good girl, Belle-Anne.”

“I know that.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Belle’s stomach churned deep in her belly. Suddenly, she wanted to get out of her costume, dropping the tuxedo off at Big Jerry’s trailer and going back to her own place for a long shower. Better, a bath. She’d heard a rumor from one of the roustabouts that Irma had a tub she set up in her tent on warm nights. It was about time to see if there was any truth to do that.

She needed to scrub every inch of her body until she’d removed every atom of Graham Tyler. Every scent, every memory, every kiss. Harsh soap and an abrasive hand towel. She’d rub her skin until she reached bone if she had to, and when he was finally gone then she’d come up with her next move.

“Tomorrow,” she promised. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Chapter Thirteen

This time the circus meeting was less impromptu. No banging on trailers or leaping on picnic tables. Belle waited patiently as men, women, and children packed the bleachers in the old circus tent. They all looked grim. Solemn. Everyone knew what had happened. Even the people who hadn’t been backstage when Petra made her confession—and Graham left—had heard every excruciating detail. There were no secrets in the circus.

“You’ve got a mighty attentive audience tonight, Belle-girl.” The old nickname didn’t bother her as much as it had a few weeks earlier, but then Keith wasn’t saying it with quite the same edge either. His face was pale. His shoulders were rigid. Dressed in a pair of pressed blue jeans, a brocade vest, and nothing else, he looked like a demented Peter Pan.

She shrugged. “I just hope I can do them justice.”

“Being a ringmaster—running the show—I always thought it would be cool. You know? To be the boss. Tell everybody what to do.”

“Please, tell me what to do.”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. The action supportive and reassuring. “Not tonight.”

Belle didn’t pull away. She needed all the support she could get.

She’d spent the entire day in her trailer, going through the insurance claims for the tent. With the money from the performance the night before—and the fact that they could reuse the antique tent until a new one arrived—they’d just manage to squeak by.

Still, it had been damn hard work, and the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Graham didn’t help. It wasn’t just the sex—although the sex had been fantastic—she missed his fingers laced with hers, his laughter, and the warmth of his smile.

She took a deep breath, forcing him out of her head. Trying anyway. Her brain was mighty tenacious, and she’d rather be thinking about strong pectorals and sculptured abs then the task at hand.

Hoo-boy, she straightened her shoulders and took a firm step forward. Time to get her ass in gear.

“There’s a quote I heard a while back,” she said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but she didn’t need to project with everyone staring in her direction. “‘A circus is like a mother in whom one can confide and who rewards and punishes.’ I don’t know who said it—”

“Burt Lancaster,” Irma shouted from the audience.

“Thanks.” Belle frowned. She’d lost her momentum. She took another step, the action giving her time to reassemble her thoughts. “Since I’ve been back, things have been hard. The lord knows there haven’t been many rewards, and now it’s time for a few punishments.” Her gaze searched the crowd before landing on a small blonde head, buried in her father’s coat. “Petra Jarvis, would you come down here?”

A ripple went through the crowd. People shifting aside to make room for the young girl. Petra was dressed in her best clothes, not a frothy gown created by the circus’s costumer, but a simple pink dress her mother had bought on clearance at a department store and an off white bolero jacket. It was the same outfit she’d worn to Barnaby’s funeral. Her hair was pulled back into a neat French braid. Her lip wobbled like a toddler’s toy.

Belle glanced past her, up to where Mikhail and Dana were sitting together holding hands. They’d visited her trailer earlier in the day to discuss all the possible punishments at length. She might be the ringmaster, but they were the parents.

Mikhail nodded stiffly.

“Petra Jarvis,” Belle said, when the girl reached the floor. “You tried to perform a dangerous trick without supervision. You burnt down the big top, you put Turtle in danger, and you lied about it.” The girl looked like she was about to cry. Belle wanted to reach out and reassure her, but she couldn’t break character. “You were reckless, foolish—”

“Yes, Belle-Anne,” Petra said quietly.

