To Catch a Wolf (17 page)

"Of course. I have nothing better to do.”

He ignored her mockery and stepped into her place behind the chair. As he pushed his

sister away, Athena glanced back at Caitlin. It was a look of hidden anger and an

appeal Caitlin did not know how to answer.

She set her jaw and waited. She was under no man's orders, least of all Niall Munroe's,

but he was paying the bills. And she was determined to find out more about the kind of

man who acted as if he owned the world and everyone in it.

At the edge of the lot, Athena and Munroe met another woman—Miss Hockensmith,

whom Caitlin remembered from Athena's first visit—and Niall lifted Athena into the

waiting carriage which had been joined by a second, smaller vehicle. He "and Miss

Hockensmith held a brief conversation, and then he turned on his heel and started

toward Caitlin. Miss Hockensmith stared after him.

Caitlin met him with a provoking smile. "Do you always treat your sister as if she were a

servant, Mr. Munroe?”

"That is none of your affair, Miss Hughes.”

"Then why do you want to speak with me? Surely I am too lowly for a fine gentleman to

dally with.”

That intriguing flush returned, playing up the sharp lines of his face. He pulled a rolled

paper from his coat and held it out to her.

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"I have only one question, Miss Hughes. What is this 'Wolf-Man?'“

She took a second look at the paper and realized that it was one of the posters that

Harry had given to the visitors. She knew the design well, and what it advertised. Was it

possible, even remotely possible, that Athena had broken her word and told her brother

what she had seen today?

No. But if not, why should Munroe be so disturbed? "It is only one of our sideshow acts.”

"And just what sort of act is it?”

"Every troupe has its secrets. The Wolf-Man is one of our special attractions. People

come to be frightened and thrilled, and we try not to disappoint them.”

The rolled paper began to buckle in his grip. "I saw no such person when I came to

Colorado Springs. Does he hide from public view, Miss Hughes? Is he some sort of

monster unfit for respectable society? What does he do—change into a wolf before the

audience's eyes?”

She laughed. "Surely you do not believe in such things, Mr. Munroe. Not a smart,

educated gentleman such as yourself.”

He actually flinched. "I have a right to know what I have employed.”

"You are a rather big man to be afraid of fairy tales. Your sister was not so alarmed.”

All at once his hand shot out to grip her wrist. "Did she meet this

this 'fairy tale'?”

She stared at his hand. "Harry introduced her to everyone. Don't you think your sister

would have told you if we presented a danger to her orphans

or to you?”

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He let her go just as suddenly as he had grabbed her. "Miss Hockensmith was right," he

said. "You are not fit company—”

"So you do let at least one woman rule you," she said sweetly. She waved to the vigilant

figure standing beside the carriage, and watched with fascination as Munroe's formerly

cool demeanor vanished in a cloud of wrath.

"I wish to see this man, Miss Munroe. At once.”

"What are you so afraid of? Anyone who is not exactly like you?”

"I will not have

freaks on display for my sister or her dependents.”

"In that case," she said, reaching up to her hair, "you should know exactly what you

have bought." With swift, efficient motions she pulled the unruly mass behind her ears.

"My God," he said. "What happened to your ears?”

"I was born with them," she said, "just as you were born with your money and your

pride. I am one of the freaks you so despise, Mr. Munroe. You may insult me as much

as you wish, but not my friends. Any one of them is twice the man you will ever be.”

He took a step back, still staring at the neat points on the tips of her ears. "Where is Mr.

French?" he asked in a strangled voice.

She turned her back and marched across the lot, not waiting to see if he followed. With

every step she cursed herself for her utter lack of sense.

Thanks to her outburst, the troupe might lose the patronage of the Munroes. And if they

lost that, they lost the money they so desperately needed to keep the family together.

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She'd be damned if she'd let Munroe see her regret. She led him to the cookhouse,

where Harry was nursing a glass of precious whiskey at one of the long plank tables,

and stood aside. Harry scrambled to his feet with a nervous smile.

"Ah, Mr. Munroe! How delightful to see you. Your sister is most charming, most—”

"I must speak to you, Mr. French. Alone." He looked pointedly at Caitlin.

Harry threw her a glance full of alarm. There was nothing she could do to comfort him—

nothing but find a way to hear what passed between him and Munroe. Her hearing was

keener than most, but not keen enough to catch the conversation without blatant

eavesdropping.

Morgan. She turned and went in search of him, hoping he had not gone running as he

often did when he was troubled. But luck was with her; she found him watching the

troupe's jugglers with tightly folded arms and a dark expression.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him away. It felt as if she were dragging an angry tiger

at the end of a silken leash. "I need your help, Morgan. Niall Munroe is talking to Harry,

and I must know what they are saying.”

One good thing to be said about Morgan was that he never wasted time on useless

questions. He went with her to the cookhouse entrance and they stopped behind a

sheltering tent pole. Harry and Niall were still talking—or at least Niall was.

Morgan tilted his head. His eyes narrowed to slits, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Munroe is trying to buy Harry off," he said. "He is paying him to leave Denver at once,

before the performance.”

"How much is he offering?”

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"Half of what he promised for the show." He lowered his head, and she thought she

could see the hair lift along his skull. "What is this about, Firefly?”

"He thinks he is protecting his sister," she said. "From the freaks, like us.”

