“I had to see you, make sure you were all right.”
His voice, reasonable, educated, stood at odds with his appearance. Nervous and uncomfortable, Jo found it hard not to giggle. Ryder McAdam, she knew, liked to play games, dangerous games. It was a relief to have him here, but his costume upset her sense of equilibrium. She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid it would always be this way. Loving Ryder McAdam might very well come at a cost to her peace of mind, her sanity.
Her cheek against his shoulder, she said, “I’m fine. But you…what are you doing? Why are you dressed like this?”
“Melody and I joined the circus. We’re the new act.”
She turned her face up to see into his eyes. “Dodie? Is she all right?”
“She’s better than all right,” he said, tugging her over to the cot and pulling her onto his lap. “She’s—I don’t know how to describe it. She’s out of her mind delirious. She’s a daredevil on horseback. I caution her, scold her for taking chances, and she laughs in my face. I’ve never seen her so…so insanely happy. And, she’s not a she, she’s my younger brother Kit.”
Jo, seated on his lap, folded her hands and straightened her spine. “I’m not surprised she’s happier with you and her horse. We’ve been doing her chores.”
He took her hands in his and began stroking her wrist with his thumb. She relaxed her shoulders. A mistake, she knew, but she’d missed him, longed for his touch, the sound of his voice.
“I thought she’d be safer disguised as a boy,” he said and snorted, shaking his head. “She loves the idea, of course. The disguise frees her up to wear trousers and shirts. I don’t think I’ll ever get my little sister back.”
“What if Mrs. Jones recognizes her? We’re all going to the circus for a special performance on Friday.” She put her hands to his chest. “The girls? What if the girls recognize her?”
He shook his head at her. “I hardly recognize her. Twyla-Rose and Grace might recognize her. They’ve seen her trick riding act before, but in a riding skirt, not trousers and war paint.” He furrowed his brow and went silent for a few moments. “You might have to warn them. But not unless you absolutely have to. I don’t trust little girls to hold secrets. They leak like sieves.”
Jo adjusted herself on his lap. The leather breeches were like a second skin. She could feel every ripple and curve of his thigh beneath her butt. He smelled wonderful, earthy and smoky. She forgot to be cautious, to guard her heart, and she forgot entirely she had something to tell him. He started to nibble on her earlobe, and the world outside ceased to exist. All too easily, she laid back on the cot. But when he put his hand on her breast, she opened her eyes and came awake to reality. “Wait, wait, Ryder stop.”
The low rumble of his protest sent a vibrating current through her body, tickling and teasing her with desire. The feel of the hard bone shield through the fabric of her blouse brought home the fact of his power over her. She closed her eyes and gathered her resistance.
“We don’t have time,” she managed to say, sliding out from underneath him. She landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, her skirt and petticoats up around her knees, exposing her stocking-encased legs.
He groaned, rolled on his side, sat up and helped her to her feet.
“I…I have some information. I don’t know if it will help,” she said, removing a sheaf of paper from her robe pocket. “The other night, when Dodie met you in the orchard, I miscalculated and came out behind the Jones’s residence, near their front porch. I heard voices and stayed hidden in the woods.”
∙•∙
Reluctantly, Ryder came to a sitting position. Having but one subject on his mind, he paid very little attention to what she was saying. He slumped back on the cot, arm bent at the elbow to prop up his head, jaw resting in the palm of his hand.
“So, I followed them,” she said.
He blinked then and came to attention.
“Gerald and Mr. Jones had a long box. I thought it very heavy. They were having a hard time carrying it. They had to stop and adjust their grip several times.”
He sat straight up. “What? Go back. What? When was this?”
She shook her head and sat down beside him with a piece of paper in her hand. “They lugged a long box, a long heavy box, and Mrs. Jones had a small square box. I didn’t realize it was metal until I went inside and cracked my elbow on it.”
It took him a second or two to clear his brain. “No, go back to the beginning. When was this?”
