The Gambler

by Lois Greiman

  "Please don't." Her words were no more than a whisper suddenly, barely breaking the quiet.

  Raven felt her shiver beneath him and somehow felt like a cad. He almost forgot she had all but seduced him with her eyes, had made promises she'd intended to break. That she'd just kneed him in the groin, for God's sake.

  "Don't what?" he asked.

  "Please let me go," she pleaded softly.

  "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk." All right, it sounded strange from his position atop her, but how else was he supposed to talk to her? She was like a blasted race horse. Flighty, long-limbed, and damnably fast. "Lucky for me I saw the livery's open door," he said. He was biding his time and hoping she would relax, although he suspected that was a bit much to hope for, considering their respective positions. "I came up here thinking I'd have a clear view from the loft. Didn't know you were here until I heard you breathing." He waited, watching her, but her expression didn't change. He scowled. "Will you quit looking at me like that?"

  No response.

  He deepened his scowl, trying to remember her rather deadly habits. "If I let you up, will you promise not to run off?"

  A nod was all he got, but he finally slid off her, letting her sit up. She did so stiffly, looking sheepish, and slowly reaching for the reticule she had dropped in her efforts to escape.

  "There now. See?" He raised a palm upward toward her as testimony to her continued health and well-being. "I'm not going to harm you." He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "I just want to talk about the Bible."

  "My Bible?" she asked, blinking once and looking smaller somehow.

  "Yes." He nodded, careful to keep his movements slow. "Could I see it?"

  She watched him in silence for a moment. Then, nodding, she opened her reticule and reached in. "Stay where you are!" she ordered and yanked the tiny muzzle of a derringer toward him. "Stay right where you are."

  Raven scowled. "The devil! Put that thing away before someone gets hurt." He raised his hand, but Charm scooted backward across the hay, waving the weapon between them.

  "I'll shoot you. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth."

  "What eye? What tooth? I haven't touched you," he pointed out practically.

  Charm opened her mouth, ready to denounce him as a liar, but he held up a hand and interrupted. "All right. I touched you. But I had, and have," he hurried to add, "no intention of harming you. In fact, I'll pay you," he said, sounding suddenly inspired and hopeful. "I'll pay you just to see the Bible."

  She said nothing, knowing in her gut that she had to escape before he turned violent. The edge of the loft was only a few inches behind her, but the ladder was several feet away. She could shoot him, of course, but shooting men had certain drawbacks. Hanging, for instance.

  "Here. I'll pay you a dollar just to look," he said, and reached for his pocket.

  But suddenly straw was strewn through the air. The gun was knocked from her hand, and she lay flat against the fodder again with him planted firmly on top.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you liked this position," he said, his face very close to hers.

  She fought with everything in her, but it was no use, for he had the advantage of weight and strength.

  "Are you done?" he asked finally, watching her as her struggles subsided. He gripped both her wrists in his left hand now.

  "Let me go!" she gritted.

  "We already had this conversation," he reminded her, shaking his head in a fatherly manner. "It wasn't all that interesting the first time. Let's not have it again."

  She glared, hate and fear and bewilderment mixing to a heady potion inside her. Why was he doing this? Why her? Why her Bible? Already he had managed to draw it from her reticule and open it to the first page.

  "Eloise Medina." He said the name again, as if mesmerized. "Who is she?" he asked, still straddling her with his knees and pinning his gaze on her face.

  She said nothing.

  "Who is she?" he repeated, leaning closer.

  "I already told you," Charm said, forcing out the words. "But it seems you didn't like my answer."

  "That's because you lied, my dear Miss Charming. Now let's try again. Who is she?"

  "She's my father's favorite cousin, once removed," she said coolly. "Penny Pritchard. She lives in Pittsburgh with her husband Paul, two pigs and a pigeon named Petunia." Charm forced a cold smile.

  Raven smiled back. "I give you full credit for your marvelous use of alliteration and imagination. But let's try the truth, just to be different."

  "Maybe that is the truth!" snarled Charm and, yanking her wrists free, grabbed the Bible.

