He scratched the back of his neck under the thick bronze collar: “Well, I couldn’t help but notice you passed the Down Time, then took a really wrong turn off the Commons. It’s easy to get lost, back here.”
Margo’s heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. She backed away a step. “I ought to warn you,” she said in a tone meant to be forbidding, “I know martial arts.”
”As a matter of fact, so do I.”
Oh, God.. .
He grinned disarmingly, reminding Margo quite suddenly of her high school history teacher. “Most temporal guides do, you know.”
Temporal guide?
He held out a business card neatly clasped between two fingers. “Malcolm Moore, freelance time guide.”
Margo felt her face flame. “I …uh …” Clearly he knew exactly what she’d been thinking and seemed to find it amusing. She took the card hesitantly and risked glancing at it. The card seemed genuine enough. “Uh, hi. I’m Margo.”
If he was offended that she’d withheld her last name, he didn’t show it. He said only, “Nice to meet you, Margo, and shook her hand formally. “If you like, I’ll take you back to the Down Time.”
She hesitated.
He pinned. “No charge. I only charge for tours on the other side of time gates.”
”Oh. Okay.” Then, grudgingly, because she was embarrassed she hadn’t said it sooner, “Thanks.”
”Don’t mention it.”
He had a nice smile. Maybe she could trust him, just a little. Should’ a worn something else, though. His glance slid across her with inevitable-she almost might have said involuntary-interest. Most guys looked at her that way, thinking she was at least the eighteen she tried to appear rather than the almost-seventeen she was. Yes, she should have worn something else. But the boots were too bulky to pack in her case and she’d wanted to use every possible advantage she possessed when she finally came face to face with Kit Carson …. Well, you made this bed. Lie in it. Margo picked up her case and followed him back toward a corridor she was certain led in the wrong direction, only to emerge in a cross corridor she recognized as the one she’d taken off the Commons. Margo sighed and relegated herself to having to overcome yet another handicap on her quest: a reputation for stupidity. Maybe Mr. Moore wouldn’t say anything about having to lead her out by the hand; but she wouldn’t bet on it. And she certainly didn’t have enough money to bribe him.