“I followed them. The other evening after leaving you and Dodie. I came out near the Jones’s residence. They were moving a long box. They carried it down to the empty cottage. Mrs. Jones had the smaller box, and it was heavy too. I stayed well hidden. They didn’t see me or hear me. I watched them take the boxes inside the cottage.”
He slapped his thighs, popped to his feet, and grabbed her by the shoulders, bringing her to her feet to give her a shake. “Damn it to hell, Jo. Following these animals—it’s dangerous and stupid.”
Eyes glittering with indignant sparks, she swatted his chest. “Stupid. I’m stupid? You sneak around, snooping and following people all the time. And keep your voice down. It would be very bad if you were discovered. Very bad.”
Both of them righteous, they locked gazes. Ryder blinked first. “Not stupid, but certainly foolhardy. Who knows what they would’ve done if they’d discovered you were watching them.”
She pried his fingers from her shoulders and turned her head. “Well, they didn’t. I was very careful. So, do you want to hear what they said?”
Indignant, lips pursed, she was irresistible. He suppressed the urge to kiss her senseless and said, “Yes, yes I would very much like to know what they said. Clever of you to have written it down.”
She nodded, accepted his compliment, and handed over the paper.
“Mrs. Jones said she didn’t trust me because I’d shot her dear sister Stella in the foot. Stella must’ve been the lady in pink. And Gerald said, his pa, Jake, and his Uncle Tick would like to take turns teaching me a lesson. Then Mr. Jones scolded them and reminded them I was worth more unbruised and virginal.
“I helped, don’t you see, I helped put their kin in jail. I shot her sister. So that explains why they hate me so.”
Ryder crushed the paper in his hand. “Bastards.” Muttering curses under his breath, he paced to the back of the tent. “I wonder what was in those boxes.”
“Guns,” she said, “rifles. And a box of ammunition.”
His heart jumped into his throat. “Jo? Tell me you didn’t?”
She nodded. “Well, of course I did. I had to find out, see for myself.”
Jaw gone slack, he listened to her tell him of her adventure.
The women in his life had all gone mad. Melody, and now his Jo.
“I waited for them to leave and broke into the cottage. Actually, I didn’t have to break in, the back door just opened. I think the catch is broken. Anyway, I found the big long box hidden under one of the bunks. I got down on my belly and got under the bed. The long box had writing on the side. Well, you’ve seen them, they have MILITARY written on them in big black letters. And the square box is an ammunition box. It was metal. I cracked my elbow on it. It had sharp edges. My father has one, but he keeps hinges, nails, salve, whatnot in his.”
Finding his voice, he said, “You went inside, got on your hands and knees, and crawled under a bed.”
She nodded and offered him a sheepish little smile. The urge to shake her again came over him. Instead, he pulled her against his chest, holding onto her, never wanting to ever leave her alone again.
“I didn’t break in, Ryder. Really I didn’t. I jiggled the door handle, and it opened.”
“I believe you,” he said. “You are not safe. No more sleuthing on your own. Melody and I have been accepted. Melody, especially, has been taken under the wing of the musician and his family, the Millers. They take care of the animals, and the concession stands.”
The c
lang of the dinner bell caused them both to jump. “I have to go,” Jo said and put her lips to his jowl.
Ryder couldn’t let her go. “I’ll be back. I’ll stay with you tonight. I’m not leaving you alone.”
She stood on her toes and brushed his lips with her own. “I have to go,” she said and slipped away from him, leaving his arms empty and his mind racing and praying he could keep her safe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Late yesterday they’d made it, passed muster, and now Ryder and Melody were on the bill, performers in the Circus International.
“You stay out here, away from the rest of the wagons,” ordered the manager, Mr. Abel Jaynes. “We don’t trust Indians. Keep to yourselves, do your bit, and we’ll get along. I catch you or your little brother stealing, I’ll feed you to the lion. You open the show tomorrow afternoon. Get’em worked up to a fine frenzy. Word’ll get around fast, and we’ll have folks from far and wide comin’ in to see the show.” Turning his back on him, he’d said, with no handshake but a wave of his hand over his head, “You’ll get your cut. One meal a day.”
