Stranger in Camelot by Deborah Smith

said.”
    “Agnes .” His voice was almost angry. “What do their problems have to do with you? You’re very special and have nothing to be ashamed of.” He reached over and took one of her hands from the steering wheel, brought it to his mouth, kissed it forcefully, then placed it back on the wheel. “Enough said,” he mimicked, but with a strained tone.
    Aggie shivered with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and poignant affection. Searching for something nonchalant to say, she could only toss back, “Well, I’m proud of being part Quaker.” She exhaled shakily. The mood in the truck’s cab reminded her of the energized air before last night’s storm. “So anyhow, now you understand about the duck war.”
    “You’re not exactly a Quaker.” John cleared his throat. “Under these circumstances, I’d call you a Quacker. ”
    She sputtered, cast a sidelong look at his suppressed smile, and burst into giggles. “A Quacker. Yeah.”
    “You secretly love ducks,” he continued, his voice fiendish. “I’m sure of it. I’ll tell Mrs. Roberts that we’ve come to take a few dozen back with us.”
    “Do it and I’ll twist your beak so hard you can’t peck worms for a month.”
    He chuckled. “How dare you threaten my pecker. I take great pride in it. I won’t let you stroke it, if you keep talking that way.”
    For a second she was stunned. Then, fighting a smile, she asked, “John, in England, what’s the definition of ‘pecker’?
    He arched one brow and studied her as if she were asking a trick question. “It’s something a bird pecks with,” he answered cautiously.
    “No other meaning, huh?”
    “What is it in your—oh, Agnes , I can see by the look on your face! Is it what I think it is?”
    She nodded fervently. Her giggles became soft, breathless gulps of merriment.
    John groaned. “I apologize.”
    “Your beak is safe from me.”
    “Agnes, I would never make a crude joke like that on purpose.”
    As she guided the truck through the magnolia trees in front of Ida’s white cottage, she was clutching her mouth with one hand and trying to stop snickering. It didn’t help that there were ducks everywhere—sitting on the cottage’s roof, perched in the trees, pecking around in the flower beds, and sunning themselves on Ida’s new compact car.
    “See, John? It’s a Duck-o-Rama!” She couldn’t resist adding, in a choked voice, “The little peckers are everywhere. ”
    He leaned back, laughing and shaking his head. “I’m glad you aren’t upset by my slip of the tongue.”
    “Upset? John, you’ve gotta be one of the last gentlemen on the face of the planet. I could put you on display and sell tickets to millions of adoring women.”
    He tucked his chin and looked at her with a breathtakingcombination of invitation and good humor. “My beak is available only for private audiences.”
    Aggie giggled harder as he dissolved into his wonderful baritone chuckles again. At that moment a dozen mottled, black and white ducks chose to scurry out from behind a toolshed and dodge the truck’s front bumper. Aggie slammed on the brakes. They hissed and ran, their wings spread. Flapping and waddling, they hurried to a pond surrounded by oaks several hundred feet behind the house. The pond was already overcrowded with feathered swimmers.
    Aggie screeched then slumped in the seat, chortling. “I won’t get out of here without causing a feathered frenzy. I just know it.”
    John prodded her shoulder with one finger and smiled wickedly. “It’s a good thing they ducked.”
    His prim attitude compounded the absurdity and brought her giggles to an uncontrollable level. They now had a mind of their own. She saw Ida on the porch, frowning at her, and swallowed hard, fighting for calm. John tapped her shoulder again. “Really, Agnes, do be serious.” He made his voice very solemn and aristocratic. “Agnes, that very stern-looking lady on the porch thinks we’re daffy.”
    “I’ll be Daffy, and