She gritted her teeth. It was as if she’d gotten too close to him that night and he needed to distance her. So far she’d managed to dodge all the grenades he kept lobbing at her, but it was growing increasingly difficult to keep her temper in check. Now she had to force herself to speak in a reasonable tone of voice. “I didn’t know you wanted me to do it. You’ve always kept the truck gassed.”
“Yeah, well in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been kind of busy lately. We’ve had sick horses, a fire in the cook tent, and now I’ve got a blackmailing health inspector threatening to slap us with a batch of safety violations we don’t deserve.”
“I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure. If you’d said something, I would have been happy to get gas.”
“Yeah, right. How many times have you ever worked a pump?”
She mentally counted to five. “None. But I can learn.”
“Don’t bother.” He stalked away.
She couldn’t hold her tongue a moment longer. Splaying one hand on her hip, she called out, “You have a nice day, too!”
He stopped in his tracks, then turned to give her one of his blackest stares. “Don’t push me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped the toe of her sneaker in the dirt. Just because he was on the run from a tumult of feelings he didn’t know how to cope with didn’t mean he could keep taking his frustration out on her. For days now she’d been trying to be patient, but enough was enough.
He set his jaw and stomped toward her.
She dug in her heels, refusing to budge.
He came to a stop directly in front of her, deliberately using his size to intimidate her.
She was forced to admit he did it very well.
“Do you have a problem with something?” he barked out.
This whole argument was ridiculous, and a streak of mischief made her smile. “If anybody ever tells you that you’re beautiful when you’re angry, they’re lying.”
His face flushed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to explode. Instead, he lifted her by the elbows and pressed her against the floss wagon. Then he kissed her until she was breathless.
When he finally set her back on her feet, he looked even more foul-tempered than he had before their kiss. “I’m sorry!” he shouted.
As an apology, it wasn’t impressive, and as he stomped away, he looked more like a rampaging tiger than a repentant husband. Although she knew he was suffering, she had just about lost patience. Why did he have to make everything so hard for them? Why couldn’t he simply accept the fact that he loved her?
She remembered the vulnerability she’d seen in his eyes that night when he’d asked her to give him a little more time, and she suspected he was afraid to give a name to what he felt for her. The conflict between his emotions and what he believed he knew about himself was ripping him apart.
That’s what she’d been telling herself, anyway, because the alternative—that he might not love her at all—didn’t bear thinking about, especially since she still hadn’t told him about the baby.
She had all sorts of excuses for her cowardice. When things had been going well between them, she hadn’t wanted to risk spoiling their harmony, and now that everything was falling apart, she’d lost her nerve.
But it was cowardice, nonetheless, and she forced herself to face the truth. Trouble needed to be confronted, but instead, she kept running from it. It had been nearly a month since she’d taken the pregnancy test. She estimated she was about two and a half months pregnant, but she hadn’t gone to a doctor because she didn’t want to risk Alex finding out about it. The fact that she was taking excellent care of herself was no excuse for not getting started on proper medical care, especially since she needed to make certain the baby hadn’t been harmed by the birth control pills she’d been taking before she’d discovered they hadn’t done their job and she was pregnant.
She stuck her fingers in the pockets of her jeans and made up her mind. There wouldn’t be any more postponements. He was impossible to live with right now, anyway, so what difference did it make? By the time they went to bed tonight, she would have told him. It had taken two people to make this baby, and it was time both of them lived up to their responsibilities.
As soon as the afternoon performance was over, she went to find him, but the truck was gone. She grew increasingly nervous. After putting this off for so long, now all she wanted to do was have it over with.
Her next chance should have been at dinner, but Alex’s troubles with the local health inspector kept him away until it was time for the evening performance. Now, as she approached the back door to wait for their act to begin, she saw him standing off to the side with Misha, who was loosely tied to a stake. One of his whips was coiled around his shoulder with the butt hanging free across his chest. The breeze rumpled his dark hair, and the fading evening light cast deep shadows across his profile.
No one approached him. It was as if he’d drawn an invisible circle around himself and the gelding, a circle that shut out everyone in the world, including her. Especially her. The red sequins in his sash glittered as he ran his hand over the horse’s flanks, and her frustration with him grew. Why did he have to be so pigheaded?
As the audience inside erupted in laughter over the antics of the clowns, she approached him. Misha snorted and tossed his head. She eyed the horse apprehensively. No matter how many times she did this act, she’d never get used to any part of it, including that terrifying moment when Alex pulled her up on the saddle in front of him.
She stopped well short of the horse. “Do you think you could get someone to cover for you after the show? We need to talk.”
He kept his back to her as he adjusted the cinch on the saddle. “It’ll have to wait. I have too much to do.”
She’d reached the limits of her patience. If they didn’t start discussing their problems, they’d never be able to have the kind of marriage both of them needed. “Whatever you have to do can wait.”
