"Minor. All I need is a little—" Stefan winked at Joanna "—tender love and care."
Joanna picked up the compress that had fallen on the floor and disposed of it. "What you need is to soak your arm," she said, mortified at what Stefan's mother must be thinking, finding a woman sitting on her son's lap, arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Someone he'd only just met. As she turned to moisten another compress, she glanced at Kitta, whose disapproval was palpable.
Helen looked at Stefan. "Certainly you don't plan to go on tomorrow?"
"I can't very well back out," he said. "After all, I am—" his eyes flashed with amusement "—king of the gypsies."
"King of the gypsies be hanged," Helen said. "Let Tony fill in for you."
"Tony hasn't handled Rafat. I've gone on with a lot worse injuries than these."
Joanna stopped what she was doing and stared at him. "You say that like it's common practice to be mauled," she said, hoping no one detected the quaver in her voice. "How often does this kind of thing happen?"
Stefan shrugged. "Not often. You've probably seen the last of it."
Joanna met Helen's gaze and caught the dark look on her face, but she couldn't read the meaning behind it. If it was disapproval, it wasn't open like Kitta's. She squeezed out the compress and went to place it on Stefan's arm.
"You don't need to do that," Kitta said, her voice brittle. "I always help Stefan." She took the compress from Joanna and stepped between Joanna and Stefan.
Joanna glared at Kitta's back, lips tightening with suppressed anger. Moving around Kitta, she said to Stefan, "Now that you're in good hands, I'll just be on my way."
Stefan reached out and grabbed her hand. "Don't go."
The sound of men's voices in the passageway trailed through the opened doorway. Two pairs of dark eyes focused on Stefan and Joanna's clasped hands. Twisting her hand from Stefan's grip, Joanna said to Stefan's brothers, "I was helping Stefan soak his arm."
Kitta let out a snort.
Laszlo, the larger of the two, nudged his younger brother. "Maybe Stefan's not the poor fool we thought. I should get such attention."
Joanna nervously fluttered her eyelids. "Yes, well, he has family now to help, so I'll just return to my stateroom."
"Which is conveniently just across the passageway," Kitta said, with irony.
Ignoring Kitta's remark, Joanna returned to her quarters, relieved to be away from the humiliating situation.
She'd barely finished tidying her surroundings when a knock sounded on the door. Expecting it to be Stefan, she swept the door open, surprised to find Helen Janacek instead. "I only have a minute," Helen said, "but I must talk to you, alone."
"Please come in." Joanna stepped aside for her to pass. "I can't imagine what you must think, walking in and finding us like you did," she said, "but it's really not the way it seemed. Well it is, and it isn't. I mean... Stefan and I..." she stopped short. There was no way to explain what happened because she didn't understand it herself. Nothing made sense. She and Stefan had only just met, and already he was the most important person in her life. But it wasn't like when she'd met Karl, though she'd rushed into a relationship with him as well. But Karl never made her limbs weak with just the sight of him, or her heart ache when she thought about the danger he faced, or made her long to have his arms around her and his lips on hers for all eternity.
Helen's eyes softened. "I know my son. He has many opportunities with women, but he has avoided any kind of relationship since he and his wife divorced, so it's obvious he cares for you. It's also obvious you care for him. That's why I'm here."
Joanna remembered Tekla Janacek's words, 'Rom and gorgio not good.' She suspected Helen Janacek was here on Tekla's behalf. "If it's because I'm not gypsy..."
"That has nothing to do with it," Helen assured her. "Although a relationship between Rom and gorgio is not without problems."
As Helen stood nervously knotting her fingers, Joanna said, "Please sit down."
Helen lowered herself into a chair, and Joanna sat on the bunk, facing her. After a few moments, Helen looked at Joanna and said, "Do you know what it's like to love a man who goes into a cage with vicious animals day after day?"
Joanna felt her heart quickening as the image of the leopard attacking Stefan emerged. "Yes, I do have some idea," she replied, weakly.
