was still too fresh, still too hurtful to them both. After all, Bitsy Dupres was battling “evil”—the sort that had killed her Carlton. At least, in her mind.
Frustrated by the trap she found herself in, Elizabeth couldn’t help sneaking a peek at the Ferris wheel, just to escape her mom’s disappointment. The carny was gone, the wheel isolated and cold.
It’s just a ride now, she thought. Not another world I can fantasize about.
Wanting to cool off the tension between her and her mom, Elizabeth walked back toward the gates, intending to finish her soda in peace and separate herself from this whole mess, from her own pain at losing a father so young, from losing a mother to a cause that was spinning more out of control by the month.
“Elizabeth!”
It was her mom’s voice. Startled, she stopped in her tracks. The squeal of brakes pulled Elizabeth out of her thoughts and into a dervish of dust.
Her heart punching her ribs, she faced an equipment truck that had been headed for the entrance. The driver’s door flew open and a squat carny dressed in ratty, grease-stained clothing and a cowboy hat tumbled out. He darted toward her.
“You okay?”
Aside from a decent impression of a heart attack, she thought everything was in order. “Sure, I—”
“What were you thinkin’, walking out in front of me like that? I could’ve—”
Spencer Cahill, who’d gone back to picketing since his earlier chat with Elizabeth, stepped in front of the rattled guy. “Back off.”
The former star linebacker of Sam Houston High School got into the carny’s space, tossing his picket sign by the wayside and narrowing his eyes.
The carny, though shorter by about a mile, didn’t seem to take kindly to Spencer’s bullying. He got right back in the other man’s face.
“Are you gonna be the one to back me off, Buttercup?”
Ooo, not a nickname Spencer would enjoy. Elizabeth moved forward to insert herself between the two men. “Listen, no one got hurt. Spencer, let him drive through.”
When he glanced at her, Elizabeth wanted to cringe at his bullheadedness. She’d known that Spencer had taken a hankering to her since their junior year of high school, but aside from an awkward let’s-go-as-friends senior prom date, she’d made it clear that they were as platonic as platonic can be.
“It” just wasn’t there. That spark. That…whatever she’d felt while staring at the Ferris wheel man.
“Miss.” The carny had taken off his hat, a sign of courtesy. “If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, I appreciate your willingness to referee this here problem, but I don’t take kindly to being ordered around by a sign-carryin’ townie boy.”
“Boy…?” Spencer’s neck reddened, the color slipping upward until he looked likely to have steam whistle out his ears. “Who’s the boy?”
They were bellying up to each other again. By now, the other picketers had ventured closer, beginning to hurl insults at the carny. Both his and Spencer’s neck veins were taut, and neither was giving ground.
Until a deep, half-amused voice sounded from across the carnival gate line. “Hudson, come here.”
Having donned a shirt, the man from the Ferris wheel was lethargically pushing open the gate, not even bothering to step across the boundary. Hinges squeaked as the crowd silenced itself, all eyes on the stranger.
Elizabeth’s skin tingled, almost as if he were standing right next to her and not five feet away. Even the hairs on her arms were alive, standing amidst the goose bumps. With the benefit of this close proximity, she could catch the details of him: his imposing height; the olive skin; the beguiling wave of dark hair as it brushed his shoulders, having maneuvered out from that ponytail; the piercing silver-blue of his eyes as they fixed on her.
Elizabeth gulped, striving for breath and balance. As she lowered her gaze from his, she couldn’t help spying the long, faded scar that stretched from high cheekbone to strong jawline.
A carny. A forbidden glimmer on the edges of her safe, boring world. If only she had the guts to glance back at him.
Clearly, his hungry stare hadn’t been lost on Spencer. Jealousy got the better of his menacing walk as he moved toward the Ferris wheel man.
“Don’t look at our women like that,” he said.
Holding back a groan, Elizabeth merely shook her head. Testosterone. “Cut it out, Spencer.”
Her platinum-haired friend planted himself in front of the stranger. “Next thing you know, these creeps will be combing our streets and getting you women into trouble.”
“Would you come out of your cave and let the truck through?” At this point, Elizabeth wanted to sock Spencer herself. Civilized people didn’t act this way, especially ones that had been carrying morally superior picket signs only moments ago.
However, the truck driver beat her to it.
With a burst of speed, the shorter man yelled, “You don’t talk to him that way, Buttercup!” and gave Spencer a good shove.
While they wrangled with each other, the picketers swarmed closer to the gates…
…until a crowd of carnies blocked the entrance, buttressing the sides of the Ferris wheel man.
Since the CMB consisted mainly of middle-aged couples, senior citizens and a few church-going under-twenties, they weren’t exactly in fighting shape. But they could sure tongue-lash with the best of them.
As the bitter comments roared around Elizabeth, she caught sight of her mother herding a frightened Abe and Abby together while trying to pull her committee back. In the meantime, the Ferris wheel man shook his head and blew out a deep breath, hands on his jeaned hips.
Then the unthinkable happened.
The committee had vowed not to step foot inside the carnival, but with the force of traded punches, Spencer and the carny stumbled over the line. Right next to the Ferris wheel man.
Everything happened so quickly, Elizabeth didn’t even have time to inhale.
After a particularly solid punch, Spencer held the weakened carny by the collar, then cocked back his fist for another go. That’s when the Ferris wheel man stepped in.
He gripped Spencer by the wrist, stopping the forward arc of his intended punch.
For a split second, no one moved. But then Spencer tugged at his hand, dropped the carny to the ground, and in a flurry of energy, jammed his fist upward, right into the Ferris wheel man’s cheek.
The powerful carny merely kept holding Spencer’s fist, looking only slightly put out by the assault. Even so, Elizabeth saw a slice of blood emerging on his darkened skin. A cut from Spencer’s high-school ring.
“Spencer!” she yelled, rushing over and yanking on his other arm to bring him back to the town side of the line.
He
