Page 19 of Kiss an Angel

“You weren’t raised by Cossacks!”

“You must not have been listening very well last night.”

“That was nothing but P. T. Barnum showmanship. I know somebody had to have taught you how to ride and use a whip, but I hardly think it was Cossacks.” She paused. “Was it?”

He chuckled. “You’re something else, angel face.”

She wasn’t going to let him derail her. “How long have you been with the circus?”

“I traveled with Quest Brothers when I was in my late teens and early twenties. Since then I’ve gone out for a few weeks here and there.”

“What were you doing the rest of the time?”

“You know the answer to that question. I was serving time in prison for murdering that waitress.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, letting him know she had his number. “Are you saying you’re not a full-time circus manager?”

“Nope.”

Maybe if she backed off for a bit, she’d get more personal information out of him. “Who were the Quest Brothers, anyway?”

“There was just Owen Quest. Because of the Ringling tradition, circus people think it sounds better to say a show is owned by brothers, even if it isn’t. Owen owned this circus for twenty-five years, and just before he died, he asked me to take it out for its final season under his name.”

“That must be a sacrifice for you.” She regarded him expectantly, and when he didn’t respond, she prodded him a bit more. “Leaving behind your regular life . . . your regular job . . .”

“Mmm.” Ignoring her probing, he pointed to a power pole off the side of the highway. “Keep your eyes open for more of those arrows, will you?”

She noticed three red cardboard arrows, each of them imprinted with the blue letter Q, tacked to the pole and pointing off to the left. “What are they for?”

“They lead us to our next lot.” He slowed as he approached an intersection and turned left. “Dobs Murray—he’s our twenty-four-hour man—goes out the night before and puts them up. It’s called ‘arrowing the route.’ “

She yawned. “I can’t wait till we get there. As soon as we get in, I’m going to take a long nap.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do your sleeping at night. The circus doesn’t carry any excess baggage, and everybody works, even the kids. You have jobs to do.”

“You’re expecting me to work?”

“Afraid you’ll break a nail?”

“I’m not nearly as spoiled as you think.”

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe it, but since she was trying to avoid another argument, she ignored his baiting. “I simply meant that I don’t know anything about the circus.”

“You’ll learn. Bob Thorpe, the guy who usually runs the ticket window, is gone for a couple of days. You can help out until he gets back, assuming you can count well enough to make change.”

“In all major currencies,” she replied with a touch of defiance.

“Then you’ve got some housekeeping duties to attend to. You can start by cleaning up that god-awful mess in the trailer. And I wouldn’t object to a hot meal tonight.”

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nbsp; “Me, either. We’ll have to look for a good restaurant.”

“That’s not what I had in mind. If you don’t already know how to cook, I’ll help you get started.”

She stifled her irritation and adopted a reasonable tone. “I don’t think assigning me all the domestic chores is the best way to start this marriage. We should have an equal division of labor.”

“Agreed. And it’s time you start taking care of your half of that equal division. There’ll be other jobs, too. Once we get you a costume, I’ll put you in spec.”

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