by Lisa Cooke
Dyer gathered his chips and pushed away from the table. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”
“Surely you’re going to give us a chance to win back our money,” the farmer said.
Leaving the table after a big hand was not a very gentlemanly thing to do, but being a gentleman was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “I assure you, I will be aboard all this week for you to win back your money, but I have something I must take care of now.” He tipped his hat. “Gentlemen.”
He didn’t wait for their comments or permission. He headed straight across the room to where the incomparable Lottie Mace prepared to take a round of whiskeys to another table. He removed the tray from her hands and set it on the bar.
“Sally,” he said to one of the other girls. “You’d best deliver this for Miss Mace.”
He grabbed Lottie’s wrist, dragging her across the room and outside to the deck. He didn’t give her time to speak, but that hadn’t slowed her down any. Her sassy little mouth moved a mile a minute behind him, and when he finally turned to face her out on the deck, she was in mid sentence.
“Why are you here?” he interrupted.
She batted her big green eyes twice and glared back at him. “This is a free country, Mr. Straights, and I have as much right to be here as you do.” She pulled her wrist out of his grasp.
“You followed me.” He pointed his finger at her, just daring her to deny it.
“Well, of course I did.”
He blinked once in surprise. Not the answer he had expected. “Why?”
She sighed. “Because it will be much easier for you to teach me poker if I’m close by.” She didn’t add you silly man, but Dyer knew the rest of the statement was on the tip of her tongue.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had riled him to this extent. “I cannot teach you to play poker, and that’s that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a woman, damn it.”
“Mr. Straights, there is no reason to curse at me. I am fully aware that I am a woman, but I simply do not understand what that has to do with playing poker.”
“Women don’t play poker.”
“Why? Are you afraid a lady at the table would break your concentration?”
“No, I’m afraid you would talk all the men to death, then steal their winnings before their bodies could be dragged away.”
She clamped her mouth shut and frowned at him.
The truth of the matter was, he didn’t care if women played poker or not. He could take their money as easily as anyone else’s. If some other woman were making the request, he would probably do it and enjoy the lessons. But this one wasn’t like the whores or women who came to the boats for an assortment of adventures. The way she talked and moved showed she was a lady, and as much as he hated to admit it, that scared the hell out of him.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in thought, and his body reacted in a way that surprised him, and scared him even more.
“Mr. Straights?”
Damn it, she wasn’t through. He dragged his gaze from her mouth and tried to act bored. “Yes?”
“I’ve hired on to work on this boat for the rest of this trip. That means we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next month. I’m not asking you to teach me for free. I fully intend to pay for your ser vices, and if my being at the table concerns you, I will try to stay away from your games as much as possible.”
This lady beat anything he’d ever seen, and he’d seen quite a bit. “Tell me,” he said, leaning against the rail. “Why do you want to learn to play poker so much?”
For the first time since he’d met her, a nervous expression flashed in her eyes. “I need the money, of course. Like everybody else.”
“Well then, if you need money so badly, how do you intend to pay me?”
She smiled. “With a share of my winnings.”
He rubbed his chin as he pretended to contemplate an offer he had no intentions of accepting. “You will pay me out of winnings you don’t have?”
“When you put it like that—”
He held up his hand in a gesture to stop her. “There’s no other way to put it.” Shoving off the rail, he walked past her to the salon. “My answer still stands, Miss Mace,” he said back over his shoulder. “Find yourself another teacher.”
For the second time in as many evenings, Lottie found herself watching the broad back of Obediah Straights as he left her standing alone on the deck. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Maybe she should just take a few days to get to know him better before she asked him again. In that time, she might have enough money saved up to pay for her first lesson.
She turned back toward the gambling salon to see one of the other serving girls standing in the doorway with a concerned knit to her brow. Sally Summerfield had taken a few minutes earlier in the day to teach Lottie what to do while serving the tables. Lottie wasn’t sure of Sally’s age—the henna-dyed hair and face paint did quite a bit to hide the years—but it was obvious she wasn’t a newcomer to the gaming salon or its patrons.
“I didn’t mean to interfere or anything,” Sally said, stepping onto the deck. “It’s just that I saw Dyer drag you out here, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Lottie forced a smile. “Oh, he didn’t hurt me.” He just left her at a loss for words more than any man she’d ever met.
Sally joined Lottie at the rail. “I knew Dyer wouldn’t hurt a woman, at least not physically. It’s just that he seemed pretty mad, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t say anything to upset you.”
“You know Dyer well?” With any luck, Sally could give her some insight into this unusual man. All help would be appreciated.
Sally snorted. “Nobody knows Dyer well, but I’ve known him for a while now. What is it you want out of him? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I want him to teach me how to play poker.”
Sally shook her head, apparently shocked at Lottie’s statement. “You’re a brave lady, Lottie Mace.”
“I don’t know why it’s such an amazing thing for a lady to play poker. If all those men can do it, I’m sure I can.”
“I’m sure you can too. You just don’t seem like the kind of lady who would thumb her nose at genteel society and gamble on a riverboat.”
