Florida Knight (26 page)

Oh, hell!
After a stunning glare at the poor innocent polar bear Michael had won for her the week before, Kate stalked across to the refrigerator, scrounging for something to nuke. Unfortunately, her sight was blurred by visions of a candlelit steak dinner and Michael Turco’s craggy face dancing through her head.

Two nights later the phone shrilled above the whirr of her sewing machine.

“Next weekend’s
Easter
!” Michael protested with preamble.

“It’s a big family event,” Kate countered. “Major Easter Egg hunt.”

A moment of silence. “Okay, but we’ll have to have Sunday dinner with my family the following weekend or my name’s mud. If you’ll pardon the reference.”

“
You
, not
we
,” Kate corrected. What was it like to have a real family who expected you home for the holidays? No matter, her LALOC family was enough.

Michael ignored her. “I’m always expected to put in an appearance for holidays. Mom’s not going to be happy. Guess I’ll have to tell her I’m working.”

“You are.”

Michael didn’t miss the ice behind Kate’s voice. He kept his tone soft, careful, even as he recognized his patience was wearing thin. “Kate, I’ve been wanting you meet my parents, have a chance to say hi to Mark, see how he’s doing. This seems like the perfect time.”

There wasn’t any way she could refuse, of course. When Michael put down the phone, he called his mother. The solution, it seemed, was simple. The Turco family would have Easter dinner a week late.

Michael drove in the last tent peg while Kate stood, hands on hips, and surveyed their new home away from home. Two good-sized rooms with a large awning, or dining fly, in front. Three times the floor space and nearly twice the height of Kate’s old dome tent. “Well?” he challenged.

“Your camping skills have improved.” With all the dignity of a chatelaine inspecting her castle, Kate disappeared inside the tent.

Michael followed. Through the opening between the two rooms he caught her nod of approval as she inspected the inner room. “I’ll take this one,” she said. “You can have the other one.”

“You’re standing in the bedroom. The one I’m in is for our food and gear.”

He could hear her deep rasping breath even over the sound of other tent pegs being pounded into the ground outside. “Listen, Turco, the whole point to a two-room tent was to avoid so much
–
ah . . . togetherness.”

“My tent. I make the rules.”

“Don’t be childish!” Kate’s eyes shot such fire he wondered why the tent didn’t burst into flames.

“My lady Catriona,” he enunciated carefully, “please notice you are standing straight up. You do not have to move around like a crab or tromp on sleeping bags to get to your garb. That is the point to a bigger tent. Besides, he added more briskly, “that room you’re standing in is big enough to put
four
feet between us. So stop complaining and start lugging in your stuff.”

Her eyes seemed to focus inwards. Seeing what? Michael wondered. Kate didn’t move.

“Look, Kate, we’re bound to get caught if we sleep in separate rooms. Someone will notice. And that’s not good for our cover or for my ego. If a jock sniggers one more time behind my back, I’m going to take him out. And that’s definitely not what I came here for. Nor would it do my career any good.” Michael stepped through the opening between the two rooms, lifted Kate’s stubborn chin until he could see straight into the stricken depths of her green eyes. “Go along with me on this, Kate. You know you can trust me. I’m never going to touch you until you say it’s okay. Understand? Kate . . . Do. You. Understand?”

“You’re touching me now.”

Obstinate to the end, that was Kate Knight. “You know damn well what I mean,” Michael growled. His fingers opened, dropped away from her chin. He didn’t step back.

Kate glared. “Move, so I can get out of here.”

From the front entrance, a safe ten feet away, she turned and looked back. “
Just don’t forget your name is Raven.”
Catriona MacDuff turned and stalked out of the tent.

By the time they’d set up two folding camp chairs and a matching table, brought in the wooden chest that held Cat’s costume accessories, and
hung their garb on the hangstraps attached to
the wall not made of screening, Cat was beginning to lose the chip on her shoulder. Having so much room
was
much nic
er.
In the brightest corner near the front she hung a small round mirror. Now for the sleeping bags, a lantern in each room . . .

