Page 24 of Animal Tamer
8
WREN
The drive out to the fairgrounds takes twelve minutes, and I spend eleven of them rehearsing what I'll say if Rowe asks me how I am.
Fine.
Good.
Long morning, but I'm fine.
By the time I turn onto the gravel access road, I've practiced the wordfineenough that it's lost all meaning.
The carnival looks different in daylight than it did in the slanting evening light yesterday. The Big Top is fully erected now, red and cream stripes dominating the horizon.I’m curious to see what it looks like at night.
I park beside the same patch of crushed grass I used yesterday and sit with my hands on the wheel for a long second.
You did the job. You did the job right.
I repeat Paige's words under my breath. Once. Twice. Then I grab my kit off the passenger seat and get out.
Rowe's already walking toward me by the time my boots hit the gravel.
I don't know how he knew. The lot isn't fenced on this side, and my car isn't anything special, but he's coming from the direction of the animal trailers with that quiet panther walk, hands tucked in the pockets of dark jeans, his henley sleeves pushed to the elbow.
I see the scars on his forearms in the daylight and look away fast.
“You came,” he says when he stops four feet from me—a careful distance.
“I said I would,” I reply casually.
The corners of his mouth quirk up, and I can feel myself blushing. I clutch the kit strap.
“How's Peanut?” I ask, hoping to distract him.
“Better. He used the hand to grab a grape this morning.”
“Good. That's good.”
We stand there. The wind lifts the hair at his temple, and I notice for the first time that he has faint silver threads running through his hairline.
He clears his throat. I startle and start walking.
“This way,” he says, falling into step beside me, still not close enough to touch.
Not that I'm thinking of touching him.
Because I'm not.
Really.
We pass Cole, who is sharpening a knife on the steps of the same trailer as yesterday and doesn't look up.
“Doc,” he says anyway.
“Cole,” I reply.
Rowe makes a noise I can't quite decipher. It could be a grumble, or it could be a laugh.
