Kiss an Angel (8 page)

"Thank you so much for keeping my husband company while I was gone."

The waitress, whose smiley-face name tag read kimberly, seemed a bit taken aback by Daisy's friendly attitude. "It was—that's okay."

Daisy lowered her voice to a loud whisper. "Not everyone has been so nice to him since he's gotten out

of prison."

Alex choked on the mouthful of coffee he'd been about to swallow.

Daisy leaned down to thump him on the back while she beamed at Kimberly's shocked face. "I don't care how much evidence the state presented. I've never for one moment believed he murdered that waitress."

This started Alex choking all over again. Kimberly quickly backed away. "I—

excuse me. My next order's up."

"Run along," Daisy said gaily. "And God bless!"

Alex finally had his choking fit under control. He rose from behind the booth, his expression even more ominous than usual. Before he had a chance to say a word, she reached up and pressed a gentle finger over his lips.

"Please don't spoil this moment for me, Alex. It's the first time since our wedding ceremony that I've gotten the best of you, and I want to enjoy every precious second."

He looked like he was going to strangle her. Instead, he tossed several bills onto the table and pulled her from the restaurant.

"You're going to be grouchy about his, aren't you?" Her sandals slid in the gravel as he dragged her toward the truck with its ugly green trailer in tow. "I just knew it. You're the grouchiest man I ever met. It's not becoming, Alex; it really isn't. Whether you want to accept it or not, you're a married man, and you really shouldn't—"

"Get inside before I spank you in public."

There it was again, another of his maddening threats. Did that mean he wouldn't spank her if she did as he said or that he simply planned to spank her in private? She was still mulling over the whole unpleasant concept when he started the truck. Moments later, they were back on the highway.

To her relief, the subject of spanking didn't come up again, although, in a perverse way, she was almost sorry. If he'd physically threatened her, she could have been free of her sacred vows and at peace with her conscience.

The morning was sunny, the warm air coming in through the half-opened window not yet oppressive.

She saw no reason for him to waste a perfectly lovely morning sulking, so she finally broke the silence. "Where are we going?"

"We have a date up near Greenwood."

"I guess it's too much to hope you mean the dinner and dancing kind of date."

"Afraid not."

"How long will we be there?"

"Just one night."

"I hope we won't have to get up this early tomorrow morning."

"Earlier. We have a longer jump."

"Don't tell me."

"That's the way circuses like this operate."

"Are you saying we do this every morning?"

"There are some places we'll be staying for two days, but not many."

"How long does this last?"

"The circus is booked into October."

"That's six months from now!" She envisioned an endless future of crooked eyeliner. Six months. The exact time span of their marriage.

"What are you worried about?" he replied. "You don't seriously believe you're going to stick it out that long, do you?"

"Don't you think I can?"

"It'll be a long six months," he said with far too much relish. "We'll be covering lots of miles. We have dates as far north as Jersey, as far west as Indiana."

In a truck without air-conditioning.

"This is the last season for Quest Brothers," he said, "so we're well booked."

"What do you mean, the last season?"

"The owner died in January."

"Owen Quest? The name on the side of the trucks?"

"Yes. His wife Bathsheba inherited the circus, and she's put it up for sale."

Was it her imagination, or had his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly?

"Have you been with the circus for a long time?" she asked, determined to know more about him.

"Off and on."

"Were your parents circus people?"

''Which ones? My Cossack parents or the ones who abandoned me in Siberia?"

He tilted his head, and she saw a gleam in his eyes.

"You weren't raised by Cossacks!"

"You must not have been listening very well last night."

"That was nothing but P. T. Barnum showmanship. I know somebody had to have taught you how to ride and use a whip, but I hardly think it was Cossacks." She paused. "Was it?"

He chuckled. "You're something else, angel face."

She wasn't going to let him derail her. "How long have you been with the circus?"

"I traveled with Quest Brothers when I was in my late teens and early twenties.

Since then I've gone out for a few weeks here and there."

"What were you doing the rest of the time?"

"You know the answer to that question. I was serving time in prison for murdering that waitress."

She narrowed her eyes at him, letting him know she had his number. "Are you saying you're not a full-time circus manager?"

"Nope."

Maybe if she backed off for a bit, she'd get more personal information out of him. "Who were the Quest Brothers, anyway?"

"There was just Owen Quest. Because of the Ringling tradition, circus people think it sounds better to say a show is owned by brothers, even if it isn't. Owen owned this circus for twenty-five years, and just before he died, he asked me to take it out for its final season under his name."

"That must be a sacrifice for you." She regarded him expectantly, and when he didn't respond, she prodded him a bit more. ''Leaving behind your regular life .

.. your regular job .. ."

"Mmm." Ignoring her probing, he pointed to a power pole off the side of the highway. "Keep your eyes open for more of those arrows, will you?"

She noticed three red cardboard arrows, each of them imprinted with the blue letter Q, tacked to the pole and pointing off to the left. "What are they for?"

"They lead us to our next lot." He slowed as he approached an intersection and turned left. "Dobs Murray— he's our twenty-four-hour man-—goes out the night before and puts them up. It's called 'arrowing the route.' "

She yawned. "I can't wait till we get there. As soon as we get in, I'm going to take a long nap."

"I'm afraid you'll have to do your sleeping at night. The circus doesn't carry any excess baggage, and everybody works, even the kids. You have jobs to do."

"You're expecting me to work?"

"Afraid you'll break a nail?"

"I'm not nearly as spoiled as you think."

He gave her a look that said he didn't believe it, but since she was trying to avoid another argument, she ignored his baiting. "I simply meant that I don't know anything about the circus."

"You'll learn. Bob Thorpe, the guy who usually runs the ticket window, is gone for a couple of days.