At the time, Ryder had breathed a sigh of relief. But that was yesterday. Today he didn’t know where Melody had disappeared to. Somewhere with her horse, he supposed. Right now he didn’t much care. He had to think. Spending the last two nights with Jo hadn’t helped, the threat of her abduction at the forefront of his every thought.
He picked up a curry comb and brush from the tack box on the side of the wagon and began to groom Sarge. He’d always relied on the last minute burst of inspiration, luck, whatever you wanted to call it, to come to his rescue—strike him with a flash of brilliance. This time he had too much at stake. Pinkerton expected him to prevent the prisoners from escape and capture the rest of the Payasos gang. He’d successfully infiltrated the enemies’ camp. Now what? They had a performance to give this afternoon. He couldn’t guard the jail, guard Jo, and put on a show. He’d shoved himself into a corner this time for sure. He’d never felt so stupid, so off track.
Brush in his hand with one arm lopped over Sarge’s strong shoulders, he put his forehead against the horse’s neck, stroking the animal’s chest. Right now, he regretted refusing Royce and Telt’s help. They could keep an eye on Jo.
“You falling asleep, or in a trance, there, boy?” came Royce’s rumbling voice from out of the blue.
Ryder jerked and peered over Sarge’s back. His father stood there at the end of the wagon, a lopsided grin on his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ryder asked, and regretted it the moment the words were out of his mouth. Hadn’t he been wishing for his father’s help? He’d conjured him up, is what he’d done.
Royce cautiously looked around the end of the wagon to the rest of the company of circus wagons in the distance. “If you move to this side of your horse we can talk easier.”
Ryder swung Sarge around and tied him off at the wagon wheel to shield them from view of the rest of the circus. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Royce leaned his butt on the tailgate of the wagon and stretched his legs out in front of him, all easy and casual. Ryder, familiar with this pretense of nonchalance, knew better. If he were twelve, he’d be stuffing a pillow down his trousers to protect his butt.
Ryder did admire this man. There wasn’t much Royce hadn’t seen and done. He’d recounted stories to Ryder of his wild youth. He’d portrayed himself as a mean drunken beast full of resentment. A beast who felt obligated to follow in the footsteps of his erstwhile sire. Everything changed when Royce found Cleantha Arnaud, a cripple, a music teacher, and his one true love. They’d taken the then ten-year-old Ryder, three-year-old Melody, and baby Jewel into their home and their hearts. They loved them, nurtured them, and instilled in them a keen sense of self-confidence. Maybe a bit too much confidence. Neither Ryder nor Melody liked to ask for their help. And Jewel, at the age of sixteen and of a playful nature, no sooner did Royce get him out of one scrape than he would land in another.
Royce pulled a tobacco pouch from his coat pocket and started to roll a cigarette. Ryder stood very still, feet planted firmly on the earth, prepared to endure his father’s slow style approach to chastisement. “We got this insulting wire from the school informing us our charge, not our child, had run off. I say insulting because the lady used one descriptor your mother and I took a particular exception to. And if Mrs. Jones were a man, I would have to shove her face up a cow’s butt.” He halted and took a deep breath. “Cleantha thought it appropriate we show concern and demand a refund of Dodie’s tuition money. She also assigned me the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Jones’s disrespect personally.”
Long pause, affording Ryder time to fill in between the lines and adjust his thinking as to the degree of impact the telegram had on his mother’s state of mind. And how her agitation transferred to his father, who consequently had his peaceful existence disturbed. Bringing the scene to life in his mind’s eye, Ryder cringed. Cleantha, her pretty face flushed, shaking her cane in Royce’s face while calling curses to rain down and smite Mrs. Jones on the head. No, not a pretty picture.
Royce tapped the tobacco onto the paper he held between his fingers. He nodded, indicating he was satisfied Ryder had arrived at the correct conclusion and continued. “I shared the news and the telegram with Telt. He decided to come along with me. Thought he might visit Twyla-Rose.”
