The Traveling Man

  I was about to head for the bedroom when Kes turned and grinned at me. “Works out pretty good having a co-driver,” and he winked.

  Maybe Sorcha had never driven the RV. I wouldn’t ask him about that—just hearing her name sent him into a foul mood. But maybe if Zachary happened to know…

  My phone rang, and I couldn’t help smiling when I saw that Mirelle was calling.

  “Hey, chica!” she yelled. “Happy freakin’ birthday! What are you doing right now? I hope it’s that super-hot, bike-riding boy of yours!”

  “I wish! I’ve just driven 25,000 pounds of RV 200 miles. Kes is driving now, so I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Shut up! You’re sleeping for your 25th birthday?!” Mirelle’s tone was disgusted.

  “For now. It’s a jump day, so the guys were up all night doing the takedown,” I yawned. “But Kes says he’ll make it up to me later. I’m going to hold him to that.”

  Mirelle snorted. “I bet that’s not all you’ll be holding!”

  I shook my head as I smiled to myself: she didn’t change.

  I snuggled down into the sheets that smelled of Kes, and listened to Mirelle telling me about her vacation. She’d completely forgiven me for ditching her when I’d told her about Kes. She said she wanted to meet him, but I couldn’t see how that would happen.

  When we finished our catch up, I lay back and tried to sleep. But I kept thinking about what Kes had said: that Heaven for him was me and the carnival.

  I tossed and turned for more than an hour, finally passing out as we crossed the border into Texas, my dreams confused and wearying.

  I woke up as we bumped across the carnival field hours later. I felt better than I had at lunchtime, but still a little rough around the edges.

  Everywhere, the crazy carnival routine was swinging into action, and already the ground plan for the midway was set up. As I squinted into the sun, I could see the helter-skelter rising into the air alongside the pin of the Ferris wheel at the back end of the field.

  Kes was out of the RV and talking with Zef and Tucker by the rig, so I decided to leave them to it. I knew from experience that they wouldn’t stop now until the bleachers were operational and the ramps were in place.

  I’d make some of my famous broccoli pizzas later, then they could eat whenever they wanted.

  In the meantime, I went to see if Madame Sylva had arrived. I often helped her to set up. Her small booth was one of the easiest, but it was still more than she could manage alone, although she did enjoy decorating it with colorful scarves.

  She was standing waiting for me when I found her in the midway.

  Her eyes went straight to my necklace.

  “Ah,” she croaked happily. “You’ve got your Ferris wheel close to your heart.”

  “Oh yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Her intense gaze made me uncomfortable, so I got busy hauling on the guy ropes to erect the tent, then hammering the pegs into place. Hers was one of the simplest booths, once Ollo had taught me what to do, and I was proud of being able to manage by myself. With the tent up, I carried in her small table and two chairs.

  Madame Sylva was already poring over her crystal ball.

  “Ah, I see,” she whispered. “You’ve made your decision.”

  I frowned at her. “What decision?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind me, dearie. These Circus jump days are too much for an old bird. I think I’ll go and have forty winks.”

  Then she waved and tottered off toward her small caravan.

  I didn’t have time to worry about her words, there were plenty of other people who could use a spare pair of hands.

  Finally, as the sun sank in the Texan sky, most of the midway was finished, although the large mechanical rides would take longer. Zachary was pleased and flopped down on a deckchair outside our RV.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yep,” he smiled tiredly. “Getting there. We’ll finish by three, maybe four in the morning. Everyone will get some sleep.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Kes and the guys should be taking a break soon. How about a slice of broccoli pizza and a beer?”

  “Will you get mad if I pick the broccoli off?”

  “Yep.”

  He pulled a face. “Broccoli pizza and beer sounds great.”

  I’d learned from experience that one pizza each wasn’t enough, and the guys inhaled food like a pack of wolves. The scent of melted cheese must have made its way to the arena, because they came loping out of the twilight, their eyes fixed on the food.

