The Gambler

by Lois Greiman

  Burle opened his mouth, but if there was one thing Charm had learned it was to talk fast and look sweet... until things got really serious. At which time her tactics would change dramatically. "Please help us, sir."

  The big man shuffled his feet, looking bewildered. "Well I..."

  "I seen 'em running down the street not two minutes ago," interrupted Burle's lanky henchman. "He didn't look real sickly then. And looky here." The man stepped forward, bending so that his balding pate shone in the moonlight as he retrieved the bag Jude had dropped. "Seems strange, don't it, that they tote their luggage about with 'em on their little constitutional?"

  Silence blanketed the street as Charm held her breath.

  "I'll have my money now." The proprietor's demand came after a brief eternity. "For two nights and four meals."

  "But Mr. Burle," began Charm, blinking quickly and wondering if she should have worn something more revealing than her modest traveling suit. "Jude's had a real hard day. He needs—"

  "I don't give a tinker's damn what he needs, miss!" interrupted Burle brusquely. Unfriendly wouldn't quite describe his tone now.

  "He just needs to..." she began again nevertheless.

  "Fred, get Deputy Hackett."

  "Deputy!" Charm gasped. "Mr. Burle, I assure you..." But Fred had already turned away. "Listen," she said, glancing quickly from Fred's retreating back to Burle's stoic expression. "Jude just needed a little air. We were planning on going straight back to settle up our bill."

  “Tell Hackett to hurry on down here," added Burle evenly, not turning his gaze from his newly departed guests.

  Charm swallowed hard. "All right," she said. "We're a bit short on cash. But there's no need to involve the law. We've got us a stake left. Tomorrow night Jude'll win for sure. He's a very good poker player. It was just that that blackhearted devil's spawn cheated and—"

  "And tell him to bring his gun, case this turns nasty," said Burle to his unseen sidekick.

  Charm's jaw dropped a notch, but the thought of repercussions for their planned escape made her words spurt forth with renewed vigor. "I'll find a way to pay."

  Even in the darkness she could see Burle's expression change from animosity to cautious skepticism.

  "Next week at the latest," she promised quickly. But already Fred was returning with another man at his side. One glance at Jude warned Charm that running would be a bad bet. Still, she had to get away from these men, hide some place where she could breathe.

  "Got yourself some trouble here, Burle?" The deputy was a short man, but solid, with a no-nonsense attitude.

  "Yeah. Seems like maybe these folks was tryin' to run out of town without paying up."

  "No. I assure you, we meant to pay," Charm vowed earnestly.

  "I seen 'em runnin' hell-bent fer leather," interjected Fred, waving a skinny arm to indicate the general direction of their getaway. "Straight down the middle of this here street."

  Damn Fred and his blasted night vision, thought Charm. "But we had every intention of returning to—" she began.

  "And they was carryin' these here bags," added Fred cleverly.

  "We weren't..." argued Charm desperately, wishing she could have thirty seconds alone with Fred and a good stout tree limb, but Deputy Hackett was already waving for silence.

  "It's late, folks," he said evenly, "and I ain't had my supper yet. So I'll tell you what. I'll give you a place to sleep for the night. It's free and only two of the bunks is spoken for."

  "Spoken for?" The world seemed to slow as Charm focused her attention on those two words, but Hackett reached for her arm now, jumbling her thoughts.

  "Deadwood ain't hardly big enough for a separate cell for the ladies, miss," he apologized. "But you don't need to fret none, cause the other two occupants is too sauced to give you no trouble."

  Charm, however, could imagine a good deal of trouble. Stepping quickly back, she raised a hand between herself and the deputy.

  "I won't be locked up with men!" she vowed.

  "Now, miss, there's no need to carry on so," assured Hackett, advancing.

  "Don't come any closer!" Charm said in breathless desperation, but in that moment another shadowy form stepped forward.

  "I fear this is all my fault," said a quiet drawl from the darkness.

  The deputy stopped, canting his head toward the newcomer and remaining silent for a moment. "And who might you be, mister?"

  "I'm the blackhearted devil's spawn."