Ryder understood. Telt, also sufficiently alarmed for the safety of his offspring, dropped everything to high-tail it back to Cherry Grove.
Royce licked the edge of the paper, swallowed, and hesitated, studying the proportions of the creation he held in his hands. He folded the licked edge and pulled away from the wagon to give Ryder his full attention.
“I spoke to the old biddy…ah, matron at the school,” he said, jaw tight. “It took some convincing, but eventually I did receive a refund of Dodie’s tuition. I relieved Mrs. and Mrs. Jones of all responsibility. I assured them, in no uncertain, colorful, terms, no, our daughter, Melody would not be returning to their school under any circumstances.”
Royce stopped to take a breath and roll his shoulders. “Telt insisted we pay a visit to the sheriff. The sheriff informed us the circus is in town. We were pleased to hear you had advised the sheriff of your suspicions. I understand you and Melody commandeered his barn as your base? You have his wagon, I understand. He said I could find you here. So here I am.” The cigarette crumpled in his clenched fist. He flicked it into the grass.
Ryder pressed his lips together to keep a straight face, knowing how much Royce really, really wanted, needed, his cigarette.
Red in the face, his father took a step forward to get up in his face to ask, “What the hell are you dressed like a God damn renegade for, and what in tarnation is going on?”
“Telt is here too?” Ryder asked, suppressing the urge to grin. The grin really was a horrible habit. It happened under pressure or in times of extreme guilt. And this was one of those times. But the technique of answering a question with a question he’d picked up at detective school.
Royce took a half-hearted swing at him. Ryder ducked.
“Yeah, Telt is here too,” Royce said pounding his fist to his palm. “The sheriff is expecting a jailbreak. You’re supposed to be preventing that from happening. But here you are, playing circus. Where’s Melody?”
“I’m right here, Daddy,” said Melody. Leading Magi, Dodie emerged from under the cottonwood tree behind their camp. Dressed in leather breeches and a brown chambray shirt, she looked like a boy of twelve with her hair tucked up and into her slouch hat. As per her brother’s orders, she looked around to be certain the camp was clear of strangers before approaching the wagon. Magi bobbed her head in greeting to Sarge. Sarge whickered and snuffled.
Royce came to full attention. “Jesus, God Almighty, Melody. You’ve both lost your minds? You look ridiculous, girl.”
“Shush, “Dodie said, tying Magi to the stake Ryder had set near the rear of the wagon. �
��You’ll ruin everything if they catch us talking to you.” She poured water from a bucket for her horse and offered the beauty an apple.
Ryder patted Sarge on the neck. “We don’t talk much. We use one-syllable words, and we try not to string too many of them together. It’s part of our performance. We keep our head down. People talk when they think you’re too stupid to understand.”
Dodie gave her stunned father a big hug and patted his chest. “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’re careful.”
With her back to Ryder, she said, “Sorry about being gone so long. They had me and a kid named Mick clean out the equipment cart they haul behind the lion wagon.
“Mr. Abel pulled the magician off to the side of his wagon for a little chat. So I spilled a pail of water and had to fetch more water out of the barrel. Which, as chance would have it, they’d placed between the lion cage and the magician’s wagon. I heard every word. Mr. Abel ordered the magician to be ready to pull out after the performance tomorrow afternoon. He wants to be well out of town by sundown. They’re only taking the lion cage and cart, the magician’s wagon, and Mr. Abel’s wagon. He’s going to cut all the rest of us loose,” she said and flopped down on the ground, legs folded Indian style.
“Well, hell,” Ryder said. Muttering to himself, he slapped his thigh. “So whatever they’ve got in store for the jailbreak and the abduction will happen tomorrow. And I don’t have a clue how I’m going to stop either one. And there’s this damn circus act we’ve signed on to do. I hope to hell the squad of Pinkerton men I requested arrive today. We’re gonna need help.”
Jo and the Pinkerton Man Page 15
