Through the Looking Glass Read Online Free Page B

won't have to worry about severance pay, of course, or retirement benefits or pension plans; carnies don't sign employment agreements. So it doesn't really matter that most of the people here quite literally have no place else to go, or that at least three of them were born in Wonderland wagons. That certainly isn't your problem."

At least I knew who I was
    when I got up this morning,
    but I think I must have been changed
    several times since then.
     

Two
     
    She was still an enigma, but Gideon now knew at least one thing about her: She could flay the bark off an oak tree without raising her voice or losing her gentle smile. He felt a bit flayed and— now—defensive.
    "What do you expect me to do?" he demanded. "I don't know a damned thing about carnivals, and I have no desire to own one."
    "Of course not. Along with the other drawbacks, it's a totally alien way of life to you. I expect you're doing the only reasonable thing to be done."
    Her voice was unchanged, and her agreement held no sarcasm whatsoever, but for some reason Gideon felt even worse about the situation. "What will you do?" he asked, unable to halt the question.
    "Unlike the others, I do have somewhere else to go."
    "Where?"
    "That isn't your concern. Do you want to meet the others now, or shall I break the news to them myself?"
    Gideon wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. She stood in her ridiculous wagon telling him things he didn't want to hear in her sweet voice, looking up at him with her enigmatic, haunting eyes. And he was still intrigued by her, dammit, even more than ever.
    Realizing that he badly needed to think this through before he made a total fool of himself, he said tightly, "It's getting late. Ill stay in town tonight and come back in the morning. Ill meet the others then."
    "As you wish."
    He hesitated, then asked unwillingly, "You'll be here, won't you?"
    She chose to answer the question generally, though it had been directed specifically at her. "Well be here."
    Gideon hesitated again, then swore beneath his breath and left the wagon.
    Maggie stepped to the doorway and leaned against one side, gazing after him. His tall form moved with natural grace, she noted idly, and with the unthinking power that came not only from physical strength but from intellectual and emotional certainty; Gideon Hughes had always known exactly who and what he was.
    Farley appeared around the end of the wagon and followed her gaze. "Where's he going?"
    "Town. But hell be back," she said absently.
    "Tomorrow?"
    "No. Tonight. No room at the inn."
    Farley looked up at her quizzically. "Want me to pitch the extra tent?"
    "I suppose you'd better." She waited until he began to turn away, then spoke mildly. "Farley? You've never called me love until a few minutes ago."
    He looked at her, hazel eyes bright with laughter. "The mood just took me," he explained innocently.
    "Anything in particular spur the mood?" she asked.
    "I expect it's a dog-in-the-manger attitude," he said in a judicious tone, then winked at her and turned away.
    Maggie looked after him until he was out of her sight, then murmured to herself, "You were listening, Farley; I really wish you hadn't done that." After a moment she glanced toward the settling cloud of dust that Gideon's departure had created, then said even more softly, "And you showed up before I was ready for you. What am I supposed to do now? Damn."
    Not quite what she had expected, Mr. Gideon Hughes. There was... well, too much of him. Too much physical presence, too much intelligence and perception, and too many plans she couldn't let him discuss with the others. It would be better all around, she thought , if she made him so mad he'd just leave.
    He had the look of a man with a formidable temper, which didn't disturb Maggie at all; she had yet to encounter a temper unruly enough to trigger her own. The only problem with that option was that she doubted he'd leave no matter how mad she made him; he certainly hadn't bothered