  "What's that?" asked Hackett, but Raven was certain there was no need to explain his words to the girl. If her wide eyes were any indication of her thoughts, she knew he'd been eavesdropping for quite some time.

  "What's your name, son?" asked the deputy again.

  Raven shifted his weight and delayed just a moment, letting Charm stew in her juices a bit longer before deigning to pluck her from the boiling broth she'd so cleverly concocted.

  "My surname's Scott," said Raven, finally pulling himself from the girl's gaze. "And I fear this is all my fault. You see, these fine people were in a rush and asked me to pay for their lodging and meals." He paused momentarily then fished out a few of the bills he'd hastily shoved into his pocket. “They did, of course, leave me adequate funds with which to do so." If one tried really hard, one could almost find a shred of truth in that statement. And Deputy Hackett, it seemed, was willing to try.

  "So you're gonna pay Burle here?"

  Raven met Burle's gaze steadily. "With apologies for my tardiness." After handing forth several bills, he pulled out another. "It appears now, however, that Mr. Fergusson will be needing a comfortable place to spend the night, as he's in no condition to travel." Raven shifted his attention to the girl's wide eyes. "Don't you agree, Miss Charm?"

  Jude straightened with some difficulty, and for just a moment Raven thought the older man might repeat his suggestion to spend eternity someplace warm. But he kept quiet, as did his daughter for several seconds before bringing herself to concede.

  "Yes." That generous monosyllable was all she offered, and though Deputy Hackett paused for a moment, he finally nodded.

  "If everything's fixed up to your satisfaction, Burle, I'll be getting myself some grub and a few hours sleep."

  "Sure." Burle skimmed his attention from Charm, to Raven, and back to Charm, doing nothing to hide his befuddlement. "Sure enough."

  The deputy departed, Fred shuffled his oversized feet, and Burle cleared his throat. "Well, it seems there's been a misunderstanding. But with Deadwood being what it is, booming with the gold fever and such like, there's all kinds of folks hereabouts these days." He shrugged, abbreviating his apology. "Guess there ain't been no real harm done."

  The Fergussons remained silent, causing Raven to wonder if they would bolt off into the darkness once Burle turned his broad back. But Jude was still breathing hard. Unless he was a damn good actor, which Raven doubted, he was in no condition to do much of anything.

  "No apologies necessary, sir," said Raven, employing all his considerable charm. "As I said, it was entirely my fault. Had I—"

  "I'll be seeing Jude to bed," said Charm brusquely, interrupting Raven's carefully ingratiating monologue as she moved forward to do just that. But Raven was not willing to play the game without a chance at the spoils and stepped quickly before her.

  "I'm certain Mr. Burle would be happy to see your father safely to his room," suggested Raven evenly and reached to grasp Jude's arm.

  "No!" Charm's response was as sharp and hard as a well-chosen rock.

  "I beg your pardon?" said Raven, seeing the nervous glance she immediately shot toward the looming innkeeper.

  "I mean," corrected the girl, her voice as soft and sweet as boiled molasses now. "My father's very ill. I'd best see to him myself."

  "But I promised to buy you a meal at the first possible opportunity, Miss Fergusson, and surely you must be famished."

  For just a moment Raven thought he saw the flash of some flinty emotion light her face, but it
was gone before he could assess it. She now graced him with a timid smile, which she soon turned on Burle.

  "That's ever so generous of you, gentlemen, but I really must think of my father," she said, tugging Jude toward her.

  "But surely you must eat," argued Raven, dragging him back.

  Her smile didn't slip a bit, but remained neatly etched on her seductive lips. "We'll have a bite at the inn," she said, reeling Jude in.

  "We won't be servin' supper no more tonight, miss," Burle observed, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Was I you, I'd take Mr. Scott up on his offer. Maybe you could have somethin' sent up to yer pa."

  She turned her luminous gaze on Burle, but before she could speak, Raven launched himself back into the dispute. "It's settled, then," said he, yanking Jude from Charm's grasp to place him, a bit more roughly than he'd intended, beside the innkeeper's huge form. "Burle here will assist your father to his room, while you and I have something sent up to relieve his hunger. Anywhere you might suggest, sir?"

