King of Hearts

1

The carousel sat at the far edge of the park, where the row of shady maple trees ended and the grass gave way to hard-packed clay. The Southern Ohio sun beat down on Dalton Kingston’s neck and shoulders as he pushed the button that brought the ride to a groaning halt. When all the passengers had safely exited, he returned to the entry gate to begin the process again. He could have done his job blindfolded. It was a routine that never stopped and never varied. Except for when it did.

He shot a hard glance at the old woman who hovered near the end of the line, the hem of a pink nightgown peeking out from beneath her red raincoat. She was not the strangest customer he’d ever had, but definitely not his usual. He kept her in his periphery as he collected tickets from over-stimulated children and their frazzled parents, as he checked the neon-green wristbands of a flock of teenaged love birds. These were the regulars. The old woman was an oddity, from her disheveled white hair to the ratty pink house slippers on her feet. Maybe she’d wandered away from an old folks’ home. Maybe he should try and help her find her way back. Or maybe he should just mind his own business.

She reached the front of the line, her dusty blue eyes fixed intently on the carousel. “Oh,” she whispered. “She’s magnificent.”

“She?”

“The carousel.” She reluctantly tore her gaze away. “I so adore them. My father took me to Cincinnati every year for my birthday. I rode the carousel all day long, and I always chose the purple pony. I was just a little girl with sausage curls and yellow ribbons in my hair,” she said, adding wistfully, “but that was a long time ago.”

“Uh-huh. Would you like to ride today?”

“Oh, yes.” She patted her pockets, and then her pale blue eyes returned to him, the space between her white eyebrows puckered with worry. “I don’t seem to have my billfold. How much does it cost?”

Giving out free rides wasn’t allowed. Dalton knew that very well, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn the old woman away. “It won’t cost a thing today. You can ride as my guest.”

She brightened. “May I?”

He took her arm and guided her onto the platform. Bypassing the rainbow-colored ponies and the striped tigers, he steered her instead to the safer golden swan chariot and buckled her in. After checking that the riders were equally balanced on all sides and that the operating area was clear, he pushed the button and the music started again. As the carousel began to turn, the old woman closed her eyes as if she had disappeared into the past, where Dalton imagined she was a little girl with sausage curls and yellow ribbons again. He set the timer for an extra minute and a half, because why not, and leaned against the railing to wait.

The ear-splitting wail of a siren rose abruptly above the carousel music, slicing through his nerves. After six weeks with the carnival company, he should have been used to the commotion; the children’s happy shouts, the balloons popping like gunfire, the wailing siren from the High Stakes game. But the siren took him to a dark place every time. Growing up in Cleveland, sirens had been nothing more than background noise, a part of the deafening soundtrack of life that he never even noticed. They had nothing to do with him. Until the day they did.

He got stuck for a moment, mired in the quicksand of images of police tape and strobing lights, until Mercedes, who operated the Flying Chairs, appeared to relieve him for his lunch break, breaking their hold.

“I’m sorry I’m late, hon. I got hung up.” She sauntered close to him, much closer than was necessary. Her musky perfume was as pungent as her sultry smile.

He shrugged. “No problem.”

“Slow morning?”

“They always are. But at least no one throws up on this one.”

She laughed and ran her tongue across her full, red lips. “So…I was thinking we could meet here later tonight, just you and me. Tomorrow is our last day in this town, and it would give us a chance to be alone. I’m so mad that you’re not moving on with us. You know that, right?”

“Ahh, I have other plans tonight.”

She turned away with a pout and a toss of her long, pink hair. Mercedes had made it clear from day one that she was available. She was pretty enough, but Dalton wasn’t interested in being Mercedes’s summertime fling. She’d tried for weeks to win him over. To persuade him to feel what she felt. Whether it was merely lust or genuine attraction, he couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to feel it. He didn’t want to feel anything at all.

He lingered a few moments more, his gaze moving across the ride.

“You can go, Dalton.”

“Yeah, in a minute.”

When the timer sounded its soft staccato warning, he pushed the button. The carousel slowed, and then stopped. All the passengers disembarked, except for one. Mercedes nudged him with her elbow. “What’s up with the old lady?”

“I’m not sure.”

The woman sat in the chariot, eyes closed, until the brush of his hand on hers brought her back to the present and she smiled. “Is it over already?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That was lovely. Thank you.”

He steadied her as she exited the ride. With her feet safely on the ground he led her to the exit gate. When he closed it behind her, she hesitated, her uncertain glance fluttering across the park.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. Dalton had his doubts. “I’m meeting someone for lunch. At least I think I am.”

