Defiant Rose (6 page)

Out of some strange sense of loyalty to farm towns, Carney’s had bypassed the cities. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out that the show would sell twice as well in a densely populated area, perhaps three times. And the circus could be expanded, using the current workers to perform in more than one role. Barnum was hugely successful due to heavy promotion and advertising, utilizing the humbug scam as a way to draw in curious people. Carney’s advertising budget was abysmal. Where, then, did the money go?

Expansion, she’d laughed at him the night before. The books bore her out on that, but she neglected to mention a few more questionable expenses: whiskey, the finest food for the animals, and nightly meat dishes for the performers and the crew. By channeling some of these monies into more productive use, Carney’s could easily become much more efficient and produce the greatest profit in its history.

Michael smiled, the look in his eyes determined. He reached the field where the show he’d been mentally remaking had performed just the previous night—and stared in disbelief.

It was gone. All of it. The tents, the animals, the wagons and flags, the showmen and roustabouts. Everything had disappeared, as quickly and completely as if a hole had opened in the middle of the lot and swallowed up any evidence of the circus. Only a thin layer of sawdust and a sprinkling of glitter remained in the field, tangible evidence that he hadn’t dreamed this.

Carney’s was gone, and if he didn’t move quickly, his opportunity would be, too.

“Ah, I can just see his face when he realizes we’ve given him the slip.” Rags grinned, his bewhiskered chin crinkling like a spiny porcupine.

“He’s probably questioning his own sight right now,” William, the knife thrower, added. The others nodded. William was nearly blind, and if anyone was an expert on the subject, it was himself.

“Thought he’d get away with bossing us around!” Leonardo smirked in self-satisfaction. “Carney’s Circus belongs to Carney and none other!”

Rosemary smiled, feeling like a captain who had just won his first battle. Actually, it had been purely coincidental. Circuses always packed up in the middle of the night and tried to leave at the first signs of dawn. Besides not having to pay a lot fee for an additional day, the practice maximized travel time. She had counted on Michael Wharton’s ignorance of the practice and hadn’t been disappointed. Now she rubbed her hands with glee, picturing his righteous indignation. “Was it our fault that he didn’t know that the circus always leaves early? Besides, I need to find a replacement for William’s assistant. I can’t be waiting around for His Lordship.”

The others laughed, sitting comfortably inside the circus wagon. They were tired from the previous night, but no more tired than at any other departure. In truth, they worked together like a well-oiled machine, the roustabouts following the orders of the boss canvasman and neatly unhitching the huge tents until they lay on the ground like puddles of mercury, shimmering in the moonlight. Before the material barely settled, the next row of canvasmen rolled the tents into neat little packages barely hinting of their former splendor. In no time they had the entire circus packed up and loaded onto the wagons, rolling toward the next town, where they would begin the process all over again.

Rosemary grinned. It was almost too easy. The clowns were all congratulating themselves on their cleverness when Biddle spoke, his aristocratic face troubled as he reached for his flask.

“I don’t mean to put a damper on everyone’s spirits, but do you really think he’ll just give up? Michael Wharton must have been very determined to come all the way out here from the city. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of him.”

The grins faded and the clowns looked to one another in bewilderment. What Biddle said contained a grain of truth, and none of them could deny it. Their eyes shifted to Rosemary.

“I expect Biddle’s right, and that eventually he’ll catch up with us.” She shrugged as if unconcerned. “But he doesn’t know where we’re going, and there’s no one in Mayfair to tell him. Who knows? Perhaps if he decides we’re not worth it, he may not even show up.”

The clowns chortled in agreement, but Biddle shook his head, then took a deep sip of his flask. Michael Wharton was no dawdling schoolboy to be ditched at the last minute without repercussion. He only hoped that Rose had taken that into consideration.

He was almost running back to town, his face growing more thunderous with each step, his black brows drawing across his eyes. Farmers stepped out of his path, crossing themselves as he hurried toward the train station, pausing only where the boldly colored poster still advertised Carney’s.

