Ann ruffled Margo’s short hair affectionately. “Of course you can, Margo. Any girl who could talk Kit Carson into training her to become the world’s first woman time scout can handle mere journalists and eggheads. Bet Malcolm will be happy to see you, too,” Ann added with a wink.
Margo grinned. “He sure will! He’ll finally have somebody else to send on all the lousy errands!”
Ann laughed. “Let’s get this class started, shall we?”
“Right!”
Margo needed to prove to Ann, to Kit, and to Malcolm that she was capable of time scouting. And—perhaps most importantly—Margo needed to prove it to herself. So she dredged up a bright smile to hide her nervousness, hoped she didn’t look as young as she felt in such illustrious, enormously educated company, and wondered if the team members could possibly take seriously a hot-headed, Irish alley-cat of a time guide who’d just turned seventeen-and-a-half last week . . .
Her smile, which had been known to cause cardiac arrest, was one of the few weapons currently available in her self-defense arsenal, so she dredged up a heart-stopping one and got to work. “Hi! Is everybody ready to get in some weapons practice?”
Heads swivelled and Margo was the abrupt focus of multiple, astonished stares.
Oh, Lordy, here we go. . . . “I’m Margo Smith, I’ll be one of your time guides to London—“
“You?” The sound was incredulous, just short of scathing. Another voice from further down the line of shooting benches said, “What high school is that kid playing hooky from?”