  Burle's expression was open to interpretation, but blatant curiosity would be a fair description. "Wendel's is the only place still servin'," he said, obediently taking a firm hold on Jude's arm.

  Raven nodded expansively. "Wendel's it is, then. Shall we, Miss Fergusson?" He extended his arm, but Charm turned her head and seemed preoccupied with lifting her dark skirt, as if suddenly concerned with the mud that encrusted its hem. "Or would you rather dig your own way out of this grave?" he asked quietly.

  Her smile, when it returned, could light up the night. Casually ignoring Raven's extended arm, she turned her radiance on the innkeeper. "If you're certain it's not too much trouble, Mr. Burle."

  Burle's momentary bedazzlement couldn't be mistaken. It was the strange by-product of Charm's appeal, suddenly turned loose in full force on the innkeeper. Raven watched her hone her allure, and couldn't deny her aptitude. It was possible he'd met his match as a scoundrel.

  "No." Burle shook his head, never losing contact with her eyes. "No trouble at all," he said, but momentarily forgot to move from the spot.

  The silence was beginning to sweat when Raven stepped into the void. "Then perhaps Fred here could carry the luggage, and you should go, Burle," Raven suggested, "before Mr. Fergusson weakens further."

  "Oh." Burle wrested himself from his trance with admirable speed. "Yeah." But now Jude pulled free from the innkeeper's grasp with a wheeze and a shred of dignity.

  "Scott." His voice was raspy, but his back was straight. "You lay a hand on her, I'll chew your head off," he said in flat warning. Turning, he hobbled back in the direction from which they had come.

  With a nod, Burle followed. Fred, too, turned away, though he looked regretful of the anticlimax to such excitement.

  Raven watched them go. "Tell me, Miss Fergusson," he said, absently reaching for her arm, "did Jude name you Charm or is it simply a characteristic you inherited from your old man?"

  With a snap, she yanked her elbow from his grasp. "Don't touch me," she warned, her tone low and rushed.

  "Well..." Raven smiled at her, hoping to achieve the same bright hypocrisy she attained with so little effort. "I guess that answers my question then, doesn't it?"

  From a nearby doorway a pair of miners approached them. Raven nodded and held his expression, and Charm smiled, too, matching his toothy insincerity with obvious and disconcerting ease.

  "Yes." She dimpled when she answered, causing the moon to cast crescent shadows in the delicate hollows of her cheeks. "I guess it does."

  “Then we understand each other," said Raven.

  "Perfectly," she agreed sweetly and, grasping her small reticule to her chest, strode primly off.

  Wendel's Roadhouse was a modest establishment that had once stood at the edge of town. Deadwood, however, had managed to render up enough gold to cause the booming community to engulf and enliven it, despite frequent and bloody skirmishes with the Sioux.

  Inside, Wendel's was illuminated by a lamp placed upon every occupied table, which meant there was little enough light with which to see by. For even the rough-edged inhabitants of Deadwood had to sleep sometime.

  "And what would you be wantin'?" asked a man who appeared from the dimness. He wiped his hands on a greasy apron and waited.

  Had Raven not already become acquainted with the Fergussons, he might have thought the innkeeper unfriendly. As it was, Wendel's proprietor seemed just about average for the inhabitants of this backwater town.

  Finally seated at a small table, Raven and Charm ordered perfunctorily and then sat in silence. Two nearby diners stood and left, followed not much later by a trio of others.

  They were alone now, unless one counted the menagerie of gamblers who occupied the adjoining card room.

  "You're looking at me!" Charm's words cracked the silence like a dropped egg, but Raven merely tilted his head slightly, pretending not to comprehend.

  "What's that?"

  "I said you're looking at me!"

  He raised his brows at her and leaned back in his chair. "And is that a crime in these parts, Miss Fergusson?"

  "I don't like to be looked at."

  "Really?" He almost laughed. "And is this a longstanding attitude or one that changes with your attire?"

  She drew herself straighter in the slat-backed chair, pursing her fine mouth slightly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  He did smile now, grimly and carefully. "Then let me explain. Back at Burle's... you were trying to seduce me."

  Her eyes widened, and she gasped. "How dare you!"

  "How dare I be honest?"

