Games (Timeless Series)

by Loyd, Sandy

  His attention was brought back to the table when Minnie asked, “Simon. What do you think?”

  “About what?” He looked up, his expression questioning.

  “After dinner?” Minnie smiled warmly and added, “Maybe you could cheer her up by playing another card game with her tonight?”

  Simon almost choked on the wine he’d been swallowing. When he could speak, he said in his most serious demeanor, “I’ll try to cheer her up, but I think I’m the reason she left.”

  “Oh my, no. We can tell she likes you. You’re different from all the others.”

  He groaned at the matchmaking tone he caught in her voice. “You two wouldn’t be trying to throw us together in the hopes of a match, would you?” He glared accusingly, eyeing them through a narrowed gaze.

  The blush creeping up both women’s faces as well as their guilty looks told him he’d hit his target.

  “We think you are perfect for her,” Minnie explained tolerantly as if he didn’t see it. “And we’ve noticed you aren’t immune to her, either.”

  Standing, Simon muttered under his breath, “God save me from matchmaking women.” He flashed his most engaging smile and said a little louder, “You ladies will have to excuse me. I believe you’re right. Giselle does need cheering up. I’m going to try and talk with her.”

  He then strode from the room.

  ~~

  “Mark my words, he’s taken with her,” Minnie said, turning to Maizie. “He simply doesn’t want to admit it. We only need to give the two of them enough rope and they’ll eventually hang themselves. What do you think, sister?”

  “I agree. I also think it’s time we went to bed.”

  Chapter 13

  The first place Simon checked, he found Giselle in the same position as yesterday, sitting on the same sofa, reading the same book. She didn’t look up when he entered the room.

  After closing the door, he strode up to the bar. He turned over two glasses and filled both liberally with bourbon. With drinks in hand, he went over to the sofa, sat down, held out her drink, and waited.

  When she relented, eventually taking it, he lounged back against the sofa and brought his glass to his mouth for a long swallow, remaining silent.

  “Want to talk about it?” he finally asked.

  “There is nothing to talk about,” she replied in a melancholy voice.

  “Oh? Then why are you so quiet?”

  “Perhaps there is something on my mind, but I surely do not want to tell you what it is.”

  “Why? Maybe I can help.”

  The sound of forced laughter floated to his ears. “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Try me. I promise I won’t laugh or make light of it.”

  She laughed harder. “It is nothing really.” She shook her head. A self-deprecating expression slid over her face once her laughter died. “Just a mood.”

  “I see,” Simon said, nodding. “Well then, take a drink.” When she looked at him with raised eyebrows clearly intimating he was a little touched, he nodded again. “Go ahead. It always helps me.”

  She took one drink and then another. “Fine.” She set the glass on the table next to her and glanced at him expectantly. “Now what?”

  He leaned over her and set his drink next to hers. Then he pulled the book from her grasp, also placing it on the table.

  “Come here,” he whispered, gently tugging on her hand and drawing her into his embrace.

  Her head shook from side to side. “Simon, I do not think this is such a good—”

  Simon placed his finger on her mouth, effectively stopping the words as well as the movement. “Shush,” he said, rubbing his finger lightly over her soft bottom lip. “This always works for me, too.”

  A heartbeat later his mouth replaced his finger. For long minutes all he did was kiss her, trying to heal her hurts. Why he sensed her hurt, he didn’t question. He only knew he wanted to help.

  When he tasted her tears, he broke the kiss and whispered fervently, “Giselle, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  His request only created more tears. Finally, in between sobs, she wailed, “I am so mean. I haven’t a heart either.”

  Keeping his arms around her, Simon leaned back and looked at her, his brow furrowed in complete confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “All those men who have been at my feet, I have treated them so callously. Now I know how they feel,” she said, still sobbing.

  “You’re not making any sense. Shush, don’t cry,” he said softly, wiping her tears with the pads of his fingers and kissing the sides of her face where they fell. After her tears subsided somewhat, he added, “I’ve watched you with men and you don’t treat them callously. I’ve seen and heard you many times with them, and trust me when I say, they are fools for putting up with you.”

  “What do you mean?” She pulled away from him, her liquid gaze throwing daggers.

  “You’re the consummate flirt, but a flirt nonetheless.” He chuckled. “If those fellows get caught in your trap it’s of their own volition, or because of their own wishful thinking.” Her eyebrows drawn together in confusion caused his grin to broaden. He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder. “You never promise, merely imply. You’ve never lied to anyone or truly led them on, except with the promise of your smile.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. There is something about your smile that promises to yield everything a man wants. Of course, it’s really a challenge of sorts. One no man can resist, which is what leads men on.”

  “What about you? Has my smile led you on?”

  The pouty look on her face had him sucking in his breath. As she gazed at him through tear-filled eyes holding too much emotion, the desire to kiss those lips, to show her exactly how much she led him on, zinged through his body.

  “What do you think?” he asked, tamping it down. Now was not the time or place.

  “I would like to think I have led you somewhere.”

  Another chuckle escaped. “You have, Giselle. I wouldn’t be here now if that wasn’t the case.”