  Zachary finished his meal and stood up.

  “Gotta get back to it. H&S inspection scheduled for 9.30AM,” he said, waving at Kes who saluted him with a slice of pizza.

  Kes didn’t even sit down to eat, scarfing a whole pizza, before giving me a cheesy kiss and heading back.

  “Don’t wait up,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s going to be a late one.”

  I cleaned up and fell into bed, totally exhausted, knowing that I had it easier than most people in the carnival.

  It was only a couple of hours before dawn when I felt the mattress shift beneath me.

  “Did you finish?” I asked, rolling over sleepily as Kes pulled me into his arms.

  “Yeah, we did,” he whispered against my hair. “Go back to sleep, beautiful.”

  When I woke three hours later, the Texas light was bright, the sun already blazing overhead. Kes was still curled around me, his left arm holding my boob firmly. Typical.

  Trying not to disturb him, I managed to extricate myself. I stood up soundlessly and watched him as he slept. He looked younger and sweeter in sleep, the energy that fizzed under his skin absent; the hard edges and single-minded focus that made him the top of his dangerous profession were softened for now.

  His hair had grown longer, curling across his forehead and at the nape of his neck, making me want to wrap it around my fingers. The sheet had slipped from his shoulders, so it was draped in a tangle around his legs and hips, one foot sticking out at the bottom, a vulnerability that wedged my heart wide open.

  Even in rest, he looked powerful, the muscles ridged along his chest and stomach, his biceps hard, his thighs and calves firm to the touch.

  And I knew, under the sheet, his cock was like steel. I’d felt it against my ass as I’d climbed out of bed. I’d been tempted to touch and taste, but right now he needed sleep more than he needed sex. I wouldn’t be selfish.

  I took one last look, fixing the beautiful picture in my mind, and then headed to the kitchen.

  When I glanced at my watch, I knew I could only give Kes and the boys another hour in bed before they had to be ready for the townies to inspect the site.

  The thought made me pause. For the first time, townies were them, which meant that I was us, one of the carnies. A small smile crossed my face.

  As it happened, I didn’t need to wake Kes, the scent of grilling bacon did it just fine. Then Tucker and Zef came stumbling in.

  Bleary-eyed, they swallowed down forkfuls of eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes and toast, washed down with pints of OJ. I was on a mission to get fruit or vegetables into every meal. I don’t think they even noticed: food was fuel.

  Through the window, we saw Zachary heading our way with two men in suits and hardhats. The H&S men were on time, which was a good sign. Zach hated it when he had to chase down the local officials, because it delayed everything, sometimes for hours. That had happened when we got to Kansas, and I could see how much it added to everyone’s stress.

  The guys drank down a last mouthful of coffee, then headed out. But Kes turned back, pulling me into his arms and kissing me thoroughly.

  “Go!” I laughed. “You have important people to talk to.”

  “No one more important than you,” he murmured against my lips. “You had a shit birthday, but I’m going to make it up to you.”

  “What did you have in mind?” I asked, rubbing against the front of his jeans and waking his dick in t
he process.

  “Yeah, I’ll make it up to you … behind the bleachers, at the bottom of the field after dark, in our bedroom, several times…”

  I laughed happily. “Sounds like a great birthday. I can’t wait.”

  I think Kes took that literally, because he started pulling me back to the bedroom.

  “Health and Safety!” I giggled.

  “Condoms,” he replied, which made me laugh even harder.

  But then Zachary was at the door, giving Kes a stern look.

  “Kestrel! Get your cute ass down here!”

  Kes turned and gave him a withering stare. “Don’t ever call my ass cute, man!”

  “But it is cute!” I joined in as Zach winked at me.

  Kes muttered something under his breath, then jumped out of the RV, accidentally-on-purpose shoulder-barging Zachary along the way.

