To Catch a Wolf (8 page)

Ulysses moved to Morgan's side. "I hope that Caitlin does not suffer a grave

disappointment," he said softly. "It is much worse than Harry admits.”

"I know.”

"You are remaining with us?”

"I will stay. I have no choice, do I?”

"I sometimes wonder," Ulysses said, "if Caitlin is not right, and there is a reason for such

events—one beyond our understanding.”

"Then whoever makes such reasons has no love for me—or you.”

" 'The heart has its reasons which reason knows not of.'“

"You are a fraud, Professor," Morgan said. "You still listen to your heart.”

"And you do not?”

Morgan turned on his heel and walked away.

The fire had drawn Niall, though he might have missed it had he not left his hotel for a

late-night stroll. Colorado Springs was not so great a town to ignore a good-sized

conflagration, especially when it was burning up a visiting circus.

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So Niall followed the crowds to the outskirts of town, where most of the blaze had

already been extinguished. He had not seen the circus perform, preoccupied as he had

been with the business he had recently completed in New Mexico, but he recognized

disaster when he saw it. He watched with detached curiosity as the circus people ran to

and fro, gesticulating and crying out as some new loss was discovered.

He could almost pity them. His father had suffered such setbacks in his early years of

business in Denver, but he had persevered and overcome them. He had been daring

and ruthless as well as shrewd, as one had to be in these times. Niall had carried on in

his footsteps. The Munroe fortune had doubled in the seven years since Niall had taken

control.

But he had started with an advantage. These people, vagrants and mountebanks, lived

on the edge of ruin. He doubted any of them would accept a decent, steady job in place

of the life they lived.

Once he had considered the wandering life himself. Once he'd had no thought of the

future beyond the next five minutes. Athena had paid for his folly. Now he spent every

day trying to make it right. And failing.

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and remembered his last

conversation with Athena. "Where did you get your hard heart, Niall?”

She simply could not understand. How could she, sheltered as she was? And he

intended to keep her that way. She had no conception of the dangers of the world, the

cruelties it held for a young woman foolish enough to believe she could change it.

Niall sighed and looked at the stars, visible now that the smoke had begun to clear.

When was the last time he had glanced up to notice the constellations, or walked for the

sake of walking? He took for granted what Athena was unable to do, because of him.

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Well, now he had an opportunity to prove Athena wrong about the nature of his heart, if

he chose to take it.

He dropped his gaze and followed a lone figure as it crossed the lot with a purposeful

stride. One of the performers. A woman—by no means curvaceous, almost childlike—

but graceful nonetheless. In fact, the way she moved was arresting, and he found

himself staring after her when she disappeared into one of the undamaged tents.

It wasn't until he was almost there that he realized he had been walking toward that very

tent. He stopped, considering retreat. This was not his world, or his business.

But his sudden impulse to help demanded that he find someone to accept his

generosity. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and examined the contents. A hundred

dollars would be more than adequate.

A head poked through the tent flap. It was crowned by an untidy cap of curly red hair,

and the face beneath was attached to the young woman he had followed.

She stared at him, nonplussed. He tipped his hat.

"Forgive me," he said, "but have I the pleasure of addressing one of the performers of

this establishment?”

The girl burst into laughter. "You talk like Ulysses. Who are you?”

It was his turn to be taken aback. That she could laugh at such a time amazed him, but

her bluntness was astounding.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "My name is Niall Munroe. I could not help but notice the

damage you have suffered as the result of the fire—”

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"Did you?" She stepped fully from the tent, and he got his first good look at her. His

initial impression had been correct: she was slight, boyishly slim in an oversized coat,

and elfin in size and bearing, but her eyes were bright and her smile dazzling. "And why

should you care, Niall Munroe?”

Indeed. He thought once more of walking away, but her eyes held him rooted to the

spot. "I had thought to offer my assistance," he said stiffly, "but if you have no use for it,

Miss—”

"Hughes. Caitlin Hughes. And I still wonder why a towny should care what happens to

people like us.”

Towny. She spoke the word like an epithet. He drew himself up to his considerably

greater height. "In Denver, it is customary for the fortunate to assist those who are less

so. When I noted the degree of your misfortune, I hardly thought that you would be likely

to reject any offer of help.”

"Oh." She widened her eyes. "I understand. You are a very rich man from the big city,

and you wish to give us charity.”

He slammed his hat back on his head. "I see I have offended you, so I will be on my

way—”

"No. Wait." She bit her full lower lip and sighed. "I'm—we are not very used to townies

offering help. Most of the time, they—" She broke off. "You'll have to speak to Harry.”

"Harry?”

"He is the manager and owner. I'm sure he'd be very happy to see you, Mr. Munroe.”

He had the absurd desire to ask her to call him Niall. "I would be obliged, Miss Hughes.”

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She flushed, raising freckles on her pale skin. He wondered again how he could

possibly find such a ragamuffin attractive.

Caitlin looked up the long, slim length of the gentleman and cursed herself for an idiot.

She knew as well as anyone that the troupe was in dire straits, even if she pretended

otherwise for Harry's sake. If some towny wanted to offer help, who was she to say no?