The full sleeves of his white shirt billowed as he whipped around. “Look, Daisy, if this is about the gas, I said I was sorry. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with lately, but it’s been a rough week.”
“You’ve had lots of rough weeks, but you haven’t taken them out on me.”
“How many ways am I supposed to apologize?”
“This isn’t about apologizing. It’s about the reasons you keep pushing me away.”
“Just give it a rest, all right?”
“I can’t do that.” The clown act was coming to an end, and she knew this wasn’t the time to talk, but now that she’d gotten started, she couldn’t hold back. “We’ve been on an emotional marry-go-round, and it’s hurting both of us. We have a future together, and we need to talk about it.”
She touched his arm, expecting him to pull away, and when he didn’t, she found the confidence to go on. “These past few months have been the most wonderful time of my life. You’ve helped me find out who I am, and maybe I’ve helped you do the same thing.”
She gently pressed her palms to his chest and felt his heartbeat through the silky fabric. The paper flower tucked between her breasts rustled, and the lash of the whip he carried brushed the side of her hand. “Isn’t that what loving is all about? Being better together than we could be apart? We’re good for each other.” Without any planning, the words she’d held back for so long spilled out. “And we’re going to be good for the baby we’re having.”
For one small fragment of time everything was fine. And then it all changed. The tendons in his neck bunched, and his yes darkened with something that looked like fear. Then his features contorted into a mask of rage.
She snatched her hands from his chest. Her instincts warned her to run, but she was a lot tougher now, and she held her ground. “Alex, I didn’t plan this baby; I don’t even know how it happened. But I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I’m sorry.”
His pale lips barely moved. “I trusted y
ou.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The muscles in his throat worked, and his hands clenched at his sides. For a moment she thought he was going to hit her. “How far along are you?”
“About two and a half months.”
“And how long have you known?”
“Maybe a month.”
“You’ve known about this for a month, and you just decided to tell me?”
“I was afraid.”
The raucous music of the clowns rose to a crescendo, signaling the end of their act. She and Alex were next. Digger, who was in charge of sending Misha into the arena at the climax, approached to take charge of the horse.
Alex grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the others.
“There’s not going to be any baby, do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No . . . no, I don’t understand.”
“Tomorrow morning, you and I are taking off for the day. And when we come back, there won’t be any baby.”
She stared at him in shock. Her stomach heaved, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth. The crowd inside the big top fell silent as Jack Daily began his dramatic introduction of Alexi the Cossack.
“Aaaand now, Quest Brothers Circus is proud to present . . .”
“You want me to have an abortion?” she whispered.
“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster! Don’t you dare look at me like that! I told you from the beginning how I felt about this. I spilled my guts trying to make you understand. But, as usual, you decided you knew best. Even though you don’t have a trustworthy bone in your goddamn body, you decided you knew best!”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
“I trusted you!” His mouth twisted into a snarl as the first strains of the balalaika drifted into the night, the cue for his entrance. “I actually believed you were taking those pills, but all the time you were lying to me.”
She shook her head and fought against the bile rising in her throat. “I’m not getting rid of this baby.”
“The hell you’re not! You’ll do what I tell you.”
“You don’t want this. It’s ugly and wicked.”
“Not as wicked as what you’ve done.”
“Alex!” one of the clowns hissed. “You’re on!”
He snatched the coiled whip from around his shoulder. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Daisy. Do you hear me? Never.” Thrusting himself away from her, he disappeared into the big top.
She stood there numbly, gripped by despair so thick and bitter she couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, she’d been such a fool. She’d thought he loved her, but he’d been right all along. He didn’t know how to love. He’d told her he couldn’t do it, but she had refused to believe him. And now she was going to pay the price.
Too late, she remembered what she’d read about the male tiger. This animal will have nothing to do with family life. No only does he play no part in raising his own cubs, but he may not even recognize them.
Alex was going one step further. He wanted this small speck of life that had already grown so precious to her destroyed before it could even draw its first breath.
“Wake up, Daisy! That’s your cue.” Madeline grabbed her and pushed her through the back door into the big top.
The spotlight hit her. Disoriented, she lifted her arm, trying to shield her eyes.
“. . . and none of us can fully appreciate the courage it has taken for this sheltered young woman to enter the arena with her husband.”
She stumbled forward, moving automatically to the balalaika music, as Jack wove his story of the convent-reared bride and her mighty Cossack. She barely heard. She saw nothing except Alex, her betrayer, standing in the center of the arena.
Specks of crimson glitter clung to the lash that coiled over the tops of his shining black boots, and blue lights flickered in his dark hair, while his eyes had turned the pale gold of a cornered animal’s. She stood in her own small spot of light as he began his whip dance. But tonight the dance didn’t speak of seduction. It was frenzied and savage, a declaration of rage.
The audience signaled its approval, but as the act progressed, Daisy’s part in it wasn’t as well received. The instinctive communication she’d always had with the crowd was gone. She didn’t even wince when Alex cut the paper tube from her mouth, but performed automatically, her despair so deep she couldn’t summon any feeling at all.
