Kiss an Angel(20)

“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.”

“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.”

“Spec?”

“Short for spectacle. It’s the parade that starts the circus, and it’s compulsory.”

“You’re going to put me in the show?”

“Everybody except the workingmen and the candy butchers are in spec.”

“What are candy butchers?”

“The circus has a language all its own; you’ll pick it up after a while. The concessionaires are called butchers because, during the nineteenth century, a man who was a meat butcher quit his job to sell concessions for the old John Robinson Show. Cotton candy is floss; the concession stands are joints. The big top is always called the top, never a tent; the only tents in a circus are the cook tent and the menagerie. The lot is divided into the backyard, where we live and keep the trailers, and the front yard, or the public area. The acts have a separate language, too. You’ll get the hang of it.” He paused. “If you’re here long enough.”

She ignored his baiting. “What’s a donnicker? I remember you used that word yesterday.”

“The toilet, angel face.”

“Oh.” They drove on for several miles while she mulled over what he’d told her. But it was what he hadn’t told her that worried her the most. “Don’t you think you should give me a little more information about yourself? Real information.”

“I can’t think of a single reason why.”

“Because we’re married. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me.”

“I’m not interested.”

That hurt her feelings, but once again she didn’t make an issue of it. “Whether we like it or not, we took vows yesterday. I think the question we both need to ask is, are we going to work at making something of this marriage?”

He whipped his head around, and she had never seen a man look more appalled. “This isn’t a marriage, Daisy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not a marriage, so just get that idea out of your head right now.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it’s a marriage.”

“It’s not. It’s a . . . a circumstance.”

“A circumstance?”

“That’s right.”

“I see.”

“Good”

His stubbornness infuriated her. “Well, since this is the only circumstance I’m involved in at the moment, I intend to work at it, whether you do or not.”

“I don’t.”

“Alex, we took vows. Sacred vows.”

“They were meaningless, and you know it. I told you from the beginning how this was going to be. I don’t respect you—I don’t even like you very much—and I sure as hell don’t have any intention of playing the bridegroom.”

“Fine. I don’t like you, either!”

“Then we understand each other.”

“How could I like someone who let himself be bought? But that doesn’t mean I intend to run away from my responsibilities.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His gaze, slow and deliberate, slid down over her. “I’ll make sure that not all of your responsibilities are unpleasant.”

She could feel herself flush, and her immature reaction made her angry enough to challenge him. “If you’re referring to sex, why don’t you just come out and say it?”

“I’m definitely referring to sex.”

“With or without your whip?” She winced as soon as the impulsive words came out of her mouth.

“Lady’s choice.”

His amusement was suddenly more than she could stand. She turned away and gazed out the window.

“Daisy?”

Maybe it was only wishful thinking on her part, but his voice seemed gentler. She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“About sex?”

She nodded.

“We have to be realistic,” he said. “We’re both healthy people, and despite your various personality disorders, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes.”

She whirled around to give him her most withering glare, only to see one corner of his mouth tilt in something that almost certainly would have been a smile on another man. “You’re not hard on the eyes, either,” she said begrudgingly, “but you have a lot more personality disorders than I do.”