A slow smile curved Tamar’s lips. Her hands left his arm and wandered lower. He flinched. She laughed under her breath.
“My poor, poor wolf. You are sick. Tamar can ease your pain.” She cupped him boldly. “No one understands you as I do. Come, my fine stallion. We will ride fast and far.”
Caitlin made a rude noise, jerking Morgan from his daze. “The man who wrote about the subtlety of serpents cannot have been thinking of you, Tamar.”
“And no man would want you,” she hissed. “You stink of horses. You are shaped like a stick. Morgan would not have you if you begged him.”
“Morgan is my friend.” Caitlin cast Morgan an apologetic look. “I don’t seduce my friends.”
“I do not think you are a woman at all. Why don’t you find another girl to play with?”
“That is hardly an insult worthy of you, Tamar. Where’s the poison in your tongue?”
Morgan growled. Two pairs of feminine eyes fixed on him, and Tamar shut her mouth. Caitlin folded her arms across her chest and started to speak.
“Be quiet,” he said. “If you want to fight, wait until I am gone.”
“Gone?” Caitlin repeated.
“I’m leaving tonight.”
Tamar clutched his arm. He shook off her grasp and met Caitlin’s stricken gaze. “The Professor said I should tell you before I go.”
“How very kind of you. How gentlemanly.”
“I never claimed to be either. I have repaid the debt—”
“And now you go on your merry way without a thought for what you’re leaving behind.”
“I made no promises.”
“Good riddance, then.”
“You are strong, Firefly. The strong survive.”
“If you don’t say good-bye to Harry, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”
“I would be a fool to risk your anger.”
“You would never make a good clown, Morgan Holt,” she said, tears thick in her throat. “Go on. Go.” She ran back into the big top as the band struck up the finale.
He obeyed before she could change her mind. Tamar had already slipped out of the pad room, for which he was profoundly grateful. But he hadn’t come away unscathed. The unfamiliar, bitter taste of regret burned on his tongue.
This was sadness. Guilt. He had let himself grow too close to Caitlin—and to Ulysses, and Harry. There was still one final ordeal ahead.
He waited by himself at the edge of the lot until the stream of townies emerging from the big top heralded the end of the show. Laughter and excited chatter dwindled and faded, only a few children lingering to catch a final glimpse of the freaks by moonlight. The rest drifted past the ticket wagon, down the midway and toward the town lights.
The performers came next—Florizel and the clowns, Vico with his dogs, Caitlin and her assistants leading the horses to their pickets, Regina the bird-boned rope-walker, Tor the strong man, and all the others. They left the tent singly or in small groups, each to his or her own wagon or tent. The roustabouts and crew would work through the night to tear down the big top and prepare the troupe for departure before dawn.
But even the rest would not sleep. It was a time for celebration, because at last the troupe could afford to take up winter quarters and rest until spring without fear of disbanding or starvation. The “freaks” of French’s Fantastic Family Circus would keep their beloved home and sanctuary for another year.
And Morgan would abandon it as he had every other home he had ever known.
The last, solitary figure to leave the big top moved with the deliberation of a man who suffered the aches of old age and believed no one was watching. Morgan skirted the edge of the lot and paused just outside of Harry’s tent until he heard the sound of pouring liquid and a satisfied sigh.
Bloodshot brown eyes looked up as Morgan entered. Harry set down his glass, and his snowy moustache lifted in a grin.
“My dear boy,” he said. “Pull up a stool. I believe that we can call our final performance in Colorado Springs yet another triumph, don’t you agree?” He lifted his bottle. “Perhaps tonight? No, no, of course not.” He took another swallow and smacked his lips. “All the more for me!”