Mistletoe and Magic (19 page)

She nodded, her stomach begging her to accept this generous offer, but pride still overruling hunger. “Hunter’s stew. Uncle Leo used to make it sometimes.”

“Uncle Leo?”

“Mom’s godfather.” She thought about the plane ticket tucked into her wallet, and her mood, already near the basement, plummeted. “I’m supposed to go back there after…”

“After you leave here.” He finished for her. “Where is there? Where are you from in the States?”

“Everywhere and nowhere. We moved around a lot.” Like every week.

Clearly, he didn’t believe her. If his expelled breath didn’t communicate impatience, the slow shake of his head did the trick. “Dammit, Polina, I wish you’d be honest with me.”

She thumped a fist on the table. “I
am
being honest with you. I’ve never really had a home. Mom wasn’t the stick-around type.”

His eyes glinted like marbles, disbelief gleaming. “Where did you live?” he retorted. “In a tent?”

“Nope. A trailer.” Satisfaction rippled through her. Time to go in for the kill. “And not in a trailer park, either. I’m talking about a true
mobile
home.”

He didn’t even wince, just sat there, expression bland, waiting for her to say more. He wanted the truth, thought he could deal with whatever she told him. But he didn’t know the real dirt. Okay. Let’s see how fast he ran when she revealed all. Most people couldn’t wait to distance themselves from her when they heard a fraction of her past. Except for Travis. Travis, who’d only stuck around for the “fringe benefits” he assumed she’d be giving him. On a deep breath, she leaned forward to whisper, “Do you know what a ‘carny’ is?”

“A what?”

“A carny.”

“Can’t say I do.”

“It’s a person who works for traveling carnivals.”

“You traveled with a carnival?!” His voice rose several decibels, and she clamped her thighs together to keep from diving under the table.

“Yeah.” She grimaced and let the sarcasm fly. “Trust me. It’s not as glamorous as you think.”

He clasped his hands on the table. “What
was
it like?”

“Lonely and back-breaking,” she replied.

“Oh, come on. There must have been fun times, too.”

“Not many,” she murmured, then shook her head to clear away the bitter memories. She needed a pleasant distraction. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“Smothering.” He shrugged. “I’m the only son with four sisters. There were times I would’ve liked to escape by joining a carnival. Being with my family isn’t much different; it’s noisy, chaotic, and crowded.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she murmured, unable to stifle the wistful air in her tone.

Sure, her life had been noisy, chaotic, and crowded too. The difference was, for him, all those inconveniences came from
family
, people who knew you and loved you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. In her case, the noise, chaos, and crowds were due to strangers. In her personal life, no one remembered her birthday, knew how she took her coffee, cared if she were sick or hurting. Not even her mother, who spent most of her offstage time drunk or high.

“Most of the time,” she continued, her mind going back to all those years with Jablonski Entertainments, “I handled ride maintenance and repair. Mom was the resident gypsy, telling fortunes and predicting futures with cards or a crystal ball. But we all pitched in wherever we were needed. If you’ve seen anyone working at a carnival, chances are, I’ve done that same job at least once in my life. I sold tickets, manned the rides, ‘lifted steel.’”

“Lifted steel?”

“Basically, it’s what it sounds like. Assembling the rides and outbuildings. I also dropped awnings, which is what we call closing up shop for the night. I played the gypsy role when Mom was too blotto to do her job.”

“Was your mother a real gypsy? A Rom, I mean.”

“No. She just sort of looked like what most people consider a gypsy to look like. Dark hair, dark eyes, heavy makeup. Uncle Leo—he owns the carnival we usually traveled with—he brought my mother to the States from Krakow a long time ago, when my grandparents died. She practically grew up around the carnival.”

“And you? When did you get involved?”

“I was born in the bunkhouse.”

“What about your father?” he prompted. “Do you look like him? Was he part of the carnival too?”

“Dunno. I never met him. By the time my mother realized she was pregnant with me, she was six towns ahead with a different lover she’d left behind in each one. Even if she’d heard his name the night I was conceived, she would’ve been too incoherent to remember it. Mom went through men like most people go through toothpicks.”