"No, I don't think you do. If you did, you wouldn't leave yourself open to such a relationship." Helen's thumb began restlessly stroking the palm of her other hand. "When he's with the cats, the terrible fear is always there. It starts in your belly and moves up to your chest and grips you like a vise. Do you have any idea how many times you'll paste a smile on your face and excuse yourself to go into the nearest doniker and vomit? Or how often you'll lay awake at night, wondering if tomorrow's performance will be his last?"
"Stefan says what happened today rarely happens."
"Stefan's an optimist, although I don't know why. His own father was killed by cats. The trouble is, Stefan has excuses for every accident that ever happened to him, always some plausible reason why it won't happen again. But he wasn't there when five lions jumped his father, dragging him around the arena, tearing at him while he yelled desperately for help until his cries grew weaker and weaker and all that could be seen was a stream of blood flowing out from a circle of frenzied animals—" Helen stopped, eyes bright with tears. "And do you know what I felt at his bedside that same night, when he finally died?"
Joanna saw in Helen's eyes the pain, the memory, the horrible truth. When she could finally find her voice, she said, "I cannot imagine, but it must have been terrible."
Helen raised her chin. "I felt relief. My husband had just died, and I felt relief. At least I would be able to sleep at night without wondering when the time would finally come." She reached out and squeezed Joanna's hand. "You need to know these things now," she said, "before it's too late. Before you fall in love with Stefan."
Feeling a genial closeness in Helen's touch, Joanna looked into her sober eyes and said, "But I don't know how to stop what's happening."
After a long stretch of silence, Helen gave a shrug of hopeless resolve, sighed heavily, and said in a wistful voice, "Unfortunately, neither did I."
CHAPTER THREE
An eerie moaning resonated through the boat as boiler pressure began building, then the raucous shriek of the whistle pierced the night air, and the paddlewheel began beating the water. Slowly at first, the big wheel began to churn with sluggish swashing strokes, gradually turning faster, until soon the boat whished through the water with a steady drone as it headed south towards Greenville, Mississippi, their next stop.
It was an unusually hot night, and after checking Joanna's stateroom and finding it unoccupied, Stefan wandered onto the promenade deck and found her standing at the rail, looking towards the dockyards of Helena as they drifted past. He had not talked to her since the incidence in his stateroom two days before. While in Helena, he'd stayed in his wagon to be close to the menagerie to make sure no one got near the cats. And during their off-time, Joanna was nowhere to be found, undoubtedly still upset about what happened in his stateroom. He hoped to square things away with her. Walking up to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the side of her face. "Sorry I missed your act," he said. "I'm always busy with the cats after a performance. I hope it went well."
"It did," she replied, while continuing to stare across the water.
"Did you see my animals perform?" he asked, hoping she had. His cats behaved more like well-trained dogs than surly felines.
"I watched from a distance," she said, in a clipped dry tone. "I was surprised you got the leopard to perform after the way he attacked you."
"He was having an off-day down in the dirt... like some performers have up with the doves." He waited for a clever retort, which never came. When she continued to silently stare at the scene slipping by, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.
"When my cats are aloof," he said, "I know there's trouble. What gives? What happened to the cheeky woman who confronted me in the menagerie?"
"I'm not one of your cats," Joanna snapped. "And I don't understand how you can simply shrug off what happened with the leopard. You have fourteen stitches in your leg and deep puncture wounds in your arm, and it doesn't seem to phase you."
"What you saw with the leopard was rare. Today's performance was more the way it usually is. You did see Shani walking on the globe, didn't you?"
"Yes," she clipped. "And I also saw the pyramid of lions, and your tiger jumping through the fiery hoop, and the lot of them rolling over. I admit, it was truly amazing how you've trained them. But it's also foolhardy."
"I could argue that flying on a trapeze is foolhardy," Stefan countered, "but it's your job and it's something you love. And training cats is mine. I doubt if anything like what happened with Shani will happen again. He was docile as a house cat today."
...Stefan's an optimist... His own father was killed by cats...
