“I doubt he’ll do all that,” he said to reassure himself.
Her eyes widened innocently. “Don’t know about that. He’s fixing to have a big poker game tomorrow night. Winner take all.”
Al scoffed. “So? The bastard fancies himself the best poker player in Denver, when everyone knows I am.”
She walked slowly to the window and glanced out, trying to keep her voice steady and devoid of emotion. “Chance’s game is going to be really big, from what I hear. Some rich swells from Frisco are coming to town for it. But then, the Aurora would be a definite lure to most—”
“The Aurora?” Al closed up the space between them and grabbed her arm roughly, spinning her around to face him. “What are you saying—that Rafferty is putting up the Aurora as part of the pot?”
She nodded, wrenching her arm from his grasp and rubbing it to restore the circulation. “Chance figures it’ll be a big draw. Though Bull told me he has no intention of losing it.”
“The smug bastard.” The wheels in Al’s head began turning, and Crystal could almost see them through the greed reflected in his eyes.
“Can anyone get into this game?”
“I . . . I guess, Al. But the stakes are very high. I’m not sure you’d have enough money to convince Chance that you’re serious competition.”
“I’ve got the Silver Slipper. If Rafferty is fixing to bring in whores, he’d probably love to get his hands on this place.”
Mock horror crossed Crystal’s face. “But, Al! What if you lost? What would you do then?”
He laughed, as if losing were inconceivable, totally impossible. “I’ve no intention of losing, Crystal. There are ways for a gambler to win, if he’s clever.” He smoothed the ends of his mustache, contemplating victory.
“You mean cheating?” She could barely hide the disdain in her voice. Al was such scum. What madness had made her think she’d loved him?
“Never mind. You just go on back to the Aurora and tell Rafferty that I’m interested in getting into the game.”
“But, Al! What about you and me? Don’t you want to . . . ?” her eyes strayed to the bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
He looked at the bed, at her, then shook his head, and Crystal felt greatly relieved. “We don’t want Rafferty thinking anything’s different, babe. You go back to the Aurora and pretend everything’s just hunky-dory between you and the reverend.” He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her hard. “Once I get my hands on the Aurora, I’ll set you up as madam there. With your expertise at fucking, and mine at business, we’ll grow rich, babe. Just think of it. You and me, together again.”
Crystal did think of it, all the way back to the Aurora. And with every step she took she cursed Al to hell and back, praying that Chance was as good a poker player as he claimed, and hoping upon hope that after tomorrow night, Al Hazen would be out of her life forever.
CHAPTER 26
Tick, tock, tick, tock. The regulator clock on the wall ticked off the seconds.
Drip. Drip. Drip. The sweat from Hazen’s brow fell unnoticed onto the Steamboat playing cards he held in his hands.
The deed to the Aurora rested in the center of the green felt-covered table, beckoning, tempting, like the most provocative of sirens.
Looking at the four kings in his hand, Hazen couldn’t keep the satisfaction he felt from lighting his dark eyes. One more card would be dealt—an ace. He’d already substituted a stacked deck to assure his win tonight, so he knew that the trump card would fall into his hands. Then the Aurora and all it represented would be his, and Rafferty would be a beaten man. Victory was in the palm of his hand.
He glanced at his opponents. Rafferty looked unruffled, cool under fire, as he sat across the table studying his cards. But that was part of his expertise, and Hazen had expected no less. The other man who remained in the game didn’t appear nearly as confident. His hands shook, and he’d drunk more whiskey than a good poker player should.
Playing poker was like making love: You needed a clear head and a steady hand to reach a satisfying conclusion.
“You in or out, Hazen?” Chance prodded, a cheroot dangling carelessly from the corner of his mouth. “You haven’t made your bet yet.” His face remained passive, giving no clue as to what he thought.
The kings in Hazen’s hand filled him with confidence, and he grinned cockily, reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve the deed to his saloon, he tossed it onto the pile of money and the deed that already rested there. “I’m in, Rafferty. What about you, old man?” Hazen asked the other player.
