cotton shirt, suspenders, and trousers like the other men, his lean, muscular build now apparent. But even with the change in clothing, he stood out from everyone else.
The gleam in his eyes was full of mischief. “Like you, Angel, I’ve joined the ranks of Mahoney & Pearson’s traveling troupe. I’m a bona fide carny now.”
Roland watched without surprise as Angel made a quick excuse of being needed in the kitchen and hurried away as swiftly and gracefully as a kitten with a wolf in pursuit.
“She sure is jumpy,” Chester observed from beside him. “You two have a history?”
“Not much of one and not like you mean it. A case of mistaken motives that started out in a series of awkward missteps. Truth is, I’ve known Miss Mornay less than twenty-four hours.”
“You’re joshing. With the way you two were staring at one another? No history whatsoever?”
“No history.”
“Humph. Could’ve fooled me.”
Roland decided it was high time to shift the focus off his life. “I happened to notice your eye wandering over to that pretty little blond sitting at the end of the bench.” He glanced at the girl, who talked with another woman, similar to her in coloring and features, then looked back at his bunk mate.
Chester winced, and Roland noticed the flea man turn a shade red. “Cassandra Hollar. Part of the top act I was telling you about. That’s her mother with her. And like her mom, Cassie’s a bareback rider.” His words grew wistful. “Best there is in all of New England, I imagine. All the world.”
“I assume it’s safe to say you two have a history together?”
“Nope. Her parents won’t hear of it.” Chester frowned, unusual to see on his effusive features. “They consider a flea trainer beneath them and unsuitable for their daughter.”
“Tough break. She feel the same?”
“Hard to tell.” Chester ducked his head, taking interest in his coffee. “Mahoney wants me to show you around after breakfast. Let you get a feel for the place.”
“I’d like that.” Roland looked toward the canvas, where Angel had disappeared. He thought she was taking a considerable amount of time to bring the next platter out and wondered if she was hiding from him.
“This is ridiculous,” Angel chastised beneath her breath. “You can’t hide behind this curtain forever.”
“You say something?” Millie wanted to know.
“No, nothing.” She gave her instructor a bright smile to hide her embarrassment at being caught talking to herself.
“Humph. You gonna take them bowls of porridge out or what?”
Angel straightened her backbone. She had escaped being trapped in an unfortunate marriage, had fled the everyday cruelties of her severe aunt and cousins, and had jumped aboard a train bound for a destination unknown to her in the dark of night. Surely she could muster up enough courage to again confront the grandson of the legendary crime boss who ruled half of New York City.
She swallowed hard. Then again, when she thought of it that way…
“Those bowls ain’t gonna sprout wings and fly to the tables.”
Angel nodded, determined. “I’m on my way.”
The next few minutes went unpredictably well. Every now and then she sensed Roland watching her, but she avoided looking in his direction overly much. She would have preferred not to notice him at all, but his deep laugh as he talked with a couple of the carnies was both appealing and distracting and caught her attention more than once.
“Why does he have to be so disgustingly handsome?” she muttered as she sneaked a glance at him while gathering empty bowls as Millie had told her.
“Were you talking to me?” Cassie asked from behind.
“What?” she gasped, nearly dropping the dishes in shock. “No. I’m afraid it’s a bad habit I acquired. Talking to myself, that is.”
“If that’s your only bad habit,
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