Tempting the Ringmaster (A Big Top Romance)

by Aleah Barley

  “Don’t you Belle-Girl me,” she seethed. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “With that Gilly tonight?” Keith asked. “I did what you should have been doing in the last few towns. What your father would have done. I was enforcing the rules.”

  “The rules? What about the law? I’m pretty sure, what you just did was assault. It’s a crime.”

  “Sometimes you have to be flexible, when it’s important. That’s what your father always said.” He shrugged. “He had a lot of rules, remember? No strangers on jump night. You know lot lice are always getting into trouble. At least, you used to.”

  Lot lice. The derogatory term for townspeople who were always hanging around the circus tents was like a slap to the face. Belle swallowed hard to keep from swearing.

  Keith thought he’d done the right thing, and—from the way the other men were all shifting on the balls of his feet—she could see that he wasn’t alone. They didn’t respect her. Worse, they didn’t trust her to make the right decisions for the circus.

  Too damn bad.

  It was about time for them to learn that actions had consequences.

  “He wasn’t just some Gilly, you morons. He was a cop.”

  “No way.” Keith sat up a little straighter. “He didn’t show us any badge. Cops always show you their badges.”

  “Yeah, well, trust me. He had a badge, and a gun.” She grabbed a rubber sword from a rack near the door, throwing it at him awkwardly. “A real one. You could have been arrested. You could have been shot.”

  Anything could have happened. She moved forward, picking out men from the crowd.

  “What if something had gone wrong? What if he’d decided to defend himself? A stray shot could have hit anyone of you. Blue, how much of a fire breather do you think you’d be with a hole in your chest?” She turned to face Mikhail Jarvis head on. “What about you?”

  Petra’s father had started his career as a human cannonball. He’d grown since then. She had to tilt her head to look the six-foot-eight strong man in the face.

  “What if he’d shot into the crowd? Is this idiocy important enough to risk your wife? Your daughter?”

  “I’m sorry, Belle,” Mikhail said meekly.

  “There are sixty-eight people in camp tonight; forty-three men, sixteen women, and nine children.” They were people she’d known her entire life; her friends and her family. She was responsible for every single one of them. Her head swung as she met the eyes of every man in the room. “Your actions put the entire circus in danger. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Belle,” six voices chorused. Everyone except the clown king.

  Keith took a long drag on his cigarette. “This never would have happened if your father was still alive—“

  “Too damn bad. You’re stuck with me.”

  The clown king nodded slowly. He tapped his cigarette thoughtfully against a blue ceramic ashtray he’d balanced carefully against the windowsill, and Belle’s stomach churned. The crooked piece of pottery was a reminder of better times gone by; one she didn’t need. She’d given it to Keith when she was eleven years old, and he was just starting out with the Black Shadows Circus. Back then they’d been friends.

  “Tent’s not up yet,” he finally said. “It won’t be hard to get things packed. We should be out of here by midnight—“

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “You said he was a cop. We need to leave before he comes back.”

  “I’ve dealt with it.” Belle insisted, knowing she’d eat her words if Graham Tyler showed up with a stack of arrest warrants. He’d be well within his rights, but she had to hope for the best.

  This close to winter, the circus couldn’t afford any mistakes. If they left now, they’d never get their lot fee back. How would they pay for a place to spend the next few months?

  “The officer and I had a nice long talk. He’s not going to arrest any of you—“

  “And pigs might fly.” Keith sniffed. “Cops always come back.”

  “He’s not going to arrest any of you,” Belle repeated, her voice low and angry. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t be back. I have to go out with him tomorrow night.”

  She’d wanted to cancel but after everything that had happened it was the only way she could think of to be sure Graham Tyler wouldn’t come after her people. One drink, nice and civil, no violence and no kisses, and she could get back to the circus and her regularly scheduled life.

  “Going for drinks with a copper,” Keith said. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  The entire room was silent for a long moment as the clown king considered. Finally, his head shifted downward half an inch. It was the only acknowledgement she’d get that her plan—flawed as it was—might just be the best chance they had at getting out of the situation unscathed.

  “Just don’t get too friendly, Belle-girl. Wouldn’t want you falling for some guy who doesn’t know a king pole from a catapult.” His gaze narrowed. “Not again.”

  * * *

  Graham arrived promptly at seven the next night. He’d exchanged his pea coat and slacks for a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue flannel shirt that skimmed his broad shoulders. There was a purple bruise on his cheek.

  Standing in the door of her trailer, Belle swallowed hard. He looked so damn sexy, like a type cast hero out of a romantic comedy, complete with a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Belle had only brought one dress from Chicago. It was pitch black and skin tight, not exactly appropriate for a small town Thursday night.

  So, she’d called up the circus’s costume designer, Big Jerry, and twenty minutes later she’d taken possession of a new dress. The ruby red cotton skimmed her breasts and floated across her thighs.

  Big Jerry was a master with a needle and thread, designing outfits that allowed for a full range of movement, but his creations left a lot to be desired.

  Like an extra yard of fabric.

