One Night with a Red-Hot Rancher. Diana Palmer

       CHAPTER THREE

      CAPPIE HITCHED a ride to work with Keely, promising not to make a regular thing of it.

      “I’ll just have to get another car,” she said, as if all that required was a trip to a car lot. In fact, she had no idea what she was going to do.

      “My brother is best friends with Sheriff Hayes Carson,” Keely reminded her, “and Hayes knows Kilraven. He told him the particulars, and Kilraven had a talk with the driver’s insurance company.” She chuckled. “I understand some interesting what-if’s were mentioned. The upshot is that the driver’s insurance is going to pay to fix your car.”

      “What?”

      “Well, he was drunk, Cappie. In fact, he’s occupying a cell at the county detention center as we speak. You could sue his insurance company for enough to buy a new Jaguar like my brother’s got.”

      She didn’t mention that Kell had owned a Jaguar, and not too long ago. Those days seemed very far away now. “Wow. I’ve never sued anybody, you know.”

      Keely laughed. “Me, neither. But you could. Once the insurance people were reminded of that, they didn’t seem to think fixing an old car was an extravagant use of funds.”

      “It’s really nice of them,” Cappie said, stunned. It was like a miracle. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. My brother is an invalid, and the only money we’ve got is his savings and what I bring home. That’s not a whole lot.”

      “Before I married Boone, I had to count pennies,” the other girl said. “I know what it’s like to have very little. I think you do very well.”

      “Thanks.” She sighed. “You know, Kell was in the military for years and years. He went into all sorts of dangerous situations, but he never got hurt. Then he left the army and went to work for this magazine, went to Africa to cover a story and got hit with shrapnel from an exploding shell. Go figure.”

      Keely frowned. “Didn’t he have insurance? Most magazines have it for their employees, I’m sure.”

      “Well, no, he didn’t. Odd, isn’t it?”

      “They sent him to Africa to do a story,” Keely added. “What sort of story? A news story?”

      Cappie blinked. “You know, I never asked him. I only knew he was leaving the country. Then I got a call from him, saying he was in the hospital with some injuries and he’d be home when he could get here. He wouldn’t even let me visit him. An ambulance brought him to our rented house in San Antonio.”

      Keely didn’t say what she was thinking. But she almost had to bite her tongue.

      Cappie stared at her. “That’s a very strange story, even if I’m the one telling it,” she said slowly.

      “Maybe it’s the truth,” Keely said comfortingly. “After all, it’s very often stranger than fiction.”

      “I guess so.” She let it drop. But she did intend to talk it over with Kell that night.

      When she got home, there was a big SUV parked in the driveway. She frowned at it as she went up the steps and into the house. The door was unlocked.

      She heard laughter coming from Kell’s room.

      “I’m home!” she called.

      “Come on in here,” Kell called back. “I’ve got company.”

      She took off her coat and moved into the bedroom. Kell’s visitor was very tall and lean, with faint silvering at the temples of his black hair. He had green eyes and a somber face, and one of his hands seemed to be burned. He moved it unobtrusively into his pocket when he saw her eyes drawn to it.

      “This is an old friend of mine,” Kell said. “My sister, Cappie. This is Cy Parks. He owns a ranch in Jacobsville.”

      Cappie held out her hand, smiling, and shook the one offered. “Nice to meet you.”

      “Same here. You’ll have to bring Kell over to the ranch to see us,” he added. “I have a terrific wife and two little boys. I’d love for you to meet them.”

      “You, with a wife and kids,” Kell said, shaking his head. “I’d never have imagined it in my wildest dreams.”

      “Oh, it comes to all of us, sooner or later,” Cy replied lazily. He pursed his lips. “So you work for Bentley Rydel, do you?”

      She nodded.

      “Does he really carry a pitchfork, or is that just malicious gossip?” Cy added, tongue in cheek.

      She flushed. “Kell…!” she muttered at her brother.

      He held up both hands and laughed. “I didn’t tell him what you said. Honest.”

      “He didn’t,” Cy agreed. “Actually Bentley makes a lot of calls at my place during calving season. He’s our vet. Good man.”

      “Yes, he is,” Cappie said. “He brought me home after a drunk ran into my car.”

      Cy’s expression darkened. “I heard about that. Tough break.”

      “Well, the man’s insurance company is going to fix our car,” Cappie added with a laugh. “It seems they were worried that we might sue.”

      “We would have,” Kell said, and he wasn’t smiling. “You could have been killed.”

      “I just got bruised a little,” she said, smiling. “Nice of you to worry, though.”

      Kell grinned. “It’s a hobby of mine.”

      “You need to get out more,” Cy told the man in the bed. “I know you’ve got pain issues, but staying cooped up in here is just going to make things worse. Believe me, I know.”

      Kell’s eyes darkened. “I guess you’re right. But I do have something to do. I’m working on a novel. One about Africa.”

      Cy Parks’s face grew hard. “That place has made its mark on several of us,” he said enigmatically.

      “It’s still making marks on other men,” Kell said.

      “The Latin American drug cartels are moving in there as well,” Cy replied. “Hell of a thing, as if Africa didn’t have enough internal problems as it is.”

      “As long as power-hungry tyrants can amass fortunes by oppressing other men, it won’t lower the casualty rates for any combatants working there,” Kell muttered.

      “Combatants?” Cappie asked curiously.

      “Two groups of people are fighting for supremacy,” Kell told her.

      “One good, one evil,” she guessed.

      “No. As far as African internal politics go, both sides have positive arguments. The outsiders are the ones causing the big problems. Their type of diplomacy is most often practiced with rapid-firing automatic weapons and various incendiary devices.”

      “And IEDs,” Cy added.

      Cappie blinked. “Excuse me?”

      “Improvised explosive devices,” Kell translated.

      “Were you in the military, too, Mr. Parks?” Cappie asked.

      Cy hesitated. “Sort of. Look at the time,” he remarked, glancing at his watch. “Lisa wants me to go with her to pick out a new playpen for our youngest son,” he added with a grin. “Our toddler more or less trashed the first one.”

      “Strong kid,” Kell noted.

      “Yes. Bullheaded, too.”

      “I