  "The devil!" swore Raven and jerked the book away.

  Charm shrieked, covering her face with the back of her hand. "Don't!" she pleaded.

  The air was heavy with a silence that was disturbed, only for a moment, by the stomp of a horse's hoof.

  "Does he hit you?" Raven's voice was very low, revealing no emotion.

  Charm pressed her arm against her face and kept her eyes closed. The aftertaste of her shameful terror was bitter. In a moment he grasped her wrist and tugged it gently away.

  "Does he?"

  She opened her eyes fearfully. His face was lean and dark-skinned, easily showing the rise of his cheekbones, the taut curve of his jaw. His eyebrows were full and low, and his eyes... indescribable in their deep moodiness. Was there anger in his expression, or was there no emotion at all, just aloof curiosity? She watched him breathlessly. The two top buttons of his white shirt were open. His neck was broad and dark, with the tendons running in at an angle to converge at the hollow above the slope of his chest. Charm drew in a sharp breath and raised her gaze to his.

  "Answer me." His voice was as dark as his skin and carefully controlled. "Does he hit you?"

  "Who?" she asked softly.

  "Jude." Raven scowled, looking impatient. "Who else?"

  There they were. The nightmare memories, called forth again. For a moment she saw the face behind the upraised fist, but it was gone, fading in a bellow of rage. A shiver raced through her, making it difficult to breathe.

  "Charm?"

  She gasped at the sound of his voice and tried to push him away, but he caught her wrist again. "No one hurt me," she said. "Not until you."

  His brows dipped a little lower over his solemn eyes. "If you want to be treated gently, perhaps you should be gentle yourself."

  "I know what you want," she said hoarsely.

  "Do you now?" He grinned, but the expression lifted only a corner of his full mouth. "And how do you know?"

  He was patronizing her. She gritted her teeth. "I know because Jude told me."

  His brows raised at her words. Was he surprised? she wondered, trying to decipher his emotions, or was he simply laughing at her? "And what has Jude the Wise told you?" he asked, leaning closer still.

  She pushed back into the straw, focusing on his face and forgetting to breathe. "Unspeakable things!"

  "Unspeakable?" He leaned even nearer, setting the Bible aside. "Unspeakably bad or... unspeakably pleasant?" he asked and suddenly kissed the sensitive underside of her wrist.

  The gentle caress ripped a spasm of shock through her terrified system. She forgot his question entirely.

  "What?" she asked, hoping speech would distract him, would distract her. He kissed her wrist again, causing another spasm to arch like a shooting flame along her arm to her frazzled nerve endings.

  "I mean..." He drew away slightly, looking into her eyes. "What did Jude tell you?"

  "Men are evil." She said the words directly into his face, knowing they were true. He merely watched her.

  He'd been wrong about her eyes and wondered now how he could have been mistaken. Even in this dim light he could see they were green. Green like the color of aquatic plants as seen through the shifting waves of a sparkling pool. And wide, so wide and deep there seemed to be no bottom to the emotion there.

  "Is this
evil?" he whispered as he lifted her palm to his lips and gently kissed its center.

  The intake of breath was loud and sharp as she tried to wriggle away from him across the straw.

  "Or this?" he asked, easily moving with her and using his tongue to trace an invisible path down her life line to the tip of her pinky.

  "Don't!" Again she tried to wrest her hand from his grasp, but he noticed now that it shook like a willow beneath a strong wind. He couldn't help wondering if it was fear or if there was, perhaps, some other emotion that caused her to tremble.

  "Maybe it doesn't feel so evil as you had expected. And maybe this will not either," he whispered. Beneath him she was soft and breathless and indescribably beautiful. He leaned forward to kiss her.

  He heard a squeal like that of a snared rabbit. He felt the quick, hard heave of her leg. One moment he was anticipating untold sensual pleasures and the next he was falling. With a curse and a bone-jarring jolt, he landed on the hard-packed earth below.

  Chapter 4

  Was he dead?