  Belle grabbed her jacket and buttoned it on over the borrowed gown. She should have stuck with the black dress. It might make her look like a Sin City escapee, but at least then she’d understand why Graham was looking at her like a hungry wolf who’d just spotted a walking, talking T-bone.

  One short drink and then she was done for the evening. She had better things to do with her time than flirt with Buck Falls answer to single women.

  She had a circus to run, bits and bobs of different acts to go over, and a duffel bag full of paperwork she needed to complete. Most importantly, she needed to work the phones, calling around to find a place for the Black Shadow Circus to spend the winter.

  Really, she shouldn’t even be going out for one drink. She should cancel. Graham wouldn’t mind. He certainly wouldn’t take it out on her people. He’d seemed like a reasonable man—

  The memory of his mouth hot against her lips made Belle’s breath catch in her throat. He hadn’t seemed reasonable at all.

  No way. Even before she’d seen his gun and his badge, she’d known that Graham Tyler was trouble, demanding and autocratic, the biggest fish in his itty-bitty pond.

  Even if his touch did make her go weak in the knees.

  Damn, the man could kiss. Belle took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs. Everything was going to be all right. She had everything under control.

  “Are those for me?” she nodded towards the flowers.

  “They were, but I got a little lost on the way.” Graham turned and made a grave bow to the girl at his side. “Kind mistress, thank you for guiding my footsteps.”

  “Are you sure you’re a policeman?” Petra accepted the flowers with a giggle. The girl must have come straight from dance practice; her auburn curls were tucked up tightly in a bun, and she was wearing a pink leotard under her oversized sweatshirt. “You don’t look like it. Policemen wear ugly uniforms and frown all the time.”

  Graham’s
eyes widened slightly. “I’m the chief of police, I can wear anything I want.” There was a short pause. “I’ll work on the frown if you’d like.”

  “It’s okay,” Petra assured him. “Do you have a badge? Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his badge, handing over the symbol of his authority without a second thought.

  Petra grabbed at the badge eagerly. Her quick movement making the roses fall to the ground.

  Belle bit her lip. Damn. Now she’d have to spend half the night tracking down that bit of shiny.

  “Cops don’t always frown,” Graham said. “The work can even be fun. Do you want to be a policeman when you grow up?”

  “As if,” Petra giggled.

  “Oh yeah? What do you want to be? A doctor? A lawyer? A business executive?”

  “And pigs might fly! When I grow up, I want to be Belle-Anne,” she announced before wandering off.

  “Last week she wanted to be an astronaut.” Belle rolled her eyes and stepped from the trailer, allowing the door to bang shut behind her. “Next week, she’ll want to be the Queen of Sheba. I’ll find your badge when we get back.”

  “Thanks.” He bent and scooped the roses up off the ground. When he held the flowers out to her, petals were pointed in every direction and half of the stems had broken in the fall. No one could think they were beautiful.

  Still, Belle sighed happily as a faint perfume ghosted off the bruised flowers. She hauled out a small bucket of water that had been tucked under the trailer’s front steps for any wandering dog to drink from. The flowers drooped over the edge—a pretty arrangement was too much to hope for—but at least they wouldn’t die.

  “Absolutely gorgeous,” Graham said.

  He wasn’t talking about the flowers. Belle straightened up fast, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Should we go now?”

  “Of course.” He held out a hand, every inch the gentleman.

  Fortunately, Belle wasn’t a lady. She ignored his hand, leading the way across the fairgrounds to the parking lot.

  “You want to give me a tour?” Graham asked, stretching his long legs to catch up.

  “You live next door. I’m sure you’ve seen the fairgrounds before.”

  “Not like this.”

  A blast of fire lit up the air, punctuating his statement. The fire-breather—Blue Deveraux—was showing off for some of the troop kids. Beyond him, Dorothy was putting two of the horses through their paces.

  Maybe Graham had a point.

  “We’re a traditional circus. Jugglers, acrobats, and strong men.”

  “Lions, tigers, and elephants?”

  “Nope.” Belle’s tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “We don’t have any wild animals.”

  “Too dangerous?”

  “For the animals. All the noise and the action, it’s not right. They don’t belong here. We have domesticated animals, trick riders on horses and some trained dogs—the kids love them—but nothing more exciting than that.”

  They were passing through the mass of trailers where the performers lived. She raised a hand, waving at men, women, and children, calling out to each of them by name.

  “We don’t have any sideshow acts either,” she explained. “We’ve got a psychic. Irma Baumbach—Madame Magyck to the uninitiated—she used to do the Dance of the Seven Veils too. Before I—” She cut off awkwardly, swallowing the end of her sentence.

  When she’d taken over the circus after her father’s death, she’d put an end to some of the more exotic acts. If they were going to draw in the crowds in small towns like Whispering Spring and Buck Falls, they needed to be a family show.

  “That’s Irma,” she pointed out a stunning blonde in a pink bikini, tanning herself on a crooked beach chair. The sun was setting overhead, but that didn’t stop Irma from enjoying the last few rays of light… Or half a dozen roustabouts from hanging around to enjoy the sight or Irma.

  Graham’s gaze coasted politely over the blonde before returning to Belle. “What about clowns? I loved clowns as a kid.”