And just like that, there they were. All her sins laid out flat on the table, a deck of playing cards stacked against her. She struggled to rise from the bench. Better to say goodbye, rather than watch someone else walk away from her in disgust. “I should go. Get some sleep.”

A sharp pang of regret pierced her heart when he followed her lead and got to his feet. “Absolutely.”

She knew it. As soon as anyone learned the truth about her, they couldn’t wait to get as far away from her as possible.

But Rhys wrapped his arm around her waist, bent to catch her knees, and then scooped her up. “Come on. Stefan and Agata are waiting.”

Chapter 5

To his surprise, she put up no protest as he scooped her against his chest. He grabbed her gloves and dangled her boot from his fingertips, then carried her out of the grease pit. The icy December air refreshed his face and allowed him to breathe freely after four miserable hours stuck inside the overheated fast food place.

Fate
.

She’d been planning to get coffee in this dump this morning so he took a chance she’d come back here for lunch. Lunch had nearly turned to dinner, and he’d almost given up, but she’d finally appeared. Hurt and hurting, but safe.

And now, after he’d learned about her unusual upbringing, so many pieces of her puzzle fit together. Oh, he still had plenty of questions, but they could wait.

“You can put me down now,” she said, her breath warm against his neck.

He tightened his hold. “No, I can’t. If I put you down, I have no guarantee you won’t try to run away again. And you can’t walk on that ankle anymore, much less run, without doing even more damage. So get comfortable. You’re stuck here ‘til we get to the car. And then I’m going to drive you to the Nowaks’ house and put you directly into Agata’s hands.”

“How far away is your car?”

“Two blocks up in my company’s employee garage.” He jerked his head toward the thirty-story steel structure, incongruous in this part of Krakow.

“Why didn’t you drive when we were touring the cathedral this morning?”

“Because parking in town is a bear. It’s easier to leave the car and walk. But Stefan lives about five miles from here, and while you may be a lightweight, I don’t think I have the energy to carry you that far on foot.”

She said nothing for about fifty meters before she murmured, “I’m not going to sleep with you, Rhys. I’m not my mother.”

Jesus. Did she really think that was all he cared about? What kind of louts was she accustomed to dealing with? His thoughts traveled back to her comment about her room at Saint Thadeusz.
I’ve stayed in worse places
. Where? What had it been like for her, growing up among carnival folk?

Later. He’d find time to get additional info out of her, but she’d already given him so much of herself, how could he possibly ask for more?

“I never met your mother,” he remarked in a bland tone, “which means I’ll have to take your word on the contrast between you two.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I already told you, Polina, I’m a patient man. I just hope you didn’t take a lifetime vow of celibacy because that would really suck.”

She actually laughed, but only for a moment before smile flipped to frown. “Are you sure your friends won’t mind us just showing up?” A tremor of fear rattled her words.

“We’re not ‘just showing up.’ I already called them. They’re expecting us. Don’t you know anything about Polish hospitality? They have an old proverb here: ‘When you welcome a guest, you’re welcoming God into your home.’ The Polish people believe that.”

He made it to the parking lot and found his car in his assigned slot. “I’m going to put you down for a moment to unlock the doors. Promise not to take off?”

She shrugged and gave him a quelling look. “How far could I get?”

“Smart girl.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. She drew back, surprise in her eyes and a frown on her lips. “Don’t worry. I don’t consider that foreplay.”

“Funny.”

After gently placing her on her feet, he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys and unlocked the car doors. He then swept open the back door. “Get in.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was right. You
are
a serial killer, aren’t you?”

He laughed. “No. I want you to be able to stretch out and keep that leg elevated. Back seat is more accommodating than the front when it comes to length. Now, hop to it.”

To his amusement, she actually did hop on her right foot until she aligned herself with the bench seat. She sat on the edge, then slid backwards to the opposite side of the car. “All set, Mr. Dahmer.”

“Don’t make me get the duct tape.” On that quip, he slammed the passenger door, then got into the driver’s seat.