  Charm trembled again, watching the darkness from her hiding place. It was black and close where she crouched beneath the fetid, rotting boards of the porch she'd scrambled beneath. No one would find her there. Still, she scrunched farther back. Something slithered from beneath her hand, and she nearly screamed, but no sound left her constricted throat.

  Sheer luck had helped her locate her derringer in the dim light of the loft. She gripped it now but found little comfort in the embrace.

  Dear God, she hadn't meant to kill him. But he had been so close and so... She shivered again, hearing her breath come in rusty gasps.

  Minutes ticked away like ragged, nearly forgotten nightmares. Hoofbeats thundered in her head. She crouched lower, covering her ears, trying to hold back the dark tide of panic. But darkness pressed in closer, welcoming terror. It enveloped her in clammy hands as screams echoed within the confines of her aching skull.

  There was nothing now but loneliness. Nothing but that hole in her mind from which evil things crept. But no. She was imagining unreal terrors. And unreality couldn't harm her. Still, the minutes ticked by like shuddering hours.

  It was pain that finally brought Charm back to her senses—the pain of her fingers and knees against the sharp, jagged rocks beneath her. She drew a ragged breath. From between the crooked boards of the porch, she noticed a glimmer of moonlight. All was not darkness; all was not hopeless. She took another shuddering breath.

  Jude would be waiting for her. If only he had remained strong despite his poker loss. But she wouldn't allow herself to think about the alternative. Not now.

  It was time to leave this place. Slowly she crept out. There was blood on her palms, but she ignored it. She should have gone back long ago, but she'd been certain someone would find Raven's body and follow her.

  But there was no way of knowing if he was dead. She was letting terror lead her mind. Raven Scott wasn't dead, she told herself firmly. He'd merely fallen from the loft. He was young and strong. Too young and too strong. She remembered his hands on her and shivered again. She had done what needed doing. Anyone would understand that, and now she was safe, for it was not yet dawn and no one had found her.

  Slinking from the shadow of the porch, she glanced about. Although she was alone and unthreatened, she was also lost.

  The streets of Deadwood seemed twisted and unplanned, but Charm hurried down the rutted roads, breathless and wary, until she saw the inn. Crouching against the corner of a general store, she stared through the uneven darkness, watching for movement, for some sign of trouble. All was quiet. Still, she dared not try the front door. Even if it had been left unlocked, someone might be hiding in the interior.

  It was simple enough to find the window of Jude's rented room. It had not been so many hours before that they had escaped that way. A rail fence ran below the slanted roof.

  She climbed now as quietly as possible and finally wriggled up a rough post to the rooftop. The shingles were softened from years of rain and grey-green moss. They made only a quiet protest as she crept across them.

  The window was open. Charm drew a relieved breath. She'd left a narrow shim there to keep it ajar during their escape, but had worried it might have been removed before now. With one quick glance over her shoulder, Charm slipped into the soothing safety of the darkness within.

  "Jude," she whispered, keeping her steps cautious and short. Now would not be the time to crash over a chair and announce her arrival. "Jude." Holding her breath, she bumped against the mattress and felt along its surface to find her father. He was there. Thank God. So her luck had returned after all. "Come on. We gotta go."

  "So soon?" asked a voice from the darkness.

  Charm shrieked, pivoting about. A match scratched to life. It flickered unsteadily then illumined the tilted half-smile of Raven Scott.

  "You!" Her voice was barely audible. "You're not dead!"

  Raven set the flame to the wick of a nearby lamp, then shook out the match and watched her in silence. "Disappointed?" Her face was smudged with dirt and framed by the disheveled, untamed mass of her mane. But it was her eyes that held his attention. They looked like those of a cougar as, wide and shocked and unblinking, they stared at him. "You must have found yourself one hell of a hiding place," he said.

  "How did you get in?"

  Her voice was very weak, and for an instant Raven wondered if she might faint. But then he remembered who she was. The killer woman. Fainting was unlikely. Murder, on the other hand...

