One Night with a Red-Hot Rancher: Tough to Tame / Carrying the Rancher's Heir / One Dance with the Cowboy

“How did he know?” Cappie asked, stunned, as she watched the tall officer walk out the door and call to the departing teen.

“Beats me, but I’ve heard he does things like that.” He smiled. “He’s on his lunch hour, in case you wondered. I was just ribbing him. I like Kilraven.”

She gave him a wry glance. “Sharks like other sharks, do they?” she asked wickedly.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_73ffa0f7-d899-56d0-ba3c-a840dc2cf884)

AT FIRST, Bentley wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Then he saw the demure grin and burst out laughing. She’d compared him to a shark. He was impressed.

“I wondered if you were ever going to learn how to talk to me without getting behind a door first,” he mused.

“You’re hard going,” she confessed. “But so is Kell, to other people. He just walks right over people who don’t talk back.”

“Exactly,” he returned. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know how to get along with people,” he confessed. “My social skills are sparse.”

“You’re wonderful with animals,” she replied.

His eyebrows arched and he smiled. “Thanks.”

“Did you always like them?” she wondered.

His eyes had a faraway look. He averted them. “Yes. But my father didn’t. It wasn’t until after he died that I indulged my affection for them. It was just my mother and me until I was in high school. That’s when she met my stepfather.” His expression hardened.

“It must have been very difficult for you,” she said quietly, “getting used to another man in your house.”

He frowned as he looked down at her. “Yes.”

“Oh, I’m remarkably perceptive,” she said with amusement in her eyes. “I also suffer from extreme modesty about my other equally remarkable attributes.” She grinned.

He laughed again.

Kilraven came back, looking smug.

“You look like a man with a mission,” Bentley mused.

“Just finished one. That young man will never want to lift a video game again.”

“Good for you. Didn’t arrest him?”

Kilraven arched an eyebrow. “Actually he knows some cheat codes for ‘Call of Duty’ that even I haven’t worked out. So I called our police chief.”

“Cheat codes are against the law?” Cappie asked, puzzled.

Kilraven chuckled. “No. Cash has a young brother-in-law, Rory, who’s nuts about ‘Call of Duty,’ so our potential shoplifter is going to go over to Cash’s house later and teach them to him. Cash may have a few words to add to the ones I gave him.”

“Neat strategy,” Bentley said.

Kilraven shrugged. “The boy loves gaming but he lives with a widowed mother who works two jobs just to keep food on the table. He wanted ‘Call of Duty,’ but he didn’t have any money. If he and Rory hit it off, and I think they might, he’ll get to play the game and learn model citizen habits on the side.”

“Good psychology,” Bentley told him.

Kilraven sighed. “It’s tough on kids, having an economy like this. Gaming is a way of life for the younger generation, but those game consoles and games for them are expensive.”

“That’s why we have a whole table of used games that are more affordable,” the owner of the store, overhearing them, commented with a grin. “Thanks, Kilraven.”

The officer shrugged. “I spend so much time in here that I feel obliged to protect the merchandise,” he commented.

The store owner patted him on the back. “Good man. I might give you a discount on your next sale.”

Kilraven glared at him. “Attempting to bribe a police officer…”

The owner held up both hands. “I never!” he exclaimed. “I said ‘might’!”

Kilraven grinned. “Thanks, though. It was a nice thought. You wouldn’t have any games based on Scottish history?” he added.

The store owner, a tall, handsome young man, gave him a pitying look. “Listen, you’re the only customer I’ve ever had who likes six-teenth-century Scottish history. And I’ll tell you again that most historians think James Hepburn got what he deserved.”

“He did not,” Kilraven muttered. “Lord Bothwell was led astray by that Frenchthinking Queen. Her wiles did him in.”

“Wiles?” Cappie asked, wide-eyed. “What are wiles?”

“If you have to ask, you don’t have any,” Bentley said helpfully.

She laughed. “Okay. Fair enough.”

Kilraven shook his head. “Bothwell had admirable qualities,” he insisted, staring at the shop owner. “He was utterly fearless, could read and write and speak French, and even his worst enemies said that he was incapable of being bribed.”

“Which may be, but still doesn’t provide grounds for a video game,” the manager replied.

Kilraven pointed a finger at him. “Just because you’re a partisan of Mary, Queen of Scots, is no reason to take issue with her Lord High Admiral. And I should point out that there’s no video game about her, either!”

“Hooray,” the manager murmured dryly. “Oh, look, a customer!” He took the opportunity to vanish toward the counter.

Kilraven’s two companions were giving him odd looks.

“Entertainment should be educational,” he defended himself.

“It is,” Bentley pointed out. “In this game—” he held up a Star Trek one “—you can learn how to shoot down enemy ships. And in this one—” he held up a comical one about aliens “—you can learn to use a death ray and blow up buildings.”

“You have no appreciation of true history,” Kilraven sighed. “I should have taught it in grammar school.”

“I can see you now, standing in front of the school board, explaining why the kids were having nightmares about sixteenth-century interrogation techniques,” Bentley mused.

Kilraven pursed his lips. “I myself have been accused of using those,” he said. “Can you believe it? I mean, I’m such a law-abiding citizen and all.”

“I can think of at least one potential kidnapper who might disagree,” Bentley commented.

“Lies. Vicious lies,” he said defensively. “He got those bruises from trying to squeeze through a car window.”