Stranger in Camelot

  “I guess. Is that what John did?”

  “Yeah. Blew a fuse in Squid’s control box. Nearly derailed the whole Gulf and Western freight line.”

  “And this John guy claims to be a model train expert?”

  “Said he only owns the shops. He doesn’t actually build model trains himself.”

  “Executive type, huh?”

  “Very uppercrust British executive type. But an outdoorsman too.”

  “So he’s spending his whole vacation at your campground?”

  “No, he’s spending it building a back porch on my house.”

  “Why?”

  “He likes porches.”

  “What does he do besides build porches?”

  “Quotes Greek philosophers. Discusses medieval history. Plays a fine game of Monopoly. Cheats at cards, but he admits it. Cleans barns, charms lady horses.”

  “Charms lady horses?”

  “Yeah. All six of my mares have a crush on him. He’s a natural with them. And he’s already got my new colt halter broken.”

  “Sounds like he’s got you halter broken too.”

  Speechless, she considered Oscar’s observation. He was probably right. When she wasn’t with John all she did was think about him, and every day she became more willing to tag along behind him as docilely as Dottie’s new colt. But she wasn’t going to admit that to anyone. She playfully flicked a bar towel at Oscar. “Nah. I can’t get rid of him, that’s all.”

  “You’re smiling again.”

  Her expression fell. “Yeah. Can’t stop,” she said grimly. “That’s the problem.”

  “What you gonna do?”

  “Take him to a nice restaurant tomorrow night, for one thing. Spend every free minute in the next three weeks with him, for another. Keep smiling till he leaves.”

  “Where’s he going?”

  “Home. To Merry Old England.”

  “Oh. What’ll you do then?”

  Aggie pulled the cactus forward and stroked its pink blossoms. She angled her face so Oscar wouldn’t see how upset she was. “Wake up and stop dreaming.”

  If any of his old friends in London knew he’d proposed marriage to a woman he’d met little more than a week ago, they’d place bets on his sanity. John wouldn’t blame them. While driving through the dusky evening down a pleasant St. Augustine boulevard lined with shops and palm trees he struggled with the question that had bothered him all week.

  He’d gone too far with his deception. He hadn’t had to propose marriage to win her confidence! He was working steadily toward that goal and making progress every day. Proposing out of the blue to her had been the most bewildering thing he’d done in his whole life. How low would he sink to charm her? It was despicable, asking her to marry him.

  But he hadn’t been thinking about his motives when he’d asked her. He’d only been thinking that it was the right thing to want.

  The hot sun must have gotten to him. He had to keep his feelings under control. He had to stop spending most of his waking hours thinking about her, missing her when she went to work at the pub, and wondering how in hell he was ever going to smooth things over when she found out what he was really after.

  She was a tough bird to catch. The toughest. If he’d really been serious about marrying her, he’d have made sure she was ready to accept; he’d have been smoother, more persuasive, wouldn’t he?

  John cursed out loud and acknowledged the truth. He’d have gone about it exactly the way he had. And been rejected.

  And been hurt. Absurd! John shook his head, then slapped the Jeep’s steering wheel. He’d been a fool for blurting out the stupid proposal.

  Following her directions to the newspaper office, John turned the Jeep off a boulevard fronted by the bay, where sailboats and cabin cruisers lolled among shrimp boats. Some were waiting for passage through the Bridge of Lions.

  The beauty of Agnes’s hometown suddenly made his brooding worse. John whipped the Jeep down a narrow side street crowded with clapboard pastel houses nearly hidden behind flowering trees and vines. Colorful little boutique signs peeked out from their verandas and upper balconies. In the heart of the downtown tourist district it was hard to tell where historic colonial buildings ended and modern copies began.

  By the time he located the newspaper office he was so frustrated he slammed the Jeep’s front tire against the curb as he parked.

  He gritted his teeth and tried to force a cheerful mood as he strode onto the house’s white stoop, angling between huge stone pots bursting with red geraniums. He pushed open a narrow white door with Matanzas Bay Weekly News painted on the window.