  "It wasn't difficult." He considered taking a step forward, but every inch of his body ached. If he moved, she would surely see his weakness, something he could not afford to reveal. Not with her. "Burle let me in."

  Her brow wrinkled slightly, and for a moment it seemed he could see her mind work. "But... Jude?" She turned slowly, almost as if she were afraid of what she'd see.

  The old man lay unconscious on the bed. His legs were spread, his boots still on, and his mouth ajar. He snorted in his stupor and twitched.

  She said nothing. In a moment she turned back to Raven. Her expression was unreadable again, as if she'd found that secret place where she stowed her emotions.

  Raven knew she'd see the whiskey bottles strewn beside the bed. Was she surprised by Jude's condition, or had she seen him intoxicated a hundred times before?

  She took a deep breath and pursed her lips now. Neither narrow nor frail, her face possessed strong, well-defined bones and an unexpectedly full mouth. "It's your fault."

  Her words yanked him from his examination of her. "And how exactly would you go about deducing that?" he asked, intrigued as much by her words as by her brittle self-control.

  She gripped her hands tightly together in front of her soiled skirt, and for a moment he thought she would answer. But he had misjudged her, and hardly for the first time. "You have no right to be here."

  Raven tilted his head, allowing a hint of a smile. "Burle seemed to believe differently. He seemed to believe you owe me something." Raven took a painful step forward, thinking himself quite an innovative cad for the lies he spread so easily. In truth, he'd seen the open window and crept up the roof just as she must have done. Clancy, damn his hide, would be proud of his deceptiveness. But even without Bodine's careful tutelage in the ways of deceit, Raven would have been inspired by the girl's charming presence to use whatever means necessary to preserve his life.

  She backed away now, her eyes shifting from side to side as she rounded the end of the bed. "Go away or I'll... I'll scream for the sheriff."

  Raven allowed himself to laugh. "Don't you think we've bothered the good Deputy Hackett enough for one night?" he asked. He knew his words would remind her of her failed escape of some hours earlier.

  "Get out," she insisted, tossing her head slightly. Maverick wisps of hair skittered outward, as if fleeing from the sparkling light of her eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."

  "Then why are you backing away?"

  S
he stopped abruptly, as if she'd been unaware of her retreat. "What do you want?" Her nostrils were slightly flared.

  "I just want to know one thing, darling. What did you do to Chantilly Grady?"

  He could have sworn that for just a fleeting moment he saw honest surprise burn across her features. But in an instant it was gone, replaced by her usual, careful veneer. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Raven lifted his brows and painfully crossed his arms against his chest to study her askance. "Your lies get better and better."

  Her nostrils flared again. "You think I'm lying?"

  "I know you're lying."

  "All right." She nodded once and smiled tightly. "Then please tell me what I did to Chantilly Gady."

  "Grady," he corrected, volleying with one of his own, patently insincere smiles. From the bed Jude snored a single, snarled note. "Perhaps you didn't have time to learn her full name before you killed her."

  "Killed her!" The words came out in a hard whisper.

  Raven studied her in silence. If she was lying now, he had sorely underestimated her ability. "Where'd you get the Bible, Charm?" he asked, not giving her time to recover her composure.

  She shoved one fist into her pocket and eyed him warily, as if she thought he might fling himself at her again. Which in fact, he had seriously considered doing. Disabling sparks of sundry aches, however, warned him against such foolishness.

  "I already told you where I got it," she said tightly.

  When Raven was ten years old, another boy had called him a bastard. Even now, Raven could remember the hot rage that had infused him. It had felt so good to hit him, to grab hold of the boy's hair and thump his head against the red Kentucky clay.

  Raven took a deep, cleansing breath. Rage solved nothing. Rampant emotion caused only a delay of practical resolution. Besides, there was no need for such anger now. "Yes, from your father's favorite cousin once removed, I believe. Penny Petunia, wasn't it?"

  "Pritchard," she corrected tightly. "Petunia was the pigeon."

  "I'm getting really tired."

  "Me, too. Why don't you leave?"