  Her lips moved long before she managed to force a sound from between them. "How dare you assume—"

  "Oh, I wasn't assuming. I know. You were trying to seduce me, make me lose my concentration. Not that I resent it. In fact, I enjoyed it. But now..." He shrugged lazily. "You owe me."

  "You're crazy!"

  "Are you saying you had the funds to pay the good Mr. Burle for his hospitality?" She rose swiftly to her feet, but he merely shrugged again. "If that's the case, I'd be happy to accompany you back to the inn. I'll get my money back, and you can explain the situation. Is that what you want?"

  She didn't speak, but stared at him with eyes mean enough to torch water.

  "That's what I thought. Then sit down, Miss Fergusson," Raven said stiffly.

  She did so, though slowly. "What do you want from me?" she whispered as she clenched her hands into fists.

  "I only want what you promised."

  "I didn't promise you anything."

  "Oh, but you did," he argued, picking up a fork to twirl it between his fingers. "You promised me everything... with your eyes."

  She drew a deep, sharp breath through flared nostrils and fumbled with her reticule to finally extract a white, pocket-sized book. “ ‘And I stood upon the sand of the sea and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy,'" she jabbered rapidly. " 'And—' "

  "I don't mean to be rude," interrupted Raven, "but what the devil are you yammering about?"

  "Revelations. Chapter 13. Verse 1," she breathed.

  Raven scowled, watching her face in bemusement. "Crazy as a coot. Waste of cleavage," he murmured. "Tell me, Miss Fergusson, are your parents closely related? Siblings perhaps?"

  Charm's nostrils flared again as she lifted her chin. "My mind is perfectly sound, but I know your kind. I know about men. Can read them like a book."

  Raven ignored both her disdain and her biblical blathering. "It's a clever little scheme, distracting men with your..." He raised his hand casually toward his own chest. "Charms," he finished. "Promising them pleasure with your eyes then running out before you live up to your end of the bargain."

  "I make no bargains with Satan's spawn."

  "I'm not complaining," he said, easily ignoring her intended insult. "I'm merely stating my admiration and wondering if the deception might work for m
e. Tell me, if I batted my eyes and showed some chest, would you be distracted?"

  Her lips moved again in that strange wordless way she had, and then the Bible was suddenly flipped open to a new page.

  " 'Save me, O God! The water is up to my neck. I am sinking in deep mud, and there is no solid ground. I am out in deep water, and the waves are about to—' ”

  "Oh, for Christ's sake!" rasped Raven and, reaching out, snatched the volume from her hands. "What the devil is wrong with you?"

  "Give me!" she demanded and tried to grab it back as they both jerked to their feet, but their fingers bumbled now, and the book fell, spilling open to the front page where a name was penned in dark, scrolling ink.

  "Eloise Medina!" Raven read aloud.

  Charm made a wild grab for the book, but before her fingers could touch the white leather, Raven scooped it back into his hands to stare in disbelief at the swirling words on the inside front cover.

  "Where'd you get this?" he demanded.

  Charm lifted her chin. Her breathing was harsh, and her eyes sparked with anger, but Raven failed to care, for never in all his searching for Chantilly Grady had he come so close.

  "Give it back," she demanded hoarsely, extending her hand.

  Raven grasped her wrist. "Where'd you get it?" he asked again.

  For just a moment an indefinable expression crossed her face, but it vanished, replaced by arrogant rage.

  "Where?" he repeated with a tight grip and cool, feigned patience.

  "From my mother," she gritted and with an Amazonian effort, yanked her arm from his fingers.

  Chapter 3

  "You, my dear," Raven said, remembering his gentlemanly demeanor lest he get thrown from Wendel's for improper behavior, "are a world-class liar."

  "And you," she retorted with bitter sweetness, still standing and breathing hard, "are the very spawn of Satan."

  He watched her, feeling his temper rise, but holding it carefully in check. "For all I know, you may be right, Miss Charming, but I believe we were speaking of your parentage. Now..."—Raven took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes—"about the Bible. Where did you really..." he began, but suddenly a movement caught his eye, tripping his memory with hair-trigger speed. "Take it," he ordered sharply, thrusting the Bible toward her.