McKnight in Shining Armor (5 page)

He looked down at her and chuckled. Her hair was mussed all around her head, and even in the poor light he could see her left eye blackening. She was so appealing, he thought—and she was nervous about standing out there on the porch with him and no chaperone except the trio of jack-o’-lanterns on the steps.

He wasn’t used to women being nervous around him, but he thought it was probably a very good sign. Or a very bad sign. There was only one sure way he could think of to find out.

“You’re really something, Kelsie Connors,” he murmured, sliding the gloved fingers of one hand over her hair to cup the back of her head as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Kelsie would have backed away from him if the doorknob hadn’t been jabbing her in the back. The idea of kissing Alec McKnight scared her silly. In the first place, she hardly knew him, but, more important, it frightened her because she
wanted
to kiss him—
really
wanted to kiss him. The ramifications that kind of wanting could
have on her already hectic life made her shake all over.

She’s shivering, Alec thought as he settled his mouth ever so gently against her lips, lips that were even softer than they looked. He drew her against him, sharing his warmth while the kiss lasted.

Kelsie leaned into him, her hands clutching the waistband of his jacket. For just a few sweet seconds she forgot her fear and indulged herself in the pleasure of a simple good-night kiss. His mouth was warm and pliable and tasted a little like cherry candy. He smelled like leather and musk aftershave, and he felt good against her. Too good.

“Um—a—” she stammered as he raised his head. “I’d better go in and see if I can find some cheese curds for my eye. Do you think it would matter if they were lightly breaded?”

“Probably not.” Alec grinned, flashing his dimples at her inane prattle.

“Good.” She turned, fumbling with her keys, and let herself in. She stood in the doorway, feeling a little safer. “Thanks again for the ride.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze holding hers in that way of his that made her so nervous.

“I’m really sorry about all the confusion.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s kind of nice to have something weird happen to break up a guy’s evening,” he said.

“Right.” She tried to laugh. “Good night.” She started to back into the house, but a thought occurred to her, and she poked her head back out the door. “This didn’t count as a date, did it?”

Alec shook his head, smiling as he hopped down to the sidewalk and started walking toward his car. Her door clicked shut behind him. He licked the sweet taste of her from his lips. “Mmm. We’ll start counting next time, Kelsie. And there will be a next time.”

“K
ELSIE, IT’S
B
UCK.
I need a weasel first thing Monday.”

Kelsie sandwiched the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she jotted down notes with one hand and spun the wheel of her Rolodex with the other. “Does it have to be a weasel? I don’t think I have a weasel. I can get you a ferret.”

“Is that like a weasel?”

“Sort of. What’s it for?”

“A magazine ad for farm insurance,” the
photographer said. “‘Weasel in the Henhouse’ is the theme of the thing.”

“A fox in the henhouse,” she corrected him. “A fox is what you need, Buck,” she said, turning to the name of a small game farm in Waconia that had several hand-raised foxes. “A fox will photograph better anyway—all that bright red hair, bushy tail.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. What’s a fox going to set me back?”

“Fifty an hour. Two-hour minimum.”

Once the details had been discussed, Kelsie hung up the phone and sat back in her squeaky desk chair, pressing a half-thawed bag of spinach to her eye. Her desk, a rummage-sale reject, was piled with files: a pile of animal-client files, a pile of files of past customers for animal talent, a pile of sale coupons for dog and cat food, and a pile of bills.

Even though it was Saturday, she had every intention of sorting through the entire depressing mess. If Glendenning wasn’t going to use Darwin for the Van Bryant ads, she was going to have to redouble her efforts to find work for her other
clients, or she was going to find herself in financial hot water.

Kelsie had faith in her business. She knew there was a market for animal talent, not only in advertising, but for live appearances as well. What Monkey Business needed was more exposure. But exposure meant advertising, and advertising meant spending money, big money. It was one of the frustrating catch-22s of operating a small business: She could make more money if she advertised more, but she couldn’t afford to advertise until she made more money.

She groaned in frustration, squeezing the mushy spinach into a better position against her swollen cheek and eye as she listened to a load of clothes tumble in the drier in the corner behind her. She stared at the little cartoon pinned to the corkboard on the wall above her desk. A chubby little cat proclaimed nothing would happen today that couldn’t be cured with a large dose of chocolate. At that moment she’d have given anything for a big, thick square of pure, unadulterated fudge.