“What the hell’s this?” Raven roared from the doorway.

Cat’s head snapped around. He was holding a LALOC sword in each hand. “My weapons.” Cat matched his scowl.

“You’re
fighting?
”

“Of course.”

Raven brandished one of the swords. No matter that it was a rattan pole bound in duct tape, he was genuinely menacing. The tip passed within an inch of Cat’s nose. She never flinched. “Let me get this straight,” he intoned. “After what happened last time, you’re going to fight those bozos all over again.”

“I always do. That’s what it’s all about. Do you think I got a knighthood for being a creampuff?”

“I think you’re nuts. I think you must like to suffer. You enjoy the pain—the darker the bruises the better!” Raven tossed the sword into the far corner, sent the second one flying after it. The swirling metal hilts collided, clanging in protest.

Cat charged across the room, sank to the floor, cradling her precious weapons.  Her long blond braid fell over shoulders stiff with indignation.

Hell,
Raven thought,
you’d think I’d tossed away a baby.
He knelt down behind her, had his hands almost on her shoulders before snatching them back, planting them firmly at his sides. “Look, Kate–Cat, I’m sorry. I was out of line. You have a perfect right to fight all day and all night if you want to. I blew up because I was concerned. I don’t want to see you hurt again. Damn it, woman, I care what happens to you!”

Silence. Cat still clutched her weapons in a death grip.

“You’re going to have to tell me about it sometime, you know,” Raven said. “What’s got you so mad at the world.”

The silence deepened. Neither heard anything beyond the beating of their own hearts, the pounding in their ears.

“You’re on the Easter Egg committee,” Cat said, staring fixedly at the
tent’s
rear wall. “Tonight, after everyone goes to bed, we hide the eggs for tomorrow’s hunt.”

Raven knuckled his forehead, bowed his head in frustration. What to do now? If, just once, Cat would face up to what was bothering her. Oh, hell, what did he know about it? He was cop, not a psychiatrist. Maybe he was messing with things best left alone. And yet she had so much to give, if only she’d let herself do it.

“Cat, do you trust me when I say I won’t jump your bones?” Her
Yes
was so soft he barely heard it. Gently, Raven removed the weapons from her arms, stacked them carefully along the wall. Then he folded Cat against his chest, wrapping his arms around her back. “Now listen very carefully,” he instructed. “
I.
Will. Not. Hurt. You. Ever. If—and I realize it’s a very big
if
—
if
we become lovers, I still won’t hurt you. I’m not looking for a fast roll in the hay.”

He swore silently, realizing the truth of that remark only as he said it. “I’m looking for a lifetime woman. I think maybe you’re it. If it doesn’t work out, then we both get hurt. But I’ll never be verbally cruel or physically abusive.” Raven pulled back a bit, looked her straight in the eye.  “I promise you that, Cat. You have nothing to fear from me.”

She was like a statue. Only her lips moved. “I’m a lost cause, Turco. Forget about me. There’s nothing left to give. I’ll help you, work with you. I’m even ready to call you friend. But I’ve used up my lifetime love quota. Been there, done that. Can’t go back.”

“I’m asking you to go
forward.
” And I’m Raven, remember?”

No response. He stood, taking Cat with him. For a moment they were chest to chest. He felt her quiver . . . doubted it was from fear. But then, even his friends told him he was an arrogant egotistical son of a bitch.

Cat handed Raven a plastic grocery bag that clacked as she passed it over. Odd-sounding Easter Eggs. He peered into the sack, hauled one out. “
Plastic?
” he exclaimed.

“We’re hiding them
outdoors
,” she explained patiently. “The children bring them back to the Feast Hall and turn them in for candy. And some have numbers inside that correspond to special prizes.”