  I didn’t see the guys again till just before their show, and I spent most of the day hanging out with Rhonda and her kids. Kes found me talking to their horses.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Any particular reason?” I asked.

  He shrugged, a self-conscious gesture that had me smiling to myself.

  “Do you ever miss this?” I questioned. “The horses, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “But you never went back to it after…”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  Kes sighed. “No money, for one thing. Horses cost money: feed, transport, veterinarian bills. I could have joined someone else’s act, but they all seemed kind of lame. You know, girly circus shit.”

  “What about Cirque du Soleil? They wanted you.”

  “They wouldn’t take me till I was 18, and I needed to work. When my father…” and he pulled a face, “when he brought me back after I ran away the first time, I knew I had to stay clear of anything familiar. I was good with engines, so…” He gestured loosely. “But yeah, I miss being around animals.”

  One of the horses nuzzled Kes’s shoulder, and he stroked her velvety nose.

  “Rhonda lets me take a ride sometimes. And I helped teach her kids some stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, a few tricks, jumps, things like that. I guess you never lose the knack.”

  Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. He squinted at the screen, and I could see his lips moving as he made sense of the words. It was painful to watch.

  “Zach wants me,” he said. “We’d better get going. Come see the show later?”

  “Always,” I said.

  He grinned and draped his arm around my shoulders as we walked back toward the arena.

  I was surprised to see a woman in a pant suit sitting in one of our deckchairs outside the RV. Another man was with her, and Zachary was hovering by the pair of them, looking uncomfortable.

  “Ah, here he is!” said the woman, running her eyes across Kes in a proprietary way that made my hackles rise. “Shelly Lendl—great to meet you.”

  Kes gave her his trademark smirk, but raised his eyebrows at Zach.

  “Ms Lendl is a journalist,” Zachary explained, although he shouldn’t have bothered. Her colleague with the large, professional camera bag was a giant clue.

  “How can we help you, Ms Lendl?” I asked politely, my hand around Kes’s waist.

  Her eyes slid to me, a curiously icy sensation. “And you are?”

  “Very interested in journalists,” I smiled, my expression bland. “Who did you say that you work for?”

  Her lips tightened a fraction. “I’m freelance.” Then she focused on Kes again. “I’d really like to interview you, Mr. Hawkins. Readers will be fascinated to know why a record-breaking stuntman is traveling with a smalltime funfair.”

  Kes’s expression didn’t change, but the sudden stiffness in his body told me he wasn’t impressed by Ms Lendl.

  “I’m just about to go get ready for my show,” he said, taking a step toward the RV.

  “Super! I’ll have Josh here take some shots now and while you’re doing your show, too. We can talk after.”

  I could tell what Kes was thinking. This woman had rubbed him the wrong way by describing the carnival as a ‘smalltime funfair’. It wasn’t so much what she’d said, as the sneer in her voice when she said it. But at the same time, he recognized the value of publicity.

  His eyes flicked to Zach’s, and he nodded minutely.

  “Great!” said Zachary, visibly relieved. “We’ll set that up for later.”

  Inside the RV, Kes spoke quietly. “What do you think?”

  “No reason she shouldn’t be legit, except that she’s a bitch.”

  Kes smiled at me and winked.

  “But just to be on the safe side,” I continued, “I’m going to look her up. Go get ready for the show and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  One quick search brought up everything I needed to know about Shelly Lendl—and she was exactly what she said she was.

  Kes came up behind me while I sat at the laptop. “Anything?”

  I was momentarily distracted by the fact he was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing just a pair of ripped jeans.

  “She’s definitely a journalist, but the tabloid kind. Most of her stories have been sold to ‘TMZ’ and some to ‘Us Weekly’. She seems to have more articles on the size of Kim Kardashian’s ass than anything else.” I gave Kes a pointed look. “No ass pictures, even if yours is cute.”

  He grinned. “You think I should talk to her?”

  “You must have done Press interviews before?”

