He trailed off. She was already gone, like a bullet from the barrel of a smoking gun. That damned leather miniskirt did evil things to Malcolm’s breath control.
”Well.” He rested hands on hips. “If that doesn’t …” He couldn’t imagine why a girl that age-and in a tearing hurry, besides-would be looking for Kit Carson of all people. “Huh:” He tried to put her out of his mind and turned to find his bewildered tourist with the cute kids. He needed a job worse than he needed a mystery.
”Oh, bloody hell…” Skeeter Jackson, the louse, had already collared the scared family and was hard at work playing with the youngest kid. Mom was beaming. God help them.
He considered warning her, then glanced down at his artistically filthy tunic and swore again. Compared with Skeeter Jackson’s groomed appearance, he didn’t stand a chance. Maybe he could get her aside later and explain the difference between reliable guides and the Skeeter Jacksons of this world. Malcolm sighed. The way his luck had been running lately, she’d slap him for maligning that “nice young man.”
He decided maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take up Ann’s offer, after all. Malcolm strolled down the Commons on a reverse course through Castletown, Victoria Station, and Frontier Town. He entered Urbs Romae just as the klaxon for closure of Primary sounded, warning everyone that TT-86 was about to be sealed in again for another couple of days, at least. Up ahead, the pert little up-timer looking for Kit sailed straight past the Down Time without spotting it. He grinned and decided to see how long it took her to holler for help.