Florida Knight (8 page)

It was probably the only nice thing she’d ever said to him, Michael thought. About time too. “Probable heart attack,” he offered in the clipped tones of a military report. “Driver had an outstanding safety record, just passed a company physical, but he went off a bridge in the midst of a sunny afternoon. Forty-six, wife, two kids. I had to make the call.” Forty-six. Only ten years older than he was. Michael had seen so many bodies, bloody and mangled, talked to so many shocked and stricken relatives, but this one had shaken him. Maybe he was over the hill, burnt out . . .

“When did you eat last?”

“What?”

“Michael . . . when was the last time you had something to eat?”

“Some nice gray-haired lady stuck a sandwich in my hand about noon. I think. Or maybe that was yesterday.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Frowning, Michael thought about it. “I don’t think so. I recall getting handed endless cups of coffee, a string of sandwiches, but I don’t think I’ve had any food today. Things were calming down a bit, so the volunteers went home to a well-deserved rest. Today
,
since nobody fed me
,
I didn’t eat.” About three, I finally went home, checked my messages, showered, changed, and drove over here.”

“You’re in luck,” Kate declared briskly. “Cooking for one isn’t much fun, so when I do cook, I make enough for leftovers plus the freezer. Tonight it was chili, and there’s enough for an army.”

Michael leaned back in the platform rocker, closed his eyes. He ought to make some smart-ass remark about Miss Macho cooking for him. Or maybe about sitting in this g.d. lavender chair, but it felt so good. The scotch was cold and smooth, sliding down like manna from heaven. The chair was man-size, fitting his weary body as if made for him. The little sounds Kate made as she rattled utensils and pans, brought back memories of home and mother. Not that he hadn’t had a line-up of women wanting to cook for him, but somehow it never felt like this. Must be the two drinks on an empty stomach. On top of being so damned tired. Michael guided the scotch to his lips without opening his eyes.

Something sharp stung his leg. The
lavender
rocker quivered as Michael sat bolt upright. The four-letter word which blued the air onl
y brought a chortle from Kate.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s Ace. He’s not very brave, probably hid under the chair when you came in. But he finally got bored and decided to attack your shoelaces instead.”

“Obviously, he can’t distinguish shoelaces from skin,” Michael growled, balefully eyeing the gray and white striped cat. He had come dangerously close to kicking the damn thing across the room, but recalled in the nick of time that the aggressive little monster undoubtedly belonged to Kate. Angering her was definitely not on the agenda at the moment.

Kate slid a bowl of chili onto the table, added a salad of mixed greens, a tall glass of iced tea. “You can come and get it,” she announced.

This was the first time he’d relaxed in more than seventy-two hours; Michael wasn’t at all sure he was going to be able to get up and make it the few steps across the room. But there the Valkyrie stood—nearly six full feet of her—daring him to get up. He swallowed a groan, levered himself up by bracing his hands on the fat lavender arms of the chair. Lavender. Was she? . . . No, no way. The girl was celibate, not gay. Celibate.
Remember that, Turco. Think nun.
Not that he was capable of anything more than a stray lustful thought at the moment.

Oh, hell, there was even a small bowl of chopped onion and a container of hot pepper flakes. The smell of the steaming chili hit him. Michael collapsed onto the kitchen chair and dove in.

Sometime after his second bowl of chili, his third helping of salad, and three vanilla creme cookies, Michael managed a mumbled thank-you. “So why are you being so nice
after I was such a bastard
?” he inquired.

“Feminine instinct,” Kate tossed back. “Some atavistic urge that says a hungry man must be fed. Even if it was the devil who was hungry, we’d probably feed him.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

Kate’s lips quirked into a naughty grin. Ignoring Michael’s sarcasm, she assured him he was welcome. “Think you’re up to trying on your costume now?”

Michael buried his head in his hands. “Lord, woman, I’d hoped you’d forgotten.”

“No way. The weekend is practically on us.” Kate broke off. “You
can
get away, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” Michael sighed, “the worst is over. Except for the poor guy’s family, and the construction crews who’ll have to work round the clock on the bridge. There’s a lot more paper work, but there shouldn’t be any problem.”

“How early can you get off on Friday?”

“Four.”

“Good. I get off at one, so I’ll have everything packed and ready to go, including your costumes. You’ll need a toothbrush, underwear, razor—that kind of thing. I’ll have everything else.”

“Costumes?” Michael didn’t care for the plural.

“I told you
.
” Kate sighed. “You need day wear and feast wear. I’m providing your feast gear, so you needn’t worry about that.”

It was a foreign language. He’d conquer this as he did everything else. And not by shouting. He’d learn the damned LALOC lingo if it killed him.

“Okay, let’s do it,” Michael growled. He shoved back his chair and stood, pleased to discover his legs had recovered their spring.

“No way. No way in hell!”
Michael’s shout sent Ace scurrying back under the lavender rocker. “These things are harem pants!”

“Eunuchs wore them too,” Kate replied smoothly, reaching for a pin.

“Just because you’re—“

”Don’t say it!”

“I can’t wear these things!”

“It’s that or tights.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in tights.”

“Even Bubba wears these.”

“Bubba? Bubba the giant?” Michael stared down at Kate’s blond braid as she pinned the hem on the long full pants.

“Yes. He looks as if he belongs in one of those Arabian Nights movies. The ultimate guardian of the harem.”

“Somehow I can’t see Bubba as a eunuch.”

“He might as well be one,” Kate sighed. “I don’t think he and Mona will ever be able to afford children.”

Michael snapped his jaw closed over the words on the tip of his tongue. Fighting over a pair of pants suddenly seemed childish. Well, hell, if Bubba wore them . . . Of course, if Kate was pulling his leg . . . Michael pictured her long, long legs in transparent harem pants, hanging below a waistline low enough to reveal her belly button, a skimpy Genie top, a perky hat and veil. Oh, yeah, that’s where harem pants belonged. Definitely.

