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“This is all your fault,” Kirsty told him. “You barge in here, not having a clue about anything, stomp all over your sister and let her”—she pointed at Betty—”loose on the town. Around here we try to keep her on a tight leash.”
“Hey,” Betty shouted. “That’s a mean thing to say about an old lady.”
“And you,” Kirsty told Betty. “I’m telling the vicar on you.”
“I’m telling the vicar,” Betty mimicked. “If that’s all you’ve got to fight with, then we’re going to wipe the floor with you. This is war, lassie. Step aside or we’ll roll right over you. I’ve been in two wars. I know what I’m talking about.”
“Please.” Kirsty rolled her eyes. “You were here tending a vegetable garden during the Second World War, not in a tank somewhere. And you were a baby in the other war.”
“I meant the Falklands, not the First World War.”
“RIGHT!” Lake shouted, and moved to stand between them.
It put him close to Kirsty, and messed with his head a little. When he’d imagined scenarios where he was half naked with Kirsty, this hadn’t been one of them.
“I think it’s safe to say that I’m the only person in this room with actual war experience. So you two can zip it.”
“I don’t care about your wars. I care about Morag and her cronies making a fool of themselves outside my shop. Make it stop.”
They looked at Betty.
“No,” she said, and folded her arms.
There was silence.
“I can’t make her,” Lake said. “And I doubt Morag will listen to me.”
Kirsty made a strangled noise and took a step towards him. Lake felt every nerve in his body stand to attention. He took a deep breath and she filled his senses. It was heady.
“No more Miss Nice Girl,” she said as she poked him in the chest right above his heart. “If you want to play dirty, I’ll give you dirty.”
Lake felt her touch sear flesh. She glared at him, almost eye to eye in her low-heeled boots. He licked his lips.
“We can get dirty together any time you want,” he told her.
“Argh!” Kirsty threw up her hands in clear exasperation
.
She stalked to the door.
“Let the dirty fight begin,” she said as she disappeared through it.
A second later he heard the door downstairs slam shut.
“Why is it everything she says sounds like a come-on?” Lake mumbled.
“Maybe because you’re thinking with your trousers, I mean your towel, and not with your head,” Betty offered.
Lake ignored her as he watched Kirsty cross the street. He loved that red hair of hers. He even loved the cut. Short and feathered over her forehead and ears. Sexy. Even covered up from ankle to chin, she oozed sex appeal. As he watched her go, she turned and glared up at the window. Well, he’d got one thing that he wanted—the Kirsty from the paper was well and truly alive, and from the look of it she was pretty intent on shedding his blood.
“This is going nowhere,” Lake said, and it scared him that he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the war or Kirsty.
“That’s it,” Kirsty declared after she’d fought her way past the protest and into her shop. “He wants to play dirty, I’ll give him dirty.”
“Uh...” Magenta looked around for something to say.
“Not you too!” Kirsty shrugged into her woollen coat. “Why is it that everyone around me has their minds in the gutter?”