You can help out until he gets back, assuming you can count well enough to make change."

"In all major currencies," she replied with a touch of defiance.

"Then you've got some housekeeping duties to attend to. You can start by cleaning up that god-awful mess in the trailer. And I wouldn't object to a hot meal tonight."

"Me, either. We'll have to look for a good restaurant."

"That's not what I had in mind. If you don't already know how to cook, I'll help you get started."

She stifled her irritation and adopted a reasonable tone. ' 'I don't think assigning me all the domestic chores is the best way to start this marriage. We should have an equal division of labor."

"Agreed. And it's time you start taking care of your half of that equal division.

There'll be other jobs,

too. Once we get you a costume, I'll put you in spec."

"Spec?"

"Short for spectacle. It's the parade that starts the circus, and it's compulsory."

"You're going to put me in the show?"

''Everybody except the workingmen and the candy butchers are in spec."

"What are candy butchers?"

"The circus has a language all its own; you'll pick it up after a while. The concessionaires are called butchers because, during the nineteenth century, a man who was a meat butcher quit his job to sell concessions for the old John Robinson Show. Cotton candy is floss; the concession stands are joints.

The big top is always called the top, never a tent; the only tents in a circus are the cook tent and the menagerie. The lot is divided into the backyard, where we live and keep the trailers, and the front yard,

or the public area. The acts have a separate language, too. You'll get the hang of it." He paused. "If

you're here long enough."

She ignored his baiting. "What's a donnicker? I remember you used that word yesterday."

"The toilet, angel face."

"Oh." They drove on for several miles while she mulled over what he'd told her. But it was what he hadn't told her that worried her the most. "Don't you think you should give me a little more information about yourself? Real information."

"I can't think of a single reason why."

"Because we're married. I'll tell you anything you want to know about me."

"I'm not interested."

That hurt her feelings, but once again she didn't make an issue of it. "Whether we like it or not, we took vows yesterday. I think the question we both need to ask is, are we going to work at making something

of this marriage?'

He whipped his head around, and she had never seen a man look more appalled. "This isn't a marriage, Daisy."

''I beg your pardon?'

"It's not a marriage, so just get that idea out of your head right now."

"What are you talking about? Of course it's a marriage."

"It's not. It's a ... a circumstance."

"A circumstance?"

"That's right."

"I see."

"Good."

His stubbornness infuriated her. "Well, since this is the only circumstance I'm involved in at the moment, I intend to work at it, whether you do or not."

"I don't."

"Alex, we took vows. Sacred vows."

"They were meaningless, and you know it. I told you from the beginning how this was going to be. I don't respect you—I don't even like you very much—and I sure as hell don't have any intention of playing the bridegroom."

"Fine. I don't like you, either!"

"Then we understand each other."

"How could I like someone who let himself be bought? But that doesn't mean I intend to run away from my responsibilities."

"I'm glad to hear it." His gaze, slow and deliberate, slid down over her. "I'll make sure that not all of your responsibilities are unpleasant."

She could feel herself flush, and her immature reaction made her angry enough to challenge him. "If you're referring to sex, why don't you just come out and say it?"

"I'm definitely referring to sex."

"With or without your whip?" She winced as soon as the impulsive words came out of her mouth.

"Lady's choice."

His amusement was suddenly more than she could stand. She turned away and gazed out the window.

"Daisy?"

Maybe it was only wishful thinking on her part, but his voice seemed gentler.

She sighed. "I don't want

to talk about it."

"About sex?"

She nodded.

"We have to be realistic," he said. "We're both healthy people, and despite your various personality disorders, you're not exactly hard on the eyes."

She whirled around to give him her most withering glare, only to see one corner of his mouth tilt in something that almost certainly would have been a smile on another man. "You're not hard on the eyes, either," she said begrudgingly, "but you have a lot more personality disorders than I do."

"No, I don't."

"You certainly do."

"Like what?"

"Well, to start with—are you sure you want to hear this?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Well, you're hardheaded, stubborn, and domineering."

"I thought you were going to say something bad."

"Those weren't compliments. And I've always found a sense of humor in a man more appealing than a lot of raw, macho sexuality."

"You'll be sure and tell me when you get to the bad part, won't you?"

She glared at him and decided not to mention the whips he kept under the bed.

"You're impossible to talk to."

He adjusted the sun visor. ' 'The point I was trying to make before you interrupted with your inventory

of my personality is that neither of us is going to be able to stay celibate for the next six months."

She dropped her eyes. If only he knew that she'd stayed that way all her life.

"We'll be living in close quarters," he went on. "We're legally married, and it's only natural that we're going to get it on."

Get it on?
His bluntness reminded her that none of this meant anything to him emotionally, and contrary to all logic, she'd wanted to hear something romantic.

With some pique, she said, "In other words, you expect me to keep house, work for the circus, and 'get it on' with you."

He thought it over. "I guess that's about the size of it."

She turned her head and stared glumly out the window. Making a success of this "circumstance" was going to be even tougher than she'd thought.

5

As Daisy left the trailer that afternoon, she met up with a tall blond who had a chimp perched on her shoulders. She recognized her from the previous night's show as Jill, from Jill and Friends, a cute dog

and chimp act. She was round-faced, with beautiful skin and hair that was a bit over-processed, something Daisy was certain she could help her with if she had the chance.

"Welcome to Quest Brothers," the woman said. "I'm Jill."

Daisy returned her friendly smile. "I'm Daisy." "I know. Heather told me. This is Frankie." "Hello, Frankie." Daisy nodded politely at the chimp perched on Jill's shoulders, then leaped back as he drew his lips over his teeth and screamed at her. She was already jumpy from a lack of nicotine, and the chimp's reaction further jangled her.