The Maverick / Magnate's Make-Believe Mistress. Diana Palmer
like cats,” she said with a sigh and a smile. “Maybe we could adopt some stray ones when we get married.” She frowned. “Now that’s going to be a problem.”
“Cats are?”
“No. Where are we going to live?” she persisted. “My job is in San Antonio and yours is here. I know,” she said, brightening. “I’ll commute!”
He laughed. She made him feel light inside. He finished his coffee. “Better work on getting the bridegroom first,” he pointed out.
“Okay. What sort of flowers do you like, and when are we going on our first date?”
He pursed his lips. She was outrageously forward, but behind that bluff personality, he saw something deeper and far more fragile. She was shy. She was like a storefront with piñatas and confetti that sold elegant silverware. She was disguising her real persona with an exaggerated one.
He leaned back in his chair, feeling oddly arrogant at her interest in him. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. “I was thinking we might take in a movie at one of those big movie complexes in San Antonio. Friday night.”
“Ooooooh,” she exclaimed, bright-eyed. “I like science fiction.”
“So do I, and there’s a remake of a 1950’s film playing. I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”
“Neither would I.”
“I’ll pick you up at your motel about five. We’ll have dinner and take in the movie afterward. That suit you?”
She was nodding furiously. “Should I go ahead and buy the rings?” she asked with an innocent expression.
He chuckled. “I told you, I’m too tied up right now for weddings.”
She snapped her fingers. “Darn!”
“But we can see a movie.”
“I like movies.”
“Me, too.”
They paid for their respective meals and walked out together, drawing interest from several of the café patrons. Harley hadn’t been taking any girls around with him lately, and here was this cute CSI lady from San Antonio having lunch with him. Speculation ran riot.
“They’ll have us married by late afternoon,” he remarked, nodding toward the windows, where curious eyes were following their every move.
“I’ll go back in and invite them all to the wedding, shall I?” she asked at once.
“Kill the engine, dude,” he drawled in a perfect imitation of the sea turtle in his favorite cartoon movie.
“You so totally rock, Squirt!” she drawled back.
He laughed. “Sweet. You like cartoon movies, too?”
“Crazy about them,” she replied. “My favorite right now is Wall-E, but it changes from season to season. They just get better all the time.”
“I liked Wall-E, too,” he agreed. “Poignant story. Beautiful soundtrack.”
“My sentiments, exactly. That’s nice. When we have kids, we’ll enjoy taking them to the theater to see the new cartoon movies.”
He took off his hat and started fanning himself. “Don’t mention kids or I’ll faint!” he exclaimed. “I’m already having hot flashes, just considering the thought of marriage!”
She glared at him. “Women have hot flashes when they enter menopause,” she said, emphasizing the first word.
He lifted his eyebrows and grinned. “Maybe I’m a woman in disguise,” he whispered wickedly.
She wrinkled her nose up and gave him a slow, interested scrutiny from his cowboy boots to his brown hair. “It’s a really good disguise,” she had to agree. She growled, low in her throat, and smiled. “Tell you what, after the movie, we can undress you and see how good a disguise it really is.”
“Well, I never!” he exclaimed, gasping. “I’m not that kind of man, I’ll have you know! And if you keep talking like that, I’ll never marry you. A man has his principles. You’re just after my body!”
Alice was bursting at the seams with laughter. Harley followed her eyes, turned around, and there was Kilraven, in uniform, staring at him.
“I read this book,” Kilraven said after a minute, “about a Scot who disguised himself as a woman for three days after he stole an English payroll destined for the turncoat Scottish Lords of the Congregation who were going to try to depose Mary, Queen of Scots. The family that sheltered him was rewarded with compensation that was paid for centuries, even after his death, they say. He knew how to repay a debt.” He frowned. “But that was in the sixteenth century, and you don’t look a thing like Lord Bothwell.”
“I should hope not,” Harley said. “He’s been dead for over four hundred years!”
Alice moved close to him and bumped him with her hip. “Don’t talk like that. Some of my best friends are dead people.”
Harley and Kilraven both groaned.
“It was a joke,” Alice burst out, exasperated. “My goodness, don’t you people have a sense of humor?”
“He doesn’t,” Harley said, indicating Kilraven.
“I do so,” Kilraven shot back, glaring. “I have a good sense of humor.” He stepped closer. “And you’d better say that I do, because I’m armed.”
“You have a great sense of humor,” Harley replied at once, and grinned.
“What are you doing here?” Alice asked suddenly. “I thought you were supposed to be off today.”
Kilraven shrugged. “One of our boys came down with flu and they needed somebody to fill in. Not much to do around here on a day off, so I volunteered,” he added.
“There’s TV,” Alice said.
He scoffed. “I don’t own a TV,” he said huffily. “I read books.”
“European history?” Harley asked, recalling the mention of Bothwell.
“Military history, mostly, but history is history. For instance,” he began, “did you know that Hannibal sealed poisonous snakes in clay urns and had his men throw them onto the decks of enemy ships as an offensive measure?”
Harley was trying to keep a straight face.
Alice didn’t even try. “You’re kidding!”
“I am not. Look it up.”
“I’d have gone right over the side into the ocean!” Alice exclaimed, shivering.
“So did a lot of the enemy combatants.” Kilraven chuckled. “See what you learn when you read, instead of staying glued to a television set?”
“How can you not have a television set?” Harley exclaimed. “You can’t watch the news…”
“Don’t get me started,” Kilraven muttered. “Corporate news, exploiting private individuals with personal problems for the entertainment of the masses! Look at that murder victim who was killed back in the summer, and the family of the accused is still getting crucified nightly in case they had anything to do with it. You call that news? I call it bread and circuses, just like the arena in ancient Rome!”
“Then how do you know what’s going on in the world?” Alice had to know.
“I have a laptop computer with Internet access,” he said. “That’s where the real news is.”
“A revolutionary,” Harley said.
“An anarchist,” Alice corrected.
“I am an upstanding member of law enforcement,” Kilraven retorted. He glanced at the big watch