  Inside the cheerful little place was a front counter bearing a stack of last week’s papers and a bowl of candy. Beyond the counter were several desks topped with computer terminals and other paraphernalia. The walls were covered in framed front pages of special editions. With grim amusement he noted a particular headline.

  Local Ducks Run Afowl of Citizens.

  The room’s only occupant was a small brunette woman who looked doll-like in a pink jumpsuit and bright pink earrings. She hopped up from a desk and came quickly to the counter. “You must be John!”

  He buried his bad mood and forced what he hoped was a pleasant smile. “John Bartholomew, yes. What gave me away?”

  The woman chuckled heartily. “Aggie said you’d be impossible to mistake for anyone else. She was right.”

  “Did she say it with a dazed expression of bliss on her face or a smirk?”

  “She said it while she was chewing a pencil. I couldn’t tell.”

  “You’re a very diplomatic lady.”

  “My name’s Meg Gordon. I’m the editor, and I own this beehive of excitement.”

  “Very pleased to meet you.” He had his mood under control now, mostly because he was eager to see Agnes. He glanced toward an open door into a back room. “Is Agnes here?”

  “She just ran out to buy a baseball bat. She’ll be right back.”

  After giving her a startled look, John leaned slowly on the counter and brushed a piece of lint from his white coat sleeve. Life with Agnes would never be boring. With exaggerated drama he shook his head and sighed. “I love women who carry sports equipment on their dinner dates.”

  Meg Gordon’s eyes sparkled. “Aggie said nothing could rattle you. She was right.”

  “I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t resist. Why did she need a baseball bat?”

  “I’ll let her explain. She’s here.”

  John straightened quickly and pivoted as the door opened. Despite his bad mood, a deep rush of pleasure ran through him at the sight of her. He felt that way whenever he saw her, even at the ranch, where she seemed determined to hide herself under oversized T-shirts and shorts. What she wore now made him weak in the knees.

  It was a minidress with a strapless bodice, made of a bright, delicate flower print. If she stood in one of the city’s formal gardens she’d appear to be a luscious red-haired flower herself. John couldn’t help admiring her legs for a long moment. Wonderful stems, he wanted to say. Her backless white shoes tilted her up on stiletto heels.

  A small white purse hung across her chest, the thin strap angling between her breasts. The strap drew his attention to their smooth, round tops above her bodice. The revealing dress would have been sexy on almost any attractive woman, but on Agnes’s plush body it went beyond sexy and defied any red-blooded man to look away.

  “I see why you bought the bat,” he told her. “For protection.”

  She had stopped in the doorway as soon as she saw him, and she still stood there, one hand on the doorknob, one hand wrapped around the bat’s handle, her gaze riveted to him. She looked as shocked as he. “Nice suit,” she said finally, her voice husky. “Nice shirt too.”

  He touched the dark blue shirt’s buttoned collar. “No tie. I hope that’s acceptable at local restaurants?”

  “Sure.” She began shaking her head and smiling.

  “What’s wrong?”


  “Nothing. I’m just thinking that I may need this bat to protect you. Gangs of vacationing women roam these streets, you know. They might toss a beach blanket over you and carry you off.”

  He laughed. Slapping the counter behind John to draw attention to herself and the real world, Meg Gordon announced her good-byes then turned off the overhead light and left through the back door, chuckling under her breath.

  “Meg’s never seen me this way,” Agnes explained as she and John faced each other alone in the office’s deep twilight shadows.

  “Dressed to delight a man? Good. I like to think you’ve never worn that dress for anyone but me.”

  “Sorry, but I borrowed it from my boss at the pub. From his girlfriend, that is. It’s been on so many hot dates that the zipper’s melted. She was a busy lady before she settled down with Oscar.”

  “I’m glad you warned me. If any strangers thank you for giving them a good time, I’ll tell them they’re mistaken.”

  “Oh, so I’m not a good time?”