“Where are you supposed to meet them?”

She thought for a moment and finally smiled. “At the food truck. It’s called Blessings.”

Blessings. He’d visited that food truck yesterday and had no plans to return. The pulled pork nachos he’d bought were some of the best he’d ever tasted. And in six weeks of making the carnival circuit he’d become a connoisseur of food truck cuisine. The food wasn’t the problem. The problem was the moment when the pretty blonde turned from the grill and locked eyes with him. The strange stirring in his gut felt like a chink in what he’d thought was an impenetrable armor. He’d not planned to return there but he was concerned about the old woman. “I’m headed that way myself,” he said. “I’ll walk with you, if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely.”

Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he escorted her across the park, past the rides and the games and the endless crowds to where the food vendors were set up, ignoring the curious stares they garnered as they passed. He slowed when he saw the white truck with the pink-striped awning, the word Blessings a hot pink scroll along the sides.

He couldn’t keep from looking past the girl working at the counter to the one who manned the grill. The pretty blonde from yesterday. Early twenties. A little older than the teenager at the counter, but a little younger than him. Her blonde ponytail tumbled messily down her back, a few escaped tendrils clinging to her face as she arranged fried onions and peppers onto waiting sausage links, plating her creations as artfully as though this were a five-star restaurant and not a carnival food truck. Yesterday her eyes, her pale green eyes shot with gold, met his and caused an infuriating tremor to shoot through him. She radiated a curious mixture of strength and softness, an air of innocence that was belied by the baby bump beneath her apron. Yesterday, noticing her condition had caused an inexplicable wave of tenderness to wash over him. He felt it again now. He was not sure what it all meant and did not want to think about it. He was only here to help an old woman.

Finally, the girl at the counter noticed them and her eyelids flew wide.

“Umm, Harper?”

The cook turned, spatula in hand. Her glance skimmed over him, causing the tremor again. Then she noticed his companion. Setting down the spatula she hurried out the side door of the truck. Seconds later she stood before them. “Aunt Clara?” Her voice was gentle, musical. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

The old woman smiled. “I’ve come to meet you for lunch.”

The girl’s glance took in her aunt’s slippers, her uncombed hair. “Where’s Nicky?”

“He was sleeping like an angel. I couldn’t bear to wake him, so I came on my own.”

“Oh, dear. Here, let’s get you out of the sun.” She steered her aunt to one of the tables and seated her beneath a pink?and?white?striped table umbrella.

“This is my great niece, Harper,” Clara told Dalton. “My home girl.”

Despite her obvious agitation, Harper smiled. “Now where did you hear that?”

“Nicholas taught it to me.”

“Aunt Clara,” she said gently, “I thought we agreed you were to wait for Nicky to come with you to the festival today.”

“But he’s sleeping. And I had this nice young man to help me.” She beamed at Dalton. “He operates the carousel. I don’t know his name.”

“Dalton King.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to the bulge beneath her apron. She saw him notice and her face flushed a pretty pink.

“Harper Blessings. Thank you for helping my aunt. She gets a little mixed up sometimes.”

“I’m not mixed up, dear.”

“I know, sweetheart.” She patted her aunt’s hand. “I can’t take a lunch break right now but let me bring you a cold drink.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, dear.”

“It’s no trouble. Wait right here, OK?”

Pulling her cell phone from her apron pocket, she disappeared around the side of the food truck. Several moments later she returned with two bottles of water. She handed one to her aunt, and the other to Dalton. “Nicky’s on his way to walk you home. Can you wait right here until he arrives?”

“I can walk home alone, dear. It’s only a few blocks, and it’s such a pretty day out.”

“Aunt Clara, we have talked about this.”

Dalton ran a hand through his hair, letting it linger on the back of his neck. His work was clearly done here. This was a family matter. And though Harper Blessings was clearly in a quandary, the world’s wrongs were not his to right anymore. Even so, he heard himself say, “I’ll wait with her.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do—”

“Harper?” the girl at the counter called. “We’re almost out of onions.”

She shot a glance at the growing line of customers, clearly torn, unable to leave the grill unattended, and unwilling to leave her elderly aunt in the hands of a stranger. She must have decided he was the lesser of two evils, because she finally said, “Thank you. My brother will be here in just a few minutes.”

He shrugged. “It’s no problem.”

But it was. The way her gaze turned him inside out, like the subtle turn of a key in a door he’d thought locked up tight. The sudden vertigo he felt when his gaze met hers that made him feel as though the ground was tilting beneath his feet. These were definite problems for Dalton Kingston.