Spellbound

by Sharon Ihle

  Sharon Ihle is the recipient of Romantic Times’ Best Western Historical Romance (for The Law And Miss Penny) and Bookrak’s Best Selling Author Award (for The Bride Wore Spurs) as well as several Reviewer’s Choice Award Nominations.

  “Sharon Ihle plays on your heartstrings and tickles your funny bone all at the same time.” Romantic Times

  SPELLBOUND

  Sharon Ihle

  Copyright © 2010 Sharon J. Ihle. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Other Electronic Books by Sharon Ihle

  The Bride Wore Spurs

  Maggie’s Wish

  Spellbound

  Marrying Miss Shylo

  Untamed

  The Law & Miss Penny

  Wildcat

  Tempting Miss Prissy

  Gypsy Jewel

  Wild Rose

  The Marrying Kind

  Dakota Dream

  River Song

  E-Books available for download at:

  http://www.backlistebooks.com/?author=52&submit=view

  Dedication:

  With much love, for Hayley Elisabeth Johnson

  Spellbound

  Sharon Ihle

  Chapter One

  Spring, 1866

  Lower Mississippi River

  Rayna came riding out of the woods, the stolen mule clamped between her knees dragging a small ornate coach behind him.

  On the driver’s seat, driving absolutely nothing, her adoptive mother clung to the sideboards, her gnarled sausage-like fingers hanging on for dear life. Inside the coach, bouncing around on his favorite velvet pillow, sat Sweetpea, a little pink pig. A trunk with leather straps occupied the floor beneath him, its cedar interior housing all of their belongings.

  Pulling the mule to a halt as they burst into a small clearing, Rayna was amazed to find that they’d already reached the Mississippi River. Even better, a steamship bobbed against the banks.

  Turning to face her mother, Rayna said, “You’re not going to believe this. Look ahead.”

  Tilting her tiny body for a better view, Maria said, “Is that a paddlewheeler?”

  “Yes, that and much more.”

  Returning her attention to the ship, Rayna drank in the sight. It appeared to have a fresh coat of white paint and bright red trim on the ‘wedding cake’ exterior. Up top in place of what might have been bride and groom figures, a pair of new black enamel stacks loomed ten feet into the air, looking like feather dusters clearing the cobwebs from the sky. Just below and between those stacks at the top of the pilothouse flew the Bonnie Blue Flag of Texas and a Confederate flag. The ship also had sparkling white planks, drapes of billowing blue cotton and scarlet ropes woven throughout the railings. Best of all were the words painted in huge blue letters along the hurricane deck.

  Over her shoulder Rayna said to her mother, “The banner says this is The Bailey Floating Circus. Maybe your magic is finally working for us.”

  Through Maria’s excited chatter, Rayna had to make a fast decision. For all she knew, the farmer they’d bilked out of five dollars was still hot on their trail. They either had to keep on moving or seek asylum. The decision wasn’t a particularly difficult one. Rayna was tired of running, weary of scratching for five bucks here and there just to keep them fed. Mostly she was worried about Maria, whose health grew more fragile every day. Even a temporary job on this floating circus would offer some relief. Many such enterprises welcomed new acts. Would this one?

  As far as Rayna could tell, the steamer was deserted. Either that, or all hands were inside, busy with other things. Eager to get out of sight before the farmer stumbled upon them, she made what would have been a reckless decision a few years back. Now a sense of urgency made it acceptable. Hollering to her mother to hang on, she boldly nudged the mule in the belly and urged him up the gangplank.

  The cavernous doors to the main area were wide opened, making it easy for Rayna to direct the animal and its cargo into the arena. Once they were safely entombed in the bowels of the ship, she hopped down off the mule and forced her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. By the time she could make out her surroundings, her mother had climbed down off the coach and joined her.

  “It is very small,” Maria remarked with a sigh.

  Rayna couldn’t argue the point. The width and breadth of the show arena took in all of the main deck as well as most of the hurricane deck above, an area, she assumed, that once housed some of the cabins and staterooms. The dress circle, or seating area, was divided in half. Cane bottomed arms chairs stacked fifteen deep on a sloping platform lined the walls along each side of the ship. Fore and aft, wide canvas curtains painted with circus scenes hid what were probably stables, dressing rooms, and stage entrances. She figured the showboat was capable of admitting around five or six hundred patrons. The floating palace on which she and Maria had once performed had been able to seat twenty-five hundred.

  “Small, yes,” Rayna agreed. “But it may very well be our salvation.”

  The words, which were meant more for Maria than herself, had no more than left Rayna’s lips before the aft curtain parted. Alarmed no doubt by the sudden movement of the steamer as the small caravan crept on board, a man stepped into the arena with an older woman close on his heels.

  “What’s all this?” he demanded as he approached. “Who are you and what are you doing aboard this ship?”

  “Take it easy, Gant,” the woman said, grabbing his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Let’s hear what they got to say for themselves.”