  He put a hand over his heart. “Agnes, any time I’m with you is a good time.”

  “Watch the wise-guy attitude. I’m armed.” She waggled the bat a little.

  “Please explain. I’ve wrestled with my polite curiosity long enough.”

  “When I made our dinner reservation, I promised to bring a toy for the Business Club’s charity raffle. The restaurant’s owner is in charge. He’s a pal of mine.”

  “You know everyone around here, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve sold horses to people, done stories for the newspaper, that sort of stuff. I get around. This is still a small town in some ways. The shop and restaurant people are a close-knit bunch.”

  “I like the friendliness here.”

  “You’d fit in if you, well, that’s beside the point. We’re gonna be late if we don’t get going.” She gestured toward the street. “After you. Hmmm, I really love your white suit. You look like a suave jewel thief hanging out in Casablanca.”

  “Wait.” They were already halfway out the door when he stopped her, sliding his fingers gently around her arm. The warm, naked contact nearly drowned him in desire. John knew from the catch in her breath and the way she looked up at him, he wasn’t alone. “What were you going to say about me fitting in here?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re not gonna stay.”

  “But I’d fit in if I did? You really think so?”

  “Of course. But I was talking without my brain in gear. I know you can’t stay.”

  “And you couldn’t come to England for a visit?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you could. If you wanted to.”

  Her brows shot up in surprise. “I can’t leave what I’ve got here. The ranch is the only thing I’ve ever owned by myself and for myself. I’m going to make it a success any way I can. Have to, so I’ll know that I’m capable of running my own life and doing a good job at it.”

  I’m going to make it a success any way I can. John thought of the medieval books and what their selling price must mean to her. She’d never give them up without a fight. He wanted to pull her to him and demand she admit having them hidden somewhere. Instead he grasped her shoulders lightly and struggled for composure.

  “Don’t frown at me,” she ordered. “One of us has to be a hard-nosed realist.”

  He looked over her head into the dusk, wishing he could tell her he’d been one all his life, and would rather capture a few fantasies. The moon had already begun showering the narrow street with light. “It’s too pretty a night to talk about depressing subjects,” he said gruffly. “Or to wonder about what either of us is going to do next.”

  After a moment she answered in a subdued voice, “You’re right. Feel like walking? It’s only a couple of blocks.”

  “Let’s walk, yes. It clears the cobwebs.” He gestured toward the bat. “May I carry your war club?”

  “Of course.”

  He grasped it by the handle and held it beside him with his arm slightly flexed. As they started up the deserted street he realized he was watching narrow alleys between houses and gripping the bat with menace. It was an old habit from walking too many dangerous London streets, a habit he’d probably never shake.

  If Agnes only knew how stark and unsentimental his world had been, how much he’d tried to change it, and how it had betrayed him! Then she’d understand his fierce reasons for demanding what belonged to him.

  But would she understand why he’d deceived her to get it?

  Brooding again, he was silent as they turned down a pretty little back street of darkened shops and dim street lamps. The street was paved unevenly in gray bricks flecked with crushed shell. Small, tactful signs said it was closed to car traffic. Thousands of strolling visitors had worn the bricks smooth during the years.

  Aggie stumbled on the bumpy surface, and he caught her arm. “Thanks,” she said softly. He slid his hand down, unable to resist touching her. She didn’t protest when he wound his fingers through hers. Without looking at each other, they held hands and continued walking.

  “I feel like a caveman,” he quipped. “I have a club in one hand and a woman in the other.”

  “I can’t picture you fighting a saber-toothed tiger. Offering it a cup of tea, maybe.”

  He forced a laugh and nodded in agreement. “Good tea is a civilizing weapon.”

  They reached a narrow alley between two old wooden buildings painted pink and white. Overhead was a trellis covered in grapevines. The alley made a pretty little arbor, with a grassy floor. “Let’s go through here,” she said, tugging John inside. “A shortcut.”