The white-haired gentleman glanced at Hazen, then at Chance, and shook his head. “Game’s too rich for my blood, gents.” He folded his cards and leaned back, waiting.
A hush fell over the smoke-filled room as the two enemies faced off for the showdown. One more card would be dealt. One card would declare the winner.
Chance thought about the telegram in his coat pocket that Rooster had sent several hours ago. Laurel’s train had been delayed indefinitely, giving them the extra time they would need, and he smiled inwardly, grateful that Rooster had taken care of all the arrangements.
The element of surprise was on his side with both Laurel and Hazen. Now it was time to play his trump cards.
Shoving the deck toward the older man, Chance said, “Would you mind doing the honors, Bat? I wouldn’t want there to be any doubt as to the honesty of this game.”
Bat Masterson, former lawman and gambler, smiled smoothly at his longtime acquaintance. “Why sure, Rafferty. It’d be my pleasure. I doubt Mr. Hazen here is going to doubt a man of my reputation.” The Buntline Special strapped to his hip backed up his implied warning.
A momentary panic seized Hazen, and his starched collar suddenly felt two sizes too small. Bat Masterson! Why hadn’t he recognized that slick son of a bitch? But then, why should he worry? Masterson was an old man. He didn’t even have the skill to remain in the game. That realization restored Al’s confidence, as did the ace that was suddenly delivered to him.
He leaned back, smirking. “I doubt you’ll be able to beat this hand, Rafferty.” He spread the cards out in front of him. “Read ’em and weep.” He reached for the pot, but Masterson grabbed his arm.
“Not so fast, Mr. Hazen. We haven’t seen what Mr. Rafferty’s been dealt.”
With a nod at the former lawman, Chance fanned out the cards in his hands, laying them down atop the pile of winnings, and Hazen’s face registered disbelief before turning purple with rage.
“That’s impossible! You couldn’t have been dealt that hand.”
“Ten, jack, queen, king, ace of hearts, Hazen. A straight flush beats four of a kind, even ace high.”
Hazen tried to grab the deed to the Silver Slipper, but Chance was faster and snatched it up. “Uh-uh, Hazen. The deed is mine. I think all these good folks will agree that I beat you fair and square.”
The crowd murmured their approval, while Crystal squeezed Gus’s hand and smiled widely. “It appears Chance has beaten you, Al,” she said, not bothering to hide the joy in her voice or keep back the laughter that bubbled up.
Hazen’s face whitened as understanding dawned. “You whoring bitch! I’ll kill you for this.” He attempted to rise from his chair, but Masterson circled his neck with his large hand.
“Is that any way to talk to a lady, Hazen? I think you should apologize.”
“They’re in on this together. I was cheated, robbed!”
“You’re the one who attempted to cheat by substituting a marked deck, Hazen. Did you think you were playing with some country bumpkin? Did you think I wouldn’t smell the con?” Chance laughed. “The funny thing is, Hazen, I substituted a clean deck for your marked one and beat you all the same. You can check the cards if it’ll make you feel better.”
The irate pimp swept the cards to the floor. “The only thing that’s going to make me feel better, Rafferty, is seeing you dead. You and that slut who carries your child.”
His face taut with anger, Chance’s voice turned glacial as he rose to his feet. “I’ll meet you outside, Hazen. It’s time you and me had this out once and for all.”
* * *
The crowd drifted out into the street and formed a torch-lit ring. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark, but the excitement of watching two adversaries pummel each other heated their blood to a fever pitch.
Hazen struck first, catching Chance right below the left eye, and a roar of approval rose up. “Five dollars on Hazen,” somebody called out.
“I’ll take that bet,” Bat Masterson said with a confident smile. “But let’s make it more interesting by doubling it.”
Chance landed a powerful blow to Hazen’s midsection, and the man doubled over in pain. The usually reserved reverend screamed out his approval. “Bash his face in, Chance. Give that no-good . . .”
“Augustus!” Crystal chided, placing a restraining hand on the clergyman’s arm. “You forget yourself.” Before Gus had the opportunity to apologize, Crystal turned her attention back to the fight, shouting, “Kill ’im, Chance. Kill the bastard.”