How dare she! The thought reverberated through his head until he was practically blind with fury. He recalled last night in excruciating detail and grew impossibly angrier.

She’d stood there, inches away from him after kicking his foot out from under him, pretending to obey, when all the while she had this planned! No wonder she agreed so sweetly to his demands. She never had any intention of fulfilling them.

Never before had anything like this ever happened to him. He felt…impotent, for God’s sake! Unwillingly, he recalled the mischief in her green eyes, the soft curve of her smile, the crackle of her red hair, which he’d wager was real. She certainly had the personality for it.

The sign. He stopped again to read it in front of the feed store. It was sheer torture to see the red and blue lettering, to know he’d had the circus in the palm of his hand, that he’d had Carney literally where he wanted her, and then had let them go. He made himself reread the damned sign as a self-imposed torment similar to probing an aching tooth.

There it all was, exactly the same as yesterday. The bawdy pictures portrayed the trapeze artists, the elephants, the daring lion tamer, and the winsome clowns. And there, in the center of them all, was Rosemary Carney’s painted face, grinning at him.

The train whistle screamed in the distance, announcing the locomotive’s arrival. Michael Wharton hefted his bags and started for the station when the small print on the bottom of the poster caught his attention. Shading his eyes from the morning sun, he read:

NEXT SHOW: TOPEKA.

A slight grin came to his face, and his gray eyes glittered more brightly. Topeka was less than twenty miles away. He could get there in time to head Carney’s off at the pass. And when he got his hands on Miss Rosemary…

His next thoughts were immensely satisfying.

“All right, Rose, you know what to do. Pegasus needs dosing. Must’ve been that green hay in Mayfair, but he’s bound tighter than a nun’s—” Zachery stopped himself, remembering suddenly that the little clown before him was not one of the boys. Grinning sheepishly, he flushed up to the roots of his pale blond hair and gestured to the horse laying on the ground.

“A nun’s what?” Rosemary teased, taking her accustomed seat on the horse’s head while Zach poured a vial of foul-smelling liquid down the animal’s throat.

“Prayer book,” Zachery said, undaunted. Stepping back, he wiped the sweat from his brow and capped the potion, placing it back inside a sack full of ointments and medicines. “Now, stay there a few minutes until he swallows it. That damned beast spit it all out the last time.”

Rosemary nodded, well aware of Pegasus’s aversion to any kind of medicine. The beautiful palomino had belonged to Zachery’s father, and Rose had only managed to acquire the horse by agreeing to take the son as well. But Zachery had a way with animals and had repaid his keep many times over. In addition to animal husbandry, he worked as a roustabout and canvasman, but the elephants, lion, and horses were his primary concern.

Pegasus struggled, but unable to see with his vision blocked and Rosemary’s slight weight on his neck, he soon gave up and lay still, though she wasn’t fooled. She hadn’t seen his swallow and knew he was still fighting the brew.

A twig snapped behind her, and she smiled at the man’s shadow sprawling across the field. “Don’t tell me he needs another. I don’t think he’s downed this one yet,” Rosemary said cheerfully, then the words caught in her throat.

It wasn’t Zach. Rose’s eyes widened as Michael Wharton stepped before her. Clad immaculately in white linen and black trousers, his jacket lightly powdered with dust as if from a sifter, he was even more handsome—and more furious—than he had appeared the previous night. Admiration shone from her face, and she quickly squelched it. She hadn’t expected him to track her down this quickly or efficiently. Apparently, there was more to him than his ledger books and pencils.

“It seems to me that we had a misunderstanding.” He spoke coldly, and his eyes glittered, impaling her where she sat. “I understood that you and I had a deal.”

Rosemary scrambled to her feet. “We did! I mean, we do.”

