lesson from the circus. We have French, Italian, Spanish, German, Russian, Mexican, Americans from all parts of the country and more.â
âI know. Itâs like a traveling United Nations.â He tipped his cigar ash in a glass tray. âSo you picked up some French and Italian along the way. But if youâve traveled with the circus all your life, what about the rest of your schooling?â
The hint of censure in his voice brought up her chin. âI went to school during the winter break and had a tutor on the road. I learned my ABCs, counselor, and a bit more, besides. I probably know more about geography and world history than you, and from more interesting sources than textbooks. I imagine I know more about animals than a third-year veterinary student and have more practical experience healing them. I can speak seven languages andââ
âSeven?â Keane interrupted. âSeven languages?â
âWell, five fluently,â she corrected grudgingly. âI still have a bit of trouble with Greek and German, unless I can really take my time, and I canât read Greek yet at all.â
âWhat else besides French, Italian and English?â
âSpanish and Russian.â Jo scowled into her coffee. âThe Russianâs handy. I use it for swearing at the cats during the act. Not too many people understand Russian cursing, so itâs safe.â
Keaneâs laughter brought Joâs attention from her coffee. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes gold with their mirth. Joâs scowl deepened. âWhatâs so funny?â
âYou are, Jovilette.â Stung, she started to scramble up, but his hands on her shoulders stopped her. âNo, donât be offended. I canât help but find it amusing that you toss out so offhandedly an accomplishment that any language major would brag about.â Carelessly, he ran a finger over her sulky mouth. âYou continually amaze me.â He brushed a hand through her hair. âYou mumbled something at me the other day. Were you swearing at me in Russian?â
âProbably.â
Grinning, Keane dropped his hand and settled into his chair again. âWhen did you start working with the cats?â
âIn front of an audience? When I was seventeen. Frank wouldnât let me start any earlier. He was my legal guardian as well as the owner, so he had me both ways. I was ready when I was fifteen.â
âHow did you lose your parents?â
The question caught her off guard. âIn a fire,â she said levelly. âWhen I was seven.â
âHere?â
She knew Keane was not referring to their locale but to the circus. Jo sipped her cooling coffee. âYes.â
âDidnât you have any other family?â
âThe circus is a family,â she countered. âI was never given the chance to be an orphan. And I always had Frank.â
âDid you?â Keaneâs smile was faintly sarcastic. âHow was he as a father figure?â
Jo studied him for a moment. Was he bitter? she wondered. Or amused? Or simply curious? âHe never took my fatherâs place,â she replied quietly. âHe never tried to, because neither of us wanted it. We were friends, as close as I think itâs possible for friends to be, but Iâd already had a father, and heâd already had a child. We werenât looking for substitutes. You look nothing like him, you know.â
âNo,â Keane replied with a shrug. âI know.â
âHe had a comfortable face, all creases and folds.â Jo smiled, thinking of it while she ran a finger absently around the rim of her mug. âHe was dark, too, just beginning to gray when . . .â She trailed off, then brought herself back with a quick shake of her head. âYour voice is rather like his, though; he had a truly beautiful voice. Iâll ask you a question now.â
Keaneâs expression