  “Keith Aldridge—and the boys—you met him last night. He was the one in the orange vest.”

  “Little guy.” Graham reached up to rub his jaw thoughtfully. “Big fists.”

  “That’s Keith. He can be a little rough, but he loves the circus.”

  “Uh huh.” Graham grabbed her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “Paperwork, piles and piles of paperwork.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Another woman might have been put off by the hard work, but she’d always had a knack for making numbers do what she wanted.

  “You’re not a part of the show?”

  “Not anymore.” Not for years. She didn’t need the roar of the crowd, not when she was busy making sure everybody hit their marks and made their cues.

  Belle stayed quiet the rest of the way to the parking lot. There was nothing else she had to say. It wasn’t like they were going on a real date—where she might share her hopes, dreams, and feelings—they were just two people going out to grab a drink. She just needed to get through the evening without adding to his bruise collection; then they could go their separate ways like nothing had happened.

  The ride into town was quiet and comfortable. Graham drove a big American sedan with lights bolted on top and the words ‘Buck Fall’s Police Department’ splashed across the side. Classic rock music played when he turned the car on, but he turned the volume down while he drove to point out the local sights.

  He knew it all like the back of his hand, the new library, the old historical museum, and the town hall.

  After a ten-minute drive, he pulled into a slightly more industrial area and stopped in a dark lot under a ‘No Parking’ sign.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to get towed?”

  “Nope.” Graham got out and hurried around to hold the passenger side door open. He put a hand on Belle’s arm, leading her down the block to a small bar stuck in between a factory building and a used bookstore.

  The name over the bar’s door had long since faded away, but the neon flickering in the window let everyone know it was still in business. Stepping inside, Belle was surprised to find a clean, cozy interior with a wide bar on the left hand side and a dance floor cleared beside the jukebox in the back. There were only a handful of customers on a Thursday night, and the waitresses were leaning against the counter to gossip.

  “Graham!” A young woman in a green halter top stepped in front of them. “I went past your house tonight. You weren’t there.”

  Graham shrugged. “Can’t say I was.”

  “I let myself in, just to stick a casserole in the fridge. Macaroni and chicken.”

  “That’s not necessary, Suzy.”

  “Of course it was, you were so helpful with my car last week. I even tucked in some lemon squares, I know they’re you’re favorite.” Suzy’s gaze darted back and forth between Belle and Graham, clearly trying to figure out how they knew each other. “I hear you don’t have a date for the Winter Social, do you want to—“

  “It’s been great talking to you,” Graham cut her off. “I’ll look for that casserole.”

  He moved past Suzy, leading Belle towards an empty booth against the far wall. It was slow going. There weren’t many people in the bar, but every single one of them wanted to talk to Graham about his health, the weather, or the graffiti that appeared to be the only crime in Buck Falls.

  The women all asked whether he’d found a date for the Winter Social, their gaze gliding over Belle like she wasn’t even worth considering.

  Her teeth ground together angrily. It was only one drink, maybe a burger—the food on the whirling trays looked damn good—not a lifetime commitment made at the little slate roofed church they’d passed on the road with pictures published in the paper, but that was no reason for the women to completely ignore her. Why couldn’t she be his date
to the Winter Social?

  Finally, they sat down and managed to order from a teenager with a nose ring who giggled every time Graham looked in her direction.

  “Do you know everyone in the place?” Belle demanded.

  “I’m the police chief.” He shrugged. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I’m sure it’s the same for you, back home.”

  “That’s different.” Of course, she knew everyone at the circus, she was responsible for their safety and well-being. “I sign their paychecks at the end of every week. Anyway, I assume your town has more people than my caravan.”

  “Not the circus,” he said. “I’m talking about your home. Where you’re from originally? Where your parents live—“

  “My father died last year.”

  It hadn’t even been a full year, not really.

  If Belle closed her eyes, she could still hear the phone ringing in her Chicago apartment the night Frank had called to break the news and summon her back to the life she’d thought she’d left forever.

  “My mother died when I was a kid. I don’t really remember her. She lived with us in the winter—down in Florida—but she never came on tour. She loved my father, but she hated the circus.”

  “Your father was a performer?”

  “Barnaby was a star—larger than life—he’d walk out into the center of the ring, and the crowd would go wild.” She shifted uncomfortably in her borrowed dress. “My family’s been in the circus since the beginning of time—two hundred years—my great grandfather was the one who started Black Shadows. We’ve still got his original tent in one of the trucks.”

  The thing was an antique. The red and yellow striped big top was stained, patched, and smaller than the one they performed under now. The big king pole that held it up from the center was a single solid piece of wood, crafted from the trunk of a mighty tree.

  “We don’t even have the equipment—or the manpower—to put it up, but Barnaby insisted on carting it around anyway. Other people have lucky coins. His luck was in thousands of pounds of canvas and wood.”

  ‘The old girl’s still got life in her yet’ he’d always said, with a sparkle in his eye. ‘Trust me, one day you’re going to be glad we didn’t leave it on the side of the road. As long as you’ve got this tent, you’ll never be without a home.’