Page 75 of Kiss an Angel

Daisy knew a challenge when she heard one, but these people had been raised to court danger. Whatever amount of courage she’d been born with, she’d used up when she’d faced down Tater. “Maybe later.”

Alex sighed and tossed down his whip. “Sheba, this isn’t going to work. I’ll keep doing the act by myself.”

“Is this what it’s come down to, Alex? Five generations of circus in your blood, and you’ve given the Markov name to someone who doesn’t have the guts to go into the ring with you.”

Her green eyes darkened with scorn as she regarded Daisy. “No one’s asking you to walk the high wire or ride bareback. All you have to do is stand there. But you can’t even manage that, can you?”

“It’s—I’m sorry, but I’m just not good at this kind of thing.”

“What are you good at?”

Alex stepped forward. “That’s not fair. Daisy’s been taking care of the menagerie, even though she doesn’t have to work there anymore, and the animals are in the best condition they’ve been in in years.”

“Bully for her.” Daisy felt the impact of Sheba’s eyes as sharply as the crack of the whip. “Do you know anything about the Markov family?”

“Alex doesn’t say too much about his past.” He didn’t say much about his present, either. Whenever she tried to ask him about his life away from the circus, he changed the subject. She gathered that he’d been to college and that the icon he wore was a family piece, but little else.

“Leave it alone, Sheba,” he warned.

Sheba walked

past him, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Daisy. “The Markovs are one of the most famous circus families in history. Alex’s mother was the greatest bareback rider of her time. Alex might have been a champion equestrian, too, if he hadn’t grown so tall as a youngster.”

“Daisy doesn’t care about this,” he said.

“Yes, I do. Tell me, Sheba.”

“His mother’s family goes back five generations to Russia where the Markovs performed for the czars. The interesting thing about the Markovs is that the family traces most of its history through its women. No matter who they’ve married, they’ve kept the Markov name and passed it on to their children. But the Markov men have been great performers, too, masters of the bullwhip and some of the finest horsemen the circus has ever known.”

Alex began stuffing the paper tubes in an old canvas bag. “Come on, Daisy. I’ve had enough for the day.”

Sheba’s expression grew bitter. “The Markov men have always honored tradition and chosen their wives carefully. At least until Alex came along.” She paused, her eyes icy with contempt. “You’re not fit to stand in his shadow, Daisy, let alone carry the Markov name.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her bearing so dignified she made her shabby surroundings seem regal.

Daisy felt vaguely nauseated. “She’s right, Alex. I’m not good at any of this.”

“Nonsense.” He coiled the whips and looped them over his shoulder. “Sheba regards circus tradition the way some people regard religion. Don’t pay any attention.”

Daisy stared at the bag of small paper tubes. Numbly, she reached down and picked one of them up.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to be a Markov woman.”

“For God’s sake, put that down. I told you to ignore her. She has a distorted view of Markov history, anyway. There were a lot of scoundrels in the family, too. My uncle Sergey was the meanest bastard I’ve ever known.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better, but I can’t ignore what she said.” She walked over to the place she’d been standing earlier and turned in profile to him. “I’m tired of coming up short all the time.”

As she raised the tube to her lips, her knees were shaking so badly she was certain he’d notice. If Alex missed, he would hit her face and, perhaps, scar her for life.

“Stop it, Daisy.”

She closed her eyes.

“Daisy . . .”

She removed the tube, but she didn’t look at him. “Just do it, Alex. Please. The longer you wait, the harder you’re making this for me.”

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