The rhythm of their act gradually fell apart. Alex destroyed one of the tubes in two cuts, another in four. He forgot a new bit he’d added with a ribbon streamer, and when he wrapped her wrists with the whip, the audience stirred uneasily. It was as if the tension between the two of them had somehow communicated itself, and what had formerly been an act of seduction now seemed tinged with violence. Instead of a bridegroom trying to win the affections of his wife, the audience felt as if they were watching a dangerously predatory male attack a small and fragile female.
Alex sensed what was happening, and his pride kicked in. He seemed to realize he couldn’t afford to wrap the whip around her again without completely alienating the audience, but he also needed one final gesture to bring this part of the act to a close before he signaled Digger to release Misha.
She saw his eyes settle on the crimson tissue paper flower nestled between her breasts and realized he had forgotten it earlier. He signaled what he was going to do with a subtle nod of his head. She faced him numbly, wanting only to have this done with so she could go off by herself and hide from the world.
The music of the balalaika swelled and she found herself looking across the ring into his eyes. If she had not been frozen herself, she might have seen the suffering there, along with a deep, wrenching grief that matched her own.
He drew back his arms and flicked his wrist. The tip of the lash flew at her as it had dozens of times before, except this time she felt as if she were seeing it in slow motion. With a peculiar sense of detachment, she waited for the paper petals to fly, but instead, she felt a searing pain.
All the air was ripped from her lungs. Her body buckled as liquid fire cut across her from shoulder to thigh. The arena began to spin and she started to fall. Seconds ticked by, and then music erupted, a loud and happy tune that rang out in bizarre counterpoint to a pain so intense she couldn’t breathe. Strong arms swept her up as the clowns came racing in.
She was conscious, although she didn’t want to be, and she heard a prayer that she hadn’t spoken herself. The lively music, the muttering of the crowd, Jack’s calming voice, all those things echoed dimly behind the wall of pain that enveloped her.
“Get away! Get back!”
Alex’s voice. Alex carrying her out through the back door. Alex the enemy. The betrayer.
She felt the ground, hard and chill against her back, as he laid her down against the side of the big top. Bending over her, he used his body to block her from the view of the others. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Oh, God, Daisy, I’m so sorry.”
Using what remained of her strength, she turned her head away from him so that she was facing the dusty nylon, only to gasp with pain as his hand brushed the torn fragments of her gown.
Her lips felt dry and so stiff she could barely part them.
“Don’t . . .touch me.”
“I have to help you.” His breathing was quick and shallow, his voice reedy. “I’m going to carry you to the trailer.”
She moaned as he picked her up, hating him for moving her and making it all worse. She found just enough breath to whisper, “I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes . . .yes, I know.”
The scorching trail of fire cut from her shoulder across the inside of her breast, then over her belly to her hip. It burned so fiercely she wasn’t conscious of his gentleness as he carried her across the lot and into the trailer where he laid her on their bed.
Once again she turned her head away, biting her lip to hold back her screams as he slowly eased the ruined gown from her body.
“You
r breast . . .” He drew a ragged breath. “There’s a welt. It’s—the skin isn’t broken, but there’ll be bruising.”
The mattress moved as he left her, only to come back much too soon. “This’ll feel cold. It’s a compress.”
She winced as he laid a wet towel over the seared skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing time to pass.
As the towel warmed from her skin, he removed it and replaced it with a fresh one. Once again, the mattress sagged as he sat next to her. He began to speak, his voice soft and rusty.
“I’m not—I’m not poor like I let you think. I teach, but—I also buy and sell Russian art. And I do consulting work for some of the biggest museums in the country.”
Tears leaked through her lids and onto the pillow. As the compresses began to do their work, the pain subsided into a dull, aching throb.
His words were awkward and halting. “I’m considered the leading authority on Russian iconography in the—in the United States. I have money. Prestige. But I didn’t want you to know. I wanted you to think of me as an uneducated roughneck living a hand to mouth existence. I wanted to . . . scare you away.”
She willed her lips to move. “I don’t care.”
He spoke rapidly now, as if he had only a short period of time to get everything out. “I have a—a big brick house in the country. In Connecticut, not far from the campus.” With a feather-light touch, he replaced the compress with a new one. “It’s filled with beautiful art, and there’s—I have a barn in the back with a stable for Misha.”
“Please leave me alone.”
“I don’t know why I keep traveling with the circus. Every time I do it, I swear it’s the last time, but then a few years go by and I start getting restless. I might be in Russia or Ukraine, maybe in New York—it doesn’t seem to matter—I just know I have to go back on the road. I guess I’ll always be more Markov than Romanov.”
Now that it no longer mattered, he was telling her everything she’d been begging him for months to reveal. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
His hand cupped her waist in an oddly protective gesture. “It was an accident. You know that, don’t you? You know how sorry I am.”