The image of the leopard attacking Stefan emerged, an image that had been playing over and over in Joanna's mind, no matter how hard she tried to shut it out. What she didn't understand was why she'd been affected so deeply by it. She'd witnessed accidents with other performers—a unicyclist falling from a high wire, a horse rearing back on its rider, a dancer's cape catching fire. But those incidents never kept her from falling asleep, or made her stomach twist with queasiness, or awakened her in the dead of night in a cold sweat...
...You need to know this before it's too late, before you fall in love with Stefan...
She looked at Stefan, who was studying her with an intensity that made her heart quicken, and felt a pull so strong, she wondered if she would be able to hold her feelings in check. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe she was already in love.
Hands tightening on her arms, Stefan said, "Don't do this to me, Joanna."
"Do what?"
"Worry about me."
"How did you know what I was thinking?"
"I know that look. I've seen it in my mother's eyes, and I saw it in my wife's eyes. But I thought you'd be different, that you'd understand and accept the danger."
"Well, I don't," Joanna said, feeling a pang of jealousy over the woman who once held Stefan's love. She'd been disturbed by the notion of Stefan with a wife ever since Helen Janacek mentioned it. She'd tried to envision the kind of woman who could capture the heart of a man as compelling and unique as Stefan, and wondered how the woman could have ever let him go.
Not caring that the question was personal, but feeling a need to know, she said, "What happened between you and your wife?"
Stefan shrugged. "She wanted me to give up my cats."
"And your cats were more important than your wife." She pursed her lips.
"Training cats is all I know. My wife knew that before we married." Stefan brushed his thumb along her compressed lips. "We've only just met, but I feel something strong for you, Joanna, and I think you feel something for me too, and I don't want to go through this again. When my animals get out of line I can handle them." He pulled her into his arms.
Joanna's hands tightened around him. "You're right, I do feel something for you," she said. "And yes, I am worried." She looked up at him.
"Don't be," Stefan said, then captured her lips in a kiss so potent, it filled her with wanting. As she returned his kiss, his hands began moving over her, and she didn't try to stop what he was doing. She couldn't. She could barely stand, so overcome by his nearness. He kissed her jaw, and the side of her neck, and returned to cover her mouth. A low moan emanated from somewhere deep in her throat as his hand came up to cup her breast, inciting forbidden pleasures. Then he slowly broke the kiss, looked at her soberly, and said, "Can I come to your stateroom tonight?"
Only then did Joanna realize how easily she'd yielded to him. Perhaps what they felt for each other was more physical than emotional, and what she perceived as the early stages of love was simply an overpowering attraction for an uncommonly handsome and compelling man. Tipping her head back, and said, "No, Stefan. I'm not the kind of woman Karl Porter portrays me to be. Surely you don’t believe the rumors that—"
"You're as agile in bed as you are on the trapeze?"
She looked at him, dumbfounded. "Karl said that?"
"Not to me, but to my assistant trainer."
"And you believe it!"
"It makes no difference to me what you and Karl Porter did before we met."
"But you believe it!" Joanna said, mortified with her behavior moments before, realizing she'd given Stefan every reason to believe Karl's lies. Of course he'd want to sample a woman who was as agile in bed as she was on the trapeze. And she'd been fool enough to throw herself at a man who's job it was to toy with felines who could snap his neck in an instant, or rip him to shreds with the swipe of a paw. "To set the record straight," she said, "Karl is the first man I have ever been involved with and everything he's saying about me is a lie. Now if you'll excuse me..." She turned abruptly and left. Stefan started after her, but she heard Walter calling his name and knew Stefan wouldn't follow.
She headed up the passageway leading to her quarters, shaken by their encounter. When Stefan held her, she felt like she belonged in his arms, like she never wanted to be anywhere but in the circle of his embrace. And his kisses were unlike anything she'd ever experienced. But his words afterwards put everything into perspective. It was as she'd thought. A physical attraction. Nothing more. At least with Stefan it was physical. He was a man. But she could not shake the feeling that it went much deeper with her.