Cheevers bounded onto her desk and curled up
to sleep on the stack of bills, ignoring Kelsie with the supreme arrogance of a cat. Kelsie regarded him through her good eye. If she could get Cheevers another ad for Seafood Sam’s, she would make enough to buy a couple of spots on the radio for the upcoming holiday party season. She would have to check into it Monday.

Jeffrey came down the cellar steps in his pajama bottoms and a rumpled Twins World Series sweatshirt, rubbing his eyes, his thick blond hair standing on end. Without a word he shuffled to his mother’s desk and leaned against her.

Kelsie hugged him with one arm. “Morning, buster.”

“Mmm. How come you’re holding that green slime on your eye?”

“It’s spinach. We didn’t have any cheese curds.”

“Huh?” He laid his cheek atop her head.

“I had a little accident last night and hurt my eye. Nothing major.”

“Did somebody clobber you?” he asked with more enthusiasm than concern.

Kelsie pushed her chair back from the desk. “Let’s go make some waffles.”

When it came to diverting her son’s attention, food was infallible. Jack had been the same. Jeff was like his father in so many ways, it was almost frightening. At nine years old he was already showing signs of having Jack’s sturdy frame and unmanageable hair. Kelsie said a little prayer daily that the similarity would end there.

The doorbell rang as they reached the kitchen. Kelsie sent her son to see if his sister was awake and went to the door herself, expecting to see the paper boy waiting for his payment. But when she swung the door open, still holding the bag of spinach to her eye, instead of finding the freckle-faced boy, she found a full-grown man.

“Alec!” she said with a gasp, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Alec took deadly aim and hit her right between the eyes with the most devastating smile he could conjure up. “Morning, Kelsie,” he said in his best morning-after voice, even though there hadn’t been much of a night before. Leaning negligently
against the doorframe, he handed her her morning paper.

“Aren’t you a little old for a paper route?” she asked, not able to think of anything more intelligent to say. It was a wonder she could think at all with Alec McKnight standing on her doorstep in a black sweatshirt and jewel-blue sweat pants, his hair comfortably mussed, his lean cheeks flushed from the chill of the morning.

“Just helping out,” he said. “I happened to be running by—”

“You live around here?” she asked, feeling all quivery inside at the thought that Alec McKnight could be her neighbor.

He grinned. “No. I decided I needed a change of scenery for my morning run.”

His gaze ran over her with all the speed of molasses in January, taking in every detail, from the haphazard part in her hair, to the old Vikings jersey that subtly revealed the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, to the skintight black knit pants that hugged her slender legs like tights, to the rag wool socks that bagged around her ankles. “And
believe me,” he said, “this is the best scenery I’ve seen in a long time.”

As his low, silky voice slid over her in an intimate caress, Kelsie shivered even though she suddenly felt flushed with fever. Her breasts tingled and tightened, her nipples budding against the fabric of her jersey as if Alec had reached out a finger and brushed it against them. The mere thought brought a heavy rush of sensation to other parts of her that had almost forgotten what pleasure a man’s touch could bring.

She was way out of her league with Alec McKnight. He was obviously an
nth
-degree black belt in the swinging-singles game. It was like going up against a lion armed with a toothpick.

“How’s the eye?” he asked, mercifully straying from more provocative topics for the moment.

“Sore.” A slight understatement. Even after a dose of mega-strength aspirin it hurt worse than it looked. She couldn’t imagine why Alec had been eating her up with his eyes the way he had. She’d glanced in the mirror earlier just long enough to decide she looked like a poster girl for a battered-women’s shelter.

“What’s that you’re holding against it?” he asked, poking cautiously at the bag with a finger.

“Chopped spinach. It was the best thing I could find. I know it looks terrible, but I look even worse without it. I hadn’t planned on seeing anyone today. Any time you look better with a bag of chopped spinach plastered to your face than without it, you shouldn’t let yourself be seen by anyone outside your immediate family.”

With gentle fingers Alec peeled the bag away from her face and examined the swollen, bruised cheekbone. “It doesn’t look so bad,” he murmured.