“Michael. Michael!” Kate the Pragmatic burst his fantasy. “You like the shirt and tunic, don’t you?”

“Uh–they’re great,” he mumbled. He’d never admit it, but the black tunic with gray and silver trim and the full-sleeved black shirt, which Kate called a Renaissance shirt, were pretty darn sexy. He’d frowned over the ruffled neck, but Kate had simply laughed at him. He was expected to dress up for Feast, she informed him in the no-nonsense tones of a mother addressing a reluctant pre-teen.

“Now that I’ve got your height right,” Kate said as she sat back on her heels, checking the pants hems, “I’ll run up another pair. Something in a fancier fabric for Feast.” She gave him another assessing look. “A
silver
medallion, I think . . . on a long chain. That will be perfect.”

“I am not wearing jewelry!”

Kate looked up, batted her lashes. “You don’t have time to get your ears pierced before the weekend?” she inquired sweetly.

“Kate Knight, you’re not going to live that long.”

“Maybe you’d prefer a necklace of bears’ teeth.”

Michael considered. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I was joking. We’re not outfitting you as a barbarian. You’d have to wear fur, and that just doesn’t suit the climate. Don’t worry,” Kate added as she rose to her feet, “I’ll find something you can live with. My storage shed is full of stuff. That’s what I do, remember? When I’m not just enjoying LALOC, I design and sell costuming.”

“Okay, okay, I stand corrected
.
” Michael sighed. “That’s what you’re here for. To turn the reluctant cop into a knight errant.” Trouble was, it wasn’t going to work. Then again, Kate wasn’t trying to pass him off as a White Knight in Shining Armor. Sensible woman, she recognized futility when she saw it.

“You can change now,” Kate told him, nodding toward the bedroom. She avoided looking at Michael as she fussed with her scissors and pins. Avoided thinking about him in her bedroom. Undressing in her bedroom. She’d made the mistake of looking up once during the pants fitting. All the way from the floor, up the full length of him. Past the full black pants, the incredibly sexy black shirt, th
e glimpse of equally dark
curly
hair peeking through the long slit in the shirt front, up to the craggy face, the uncompromisingly short straight black hair. Her insides churned. She thought about the feel of him, the clean
, head-spinning
male smell of him
. W
hen she’d tightened the elastic at his waist
, h
er fingers had fumbled over the blasted safety pin.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She’d gotten by all these years. Not one of the highly macho LALOC knights had ever made her feel like this. She didn’t
want
to feel like this. There was no room for feminine softness in her life. She’d had to feed him, that was an instinct she couldn’t ignore. Sex, however, could be repressed. She was good at that. Experienced.

But she couldn’t repress a nagging question. Had he ever been married? Dear God, perhaps he
was
married! She didn’t have the nerve to ask. But, surely, before they spent a weekend together, she ought to know.

When Michael came back into the living room, wearing jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, Kate was relieved. He looked a lot better than he had when he arrived. And far less lethal than when dressed as the man
who would be known
to LALOC
as
Raven.

“Remember,” she said, “as soon after four as you can make it on Friday.”

“Right.” Michael didn’t move. “Kate?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.” They both knew the thanks was for more than the costumes, more than the food.

Kate started to smile, discovered she couldn’t. Her emotions were so tangled, they were unrecognizable. “Goodnight,” she managed.

The door closed behind him. The 4Runner cranked into life. Tires scrunched on the shell and gravel drive. He was gone.

Kate’s legs gave way. She sat down hard on a kitchen chair. Relief. Glorious relief.

For about ten seconds.

However was she going to survive actually living with him for the weekend?

Chapter 6

“You’re
what
?” The rolled-up sleeping bag Mona Ellis had been holding above her head thudded onto the driveway. From Kate’s vantage point on the roof of the van, she stared down at her friend. She
huffed a
sigh
as she sank
onto a mound of tenting equipment already stacked on top of the burgundy Dodge Ram.

It was Thursday night. Before leaving for his new job stocking groceries at the local Publix, Bubba had slung the bags of tent equipment on top of the van with his customary ease, given the girls a big grin and a wave before setting off to work on his bicycle. Secretly, each girl prayed this was the job he could keep. That Bubba wouldn’t forget what he was supposed to do. That the manager wouldn’t find him intimidating. That the teenagers working beside him wouldn’t decide he was the evening’s entertainment.

Mona had been jarred out of her worry over Bubba by Kate’s sudden pronouncement from on high. They were adding a fourth person to their LALOC road trip. “Tell me!” she demanded, tilting her head back to look up at Kate, the sleeping bag forgotten at her feet.

“There’s nothing to tell
,
” Kate
insisted,
determined on nonchalance. “He’s another one of Barbara’s fixer-uppers. One I couldn’t say no to.” Keeping your lies as close to the truth as possible was excellent advice, but Kate doubted she could take this line of reasoning much farther.

“Kate,” Mona enunciated slowly, “you’ve said no to every last one of your boss’s so-called dates. You’ve turned down every hunky and not-so-hunky male in LALOC. You’ve given the cold shoulder to every guy who hit on you any time, anywhere. So why, for heaven’s sake, are you taking on this one?”

Kate ducked her head, studied a softly swaying strand of hot pink bougainvillea that trailed onto the mound of tenting. She was caught. There was only one possible explanation which Mona would accept, and it was absolutely, positively not in her to give it. It was the Big Lie. Contrary to all her tightly held principles.

Who was she kidding? She wanted it to be a lie, but the words came out with disconcerting truthfulness. “I guess this one’s different,” she mumbled, still examining the bright curving branch of bougainvillea.