  “But what about later?”

  Simon sobered slightly and looked deeply into her eyes. The intensity he saw there shocked him into honesty, pushing away any remaining amusement.

  He sat up straighter and pulled his arm from around her to distance himself. He remained silent until he cleared his throat. “I’m not long-term,” he said solemnly. I like my life exactly as it is. I’ve never wanted marriage and a family. And if it’s something you’re expecting, you should know where I stand.”

  “I know, Simon,” Giselle said wistfully, patting his hand. “I understand your position. That is why I am sad.”

  “Oh, Giselle. I’m so sorry.” His next words, when he finally spoke, were just above a whisper. “Given the circumstances, I can’t ask you to make good on your bet any longer. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Non. You won the bet, which I foolishly wagered. I fully intend to honor my loss.” She smiled, her expression changing, turning more playful. With a little more of her old spunk, her chin went up as she challenged, “Besides, I think the bet was for the night, and the choice was mine as to whether or not we made love. Now that I know where I stand, you will never get further than kisses.”

  Simon laughed so hard, he was sure it could be heard out in the hall. “Oh, you think so? Care to place a wager?”

  Giselle’s laughter wasn’t quite so loud, but just as hearty. “Non, I have learned my lesson.”

  Smiling, he leaned over her to pick up his drink. He sighed and took a sip. “Let’s forget about the wager. I have no intention of deflowering you and then leaving. I don’t know what I was thinking to even suggest such a thing.”

  “I have another way we can solve this.” Her reply held such an air of confidence, which, along with her sly grin, caused the hairs on his neck to flutter, making him feel slightly on edge. He knew that grin.

  “Since I am not willing to be deflo
wered, as you so nicely put it, and you do not want to deflower me, I have a new wager.” She broke off and waited. When he didn’t say anything, just lifted his eyebrows, her smile brightened. “I want to honor my part of the bet. I owe you a night. I am willing to spend it with you and take the risk of being deflowered. But if that happens, you have to let me help you with your investigation.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Simon said, sitting up straighter as a streak of uncertainty washed over him.

  “My new wager says you will be unable keep your hands off me for the full night.”

  His bark of laughter filled the air. “You’re joking, right?” He rose from the sofa and went to the bar, pouring himself another drink. Then he walked over to stand above her.

  “Non, I am serious.” Her increasing amusement as well as her confidence showed on her face as she watched him sit back down, placing more distance between them. “I owe you a night to be together. To ensure nothing happens between us, you need an incentive. Your incentive is to keep me out of your case. If you fail and we—you know—then my reward is to be involved with you on your case.”

  “My God, where do you get your ideas?” he said, once another round of laughter died.

  “What? You do not think you can do it?” she goaded.

  “That’s not the point. It’s a ludicrous idea.” He sat back and took a long drink, eyeing her the entire time.

  “I think it is a perfect idea.”

  Suddenly he sobered. “Now just a damn minute here,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “Nothing’s going to happen because all bets are off.”

  Giselle crossed her arms. “I am honoring my wager and that is that,” she said, jutting out her chin.

  “Like hell you are.”

  “We will see.”

  The smile she offered was pure sugar, which didn’t sit well. Neither did the confident gleam in her eyes. The woman would be the death of him.

  “Giselle, I am not someone to toy with,” he warned.

  “Tell me something I do not know.” Giselle rolled her eyes. “I have made up my mind and you cannot change it. I want my bet. As a gentleman, you need to let me honor my debt in my own way.”

  “That doesn’t pertain to us and you know it,” he hissed, his irritation rising along with his voice.

  “Maybe not. But answer me this. Earlier, when we came back from our ride, did you fully intend to have me pay my debt?”

  “Yes, and you damn well know it. What has that got to do with me canceling the bet now?”

  “Why have you changed your mind?” She flashed him a look that said she already knew the answer.

  “You know damn well why.” He couldn’t stop his mounting frustration from showing in his tone as he spoke.

  “Because you were honest with me?”

  “No, because I didn’t think you’d want more. Now that I do know, I’m not about to touch you only to disappoint you,” he replied candidly, trying to get her to see why the new bet was totally out of the question.

  “Why is tonight any different from last night?”

  Seeking more patience, he rubbed his hands over his face and took another long drink. “It was a game, Giselle, and you were playing last night. Tonight, the rules have changed. The stakes are too high.”

  “Why?” Her gaze narrowed and she searched his face. “It is still a game, Simon. I know the rules and I want to play.” She broke off, still probing his expression. Then, she smiled smugly. “What is the matter? Do you not think you can do it?”

  He laughed, shaking his head, and counted to ten. “I could have had you out in the pasture this afternoon. You have no idea how close it was. I held on by a thread. So in all honesty, no, I don’t think I can.”

  “Then I will get to help you with your case,” she declared firmly as if her comment solved the problem, her grin spreading from ear to ear. “It seems we will both get something we want. Why is that so bad?”

  He groaned and looked toward the heavens. Why me, Lord? How had he arrived in this position? He raked a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to ease the knot of tension tightening his spine. “You are not helping me with my case, either.”