“This one’s for Crystal,” Chance said, smashing his fist into Hazen’s face.
Al screamed, clutching his nose as blood spurted everywhere. “You broke my nose, you bastard!”
“Excellent,” Masterson commented.
Hazen lunged for Chance, but Chance was quicker and sidestepped the attack, jabbing a punch to the man’s ribs. “That’s for Laurel. And this one, too.” His clenched fist caught Hazen beneath the chin, knocking him senseless to the ground. “Get up, you bastard. Get up and let me kill you.”
“No, Chance!” Augustus called out, stepping down off the sidewalk and into the street to place himself between the two opponents, fearful that Chance would actually kill the pimp. “He’s had enough.”
“Is that true, Hazen? Have you had enough? Or shall I break the rest of your ribs?”
On his back in the mud, Hazen looked like the whipped dog he was. He held his hands up before his face and nodded. “I’ve had enough.”
“If I see your face in this town again, Hazen, I’m going to finish what I started here tonight. Do I make myself clear? Denver isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
Hazen nodded again, and Chance turned toward his friends. “Come on,” he said, linking his arms through Crystal and Gus’s. “We’ve got a wedding to prepare.”
* * *
Chug, chug, chug, chug. Chug, chug, chug, chug. The monotonous sound of the train’s steam engine became a litany as Laurel stared out the filthy window of the passenger car at the unrelenting low hills of the plains. They rolled in waves like an ocean, and the only relief from the dreary landscape was the occasional buffalo bush or sagebrush, or an unexpected patch of wildflowers.
Interestingly enough, the town they’d soon be pulling into for water and provisions was called Monotony, and Laurel was more than eager to reach it. She needed to stretch her legs to get the blood circulating back into them and to relieve the pain in her lower back from sitting such long hours.
The flash flood had delayed the train in River Bend for more than two days, and they were just now crossing the border into Kansas. It would be a welcome sight to see Fort Ellsworth, Laurel decided, for Salina lay not many miles beyond it.
Turning her attention to her swollen ankles, she sighed. She had a mind to write the folks at the Kansas Pacific Railroad just to let them know how poor she thought their service was. It wasn’t right for passengers to have to . . .
“Monotony!” the conductor called out, marching down the aisle toward the connecting door to the next car. The brakes screamed as the train rolled slowly to a halt.
The obese woman seated next to her, who Laurel now knew as Helen, cried out, “My goodness gracious! Land sakes alive. I ain’t never seen such a thing in my life.”
Curiosity getting the better of her, Laurel craned her head to look out the window, and what she saw made her mouth drop open in disbelief. Blinking several times, she wiped at the window, just to make certain it wasn’t an illusion. Then she smiled.
Chance was seated atop a snow white stallion dressed in, of all things, black formal evening attire. In one hand was a bouquet of red roses, in the other, a box of candy.
“Who on earth do you suppose that man is making such a fool of himself over?” Helen asked, shaking her head, as well as her chins, and sighing wistfully. “That is one lucky woman, if you ask me.”
Speechless, Laurel spotted a three-piece orchestra, also arrayed in formal attire, playing what sounded like a piece from The Barber of Seville. Next to them stood Rooster and another man she didn’t recognize. They were holding up a white bedsheet on which had been painted: Laurel, will you marry me? I love you!
Tears flooding her eyes, Laurel jumped to her feet like a shot, unmindful of her swollen ankles, the fat woman’s astonished gasp, or the other passengers who were now staring at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses.
“Excuse me,” she said, elbowing her way down the aisle toward the door. “Excuse me. This is my stop.”
Chance waited patiently, hoping Laurel had seen the effort he and Rooster had put forth on her behalf, and wondering if his irritated, chafed crotch was going to endure one more minute seated atop the goddamn horse.