"He knew what he was getting when he hired the troupe." Gooseflesh rose on Caitlin's

skin when he looked at her. "Or is it something else?”

She touched his arm. "He saw one of the posters. He didn't know about the Wolf-Man

before, Morgan. I don't think he could guess the real truth even if he tried. But he—"

She shook her head. "He is afraid of anyone who doesn't fit in his world.”

"How do you know this?”

Morgan's voice had grown soft and dangerous. She shivered. "It was my fault. I said

things I shouldn't. But he had already made up his mind before he came here. He has

ordered Athena to leave. If it were up to her—”

"You like Athena.”

"I believe she can be trusted. So do you.”

He didn't deny it. "Munroe has no right—”

"He thinks he has every right.”

He returned to Niall's conversation. "Harry is not giving an answer. He says that he

doesn't want to disappoint Miss Athena. He is asking Munroe for a little time to talk to

the troupers, and to prove that the circus is safe.”

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Bless him. Caitlin risked a peep into the cookhouse. She did not need Morgan's

translation to see how Munroe reacted to Harry's evasion. He made a brief, final

statement—loud enough for Caitlin to hear—and turned, his face thunderous.

"He said," Morgan finished, "that it would not be wise for Harry to remain in town—that it

would be an unfortunate mistake." His lips lifted, baring his teeth. "Harry has one day to

decide.”

It was so much worse than Caitlin had expected. She ducked out of the entrance as

Munroe charged toward it, prepared to pull Morgan aside with physical force if

necessary. But Morgan behaved himself. He retreated—"faded" was more the proper

word—and Munroe shot out the door without seeing him.

"Do not waste your time on him, Firefly," Morgan said.

"What do you suggest? Will you talk to him? You're no better a diplomat than I am.”

She set off after Munroe, running to match his long strides. She would apologize. She

would beg, on her knees if necessary, for him to let the troupers remain long enough for

the performance. Not only because of the money, but for Athena's sake.

Yes, for Athena. And maybe

just maybe for Morgan as well.

"Why the hurry, little fly? Do you have a new lover?”

Tamar could appear and disappear with the same disconcerting ease as Morgan. Caitlin

slowed to a walk. "Not now, Tamar," she said. "I have important business.”

"With him?" Tamar arched her long, elegant neck in the direction Niall had gone. "This

should be most interesting.”

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Exasperated, Caitlin hurried on, hoping that Tamar would not interfere. She caught up

with Niall just as he reached the waiting carriages.

"Mr. Munroe," she whispered, touching his arm. "I must talk to you.”

His muscles were rigid under the fine wool of his coat. "I have nothing to say, Miss

Hughes. My sister must return home.”

"You are making a mistake," she said, pressing more firmly into his sleeve. "Please—”

He turned. Their gazes met, and locked. An incredible spark of

something

sizzled

between them, forming a current that began at the eyes and rushed through Caitlin's

body to the place where her hand touched his arm.

She could only guess what her own face must reveal, but Niall Munroe's might as well

have served as a billboard. He leaned toward her—slightly, oh, so slightly—and his lips

parted. A glazed look came into his eyes. Caitlin sucked in her breath.

"Mr. Munroe. We really must be on our way!”

Miss Hockensmith's voice from the carriage window broke the current. Niall jerked back

his hand. Without another word to Caitlin, he gave a terse command to the coachman

and climbed into the driver's seat of the smaller carriage.

One glimpse of Athena's distressed face was all Caitlin saw before the carriages rattled

into motion, rolling and bumping across the potholed ground.

"So sad," Tamar said behind her. "It was such a promising romance, was it not? But you

will always lose to such a rich and beauteous lady." She blinked half-lidded eyes and

stroked the head of one of her ever-present serpents. "Unless, of course, you make a

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gift of the one thing no man will refuse. Do you wish me to teach you how it is done, little

fly?”

"Keep out of this, Tamar. It has nothing to do with you.”

"Oh, no?" Tamar lifted her black, painted brows.

Caitlin strode past her and returned to the cookhouse, dreading what she would find.

Harry was still there, every bit as miserable as when she had left him. Morgan was with

him, and Ulysses had arrived along with a dozen of the other troupers. They were

talking amongst themselves, trying to decide what had happened.

Caitlin shook her head as she approached, and Harry sighed. "Ladies and gentleman,"

he said, "it seems that we have an important and unpleasant decision to make. Gather

the others, and we shall meet in the big top within the next half hour.”

Efficient as always in a time of crisis, the troupers were assembled and waiting in the

big top well before the half hour was up. Ulysses and Morgan kept their places close to

Harry, like grotesquely mismatched royal guards. Caitlin was grateful once more that

Morgan had not gone after Niall Munroe. She half feared he might have devoured

Athena's brother for supper.

"My friends, my children," Harry said in his most carrying voice, "circumstances have

compelled me to call this meeting so that we may discuss our future.”

A general murmur followed his words, but he raised his plump hands to quiet it. "As you

know, in only a few days we were to give a charitable performance for the children of

the orphanage patronized by Miss Athena Munroe and her brother. We were to be paid

a most handsome sum for this privilege." He lowered his head. "Alas, complications

have arisen.”

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In far less words than he usually employed, Harry explained what Niall had told him.

There were cries of disgust, a handful of curses, and much shaking of heads.

"Never trust townies," someone shouted. "They'll always break their word.”