He advanced toward her, and Rosemary scuttled backward. Zach stood a short distance away, watching with an amused smirk. He didn’t bother to come to her aid, nor did he send for anyone else. No one ever talked back to Sean Carney’s daughter or questioned her authority. As much as he cared for her, it didn’t entirely displease him now to see her challenged, and by a man who wouldn’t easily back down.

When Zach continued to ignore her, Rosemary had no choice but to face the consequences alone. Forcing herself to remain where she was, she faced Michael defiantly, her mind working quickly.

“I see,” said Michael. “Does your part of the bargain mean sneaking out in the middle of the night like some gypsy band?”

“I thought—” Rose struggled to come up with something plausible. “You see, we always leave early—”

“Yes, I’d say four A.M. is early.” He continued in the same conversational tones. “Or was it three?”

“Two,” Rose said truthfully, then regretted the words a moment later. She was forced to step back, and the circus wagon touched her spine.

“Ah, two. I believe you were supposed to introduce me as manager and see to my accommodations?”

These questions…how was she to answer them? She glanced up and grinned, hoping to pass it all off as a joke. “I thought you might think it funny if…” He wasn’t laughing, and she suddenly realized she’d made it worse. His eyes blazed, and when she glanced toward Zach, Michael braced his hands on either side of her, effectively preventing her escape.

“I didn’t think it was funny, and I don’t now. Did you forget our agreement?” He glanced back toward the circusmen. “I can foreclose and be done with the whole thing, but your friends would find themselves out of a job.”

“You wouldn’t! Not Griggs and Zach and Biddle and Leonardo…”

“I can and I will.” He removed one hand from the wall and lifted her chin. “We either have an agreement or we don’t. If you can’t keep your word, there is no reason for me to stay and try to make this work. I’ll cut my losses and move on.”

Rosemary gasped. He had her there, and he knew it. The circus was her family, and she’d do anything to protect it. Her eyes filled, but she fought back tears, determined not to ever let him know he’d beaten her. This was her life he was fooling with, and if she didn’t keep her nerve, he’d trample it to shreds.

Nodding, she held out her hand. He took one long look at the slender fingers extended toward him, then clasped it in the classic gesture of agreement and continued to stare at her gravely, waiting. Rosemary sighed and forced a smile.

“All right, I give in. You are manager, and I will back you up.”

He stared at her suspiciously. Her face seemed somber enough, her head dipped in submission. Her hand felt warm and soft between his and he released it quickly, remembering all too vividly how she felt in his arms. She glanced up at his gesture, and her eyes twinkled. Close, he could barely make out her features beneath the greasepaint, but her eyes, emerald green framed by sooty lashes, were enormous in her small face and teased him with the memory of a young girl laughing at him.

“I am to be in absolute control, then—no more tricks? I believed you last night, remember.” Anger still tinged his voice, but not as much as when he’d first seen her.

Rosemary nodded. “Aye, no tricks.”

“And you’re too obey me in everything?” This question was posed more sternly, and Rosemary flushed, thankful that he couldn’t tell beneath her makeup.

“But what if—”

“Everything,” he said firmly. “Without your unquestioning cooperation, you can’t expect the troupe to comply. I understand their loyalty to you as Carney. Agreed?”

“Yes.” She sighed as if beaten. Her shoulders drooped, and she scuffed at the dirt.

“Good, as long as we understand each other. I want no more repetitions of last night.”

Glancing once more toward Zach, who seemed oddly indifferent to her dilemma, Rosemary shrugged and admitted softly, “Last night I left for more than one reason. ‘Tis true, I wanted to get a head start on you"—at his angry glitter, she continued more quickly—"but I also had a problem come up. I wanted to get here early to try and find a solution.”

“What problem?” He seemed genuinely interested, and she relaxed for the first time since their dreadful interview began.

“One of the assistants quit. I need to find a replacement but haven’t had much success. Normally, I would just eliminate the act, but I’ve billed it for tonight. It always starts a row if I don’t come through after advertising. Sometimes the people even demand their money back.”