"All right, what's the first safety principle?"
"Keep the damned thing pointed in a safe direction!"
"That being?"
"Away from what I don't want to shoot. My foot. The neighbor's window. Not up, if there's a second floor to the building I'm in, or down if I'm upstairs somewhere." Margo crossed her arms. "When do I get to shoot?"
"Later. Let me see you de-cock that single-action revolver again."
Margo fumbled the job three times before she got it right. She grinned in proud relief when she finally managed it correctly.
"Remember, a lot of these older-style guns and some of the modern ones have no mechanical hammer blocks, Margo. Screw this up with a loaded single-action that doesn't have a way to block the hammer from striking the firing pin, and you'll have an accidental discharge. If it's pointed at your stomach-" Ann forcibly moved the muzzle away from Margo's middle " you'll end up gutshot."
Margo's sense of accomplishment dissolved. She felt like crying. First Kit had roughed her up, then Sven had hurt her, and now Ann Mulhaney was making her look like a dangerous fool. "I'm sorry! I'm tired and hungry ...."
Ann said shortly, "Get used to it, Margo. You won't have the luxury of choosing the time and place for a gunfight to save your life."
She wanted to scream. Instead she tried to reason with her tormentor. "Yes, but I could choose the time and place for the lessons! How am I supposed to learn this stuff when I'm beat on my feet? Don't you people ever eat?"
Her tummy rumbled in echo. Malcolm Moore must've heard it, too, because he chuckled.
Ann sighed and smiled ruefully, then retrieved the Colt Army single-action pistol. "All right, Margo, point taken. Eight o'clock tomorrow morning and don't be late this time. I have other lessons tomorrow besides yours."
Margo wanted to collapse right where she was. "I'll be here."
Where she'd find food, Margo had no idea. She didn't have enough money even for a hotdog.
"Well," Malcolm said on their way out of the gym, what do you think?"
"You haven't won your bet yet," Margo said sourly.
He laughed easily. "I have until the end of the week, remember? That gives me a couple of days. How about lunch?"
"I'm broke. I mean really, truly broke. I think I have ten cents to my name."
"Where are you staying?"
"On a couch in Kit's living room."
The chagrin in her voice caused Malcolm to chuckle. "How come you never call him `Grandpa' or `Grandfather'?" He watched curiously for her reaction. She looked uncomfortable. It took her a moment to answer.
"Well ...he's not exactly the kind of person it's easy to call that."
Malcolm drew his own conclusions. "He scares you."
She glanced up swiftly. The little-girl vulnerability in her eyes shocked Malcolm nearly speechless. Then the moment passed and the flippant "who cares" look was back. "Nothing scares me."
Malcolm stopped several feet short of the elevator, causing Margo to stop short as well.
"What?" she wailed. "What'd I do now?"
"Margo," he said gently, "if nothing scares you, then I may not have very long to get to know you. And that's sad. Sadder than you can know."
A tiny vertical line appeared between manicured brows the color of bright new flames. She studied him with frank curiosity, head tip-tilted to one side like a canary faced with an unknown beast beyond its wire cage. It occurred to Malcolm that she was very, very young and trying desperately to hide it. Hard on the heels of that thought was another: She's been roughed up by life already. Dammit, she's too young to look like that. What the hell happened to this kid before she found Kit? The interest he felt turned suddenly protective.
Margo sighed, which prevented him from saying anything he might have later regretted. "You're odd, Malcolm," she said slowly.
"Am I?"
"Yes. You..." She didn't finish.
"I don't hit on you like the other boys? Is that it?"
Or maybe, considering the wary tension in her body, it wasn't just boys her own age who...
Malcolm forced his thoughts into less private realms of speculation. "How about some lunch? I have sandwich fixings in my fridge. We could meet somewhere for a picnic on the Commons. Unless you have another lesson?"
Margo relaxed fractionally. "Not that I know of," she said a trifle ruefully. "A picnic on the Commons sounds nice. I ..." She broke off abruptly.
"What?"
She mumbled something that sounded like "Never mind" and avoided his gaze.
Malcolm touched her shoulder very gently. "Hey. It's me, remember? The guy you wiped up the mat with?"
Almost as though disobeying a stern command to stay down, turned, a corner of her lips quirked upward. She sniffed once. "Huh. I gotta beat up a guy before he'll ask me out?"
Malcolm laughed...No, but it ought to give you a little peace of mind, knowing you can."
She gave him an odd look, then both corners of her lips twitched upwards.
"That's better," he smiled. "Why don't you find a nice spot somewhere in Castletown, maybe by one of the garden pools. We'll have a quiet lunch."
Her smile brightened. All right. You know, that sounds wonderful. Thanks, Malcolm."
"My pleasure."
He held the elevator door with a courtly flourish that brought sparkling laughter to her eyes. That brought a sense of dismay to Malcolm's determination to remain an utter gentleman. He could fall for this kid -- hard -without much trouble at all. Margo got off at the Commons level with a cheery smile and headed toward Castletown. Malcolm watched her go, then punched the button for his floor. Whatever that little girl was hiding inside, it was hurting her. He'd started out the week feeling sorry for Kit. Now he felt sorry for them both.
"Well," he told himself philosophically as the elevator rose with an efficient whir, "looks like another job for Mr. Fix-It." He just hoped Kit's granddaughter didn't get them all into a jam they couldn't untangle. Given what he'd seen so far, she could wreak havoc just by breathing.
She could also break Kit's heart without even trying.
The insight left him with a chill chasing itself down his back. Malcolm made himself a promise, then and there: I'll do whatever I can--whatever Margo and Kit will let me to keep that from happening.
Where that promise might lead him, Malcolm didn't even want to consider.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kit was looking for ways to avoid finishing a stack of bills when he spotted Margo on one of the real-time screens on his office video wall. She was sitting beside a pebbled fishpond in Edo Castletown, staring into the water and looking so vulnerable and alone, Kit felt his heart thump.
He shoved back his chair and headed downstairs, pausing only long enough to slip on shoes. He didn't even change out of the vintage kimono he habitually wore while working. Kit wasn't sure what he'd say to her, but maybe the excuse of just getting to know her better would suffice. She was trailing one fingertip in the clear water when he arrived.
"Hi."
She glanced up. Her eyes widened slightly. "Good Lord. You're wearing a kimono?"
Kit grinned. "I'm running away from paperwork. I, uh, usually try and wear the most comfortable thing I own when I have to tackle stacks of bills or government forms. Mind if I join you?"
"Oh. Sure."
"Such enthusiasm," he tut-tutted, settling down beside her.
She tucked knees under chin and stared at the colorful fish. "I'm tired," she admitted, "and hungry. Malcolm thought it might be nice to eat a couple of sandwiches on the Commons. So I picked a spot."