He’d taken the train part of the way, then had ridden the huge beast, which he’d borrowed at a railway station, at breakneck speed to reach Monotony before Laurel. Horsemanship not being one of his strong suits, his butt had taken the brunt of the journey, and he now felt pain in every single one of his gluteus maximus muscles. The flowers he held were slightly wilted, as was his enthusiasm, due to his aching butt, but he aimed to persevere and greet Laurel just as he and Rooster had planned.
He smiled at his friend, knowing he would never have been able to pull off this wild scheme without Bartholomew Rooster Higgins, Gus, Crystal, and the others.
Friends were special. Family was indispensable. And love was the one thing no one could live without. Especially not him, and certainly not without Laurel.
As soon as Laurel’s foot hit the boardwalk, Chance dismounted and waited, hoping she’d find it in her heart to forgive him for all the stupid things he’d said and done and the callous way he’d treated her. She looked radiant and more beautiful than he remembered and when she smiled at him in that glorious way that only she could, his heart expanded two sizes in his chest.
Chance spread his arms wide to receive her, and Laurel rushed into them, showering him with kisses, squeezing his midsection tightly, as if to convince herself that this wasn’t just an illusion that would soon disappear.
“Chance. Chance. I love you so. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble for me.” Through her tears she smiled at Rooster, who was wiping his eyes with his handkerchief and sniffing loudly.
“Afternoon, Miss Laurel,” he said.
“Do I look enough like Prince Charming to qualify, angel? I love you, Laurel. I want you to be my wife and stay with me always.”
Laurel’s tears began anew, and she pressed her face into Chance’s shirtfront. “Yes!” she whispered, then repeated louder, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“God, Laurel, you’ve made me the happiest man on the face of this earth.”
“Are you certain, Chance?” she wanted to know, looking up at him. “I know how you feel about marriage and babies.”
“Not any longer. I can’t wait to get married. In fact, I’ve arranged for us to be married as soon as we return to Denver. Bertha, Crystal, and Flora Sue are making all the arrangements, and Gus is going to perform the ceremony.”
Using Chance’s sleeve for a hankie, much to his dismay, Laurel wiped her nose. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe it, angel.” He kissed her passionately, to an exuberant chorus of passenger well-wishers who now lined the platform. “Now that I’ve got you, I’m never going
to let you go.”
“Are we going to ride off into the sunset on the back of that white horse?” she asked, and he heard the wistfulness in her voice.
Swallowing a groan, for he knew the pain that awaited him on the back of the horse, Chance nodded, wanting to give her fairy tales and happily-ever-after. “What kind of Prince Charming would I be if we didn’t do that?” He lifted her onto the saddle, then mounted behind her.
“Shall we find a room at yonder castle, my fair lady?” he whispered into her ear, nodding toward the dilapidated hotel in the distance. “I’m in the mood for a hot bath, a warm bed, and a willing woman. And not necessarily in that order.”
“Chance Rafferty,” she chided in mock offense. “Prince Charmings do not lure innocent maidens into dens of iniquity and sully their virtuous reputations. It just isn’t considered chivalrous.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I don’t give a tinker’s ass about being chivalrous. I intend to get you into that bed, strip every inch of clothing off your delicious little body, and make mad, passionate love to you.”
Laurel sighed, feeling happier than she’d ever felt in her whole life. There were things she and Chance needed to talk about, like how they could turn the Aurora into a profitable, first-class restaurant and dinner theater that served no hard liquor but only fine wines instead.
Yes, there were many important things they needed to discuss. But all those would come later. Much later. Now, she intended to make love with the man she loved.
* * *
Nestled in Chance’s embrace, Laurel thought she could die now and go to Heaven happy. She wasn’t sure anything in life could be better than making love with someone you loved as much as she loved Chance.
Well, maybe one thing, she reconsidered, patting her abdomen softly.
“Chance.” Laurel ran exploring fingers over the soft mat of hair on his chest, and smiled when he groaned.
“Jesus, Laurel! Can’t we wait a little while? We’ve already done it five times. I’m a little wore out.”
She kissed his cheek. “There’s something I want to tell you, Chance. Something very important.”
Sweet Laurel Page 32
