Kit told Margo, “Next time, try not to dislocate shoulders or drown importunate perverts. Nothing excuses his behavior, but there’s such a thing as overreaction..”
She had sulked for hours. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Frankly, if he’d been there, the jerk might’ve suffered more than a wrenched shoulder and a publicly humiliating dunking into a goldfish pond. But as a scout in training, she had to learn self-control and alternative methods of extricating herself from sticky situations.
Then he checked in with Ann and Sven.
”She has the attention span of a two-year-old,” Ann Vinh Mulhaney complained. “Either she doesn’t want to learn or she’s afraid of the guns.”
”She wants to learn, all right,” Kit said grimly. “But she wouldn’t admit to fear of a live cobra in her shower stall if she thought I’d halt her training over it.”
Ann frowned. “That’s not good.”
”I know.”
Kit ran a hand through his hair. After their heart-to-heart by the fishpond, Kit knew it would be doubly-triply-difficult if he had to tell Margo her dreams weren’t going to come true. His heart was still in his throat just thinking about letting her scout. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her, too. But he wanted as much as any other grandfather on the planet to make his grandchild happy. If he had to tell her two days into training that it was hopeless …
”Is there any hope?”
The tiny firearms instructor hesitated. “Well …maybe. Her hand is, very steady and she has a good eye. When she’s actually shooting, she scores well. But she won’t apply herself to the learning. Has she been doing her homework?”