“And if I had ten more like you then we’d be making a beeline for Las Vegas.” There were a few small laughs, but more people were smiling. The
mood was beginning to lighten up. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to make things right.”

Petra glanced up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Of course, there are going to be a few rules and conditions.” Belle tapped a foot against the ground. “You’ve been learning a lot of tricks here. Backflips and fire breathing. That’s fine, but the circus isn’t all tricks. No more learning new skills until you’ve come up with a new act. An original act.” If the girl did a half assed job then she’d be learning how to breathe fire—properly—come spring. “Do you understand?”

Petra’s started to cry. “Yes, Belle-Anne.”

“And, you’re going to help Willow look after Turtle. Anytime she needs help.”

“Yes, Belle-Anne.”

“And, for the next six months you’re going to tidy up clown alley twice a week.”

“What?” A blink of surprise. Petra reached up to wipe the tears from her face. “But it’s always so messy!”

That got a genuine laugh from the crowd. They even put their hands together for a clap.

Petra’s head darted around, suddenly aware that the entire circus was watching her. The tension was too much, even for a girl who liked to pretend she was a seasoned performer. She bolted for the door, kicking out of her white sandals on the way.

Dorothy was sitting near the end of the bleachers, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a red cambric shirt. “I’ll go get her,” she said. “It’ll be fine. You go on with your meeting.” She stood and followed Petra out of the tent.

Good, Belle took a deep breath. The first part of the meeting was over. Unfortunately, that was the easy part. “Blue Deveraux.” The room went quiet. People were looking around in confusion. It took them a moment to focus on Blue. Sitting near the top of the bleachers, Blue’s face was wooden, stoic. He stood up, but he didn’t walk towards her.

“Blue.” Forced air entered her lungs. Her fingers curled tight into fists. Nails dug into her palms. “You’ve always been like family. You’re a good fire-breather, and you’re a great safety chief. At least, you were a great safety chief.”

The world ended not with a bang but with a whimper. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Surprise on peoples face.

A single bead of sweat rolled down Blue’s face.

“I can’t have a safety chief who puts people in danger,” she said. “I can’t have a safety chief who leaves dangerous equipment around. What Petra did was reckless, wrong, but it couldn’t have happened if you hadn’t left your equipment lying around the place. You’re gone.”

A second wave of murmurs. Louder this time.

“Belle-Anne!” Frank leapt up, objecting. “You can’t.”

“This is a bad idea, Belle-Girl,” Keith’s voice was sharp.

A blink of surprise. Belle had expected objections, but not from them. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. She had to stay strong. “Your behavior was reckless, dangerous—”

“Your father wouldn’t want this,” Frank interjected. “Your father—Barnaby wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“Barnaby’s dead. This is my circus now.” Her gaze met Blue’s. His dark skin was gleaming. His eyes were bright. When he crossed his arms in front of his chest, muscles bulged. She held her breath. Would he yell at her? The safety chief was well respected at Black Shadow Circus. He was also popular.

“You’re right,” Blue said. “I should leave.”

“What?” Frank’s head jerked back towards the younger man. “You can’t! This is your home! Your family!”

“I’m responsible for keeping the circus safe. The tent burned down on my watch. Turtle could have been hurt. Hell—let’s be honest—he could have died.” Turtle and the other younger children were in the schoolroom with Willow. The Gates brothers didn’t say a word. They were staring straight ahead. Their matched jaws set in barely controlled disgust.

Blue began the slow walk down to the tent floor. “I deserve to be fired for that, but it wasn’t my equipment Petra used to show off her fire breathing skills.”

“What?” Belle frowned. The man was lying. He had to be lying. It had to be his equipment that the kids had grabbed. “You didn’t use it in the show last night.”

“I thought it would be in bad taste, but my stuff’s still back in my trailer.
Locked up tight. I can go get it if you’d like.”

“No,” Belle shook her head, disagreeing, but there was no conviction in her voice. Blue had never lied to her, not that she could remember. He’d always been honest in his dealings and his life. He was well-liked for a reason. He wouldn’t lie about this. Not when his statement was so easily checkable.

