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

Bentley shifted restlessly. “You could marry me,” he said without looking at her. “I’m established in a profession and I don’t carry a gun,” he added, looking pointedly at the butt of Rourke’s big .45 auto nestled under his armpit.

“So am I, established in a profession,” Rourke argued. “And knowing how to use a gun isn’t a bad thing.”

“Diplomats don’t think so,” Chet muttered.

“That’s only until other people start shooting at them, and you save their butts,” Rourke told him.

Chet brightened. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Come on,” Cappie groaned when the elevator stopped. “I swear, I feel like I’m leading a parade!”

“Anybody got a trombone?” Rourke asked the people waiting around the elevator.

Cappie caught his arm and dragged him along with her.

They took a cab to the veterinarian’s office. The car was full. The men were having a conversation about video games, but they left Cappie behind when they mentioned innovations they’d found on the Internet, about how to do impossible things with the equipment in the Halo series.

“Using grenades to blow a Scorpion up onto a mountain?” she exclaimed.

“Hey, whatever works,” Rourke argued.

“Yeah, but you have to shoot your buddies to get enough grenades,” Chet said. “That’s not ethical.”

“This, from a guy who lifted a policeman’s riot gun right out of the trunk of his car!” Rourke said.

“I never lifted it, I borrowed it! Anyway, everybody was shooting rifles or shotguns and I only had a .45,” he scoffed.

“Everybody else’s was bigger than his,” Rourke translated with an angelic pose.

Chet hit his arm. “Stop that!”

“See why he can’t get a job with diplomats?” Rourke quipped, holding his arm in mock pain.

“I’m amazed that either of you can get a job,” Cappie commented. “You really need to work on your social skills.”

“I’m trying to, but you won’t marry me,” Rourke grumbled.

“Of course she won’t, she’s marrying me,” Bentley said smugly.

“I am not!” Cappie exclaimed.

“No woman is going to marry a veterinarian when she can have a dashing spy,” Rourke commented.

“Do you know one?” Bentley asked calmly.

Rourke glared at him. “I can be dashing when I want to, and I used to work for the CIA.”

“Yes, but does sweeping floors count as a real job?” Chet wanted to know.

“You ought to know,” Rourke told the other man. “Isn’t that what you did in Manila?”

“I was the president’s bodyguard!”

“And didn’t he end up in the hospital?”

“We’re here!” Cappie said loudly, indicating where the cab was stopping. “And the ride is Dutch treat,” she added. “I’m not paying cab fare for bodyguards and stubborn hangers-on.”

“Who’s a hanger-on?” Rourke asked.

But Cappie was already out of the cab. The three men followed her when they settled their part of the fare.

She walked into the veterinarian’s front office, where Kate Snow was still holding down the job of receptionist. She was twenty-four, tall, brunette and had soft green eyes and a pleasant rather than pretty face. She smiled.

“Hi, Cappie,” she greeted. “Come to visit your old stomping grounds?”

“Actually I’m here to apply for something part-time,” she replied.

“Brenda said that, but I didn’t believe her,” Kate replied, stunned. “You just moved to Jacobsville.”

“Well, I’m moving back.”

“I’ll buzz Dr. Lammers,” she said, and pressed a button on the phone. She spoke into the receiver, nodded, spoke again and hung up. “He’s with a patient, but he’ll be out in a minute.” She looked past Cappie. “Can I help you?” she asked the three men.

“I’m with her,” Rourke said.

“Me, too,” Chet seconded.

“I’m applying for a job, too,” Bentley said.

“I thought you might need an extra vet.” He

smiled. “Who are you?” Kate asked, surprised. “He’s my ex-boss,” Cappie muttered. “You’re Dr. Rydel?” Kate exclaimed. “But

you have your own practice in Jacobsville!” “I do, but if Cappie moves here, I move here,” he said stubbornly.

“We might move here, too,” Rourke interrupted. “I can interview for a job here, too. I can type.”

“Liar,” Chet said. “He can’t type.”

“I can learn!”

“All you know how to do is shoot people,” Chet scoffed.

“Sir, it’s illegal to carry a concealed weapon,” Kate began nervously.

Rourke gave her his most charming smile. “I’m a professional bodyguard, and I have a permit. If you’d like to see it, I’ll take you to this lovely little French bistro downtown and you can look at it while we eat.”

Kate stared at him as if he’d grown horns.

“There’s a guy stalking her,” Chet told her. “We’re going to catch him if he tries anything and turn him over to local law enforcement.”

“Stalking you?” Kate stammered.

Cappie glared at the two men. “Thank you so much for making me an employment liability!”

Rourke made her a bow. Chet just glowered. Bentley beamed.

“I don’t mind employing you. Not one bit,” Bentley said. “These two can work for the groomer and we’ll protect you.”

“I’m not grooming anything,” Chet told him bluntly.

“Okay. Then you can deal with surly clients,” Bentley compromised.

Chet gave him an appreciative look.

“Actually I know how to groom things,” Rourke said. “I once shaved a monkey.”

Cappie hit him.

“There you are!” Brenda exclaimed, coming out of the back in a green-and-blue polka-dotted lab coat. “I talked to Dr. Lammers, but he said we’ve already got more part-timers than we can spare. I’m so sorry,” she added miserably.

“What’s your address?” Bentley asked. “I’ll send you flowers.”

“I thought you wanted to marry her,” Chet pointed at Cappie.

Brenda’s eyes widened. “Who are you?” she asked the dark-eyed man.

“I’m a hired…”

“…assassin,” Rourke finished for him.

“I don’t kill people, I just shoot them!” Chet growled.

“I only wound them,” Rourke added. “Are we going back to Jacobsville, then?”

“Who are these men?” Brenda asked again.

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