  “It is your choice, Simon. If you want to admit defeat, then I will gladly take my prize.”

  “There is no prize, Giselle,” he ground out. “I’m not playing.” Holding on to his drink, he was off the sofa and exiting the room in the next instant.

  Giselle sat back and watched him go. With a knowing smile taking over her face, she picked up the drink he’d poured, took a big swallow, and whispered, “That is what you think.”

  ~~

  After leaving Giselle in the library, Simon headed toward the bunkhouse looking for Jamison. Along the way, his thoughts were centered on Giselle and her most unusual proposal. Damn if she didn’t amuse him more than any woman he’d ever known, but she also annoyed him more than any woman he’d ever met.

  He couldn’t believe she’d been so bold as to suggest helping him with his case. She obviously thought it an entertaining game and had no clue as to the dangers involved. He wasn’t about to put her in harm’s way. Nor was he going to spend the night with her. As much as he wanted to, his sense of self-preservation told him it would be a big mistake to spend any more time in Giselle’s company. Why he was so foolish last night to even contemplate such a thing, God only knew. What he needed now was to put some distance between them, before he got sucked deeper into her trap.

  Upon entering the bunkhouse, he glanced around. When he saw the young hand he was looking for lying on one of the bunks, he sauntered over to him and sat down. He had plenty to keep him busy, so he’d just make himself scarce until this mystery was solved. Once that happened, he could get the hell away from Giselle and her promising smile.

  “Mr. Harrington.” Jamison nodded, then rose up with a wary expression on his face. “Something I can do for you?”

  Simon nodded. “I just had a quick question. I’m hoping you can answer it, or know someone who can.”

  He shrugged. “I can try, sir, but I don’t know much.”

  “Have you heard of a hand by the name of Clint Mathers?”

  Jamison thought for a moment. He shook his head. “No, sir. Can’t say as I have. Why?”

  “He went missing from the Edwards place right after one of their thoroughbreds had an accident. I wondered if you’d met him in town or anywhere else.”

  “I’m kind of a loner and stay to myself.” Jamison shook his head again. “Don’t go into town much. Sorry I can’t be more help. You might try Hastings. He’s always riding into town and carousing.”

  “Do you know where he might be right now?”

  “He always works in the stables until late. He should be coming in soon.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check there.” Simon turned to go, but stopped short and asked, “Is Isaac Black around?”

  “Yeah, he’s around.” Jamison indicated with a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re all playing poker in the back room.”

  Simon thanked him and headed toward the other room. A group of men huddled around a large table, drinking and smoking, obviously in the middle of a hand when Simon walked in. He stood watching until one of the players won the hand and bent to scoop up his winnings. Then he said, “One of you guys named Black?”

  The same unsavory character who’d won the hand looked over at him with a hard expression. “Who wants to know?” His voice was gravelly and his attitude too smug.

  “Obviously, I do. Are you Isaac Black?”

  Simon glared at the man, holding his gaze until the man squirmed a bit.

  Black leaned back into his chair, picked up the cards he’d been dealt, and grinned belligerently, displaying none of his earlier concern. “I go by that name now and again. What do you want, mister?”

  “It’s Harrington,” he replied gruffly, pulling up a chair and straddling it backward, resting his arms on top of the rungs. “I have a couple of questions to ask
you.”

  He squinted at Simon, a cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. He took a huge puff before flicking the ashes and placing it in an ashtray. “It’s a free country. Ask away.” His attention went back to his cards.

  Simon put his hand on Black’s cards, effectively stopping him from pulling a couple out. “In private. Unless you want the world to know your business.”

  “I’m out this round.” Black scowled and threw down his cards, pushed back from the table, and stood. He gathered his money, pocketing it, and turned to Simon. “After you, Harrington.”

  Simon led him out of the building. When they were a good distance away, he said, “I heard you were working at the Hillier place when her stallion got loose and broke his leg. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, so what? Lots of men were working that day.”

  Simon’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Way I heard it is you were the only one in the stables at the time. Care to explain what you were doing there?”

  “Working,” Black said.

  “Doing what?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I was probably shoveling horse shit.” He held his gut while he laughed, clearly amused at his little joke.

  Harrington didn’t laugh. Instead, he eyed Black, until the other man fidgeted under his scrutiny. “Yes, well while you were shoveling, did you happen to see or hear anything?”

  “No, I was totally absorbed in my work.”

  Still piercing the man with a cold stare, he said, “So you didn’t see or hear anything?” He stayed silent not releasing his gaze. Then, realizing he wasn’t going to answer after a full minute ticked by other than the slight nod, he asked, “When did you notice the horse missing? Weren’t you the one who sounded the alarm?”

  “Yeah, but like I said, I was working and the next thing I noticed the horse was gone and his stall door open. No one was around and I went out to try and find him.”

  “Convenient story, Black.”

  “Maybe. But it’s the truth.” His manner turned confrontational, his tone hostile.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Clint Mathers?”

  “Never heard of him.” Black shook his head. “You got any more questions, Harrington?”