Within ten minutes, she was sound asleep. He drove the rest of the way to the Nowaks’ house, listening to her even breathing.

I’m not going to sleep with you, Rhys
.

Casting a quick glance at her sleeping form in his back seat, he smiled to himself. She’d definitely need more time before she’d admit it, but she was already sleeping with him. Not in the way she meant the statement, and certainly not in the way he hoped their relationship would eventually proceed, but this was a start. She trusted him. Considering her background, he sensed she didn’t offer that gift lightly.

He arrived at their destination a short time later, and pulled into the driveway of a cozy two-story home on a quiet street. Before he turned off the car’s headlights, the front door opened, and Stefan stepped out onto the stoop. Rhys cut the engine.

In the back seat, Polina stirred and slowly sat up. “Pretty house.”

“Stay there,” Rhys said. “I’ll come get you.”

“No.” She reached for her boot on the floor near her feet. “You’re not carrying me inside like an invalid.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I mean it, Rhys. I don’t want your friends thinking I’m some helpless orphan you found roaming the streets of Krakow, a Polish version of the Little Match Girl.”

Pride. She was letting her pride overrule common sense. He gauged the distance from the driveway to the front door. A good forty-five meters. He needed a counter-offer. Fast. “I won’t carry you,” he assured her, “but how about you lean on me?”

“No. I can walk it.”

Stepping out of the car, he muttered to himself about stubborn women who didn’t know what was good for them. When he opened the back door, she was struggling to get her swollen foot into the boot. “Oh, for God’s sake! You can hop into the house braced on me if you can’t stand the idea of looking like an invalid, but there’s no way you’re getting that boot back on your foot. So swallow your pride and accept a little help. No one’s going to think less of you for it. Especially once they get a good look at your ankle.”

Even in the darkness, he noted the glimmer in her eyes from unshed tears. He couldn’t tell if she cried out of pain, frustration, or embarrassment.

Or maybe it was surrender, because she finally sighed and nodded, giving up her struggle with the boot. “Okay, Rhys, you win.”

He would have liked to tell her it wasn’t a question of win or lose, but he sensed that would only anger her. Instead, he went for humor. “You doing the sock hop or the rock-a-bye baby?”

“The hop,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“Okay, then.” He leaned into the car and looped an arm around her waist to pull her forward. “Let’s do it.”

She hobbled out to stand beside him on one foot, but the backpack threw off her balance, and she tumbled against him.

He managed to push his hip into the side of the car to remain upright. With her still pressed to him, he finagled one of the straps of the backpack down her sleeve. “First things first. Let’s leave this in the car for now.”

“No, don’t,” she said.

Too late. He slid the second strap off her arm, then tossed the nylon sack onto the back seat, slamming the door before she could reach over and pull it out again.

“I need that. It has all my personal stuff in it.”

“I promise I’ll get it once you’re settled inside.”

From the top of the stairs, Stefan shouted out, “Agata!”

“Come on,” Rhys said, straightening. “Before they grab the stretcher to carry you into the house.”

She shot upright, bouncing slowly. “God, no. You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“Unless you want to test that theory, you better shake your tail.” He flung her arm over his neck and supported her with his arm wrapped around her waist. With most of her weight on his shoulder, he drew her slowly up the driveway and toward the stairs. Once there, he didn’t offer her a choice. He scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.

“Hey!” This time, she made her displeasure known by pounding her fist on his shoulder. It had as much impact as hitting him with cotton balls. “Put me down. I told you not to carry me.”

“You can’t maneuver icy steps on one foot. Just sit tight, and I’ll have you back down on solid ground in a minute.” By the time he reached the top, Stefan and Agata both waited, concern etched on their faces.

“Bring her inside, Rhys,” Agata ordered in her brook-no-nonsense tone as she swept the door open. “Put her on the sofa, legs propped up on the pillows please.”

He sidled past his hosts, strode directly into the living room, and set her on the prearranged couch. Several pillows piled on the opposite end would elevate her legs.