He looked so funny standing there, Cat thought. So did the other men who had been drafted to hide eggs. Tall dark shadows, gripping bags full of colorful plastic eggs. Cat could only wonder where the eggs would end up. In oak branches far above the children’s heads? In heavy bushes where no one would ever find them? The married men would understand the special needs of small children. She wasn’t so sure about the bachelors. Fortunately, this campground was about a tenth the size of the one where they’d camped three weeks ago. The eggs would all be in a relatively small area.

“How many?” Raven asked.

“Prizes?”

“Eggs.”

“A thousand.”

Take a thousand eggs
. Raven whistled. “ I’m impressed.”

“Wait’ll you see the prizes. They’re gorgeous. And there’s lots of them.”

“What about the kids who don’t find any eggs?”

“We have bags of candy all ready for them. Actually, they usually end up with more than the major egg-grabbers,” Cat grinned. “And it’s okay to do a few tough places,” she added, nodding at his bag. “The older kids need the challenge. But most eggs just get scattered around in obvious places. On the Lyst Field, under the live oaks, around the cabins.”

The group of egg-hiders was dispersing into the night. Cat waved goodbye, followed them into the gloom, her flashlight picking out protruding tree roots, searching for a place where no one had yet planted an egg. Raven shrugged his shoulders, switched on his lantern, and strode off in the opposite direction. Odd, but he was rather enjoying the sensation of family. This was almost like being a father. He liked his niece and nephew, but somehow his sister’s children had never aroused any paternal yearnings. Not so tonight. He supposed it was Cat. Though how he could picture her as a wife and mother when she spurned all that was feminine, fragile, sentimental . . .

Raven recalled the flowing blue-green of her Feast gown, the similar colors in the caftan she’d worn that night they’d had supper together in her mobile home. He’d thought her a siren, a Lorelei, more enticing than any woman he’d ever known . . .

He stumbled over a tree root, his knee slamming down hard onto the rough bark of yet another gnarled root. He swore softly, fluently, but not before checking to see if there were any tents nearby. Not good form to shock any kiddies who might still be awake. He dragged himself up, continued on toward the wooden playground equipment, grateful for the darkness that covered his gaffe. If his troopers could see him now . . . mooning over a woman, literally tripping through the midnight blackness carrying a sack full of brightly colored plastic eggs. He wouldn’t need the lantern, his blush would light up the night.

Cat was drafted to count the returned eggs and parcel out candy for each one. The children came to her triumphant, shy, demure, downcast. Older children clutching net bags full of eggs, younger children wide-eyed over their two or three eggs, toddlers attached to the hands of fathers who’d had to restrain themselves from rolling up all the eggs for their offspring. All were dressed in period costume, some in outfits that exactly matched their father or mother. Like any experienced LALOC child, they accepted Cat’s fighting garb without a blink.

Two boys in particular, about eight years old, went away with not only candy but an armload of stuffed toys from the numbered prizes. The contest was almost over when Cat looked up to see a blond curly haired little girl of about three being urged forward by her mother. The child held out a bag with two plastic eggs. Cat gave her a big smile, congratulations on finishing the hunt, then handed her one of the bags of candy reserved for those who had found only a few eggs. The little blond’s eyes grew big, then she ducked back against her mother’s long blue skirt. “Say thank you,” the mother prompted. The child peeked out at Cat, her lips moved. Although Cat couldn’t hear what she said, she solemnly told the little girl she was welcome.

As mother and daughter walked away, matching blue gowns swirling above the vinyl floor, Cat’s vision blurred, her heart seemed to twang like a bow string, then shrivel to a desiccated nothing. She was cursed with loving children, with wanting to give them the love and attention she’d never had herself. So what had she done with her life? LALOC events were as close to children as she ever came. Which was just as well, because working with them tended to turn her into an envious g
rinch or an anguished odd-woman-
out, with her face pressed to the glowing glass walls shutting her off from family life.