The Rancher’s Inconvenient Bride. Carol Arens

much he was still learning about his new home.

      “Halloo to you, sir.” The man extended his pudgy hand. “I’m Frenchie Brown, owner of this fine production.”

      “William English.” He shook Frenchie Brown’s hand, surprised to find so much strength in that soft-looking fist.

      “Ah, the mayor!” The man nodded vigorously. He had no hair and the smooth skin of his head glistened in a ray of sunshine that cut through a gap in the tent. “I ought to have known who you were by the fine cut of your clothes. Welcome, Mr. Mayor.”

      Back home in Cheyenne no one ever remarked on his wardrobe. Gentleman ranchers of the area dressed the same way.

      “I just came down to see how you folks were faring in the wind. It’s blowing like the devil outside.”

      “We’ve held up fine in worse than this.” His grin was wide, exposing a gold front tooth. The stench of strong cologne trying to mask the scent of cigars and clothes that hadn’t been washed in some time made William back up a step. “Come, I’ve something special to show you. Tonight, folks will have to pay to see her but being that you are the mayor—well I’ll give you a peek at her for free.”

      A free peek at a woman was not something that William figured he really wanted. But in case the lady was in need of help, he followed Frenchie around the curtain.

      “Meet Gloria.” Frenchie stroked the curve of a huge gray hip. William backed up several paces. “The only taxidermized pachyderm known to the civilized world.”

      The creature’s trunk was lifted high as though she were trumpeting, her tail was also lifted, forever proud.

      “During her lifetime this good old girl earned me plenty of money.” With what appeared to be a loving embrace, Frenchie stroked her ivory tusk. “Couldn’t see any reason that should change.”

      “No...” William glanced about, wondering if the skeleton of a three-headed dog would come bounding by chased by a sword-swallower, his foil aflame. “I imagine not.”

      * * *

      Agatha noticed the spider in its web a second before it saw her.

      The startled bug scrambled across the delicate threads it had spun between the spindles of the porch of the trailer that she shared with Laura Lee. The small arachnid disappeared nearly as fast as she spotted it.

      How she envied that quick little creature. Spiders were not required to face the world beyond the shadows.

      Agatha closed her eyes, took a deep breath, feeling the wind buffet her hair, tug at her hat.

      As much as it frightened her, she did have to face the world. She had spent most of her life shut away. Not by choice—far from it. She hadn’t even known that she had a choice.

      “Good day to you, Miss Agatha,” greeted Hugo Fin as he passed by carrying a ladder.

      Hugo was the boss canvas man in charge of raising the big top and keeping order among those who worked for him. As rowdy a bunch as the roustabouts were, no one dared step out of line with Mr. Fin’s leveled stare upon him.

      A frizzle of apprehension shot up her neck but she forced a smile and returned his greeting.

      After he rounded the corner of the next trailer, she wrapped an imaginary cloak of confidence about her shoulders and walked down the stairs. In her mind she tugged it tight.

      Without thinking she turned toward the path leading to the chuck wagon. It would be less traveled. She stopped so suddenly that a cloud of dust puffed about the toes of her shoes.

      She was behaving like the spider when she needed to act like Leroy. The circus lion was always assured of his status as king of the beasts.

      Spinning about, she strode purposefully along the more populated path.

      Several yards ahead of her three women, two of them brave aerialists, had stopped to talk. Their skirts blew madly and they held their hats to their heads.

      Instead of walking wide around them like her feet itched to do, she approached them.

      “Good afternoon,” she greeted, noticing that her hand had broken into a sweat. What must they think of her just marching up and boldly beginning a conversation.

      “You’re our new kitchen girl!” the youngest of the three declared.

      “Agatha, isn’t that right?” asked the one who was known as the Fat Lady. “I hope you are more talented than the last girl we had. Her cooking was so bad that I began to waste away. You’d think butter and sugar were short of supply. Lands of glory, I was close to losing my job.”

      “I hope I am more talented, too, ma’am.” She surely did. She did know for a fact that there was plenty of butter and sugar in the larder.

      Too bad it was Laura Lee who was the cook. Her friend had worked in the kitchen back home on the Lucky Clover under Mrs. Morgan’s skillful guidance. Laura Lee was the one who had been given the job. Agatha only helped as best she could.

      Agatha’s talent for food was to consume it. For most of her twenty-three years, she hadn’t known what a pleasure eating could be. Her ever-watchful nurse, Hilda Brunne, had insisted that anything with the smallest amount of spice would ruin her charge’s health.

      After all the years of deprivation, she was still too thin, but she was slowly gaining.

      Agatha nodded goodbye to the three ladies then continued on her way, leaning into the wind.

      That hadn’t been so bad. In fact she felt proud, buoyant of step, even. Only a week ago she would never have approached them.

      The choice to leave the only home she had ever known had been a good one. Very hard and frightening, to be sure, but it was what she had to do.

      If she was ever going to be an independent woman who could stand on her own, she needed to face a fear that had been planted bone-deep in her.

      It hadn’t been an easy thing to do, leaving her twin sister, Ivy, and her husband, Travis, and kissing their baby daughter goodbye. Truly, all she’d wanted was to sit in the shadow of her balcony and be safe.

      What she had to remind herself, each and every hour it seemed, was that by hiding in her suite back at the Lucky Clover, she was not living life.

      Life with all its tension and thrill, was what she needed—wanted—desperately.

      With renewed purpose in her step, Agatha continued along the way to the cook trailer. It circled around outside of the circus settlement, the backyard, as Hugo Fin called it.

      There had been a time, and not long ago, when Agatha could not even walk. For her own twisted reasons, her nurse had made sure to keep her helpless.

      Now, if she had to march twenty miles a day to build her strength that was what she would do.

      “Lady,” came a voice from between two trailers. “Can you help me?”

      Agatha stepped into the shadow between the trailers to see a woman sitting on the ground, her back propped up by the wheel behind her.

      A young coochie girl, by the looks of her. Agatha had heard enough gossip to know that the dancing girls who worked for Frenchie Brown did far more scandalous things than dance without their clothes.

      What had happened to her in her young life to make her a slave to prostitution and addiction?

      Poor thing. Agatha understood more than most people did, that life could take a person in a direction she would not have chosen.

      She scanned the ground near the sallow-skinned woman, looking for a bottle. Yes, there it was, just under her hand.

      “I’ve run out of laudanum.” The woman gazed up at her with unfocused eyes, her mouth slack. “Go into my trailer and fetch me another bottle, won’t you?”

      Something dark, fearful, raised its