”All right. Let’s go.”
”Go? Go where?”
Kit returned the log and ATLS to their leather satchel. “We’re going to the gym. I want to test how much you know-”
”You …now?”
Kit grinned. “Yep. What’s the matter, Margo? Afraid an old man will whip you?”
Slim jaw muscles took on a marble hardness. She came to her feet and planted hands on hips. “No. I’m not afraid of anybody or anything. Where’s the damned gym?”
”Watch your language,” he said mildly. “The gym is in the basement, next to the weapons ranges.”
Her eyes widened. “Weapons ranges?” Her expression hovered somewhere between excitement and dismay. “You mean, like guns and stuff?”
Kit exchanged glances with Malcolm, who rolled his eyes. Kit forcibly held back a sigh. “Yes, Margo. I mean exactly like guns and stuff. If it can be shot, slashed with, or jabbed into someone, you’re going to learn how to use it.”
”Oh.”
Clearly, this was another aspect of time scouting his granddaughter had not considered. She looked like she’d rather have picked up a live cobra than picked up a weapon. Good. Maybe this would convince her to quit. Given the set of her jaw, Kit rather doubted that, but it made for a pleasant fantasy. He had a sinking feeling nothing he did or said would dissuade her.
Margo said primly, “If we’re going to spar, I’ll need to visit the lady’s room first.”
Malcolm shot to his feet and hovered at the back of her chair, but didn’t quite offer to take her hand to assist her. Kit glowered. Margo gave Malcolm a sweet smile that left Kit’s glower even darker. Malcolm had the good grace to look sheepish as Margo made her way through the crowded bar. Very nearly every eye in the place followed her progress. Kit shook his head. The dress had to go. Preferably into the trash. Or maybe over Skeeter Jackson’s head.