“Well,” Kelsie said, her eyes locked on the sensual curve of his lower lip, which was only inches away. “I suppose it’s nothing a pound of makeup wouldn’t hide.”

His forefinger trailed down her cheek and tipped up her chin as he leaned a little closer. One good deep breath from either of them and their mouths would have been drawn together, Kelsie thought, little jets of panic and anticipation zipping through her.

“How about inviting me in for a glass of orange
juice?” he whispered as if it were a terribly intimate suggestion. Directions to the Metrodome would have sounded suggestive in the tone of voice he was using.

Kelsie was about to offer him everything in her refrigerator and then some, when an old red pickup truck pulled up to the curb in front of her house and a dozen floppy-eared, brown spotted Nubian goats leapt out onto her lawn.

“Oh, wow, goats!” Jeffrey exclaimed, pushing through the doorway past Kelsie and Alec. “Can I keep one?”

A short, round man in bib overalls and a cap that advertised a seed corn company came around the back of the truck and waved, a pleasant smile on his face as if he didn’t realize he’d just set loose a dozen four-legged lawn mowers in a neighborhood where the residents weren’t particularly fond of farm animals. “Morning, Miss Connors!”

“Mr. Svenson,” Kelsie said with a groan, trotting down the steps. “Didn’t I tell you I’d call if I found any jobs for your goats?” So far the little creatures seemed to be content grazing on her frosty lawn, while Jeffrey wandered through their
ranks in his stocking feet, trying to pick out the one he liked best. Kelsie kept one eye on them, waiting for the inevitable disaster.

“Well,” Mr. Svenson said as he rubbed the first of his double chins. “I thought you might have forgotten about me.”

“Never.” Kelsie tried to smile as a little goat braced its front feet against her thigh and began to nibble at the hem of her jersey. Next door, her sour-faced neighbor, Mrs. Magruder, was peering out her living room window, glaring at Kelsie. “Goats just aren’t in demand right now. I
will
call you if I find something, though.”

Mr. Svenson frowned at Alec, who had come down to stand next to Kelsie with hands on his hips and a bemused look on his face. “It’s a conspiracy, you know,” the farmer said. “That blasted dairy association. They’re anti-goat. Always have been.”

Alec nodded, trying to look grave. A big brown goat with a bell around its neck stared up at him, then proceeded to try to eat the ends off his shoelaces.

“You see,” Mr. Svenson said, warming to his
subject, “cows eat a heck of a lot more. Makes a bigger market for hay and whatnot—”

A booming bark cut the lecture short. Bronco bounded around the corner of the house. Suddenly goats were bolting everywhere, and the dog was dashing around the yard, enjoying his game immensely.

“Oh, no!” Kelsie wailed as three goats sailed into Mrs. Magruder’s yard, one landing smack in the middle of a bed of yellow mums. Another scaled the woman’s front steps and balanced itself on a decorative cement mushroom beside the door. “Jeffrey, grab Bronco!”

The boy made a dive for the dog but missed. Kelsie, Alec, and Mr. Svenson all dashed onto the lawn to try to round up the goats. Mrs. Magruder stormed onto her front step in her bathrobe with her pug dog hanging over her arm, the dog yapping. Mrs. Magruder glared at Kelsie from beneath a cap of pink curlers. She was a retired schoolteacher whose husband spent all his time at the local Moose Lodge. Her lawn was her pride and joy, and she’d disliked Kelsie from the day
they’d met, when Kelsie’s cat, Cheevers, had beat up the Magruder’s ugly pug.

“I have half a mind to call the police!” she yelled. “I have half a mind to call Councilman Reid!”

“You’ve got half a mind all right,” Kelsie muttered under her breath. “E.T. wouldn’t have a dog that ugly.” To Mrs. Magruder she said, “Really, I’m very sorry, Mrs. Magruder. I’ll fix everything.”

Back in her own yard things were finally getting under control. Jeffrey struggled up to her with a goat in his arms. “Mom, can I keep this one?”

“No,” Kelsie answered. “Put it in the truck with the others.”

“Sorry about the commotion, Miss Connors,” Mr. Svenson said, loading the last of his herd. “They’re not used to dogs. If that had been a sheep, they wouldn’t have even noticed.”