  Alerted to the authority in the man’s voice, Rayna directed her attention to him. He wore a pale blue work shirt that was unbuttoned, exposing his chest. The skin there was dusky, shiny with perspiration, and rippled with hard, firm muscles. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms and that same tanned skin. A light beard framed his strong jaw, no more than a day’s growth, and as he removed his hat, Rayna couldn’t help but admire his hair, thick, dark curls that were loose and unruly, falling to the tops of his shoulders. His jeans and gunbelt rode low on his hips, accentuating his swagger and more. Any other time a virile man such as this would have turned Rayna’s head, probably all the way around. Today she had more important things on her mind. Survival chief among them.

  Avoiding him and his dark gaze for the time being, Rayna forced herself to look away from him and studied the woman. She was quite a bit older, maybe around ten years his senior. She also had soft brown eyes, not ebony like the man’s, and her expression sparkled with kindness and warmth. Definitely the better choice for her purposes.

  “I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” Rayna said to the woman. “We've been traveling all day, and when we saw your floating circus, thought we’d come in out of the sun. I'm Rayna Sebastiani, and this is my mother, Maria.”

  The woman’s eyes immediately fell on all forty-one inches of Maria, a dwarf. Without comment or expression of pity, her gaze shot back to Rayna as she said, “I’m Mollie Bailey. I, along with my husband Gus, and our partner, Gant here, own this circus. Sorry to disappoint you, but we ain’t quite ready to put on our first show.”

  This was more than Rayna had hoped for. If they hadn’t even opened yet, the Bailey Circus probably hadn’t settled on their acts. Smiling into those kind eyes, she said, “We didn’t stop by to see the show. We were hoping that you might consider letting us join your troupe.”

  “We’ve got all the performers we need,” Gant said, his tone resolute.

  “Now, Gant,” Mollie chided. “Don’t be so quick to turn them away. Least we can do is hear them out. Have you ever performed before?”

  Rayna was proud to say, �
��We worked for Barnum in New York for several years, and after that, he loaned us to the Spalding and Rogers Floating Palace Circus. We were with them for seven years.”

  Mollie’s eyes lit up. “Did you hear that, Gant? Spalding and Rogers, Barnum, too.”

  He uttered a short laugh. “You mean Phineas T.-if-it-isn’t-quite-freaky-enough-I’ll-sew-a-goat’s-leg-to-its-belly-button-Barnum?”

  Her enthusiasm fading, Mollie said, “I know what you’re saying. Barnum is a snide if ever I did see one, but he also puts on a good show and has good performers.” She turned back to Rayna. “What did you two do with the floating circus?”

  Since their talents were varied, some difficult to explain, Rayna suggested, “Why don’t we show you?”

  With a quick glance at her partner, Mollie said, “That sounds like fun. What do you say, Gant? Shall we give them a look?”

  With a sigh of resignation, Gant grudgingly said, “All right. Do you need props or music of some kind?”

  “Music would be good, and an audience if a few of your workers can spare the time.”

  Mollie clapped her hands. “I’ve got the perfect audience, my four little ones, and Gus is the bandmaster. I’ll just go see if he and a couple of the boys feel like rehearsing some.”

  Laughing to herself, Mollie turned and hurried back toward the curtain. Gant remained where he stood, studying Rayna and her mother, judging them.

  Just when she thought he might bodily toss them off of the ship, he said, “If you have to change into costumes, the dressing rooms are in back of the curtain behind you. Make it quick. We’re on a short schedule.”

  Then he turned on his heel and strode back the way he came.

  “The gaje,” Maria said, using the Romany term for ‘outsider,’ anyone who wasn’t of Gypsy blood. “I do not think he likes us. Maybe you should dance for him.”

  Rayna had to consider this carefully. There was a very fine line between the Gypsy dancing appreciated by both men and women, and the kind that seemed to sprout from Rayna’s soul, a dance that had the power to reduce the strongest man to a quivering slave--or turn a timid woman into a jealous, raging wildcat. When she was dancing, Rayna sometimes got lost in the music, and thereby lost control of her movements. If that happened, she would probably win over the stubborn Gant, but what of Mollie Bailey? Was it worth the risk?

  “Let’s see how it goes,” she finally said. “I’ll save the dancing for last, if it’s necessary. For now, we’d better get Sweetpea dressed.”

  *

  Behind the aft curtain, Gant was fretting over the odd pair of women who’d boarded the ship as if they owned the damn thing. He didn’t trust them, especially the young woman, beautiful as she may have been. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what disturbed him the most, but he suspected the only service they could offer the circus would be helping themselves into the customer’s pockets. Since he’d spent a lifetime as part of the criminal element, he had no trouble spotting the same tendencies in others. He doubted that his instincts were wrong in this case, even if Mollie could never see anything but the good in folks.

