who have that fire in them.”
There was some shadow, some hardness in his
expression that made Sara think he didn’t completely approve of
Michel Lemaitre. She chewed at the corner of a nail, a horrible
habit, although short nails were necessary in trapeze. Would Michel
Lemaitre approve of her?
She stood and started to clean up her
breakfast things. They were going to leave for the airport soon,
and once they were there, she couldn’t come back. She was
abandoning her homeland—and her long-time trapeze partner—to follow
her dreams. Was it worth it? She had a paralyzing moment of
doubt.
Jason took her in his arms, speaking to her
in an achingly tender voice. “Everything’s going to be great, Sara.
But if you’re not ready to make this decision, that’s okay too. If
you want to stay, you can stay.”
“I don’t want to stay,” she said against his
shoulder, and she realized she meant it. “I want to go.”
“Let’s go then. If you get to Paris and you
don’t like it, you can always come back.”
But she couldn’t come back. That’s what he
didn’t understand. Baat would never forgive her for doing this
selfish thing. Even if he gave in and came to the Cirque, he would
never forgive her.
Oh, but Jason’s arms were so strong around
her, and her dreams were so close. A fourteen-hour flight, and her
life could start over. She’d be part of the world’s most famous
circus.
And this strong, kind, masterful man would be
with her. That would be the most wonderful thing.
* * * * *
Sara was quiet during the cab ride to the
airport. Jason couldn’t blame her for feeling pensive. For
doubting. She had nothing with her, only her dreams and
convictions. She’d put her life in the hands of a stranger she’d
just met. She was either very brave or very stupid, and he didn’t
usually go for stupid women, so he had to bank on brave.
As for him…he fought his own doubts. Perhaps
he should have delayed this abrupt departure, asked her to mull
over her choices a little longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have slept
with her again last night. Impulsive, unprofessional behavior, but
what could he do? She had a way of stripping his self-control. Him,
Jason Beck, the most controlled, by-the-rules guy at the Cirque.
Even now, he was aware of her every movement, every sigh and every
shift.
About halfway there, she sat up straighter in
her seat. She spoke to the taxi driver in Mongolian and he eased to
the side of the road, stopping on a corner. She turned to Jason.
“This will only take a minute.” She spoke again to the driver and
got out of the car.
Jason followed, afraid to let her out of his
sight, but she only went a short distance, to an alley beside a
soot-blackened cement building. A small, circular heap of rocks
nestled just inside the corner, against the wall.
“My parents died here,” she said, turning to
him. “Almost two years ago now. A drunk driving accident.” She
knelt down and replaced a few stones that had come dislodged from
the cairn. “Baat helped me build this to remember them.”
Yes, the accident. The reason she had no
money, the reason she had to make her way alone. Jason looked back
toward the cab, then leaned to help her. “Did they catch the person
at fault?”
“The person at fault was my father. He drank
a lot. Alcoholism is a—”
“Serious problem in Mongolia. Yes, you told
me, that first night.” When they stood, he took her hand, wanting
to comfort her. “I’m sorry you lost your parents.”
She didn’t seem to want comfort. She pocketed
one of the smallest stones and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t very
blue in Ulaanbaatar. It was smoggy and cold.
“Last chance,” he said quietly. “Last chance
to stay.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been leaving for a
long time. There’s nothing for me here.”
They rode the rest of the way in somber
silence, then the bustle and confusion of the airport swallowed
them up. He kept hold of her hand, like a father
There was some shadow, some hardness in his
expression that made Sara think he didn’t completely approve of
Michel Lemaitre. She chewed at the corner of a nail, a horrible
habit, although short nails were necessary in trapeze. Would Michel
Lemaitre approve of her?
She stood and started to clean up her
breakfast things. They were going to leave for the airport soon,
and once they were there, she couldn’t come back. She was
abandoning her homeland—and her long-time trapeze partner—to follow
her dreams. Was it worth it? She had a paralyzing moment of
doubt.
Jason took her in his arms, speaking to her
in an achingly tender voice. “Everything’s going to be great, Sara.
But if you’re not ready to make this decision, that’s okay too. If
you want to stay, you can stay.”
“I don’t want to stay,” she said against his
shoulder, and she realized she meant it. “I want to go.”
“Let’s go then. If you get to Paris and you
don’t like it, you can always come back.”
But she couldn’t come back. That’s what he
didn’t understand. Baat would never forgive her for doing this
selfish thing. Even if he gave in and came to the Cirque, he would
never forgive her.
Oh, but Jason’s arms were so strong around
her, and her dreams were so close. A fourteen-hour flight, and her
life could start over. She’d be part of the world’s most famous
circus.
And this strong, kind, masterful man would be
with her. That would be the most wonderful thing.
* * * * *
Sara was quiet during the cab ride to the
airport. Jason couldn’t blame her for feeling pensive. For
doubting. She had nothing with her, only her dreams and
convictions. She’d put her life in the hands of a stranger she’d
just met. She was either very brave or very stupid, and he didn’t
usually go for stupid women, so he had to bank on brave.
As for him…he fought his own doubts. Perhaps
he should have delayed this abrupt departure, asked her to mull
over her choices a little longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have slept
with her again last night. Impulsive, unprofessional behavior, but
what could he do? She had a way of stripping his self-control. Him,
Jason Beck, the most controlled, by-the-rules guy at the Cirque.
Even now, he was aware of her every movement, every sigh and every
shift.
About halfway there, she sat up straighter in
her seat. She spoke to the taxi driver in Mongolian and he eased to
the side of the road, stopping on a corner. She turned to Jason.
“This will only take a minute.” She spoke again to the driver and
got out of the car.
Jason followed, afraid to let her out of his
sight, but she only went a short distance, to an alley beside a
soot-blackened cement building. A small, circular heap of rocks
nestled just inside the corner, against the wall.
“My parents died here,” she said, turning to
him. “Almost two years ago now. A drunk driving accident.” She
knelt down and replaced a few stones that had come dislodged from
the cairn. “Baat helped me build this to remember them.”
Yes, the accident. The reason she had no
money, the reason she had to make her way alone. Jason looked back
toward the cab, then leaned to help her. “Did they catch the person
at fault?”
“The person at fault was my father. He drank
a lot. Alcoholism is a—”
“Serious problem in Mongolia. Yes, you told
me, that first night.” When they stood, he took her hand, wanting
to comfort her. “I’m sorry you lost your parents.”
She didn’t seem to want comfort. She pocketed
one of the smallest stones and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t very
blue in Ulaanbaatar. It was smoggy and cold.
“Last chance,” he said quietly. “Last chance
to stay.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been leaving for a
long time. There’s nothing for me here.”
They rode the rest of the way in somber
silence, then the bustle and confusion of the airport swallowed
them up. He kept hold of her hand, like a father
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