  John was intrigued with the green tunnel draped in darkness and moonlight. At the other end was a large, well-lighted street, and beyond that were formal gardens of shrubs and palms in front of a cathedral-like stone mansion, one of the city’s museums.

  She halted him halfway through the arbor, and he gazed down at her, his senses swimming. This was lovely and private, yes, perfect for whatever she had in mind. What he definitely had in mind.

  “See how the moonlight comes down between the grape leaves,” she told him, pointing at the ground. “It makes silver patterns on the grass.”

  “I like the way it highlights your face.”

  Slowly she tilted her face up to him. Her hand wound tighter into his. He felt her sudden awkwardness as well as her temptation.

  “I’m not going to kiss you,” he told her with a hint of victory. He’d challenge her. Agnes couldn’t resist a dare. “You’ll have to kiss me first. You’ll have to admit you’ve been planning to kiss me again all along. You’ve demonstrated fantastic willpower in the past week, and so have I.”

  Her uneven breath shattered the quiet. “I haven’t been planning anything. That’s the problem. I never know what I’m going to do next around you. It’s frightening.”

  “Or exciting, if you’ll relax.”

  “You want to hear a secret? If I didn’t think you were so special, getting involved would be easier.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Oh, yes it does. It’d be easier to forget someone ordinary. I’ve got enough emotional baggage to carry around. I don’t want to miss you when you go home.”

  “You’re being a coward. Worse than that, you’re taking advantage of me, and I don’t like it.” His voice was soft but grim. He tossed the baseball bat on the ground and took both her hands in his. “You’re using me, Agnes.”

  Her light gasp echoed off the arbor’s close wooden walls. “Using you? In what way?”

  “The term ‘gentleman’ is made of two words. The second is ‘man,’ with all the deep feelings and desires that implies. I don’t expect you to throw yourself at me, but I want you to know that you can’t treat me like a harmless pet dog either.”

  “I never realized I was doing that.” Her voice broke, and he could see the distress on her shadowed face. “I’m so sorry. I keep telling myself to stay neutral toward you, but I’m not
doing a good job at it.”

  “No, you’re not. But I suppose it’s not every day that a stranger invades your life and refuses to leave.” He stepped back from her, kissed her hand, then let it go. Letting go was the last thing he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t pressure her. He nodded toward their destination. “Onward. My lecture’s finished. I’ve made my point. Think about it.”

  John started to retrieve the baseball bat from the ground. Right now he felt like bashing it against the wall a few times. Agnes grasped his shoulder. “Wait. Look at me again.” Her voice was tortured. “Please.”

  John straightened slowly. Hurting her bothered him. He cleared his throat roughly. “Let’s go to dinner, Agnes. We can talk about this more later.”

  “No.” Suddenly she wound her arms around his neck and rose on her toes. Before he could blink she was giving him a deep and thorough kiss, moving her mouth slowly over his and stroking the back of his head with her fingertips.

  He shuddered at the surprise attack and wrapped his arms around her pulling her tighter against him. “I didn’t expect this kind of apology,” he managed to whisper when she let him breathe again. “I don’t want your guilt, I want your passion.”

  “One provoked the other. But the passion took over. Sssh.” Then she returned to kissing him, captivating him with her slow, loving style.

  John bent her backward over the crook of his arm and buried himself in her affection, stroking her tongue with his own, twisting his lips to meet her eager attention.

  Her breasts were soft globes against him. He slid a hand up her back until it reached the bare skin above the dress’s bodice. Her hair was a mass of curls that tickled his palm; he lifted it and caressed the smooth hollow between her shoulder blades.

  Deftly she unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Heat raced through his blood as her nimble fingers stroked his throat. She unfastened several more buttons as he pulled her upright and watched her, his hands now sliding up and down her back.

  Breathing quickly, she put her hands inside his shirt and molded them to his upper chest, exploring him with her palms and fingers. When she dipped her head and began nuzzling the hair, then kissing the center of his chest and working her way upward by tiny degrees, he pushed her gently against the nearest wall and pressed himself to her.