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had been saying it for years.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Prescott,” she returned. Rose gave a loud, none-too-subtle cough. “This is Rose Sanches.”
    â€œIt’s a pleasure, Mr. Prescott.” Rose extended a hand, trying out a smile she had been saving for Jamie. “I heard you were traveling with us.”
    Keane accepted the hand and smiled in return. Jo noticed with annoyance that it was the same easy, disarming smile of the stranger she had met the morning before. “Hello, Rose, it’s nice to meet you.”
    Seeing her friend’s Mexican blood heat her cheeks, Jo intervened. She would not permit Keane Prescott to make a conquest here. “Rose, you only have ten minutes to get back and into makeup.”
    â€œHoly cow!” she said, forgetting her attempt at sophistication. “I’ve got to run.” She began to do so, then called over her shoulder, “Don’t tell Jamie I was looking for him, the pig!” She ran a little further, then turned and ran backwards. “I’ll look for him later,” she said with a laugh, then turned back and streaked toward the midway.
    Keane watched her dart across the compound while holding up the long skirts of her robe in one hand. “Charming.”
    â€œShe’s only eighteen,” Jo offered before she could stop herself.
    When Keane turned to her, his look was one of amusement. “I see,” he said. “I’ll take that information under advisement. And what does the eighteen-year-old Rose do?” he asked, slipping his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “Wrestle alligators?”
    â€œNo,” Jo returned without batting an eye. “Rose is Serpentina, your premier sideshow attraction. The snake charmer.” She was pleased with the incredulous look that passed over his face. It was replaced quickly, however, with one of genuine humor.
    â€œPerfect.” He brushed Jo’s hair from her cheek before she could protest by word or action. “Cobras?” he asked, ignoring the flash in her eyes.
    â€œAnd boa constrictors,” she returned sweetly. Jo brushed the dust from the knees of her faded jeans. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so.” Keane’s voice was cool, but she recognized the underlying authority. She did her best not to struggle against it. He
was
the owner, she reminded herself.
    â€œMr. Prescott,” she began, banking down hard on the urge to mutiny. “I’m very busy. I have to get ready for the afternoon show.”
    â€œYou’ve got an hour and a half until you’re on,” he countered smoothly. “I think you might spare me a portion of that time. You’ve been assigned to show me around. Why don’t we start now?” The tone of the question left room for only one answer. Jo’s mind fidgeted in search of a way out.
    Tilting her head back, she met his eyes. He won’t be easy to beat, she concluded, studying his steady, measuring gaze. I’d better study his moves more carefully before I start a battle. “Where would you like to begin?” she asked aloud.
    â€œWith you.”
    Keane’s easy answer brought a deep frown to Jo’s brows. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
    For a moment Keane watched her. There was no coyness or guile in her eyes as they looked into his. “No, I can see you don’t,” he agreed with a nod. “Let’s start with your cats.”
    â€œOh.” Jo’s frown cleared instantly. “All right.” She watched as he pulled out a thin cigar, waiting until the flame of his lighter licked the tip before speaking. “I have thirteen—seven males, six females. They’re all African lions between four-and-a-half and twenty-two years.”
    â€œI thought you worked with twelve,” Keane commented as he dropped his lighter into his pocket.
    â€œThat’s