Stranger in Camelot by Deborah Smith Page A

you be Donald.”
    “Aren’t they cartoon ducks?”
    “Yeah.”
    “But aren’t they male cartoon ducks?”
    “Yeah. So?”
    “But then I couldn’t kiss you again. I’m not that kind of duck.”
    She threw the floor shift into park, stamped weakly on the emergency brake, cut the engine, then hugged the wheel and nearly yelped with laughter. It was the nuttiness of the whole morning, her nervousness over John and the medieval books, and a long-lost need to besilly. Obviously he intended to reduce her to a pile of hiccups.
    He leaned close and asked sternly. “Are you about to lay an egg?” Aggie rolled against him, holding her stomach with both hands and gasping. From the corner of one squinted eye she saw Ida march down the porch’s wooden steps. Her gray hair, twisted into an upthrust knot at the crown of her head, bobbed with an anger of its own as she strode across the sandy yard, and her bright-pink tennis shoes made forceful impressions. Her print work dress sucked in and out between her knees.
    John whispered in Aggie’s ear, “You didn’t tell me that Mrs. Roberts is nearly two meters tall and probably outweighs me. If she becomes violent, I’ll be injured protecting myself.”
    “You? W-what about me ? What do you charge for bodyguard services?”
    “For duck cases? I don’t know. I’ll have to bill you later.”
    “Bill me. Agggh.” Crying with laughter, Aggie rested her head in the crook of his neck and pounded her knees. “Ida w-will never f-forgive me,” she said between gasps.
    Ida stormed up to the truck and stuck her face in the open window. “What the hell is your problem?”
    Aggie swallowed gulps of air and sat up. She felt like a roller coaster balanced at the top of a hill. One look at Ida’s quivering topknot, and her lungs contracted again with spasms of laughter. The roller coaster plunged downward and all she could do was hang on for the ride.
    She made a sputtering sound and shook her head. There had only been a few times, as a child working with professional adult actors, when she’d been this broken up by someone’s sly humor. John had undone her with more than silly teasing. He made her feelcomfortable, natural, and safe. She was ripe for relief from stress. He seemed to sense it.
    “Miss Hamilton was hit in the head last night,” he told Ida solemnly. He extended a hand across Aggie’s lap and out the truck’s window to her. “How do you do, madame? I’m John Bartholomew. A friend of Miss Hamilton’s.”
    “I’m not interested in shaking your hairy-ape hand.” Ida stared at Aggie, who looked back helplessly, choking on giggles and contorting her face to keep them in. “You better not be laughing at me, you redheaded cow.”
    Aggies eyes widened. “M-moo. M-moo.” She covered her face and turned to bury her head in John’s big shoulder again. Her heels drummed on the floorboard.
    He stroked her hair. “Madame, she’s not herself.”
    “I couldn’t care less if she was a Mutant Ninja Toad! Her stud-crazy horses are locked up in my pasture with my Pogo, and I intend to keep ’em until I get good and ready to let ’em go!”
    “T-turtle,” Aggie corrected. “Mutant Ninja T-turtle.” John curved one arm around her head and clamped a hand over her mouth. She began laughing against his palm. It was a wide, hard, sexy palm, she decided. She made tiny quacking sounds into it. She felt his chest quivering against her bowed head.
    He cleared his throat. “On behalf of Miss Hamilton, I apologize for any inconvenience.”
    “Forget about your slime-licking apologies! I don’t want them! I thought I was done with the Hamiltons! But it looks like I’ve traded the old goat for a young nanny!”
    Aggie convulsed. “Baaah.” John’s hand muffled the sound.
    “What did you call me?” Ida asked.
    John intervened quickly. “Miss Hamilton wants you to know that she’s not going to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps. Any ducks which are deposited at