Weary from a stressful day, and anxious to go to bed, she swept open the door to her stateroom and was almost overcome by the hot, stuffy air inside. She opened the transom, but it did little to alleviate the heat. Pulling the pins from her hair, she released the coil and shook it loose, sending tresses cascading over her shoulders. Then she stripped and stood naked at the wash basin. As she sponged herself off, thoughts of Stefan's hands where the cloth was passing made her restless for the reality of what he'd asked. To come to her bed and hold her flesh to flesh. She'd never been with a man like that. Never had a man caress her breast as Stefan had. Yet, with Stefan, it seemed right. As if her body had been designed by God for Stefan's pleasure, and Stefan's body for hers. And when he held her in his arms, they fit perfectly together. Although she'd never given much thought to the marital act, she was certain she and Stefan would fit together in that way as well.
Disturbed with the direction of her thoughts, she shoved the dangerous notion aside, slipped on a sheer nightgown and crawled into bed, knowing she'd have to be up at dawn to do her exercises, coach her acrobatics students and practice with Otto and Gene, all before the afternoon and evening performances. She sighed. She wondered if it was healthy to devote so much to one thing. With that thought, she turned off the light and closed her eyes...
She had not been asleep long when she awakened, damp with perspiration, and feeling uncomfortably hot. She propped open the door to the passageway, noting as she did that Stefan's door was also propped open. Thankful for the breeze that drifted in from the opened porthole at the end of the passageway, she crawled back into bed...
Several hours later she awakened, disturbed by low gurgling sounds. She opened her eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. The noise stopped. She closed her eyes once more and turned over. The noise started again. Low gurgling rumbles. Throaty noises. PURRS!
She sat up and turned on the light. And stared into the wide tawny eyes of the tiger cub, who sat beside her bed, staring back at her. Shoving the hair from her face, she edged away slowly, pressing her back against the pillow. When she lowered her hand, the cub bounded onto the bed and pounced on top of her, his velvety body pressing against her chest, his paws on her shoulders, his rough tongue licking her chin.
"Simba," Stefan's voice came from across the passageway. Simba!" His voice was closer. And then he was th
ere, standing in the doorway, stripped to the waist, wearing only his drawers. "Simba, down!" he commanded. The cub jumped off the bed and crouched at Stefan's feet. Stefan looked at Joanna. "It seems you made a friend in the menagerie."
"So it does," Joanna replied, struggling to collect her thoughts as she stared at Stefan's heavily-muscled body. Her gaze zigzagged between three parallel scars on one shoulder and a ragged scar crossing his ribs, and down to a scar that started low on his belly and disappeared beneath the waistband of his drawers. For some reason, that scar bothered her most. She knew he'd be as virile below the waist as he was above, and the thought that he could be stripped of his masculinity in an instant made her question why he'd subject himself to that possibility.
Noting the focus of her attention, Stefan said, "Rafat had a mind to insure his position as dominate male, but he missed by a hair. I'm still very much intact."
Joanna looked up and found him smiling. "I'm sorry, but I find no humor in that," she said, irritated that he was dismissing it as little more than a bad day on the job. The sight of the ugly scars on his near perfect body alarmed her. Until now, she knew he faced danger in the big cage, but seeing the scars emphasized how powerless he could be against his animals. One swipe could eviscerate him or emasculate him or rip out his heart.
"They're old scars," he said.
"Except for the holes in your arm and the one in your leg with sixteen stitches," she clipped.
Ignoring her comment, he said, "Simba. Come." The cub followed him out the stateroom.
Watching Stefan go, Joanna felt helpless to stop what was happening. She didn't want to love him, yet it was as if an intangible force was drawing her to him. Even after seeing the scars, and mulling over Helen Janacek's description of Stefan's father being mauled, and listening to her warnings against falling in love, Joanna knew she wasn't ready to walk out of Stefan's life.
She turned off the light and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, contemplating the changes in her life—Stefan's act replacing hers, their staterooms isolated in a passageway only they shared, and ironically, instead of hating him for his intrusion in her life, finding herself wanting him in a way she'd never wanted Karl, even when they were betrothed. As she pondered the incongruity of it, Tekla Janacek's words invaded her mind.
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