”Bingo.” Tourist in need of help.
He hadn’t taken more than three steps, however, when a redheaded gamine clad in a black leather miniskirt, black stretch-lace body suit, and black thigh-high leather boots, hauling a compact suitcase that looked like it weighed as much as she did, bore down on him with the apparent homing instinct of a striking hawk: “Hi! I’m looking for Kit Carson-any idea where I might find him?”
”Uh…” Malcolm said intelligently as every drop of blood in his brain transmuted instantaneously to the nether regions of his anatomy. Not only did Malcolm have no idea where the retired time scout might be lurking this time of day …
God …It ought to be illegal to look like that!
Clearly, it’d been far too long since Malcolm had
He gave himself an irritable mental kick. Just where might she find Kit? He probably wasn’t at his hotel, not this late in the morning; but it was a little early for drinking. Of course, he enjoyed watching departures as much as any other ‘eighty-sixer.
The delightful little minx who’d accosted him was tapping one leather-clad foot in an excess of energy. With her short auburn hair, freckles, and clear green eyes, she gave the impression of an Irish alleycat, intent on her own business and impatient with anything that got in her way. She was the darned cutest thing Malcolm had seen come through Primary in months. He kept his gaze on her face with studied care.
”Try the Down Time Bar and Grill. If anyone knows, the regulars there might. Or you could…”