  Vowing to keep a sharp eye on the two strangers, even if Mollie’s soft heart wouldn’t let her see a slug disguised as a fifty dollar gold piece, Gant headed for the arena. The moment he stepped through the curtain, squeaking fiddles and misplaced drum rolls assaulted his ears as Gus and his men warmed up their instruments. Joining Mollie and her children six rows up at center ring, Gant settled into his cane chair and waited for the show to start.

  Rayna poked her head out from the fore curtain and said, “We’re ready if the band is. Can you play a processional?”

  Gus nodded that he could, and instantly, the din became a recognizable tune. After that, Gant recognized nothing. In fact, he could hardly believe his own eyes.

  A little pink pig came prancing into the ring. The pig was dressed in a tiny velvet coat of royal purple with a matching flat-crowned hat sporting a row of fringe that dangled from the brim. Attached to the swine’s portly body was a leather chest-harness drawing the fussy gold and white enameled coach he’d seen earlier. Maria, also dressed in royal purple and looking like a miniature Queen, perched atop the coach in the driver’s seat, cracking a small harmless whip as if she were actually driving.

  Beside Gant, Mollie’s children began cheering, and damned if the pig didn’t respond. Circling the ring as if he thought he were a thoroughbred stallion, the swine showed off his stuff, the purple fringe on his hat swaying in time with the music. After completing the circle, the pig pranced into the center of the ring, fell forward into an awkward bow, and then buried his snout in the sawdust. Mollie’s children went wild, laughing, cheering, and clapping.

  Although Gant wasn’t so easily won over—he absolutely hated pigs—he was thinking about applauding along with them when Rayna made her way to center ring. He’d raised his hands up, preparing to clap them together, and there they remained, frozen in mid-air, as she came into view.

  She wore a bright red, black, and orange skirt, a white low-necked blouse with big puffy sleeves, and a crimson shawl with matching kerchief wrapped across the top of her head. She’d also decked herself out in gold. Lots of gold. Coins sparkled from her wrists, from her ebony braids, which hung down to her waist, and even from the bright red apron tied loosely around her hips. Other than the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, a single thought struck Gant; the woman was a Gypsy.

  That’s what had disturbed him so, the criminal element he’d sensed about the women. They were Gypsies, the kind of people who did not belong in Mollie Bailey’s circus. This was particularly true of the young one, a raven-haired beauty who was arguably voluptuous and exotic, and no doubt, cunning. She was probably as crooked as a snake in a cactus patch.

  As Rayna approached the pig and released him from his harness, Gant leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers across his belt buckle. He continued to watch the Gypsy, trying to separate his male vision from the more intelligent and cautious eye of his mind. It wasn’t easy. Her gestures were fluid, her hands and body constantly moving, jingling the gold coins she wore as she approached Mollie and her children. Then she went to work on them.

  Mystifying her scant audience with slight of hand and other tricks, the Gypsy and the pig picked out playing cards, told fortunes, answered questions, and otherwise delighted Mollie and her innocent children. Even Gant, who maintained an impassive expression throughout the performance, couldn’t deny the act carried a certain charm, nor could he ignore the little tug on his heartstrings each time the pig was correct. By the time the odd pair was ready to present their grand finale, Gant had an idea they would be hired, crooked or not.

  For the finish, the Gypsy produced a group of six flags, and then asked the pig to pick only one to represent the circus. Naturally, although Gant couldn’t imagine how she’d trained him so fast, the swine chose the one dearest to Mollie—the Bonnie Blue Flag of Texas. Despite his reservations, Gant found himself admiring Rayna’s determination, that and the fact that she’d discovered the way to Mollie’s heart so quickly. At the conclusion, the Bailey family went wild. They cheered and applauded amid crashing cymbals as Sweetpea circled the ring, a scrap of blue material flapping alongside his elaborate hat.

  With laughter still ringing in her voice, Mollie leaned in towards Gant and said, “Wasn’t that delightful?”

  Although he still had reservations, Gant couldn’t help but agree. “It was a little different, I’ll give them that. Maybe we ought to find out what else can they do before you make any decisions about taking them on.”

  The Gypsy, who’d approached the chairs, said, “I have a crystal ball that I use out of doors as a way of drawing the crowds. Fortunes told for free is usually a good way to bring the people inside for more.”

  Mollie shook her head. “I don’t cotton to people being told about anything but the good. I’d hate to have them hear any soothsaying about falling into wells or having failed cr
ops and such.”

  “I only tell positive fortunes,” Rayna assured.

  Again Mollie turned to Gant. “That sounds good. What do you think?”

  Gant didn’t answer right off. He just stared at Rayna, sending her a cynical message with those dark, dark eyes. She hadn’t won him over—yet.

  With reluctance, she said, “There is one other act I am known for. With your permission, I would like to perform the dance of the Romany Gypsies.”

  “Dancing?” Mollie’s expression lit up. “I just love dancing. Go ahead. Run over and tell Gus what kind of music you want.”

  Ignoring her more skeptical partner for now, Rayna hurried over to Gus and said, “Are you familiar with the works of Franz Liszt?”