CHAPTER THREE
Joan Engle stood by the ringside of the main tent and watched the circus performers work out.
In the middle stood a blonde Adonis supporting the weight of twelve men on his shoulders. It was the young strong man, Justice Holt. All the circus posters were full of his face.
He was built like Michelangelo's David. His gaze as it peered regally from the cardboard signs that were shouting from every shop window that the circus was in town charged deep thrills into the hearts of romantic women, insisting: You shall come to see me perform. You shall come.
And Joan could see why the signs were so effective as she stood just outside the ring and her eyes met Justice's. He was cool and sure of himself under the weight of twelve sweating men. Her eyes dropped with practiced acumen t
