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emphasized the ferocity of the big cats by employing blank-bulleted guns and rehearsed charges, or
bounces.
Her confidence transmitted itself to the audience, making her handling of the cats appear effortless. In truth, her body was coiled for any danger, and her mind was focused so intently on her cats, there might have been no audience at all.
    She stood between two high pedestals as the cats leaped over her head from both directions. They set up a light breeze, which stirred her hair. They roared when she cued them, setting up an echoing din. Now and then one reached out to paw at the stock of her whip, and she stopped him with a quick command. She sent her best leaper through a hoop of flame and coaxed her best balancer to walk on a glistening silver ball. She ended to waves of applause by trotting Merlin around the hippodrome track.
    At the back door Merlin jumped into a wheel cage and was turned over to Pete. “Nice show,” he said as he handed her a long chenille robe. “Smooth as silk.”
    â€œThanks.” Cold, she bundled into the robe. The spring night was frigid in contrast to the hot lights and heat in the big cage. “Listen, Pete, tell Gerry he can feed the cats tonight. They’re behaving themselves.”
    Pete snapped his gum and chuckled. “Won’t he be riding high tonight.” As he moved to the truck that would pull the cage to the cat area, Jo called after him.
    â€œPete.” She bit her lip, then shrugged when he twisted his head. “You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you?”
    Pete grinned and climbed into the cab of the truck. “Who you worried about, Jo? Those big cats or that skinny boy?”
    â€œBoth,” she answered. The rhinestones in her tiara sparkled as she tossed her head and laughed. Knowing she had nearly an hour before the finale parade, Jo walked away from the Big Top. She thought of wandering to the cookhouse for some coffee. Mentally, she began replaying every segment of her act. It had gone well, she thought, pleased with the timing and the flow. If Pete had said it had been smooth, Jo knew it had. She had heard his criticisms more than once over the past five years. True, Hamlet had tested her once or twice, but no one knew that but Jo and the cat. She doubted if anyone but Buck would have seen that he had given her trouble. Closing her eyes a moment, Jo rolled her shoulders, loosening tight, tensed muscles.
    â€œThat’s quite an act you have.”
    Jo whirled around at the sound of the voice. She could feel her heart rate accelerate. Though she wondered at her interest in a man she barely knew, Jo was aware that she had been waiting for him. There was a quick surge of pleasure as she watched him approach, and she allowed it to show on her face.
    â€œHello.” She saw that he smoked a cigar, but unlike Duffy’s, his was long and slim. Again she admired the elegance of his hands. “Did you like the show?”
    He stopped in front of her, then studied her face with a thoroughness that made her wonder if her makeup had smeared. Then he gave a small, surprised laugh and shook his head. “Do you know,” he began, “when you told me this morning that you did an act with cats, I had Siamese in mind rather than African.”
    â€œSiamese?” Jo repeated blankly, then laughed. “House cats?” He brushed her hair behind her back while Jo giggled at the thought of coaxing a Siamese to jump through a flaming hoop.
    â€œFrom my point of view,” he told her as he let a strand of her hair linger between his fingers, “it made more sense than a little thing like you walking into a cage with a dozen lions.”
    â€œI’m not little,” Jo corrected good-naturedly. “Besides, size hardly matters to twelve lions.”
    â€œNo, I suppose it doesn’t.” He lifted his eyes from her hair and met hers. Jo continued to smile, enjoying looking at him. “Why do you