She gazed at him with an enrapt expression.  "You have the most beautiful eyes."

       He was going to say maybe she'd enjoy staring at his eyes over supper, when the enrapture morphed into shock―and maybe something worse.

         "James & Douglas & Kinloch?"   She repeated with near loathing.

         Hell, the way she said his name you'd think she'd just said Osama Bin Laden.  "Yes."   What else could he say?

        "James & Douglas & bloody Kinloch & the reviewer for Money & Trends?"  She nearly growled.  "I'd like to know I have the right James Douglas Kinloch.  But of course, you are.   There could only be one despicable, loathsome worm by that name.  The world couldn't stand two of you."

        "Have we met?"   James glanced to the side, hoping someone had spotted them.  While he'd truly love to jump her bones, after all this bumping and grinding they had just done, he was beginning to think he was facing a mad woman, with an increasingly angry, one-eyed, Scottish wildcat―all three stone of him.

      She flashed her teeth, but not in a smile.  It was feral.  What a cat would wear just before he moved on its pray.  "Met?  Not face-to-face."   Her countenance switched back to a smile.  "I'm a follower of your writing.  You have quite the way with words.  Have you ever considered fiction?  I think you would do very will with it."

       She moved so fast his male instinct to protect himself couldn't engage.  Her knee connected with that part of a man that can fell the mightiest of modern day warriors.  James crumbled to the ground, clutching his painful groin, trying not to puke his insides out.  Down on knee level, he saw her feet and the cat's stalk off, only to hear her steps return behind him.  He guessed he should've expected it, but his mind occupied with writhing in agony, he totally failed to anticipate the swift kick to his arse.

            "James Douglas bloody Kinloch," she snarled.

       This time her stepped stomped off down the fairgrounds.  The cat with the eye patch came pussyfooting back, dragging the red leash.  Putting his feet on James' thigh, he stretched up and tried to give his chin a tongue bath.  James managed to push him away, only to have the purring cat bump its forehead against his chin.

        "Cat, this is going to be a long week."




2005 DeborahAnne MacGillivray

short story from

No Law Against Love


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