Tough to Tame / Her Lone Cowboy: Tough to Tame. Diana Palmer
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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.”
“While it was going sixty miles an hour, I believe?” the other man queried.
“Hey, it’s not my fault he didn’t want to wait for the arraignment.”
“Good thing you noticed the window was cracked in time.”
“Yes,” Kilraven sighed. “Sad, though, that I didn’t realize he had a blackjack. He gave it to me very politely, though.”
Bentley glanced at Cappie. “Was it a sprained wrist or a fractured one?” he wondered.
Kilraven gave him a cold glare. “It was a figment.”
“A what?”
“Of his imagination,” Kilraven assured him. He chuckled. “Anyway, he’s going to be in jail for a long time. The resisting arrest charge, added to assault on a police officer, makes two felony charges in addition to the kidnapping ones.”
“I hope you never get mad at me,” Bentley said.
“I’d worry more about the chief,” Kilraven replied. “He fed a guy a soapy sponge in front of the whole neighborhood.”
“He was provoked, I hear,” Bentley said.
“A felon verbally assaulted him in his own yard while he was washing his car. Of course, Cash has mellowed since his marriage.”
“Not much,” Bentley said. “And he’s still pretty good with a sniper kit. Saved Colby Lane’s little girl when she was kidnapped.”
“He practices on Eb Scott’s firing range,” Kilraven said. “We all do. He lets us use it free. State-of-the-art stuff, computers and everything.”
“Eb Scott?” Cappie asked.
“Eb was a merc,” Kilraven told her. “He and Cy Parks and Micah Steele fought in some of the bloodiest wars in Africa a few years back. They’re all married and somewhat settled. But like Cash Grier, they’re not really tame.”
Cappie only nodded. She was recalling what her brother had said about Cy Parks.
Kilraven cleared his throat. “Oops, lunchtime is over. I’ve got to go. See you.”
“You didn’t have lunch,” Bentley observed.
“I had a big breakfast,” Kilraven replied. “Can’t waste my lunch hour eating,” he added with a grin. “See you.”
“Imagine him, a gamer,” Cappie commented. “I’d never have thought it.”
“A lot of military men keep their hand-eye coordination skills sharp playing them,” he said.
“Were you in the military?” Cappie wanted to know.
He smiled and nodded. “I have it on good authority that it’s all that saved me from a life of crime. I got picked up for hanging around with a couple of bad kids who knocked over a drugstore. I was just in the car with them, but I got charged with a felony.” He sighed. “My mother went to the judge and promised him her next child if he’d let me join the army instead of standing trial. He agreed.” He glanced down at her with a smile. “He’s in his seventies now, but I still send him a Christmas present every year. I owe him.”
“That was nice.”
“I thought so, too.”
“Kell got into some trouble in his senior year of high school. I don’t remember it, I was so young, but he told me about it. He was hanging out with one of the inner-city gangs and there was a firefight. He didn’t get shot, but one of the boys in the gang was killed. Kell got arrested right along with them. He drew a female judge who had grown up in gang territory and lost a brother to the violence. She gave him a choice of facing trial or going into the service and making something of his life. He took her at her word, and made her proud.” She sighed. “It was tragic, about her. She was shot and killed in her own living room during a drug deal shootout next door.”
“Life is dangerous,” Bentley remarked.
She nodded. “Unpredictable and dangerous.” She looked up at him. “I guess maybe that’s why I like playing video games. They give me something that I can control. Life is never that way.”
He smiled. “No. It isn’t.” He watched as she took a copy of “Halo: ODST” off the shelf. “Going to make him wait until Christmas to play it?”
“Yes.”
His eyes twinkled. “I could bring my copy over. Let you get a taste of it before the fact.”
She looked fascinated. “You could?”
“Ask Kell.” He hesitated. “I could bring a pizza with me. And some beer.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m already drooling.” She grimaced. “I could cook something…”
“Not fair. You shouldn’t have to provide for guests. Besides, I haven’t had a decent pizza in weeks. I’ll be on call tonight, but we might get lucky.”
Her eyes brightened. “That would be nice. I’m sure Kell would enjoy it. We don’t get much company.”
“About six?”
Her