Even if all of the alarm bells in her head were going off at once.

Yet, she had to admit, this fellow was no ordinary towny. He was dressed like someone

with a great deal of money. He carried himself like a prince. He was handsome, in a

cold sort of way. And he looked at her with a strange intensity she couldn't ignore.

Morgan had that intensity. But when he looked at her, she saw only a friend. She felt no

prickling in her belly, nor heat in her cheeks.

"I'll tell him that you have come," she said, retreating quickly into the tent.

"Back so soon?" Harry said, looking up from the chaos of ledgers and papers he had

salvaged from the office wagon. His face was drawn and haggard. "What is it, Firefly?”

"There is a man outside—a towny—who

well, as peculiar as it seems, he wishes to

help us.”

"Indeed?" Harry pursued his lips. "That is peculiar. Well, send him in, by all means!”

Caitlin nodded and went outside to Niall Munroe. He was fidgeting, something she

hadn't expected to see in such a dignified gentleman. It made him seem more human,

somehow.

"Harry—Mr. French—will see you now," she said.

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"Thank you." He nodded and stepped into the tent.

Caitlin waited outside, pacing back and forth. The scent of burnt canvas and wood was

choking, but the tingling in her nerves only heightened her hope. Could Niall Munroe's

appearance be yet another miracle? Several months ago, she'd been certain that

Morgan had been meant to come when he did. Now her intuition was telling her the

same thing of the gentleman stranger.

Your intuition, or something much more physical?

She shook her head in self-disgust, but waited out the long hour while Munroe

consulted with Harry. Munroe emerged at last, settled his hat on his head, and buttoned

his coat against the night's chill. He did not seem surprised to find her still there.

"Good-night, Miss Hughes," he said. "We shall meet again.”

She flushed at his bow and looked elsewhere until he was some distance across the lot

and headed toward town. Harry appeared a moment later.

"You will not believe this, my dear, but we are saved yet again!”

"Saved?" she murmured.

"That gentleman, Mr. Munroe, has offered us an engagement in Denver, a private

performance for his family's orphanage. The Munroes are very important people in

Colorado—I have heard of them myself. They are extremely wealthy and influential. Mr.

Munroe's sister is quite a central figure in Denver society and does much good work. He

wishes to contribute to her charities in a most novel way. He has agreed to replace our

tents, provide us with a lot on land he owns, and pay us very well indeed. So well, in

fact, that it will more than make up for this night's losses.”

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"So much?" Caitlin could no longer see Munroe's form, yet she continued to search

against all reason. "It is so late in the season—”

"One last performance, and then we may have enough to winter over as we had

planned. How can we turn down such an opportunity?”

We can't. Of course we can't. Yet Caitlin felt a wild see-sawing of dread and

anticipation, as if she were attempting a new and very dangerous stunt.

"When are we to leave?" she asked.

"As soon as we can be ready. I shall call the troupers together at dawn and share the

good news." He clasped his hands. "Ah, it has turned out to be a much better night than

events would suggest! Who knows where such patronage might lead?”

Indeed. Harry always found the good in everything, but she felt the same sense of

anticipation.

Of one thing she was certain. Their lives were about to change—hers, Morgan's,

everyone's. She couldn't begin to guess where those changes were leading, but Fate

had intervened with a vengeance.

After tonight, nothing would be the same again.

The tall, familiar figure strode up the drive, and Athena rolled away from the parlor

windows to face the door. Niall had come home.

He had been gone a very long four months. Strange that in spite of their last argument,

she had missed him terribly. Not even the constant social and philanthropic

commitments had been completely successful in easing her loneliness.

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When did it begin? she asked herself, listening for the door and Brinkley's greeting.

When did I become

dissatisfied?

She could not pinpoint the precise day or date, but the feeling of emptiness had been

growing, and it troubled her. She had spent wasted hours looking out the window at her

friends and neighbors walking and riding in the crisp autumn air, and remembering what

it had been like to kick at piles of leaves and dash across the park on a high-spirited

horse.

But her friends and fellow Society members had been as attentive as always in their

visits, just as generous in their contributions. The orphans and poor folk still responded

to her visits with solemn gratitude. There was no good reason for her disaffection.

Surely it was the change of seasons that made her feel so restless. Now that Niall was

back, those troublesome emotions would dissipate. His opposition to much of her work

might even fire a renewed determination. Yes, that was what she needed—fresh

inspiration, something to fight for.

The front door opened. Brinkley's voice welcomed his employer home, and Niall's

footsteps echoed in the vestibule.

Athena sat up straight and had her best smile ready for him when he walked into the

parlor. She held out her hands.

"Niall, welcome home! It is so wonderful to have you back.”

He bent to take her hands and kissed them. "Athena. You are looking well—and lovely,

as ever.”

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Athena searched his face. He, too, was looking well; his ordinarily sober gray eyes were

almost sparkling, as if with some hidden mischief. They reminded her of the old days,

when Niall had been

when it had been so much easier for him to laugh. So much

easier for both of them.

"Sit down, and tell me all about your business," she said, signaling for the parlormaid to