A pit opened in Belle’s stomach a mile deep. Blue was the only performer in the circus who did fire breathing tricks on a regular basis. There were a few others with the skill—and the equipment—but they had no reason to leave their stuff lying around unattended. If their equipment had taken a walkabout into Petra’s hands, it wouldn’t have been an accident.

Graham had been right.

Someone had set the fire on purpose.

Her gaze rifled through the crowd as she made a mental list of the performers who’d done fire breathing over the years. She wouldn’t know all of them. Some people were new since she’d moved to Chicago. She wouldn’t have seen all of their tricks. Still, she could make a start of it.

Keith had done some fire breathing over the years. He thought it was too flashy—it detracted from the real skill that went into clowning—but he’d have the equipment. There’d been a fire dance back in the day, would Irma have kept the supplies? Maybe. Dorothy’s sons had all done fire breathing back when they lived with the circus. The Cobb brothers had been hot in more ways than one, but they weren’t around anymore. They were off being doctors and lawyers and business executives.

And Alex. The youngest. Still at Yale.

The memory of Dorothy in the orchard danced through Belle’s mind. The way her lips had twisted down when she’d spoken about her youngest son. The hitch in her breath.

Dorothy loved her sons. She loved her family. She would have kept their old things, boxed up neatly in the storage area underneath her family’s trailer.

No, Belle took a deep breath. It was impossible. Dorothy was like family—

Dorothy had been the one who wanted to sell the circus. “I know you’ll do the right thing,” she’d said.

Belle’s blood went cold. “Dorothy,” she said. “Dorothy has Petra.”

Her legs surged forward. Feet beating down against the ground as she
raced outside into the darkness. Keith and Blue were only a few steps behind her, Frank dragging his leg to bring up the rear. “Petra!” she called. The rest of the circus was flooding out of the tent now too.

Mikhail grabbed her arm. Hard. “My daughter.”

“Don’t worry,” Blue promised, “We’ll find her.” He raised a hand to summon the other men to him. A few seconds later he was sending people out in every direction.

Belle balanced lightly on the balls of her feet. A comprehensive search was a good idea, but she couldn’t be everywhere at once. She needed to think. Fast.

The elephant was bellowing off in the distance. Loud trumpets. The same noise she made when someone was giving her apples. Or when she thought someone might give her apples.

Petra had been hanging out around Tiny for days. Always with some kind of food in her hand. If Tiny spotted the girl then she’d be sure to make some kind of noise.

Belle started to walk in the direction of the elephant enclosure. She could hear footsteps moving in the darkness. She started to run.

*              *              *

The Winter Social was the absolute epitome of Buck Falls society. Everyone who was anyone would be there, and because that wasn’t much of anybody the rest of the town came along too. They’d all be waiting eagerly for their five minutes with the police chief. Everyone had an opinion about the state of law and order in the town, and they’d all want to expound at length on any number of subjects, from traffic and parking to graffiti.

Then there were the people who Graham knew were up to no good. The teenage boy who’d donated a spray-painted painting to the library’s art auction. The blowhards who wanted to outlaw kids in the streets, talking during movies, and fun. The woman who would drink too much and try to seduce him when he gave her a ride home. There was always at least one.

He adjusted his grip on the sedan’s steering wheel and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. The bruise on his cheek had matured to a mellow yellow color. His blue shirt had been a Christmas present from Kelly the year before. It brought out his eyes. He looked completely respectable. A man who could be depended on—

Even if he had left Belle in the lurch when she needed him most.

He felt bad about that, really, but he had other things on his mind. Important things. He glanced sideways at where Kelly was perched in the passenger seat, a covered pie plate balanced carefully on her knees. After the argument, they’d had the night before he’d been afraid she’d go to the Social without him, but she’d been waiting in a forest green dress when he arrived.

Trevor had been forced into a pinstriped shirt and a pair of pressed khakis. His shoes gleamed. His hair had been brushed forcefully to one side. He smelled like soap and his mother’s perfume. He looked miserable.