  “Yeah, when I got the world record thing, but it was casual. I don’t think it was of much interest except to gear-heads and grease monkeys.”

  “Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t talk to her. Just be careful. Talk about your work, but probably best to steer her away from personal topics.”

  Kes didn’t look happy at the thought of that. “Other than telling her it’s none of her fucking business?”

  “Probably best to avoid that. Just say, ‘I’m happy to discuss my work, but not my private life’. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  “And then smile. She’ll be putty in your hands.”

  Kes laughed and shook his head. “Got it.”

  “And don’t walk around in your underwear.”

  He leaned down to kiss my throat. “You love it when I do that.”

  “Ah, you’ve noticed my ogling.”

  “It was pretty obvious.”

  “Darn it! I thought I was being discreet.”

  He laughed, a low down sexy rumble in his chest. “Last time I did it, you licked my chest. Then I bent you over the bed and fucked you.”

  My cheeks heated up at the memory. “Fair point,” I breathed.

  He turned to leave, shooting a scorching look over his shoulder. “Hold that thought.”

  I watched him from the window as he padded across the grass to the rig, ready to leather-up.

  The reporter tried to follow him, but Zach cut her off, explaining that Kes needed to get in the zone before a show. She frowned, but didn’t argue. I noticed that the photographer took some shots of Kes in his ripped jeans.

  The show was great, which meant I had to watch most of it between my fingers, as usual. I thought it would get easier, seeing Kes fling himself fifty feet in the air, and pounding down a narrow ramp on the far side of the jump, but it didn’t. If anything, it got worse. It almost seemed like a game of Russian roulette to me, and as much as I hated the feeling in my gut, I couldn’t help thinking that eventually, one day, the odds would be against him and something would go wrong.

  Afterward, Kes was relaxed and happy. He showered quickly, then sat outside with a glass of ice water to talk to Ms Lendl.

  I hovered in the background, listening to her questions, which were bland enough. Clearly, she’d done her homework, and had the basics of what Kes did. I was impressed, and I ended up learning quite a bit from her, annoying as that was.

/>   But then her questions took a more personal turn.

  “I can’t help wondering,” she asked, “why someone with your talents is traveling with a smalltime fair?”

  I could tell that Kes was pissed, but he hid it well.

  “The Reynolds family are friends, so I’m happy to work for their carnival,” he said.

  “What does your own family think of your choices?” she asked, digging a little more.

  “I’m happy to talk about my work,” he said, crisply repeating the phrase I’d given him, “but I won’t talk about private matters.”

  She didn’t bat an eye.

  “And your preference to stay smalltime, is that anything to do with the fact that you’re illiterate?”

  I took a sharp intake of breath as Kes’s expression darkened.

  “Who told you that?” he said, almost growling at her.

  “So, it’s true?”

  I decided to step in before Kes gave her a story about how he lost his temper and punched the cameraman who was in his face, recording Kes’s brooding anger.

  “I don’t know where you got your information,” I laughed lightly, “but dyslexia is hardly the same as being illiterate. Goodness, you don’t want to give your readers the wrong impression when between ten and fifteen percent of adults in the US suffer with the same issue.”

  Ms Lendl was thrown by my sudden interruption and scowled at me, but she recovered her poise quickly. More importantly, I’d given Kes enough time to shut down his explosive temper.

  “Dyslexia?” she jeered. “Isn’t that just a convenient cover for someone who never learned to read or write?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything convenient about dyslexia,” I said, with a cool smile.

  “And I suppose you’re an expert on the subject?” she asked nastily.

  “Well, as a trained educator specializing in dyslexia, I’ve certainly studied it and worked with a number of dyslexic children.”

  “I see,” she said tightly. “So you’re saying that there is no problem with illiteracy and children who travel with fairs?”

  “No more than in the general population,” I stated calmly. “We even have our own book group for children here at the carnival. You can come and meet some of them if you like.”