Sally’s statement reinforced all the misgivings Lottie’d had from the very beginning of this undertaking. She knew very well a decent woman didn’t play cards or even associate with riverboat gamblers, but she had little choice. “I know it’s a sin, and I’ll probably go to Hell, but I need the money, and I guess I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Honey,” Sally said. “If you get involved with Dyer, you’ll already be in Hell.”
Lottie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say that man carries his own brand of Hell with him.”
She started to ask Sally to explain, but decided Dyer’s personal problems shouldn’t affect her anyway. Lord knew she had enough problems to last her, and all she needed from Dyer was poker lessons. Nothing more.
“From the look on your face, I have the feeling he’s refused to teach you,” Sally said.
“Actually, he brought up a good point. I don’t have any money yet to pay him.”
“How do you plan to earn it?”
Lottie motioned to the gaming room. “Serving the tables.”
“Not dressed like that,” Sally said, with a shake of her head.
Lottie smoothed her hands down her blue calico day dress. Granted it wasn’t fancy, but it fit her well enough, and it functioned sufficiently for serving the tables. “Mr. Craft said I didn’t have to wear a short dress if I didn’t want to. What’s wrong with mine? I thought it was very respectable.”
Sally laughed. “That’s the point, honey. How much money have you made so far?”
Lottie reached into the poc
ket of her apron and pulled out two bits. “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Sally patted her fancy red hair and sashayed in a little circle on the deck, swishing her hips to make the knee-length skirt of her scarlet dress sway about her body. “The men pay more to a woman they think might give them a little fun later.”
“Oh, my.” Lottie could feel her face heating at the mere thought of what Sally suggested. “But I could never do that.”
“I’m not saying you’ve got to meet any of them later, but right now you look like their kid sister. You probably make most of the men feel like they should be going to church instead of throwing around their money on cards and whiskey.”
“I—I don’t know—”
“Honey,” Sally turned her painted face to Lottie and raised her brow. “Do you want to earn money or not?”
Lottie thought of her father dying in a prison cell. His crippled body chilled and frail as the humiliation of his condition tortured him in his last days. “I have to.”
“Then you need to let old Sally Summerfield help you out a tad.”
Lottie took a deep breath to force the butterflies out of her stomach before she stepped into the gaming room. She’d rubbed a little of the rouge off her cheeks when Sally wasn’t looking, but she couldn’t determine how to remove some of the kohl from around her eyes without making them look like a raccoon’s. So she’d left the dark eye makeup in place with the hopes that it would draw attention to her eyes and away from her dress. If that’s what it could be called, though how anything that short could be considered a dress was beyond her.
Sally was pleased with the results, claiming Lottie would be the prettiest girl on the boat and make plenty of money to pay Dyer as a result. Were it not for that reminder of her reasons for doing this, she could never have left the room.
She brushed her hand down the front of her skirt, still not believing she was about to go into public with the lower part of her legs covered in nothing but black silk stockings.
Momma’s locket felt warm inside her bodice. She laid her hand against the fabric and muttered, “I’ll take care of him, Momma,” before she straightened her shoulders and stepped into the room.
Lottie had fully expected the room to fall suddenly silent as all turned to look at her with their jaws dropped, but the noise and gaming continued as though no one had even seen her. She breathed a sigh of relief.
All the other girls were dressed the same way, and she guessed it was silly of her to expect she’d stand out in the crowd. She relaxed a little and took a place by the bar to watch Sally make her way around the room, laughing and talking with the men who seemed more than pleased with her interest.
The movement of a hand brought Lottie’s attention to a table in the back of the room. She swallowed. The man had his back to her, but there was no mistaking to whom the back belonged. She’d had it turned on her enough in the last two days to recognize it instantly.
Sigh. She might as well get this over with.
She walked to his table and said, “What would you like, sir?”
The butterflies in her stomach did a tap dance when Dyer glanced up at her and winked. He was actually quite handsome when he wasn’t snarling.
“Well, darlin’,” he drawled. “I’d like a whiskey—” Suddenly his smile dropped, followed soon thereafter by his jaw. “Son of a bitch!”
“Really, Mr. Straights, you need to work on your vocabulary—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he stood so quickly he knocked over his chair in the process.
“Outside, Miss Mace,” he said, starting toward the door before he noticed the cards he still held in his hand.
“Damn it,” he growled and threw them on the table. “I fold,” he yelled over his shoulder as he led her across the room to the nearest door, not caring that all eyes in the place actually were on them now.
He pulled her out to the darkness of the deck, then peeled off his jacket and draped it across the front of her gown, covering her low neckline and the extra bit of cleavage it exposed. Then he looked down at her legs.
“Damn it,” he ground out again. “I don’t know which end to cover.”
He clutched her chin to examine her face, then grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with his pace.
“You’re going to wash that paint off your face and change back into your clothes.” Stopping suddenly, he frowned down at her. “Where are they?”
She dug in her heels and pulled her hand free. She didn’t know who he thought he was, but she didn’t need or want a caretaker, and his sudden concern for her well-being wasn’t appreciated.
“I’m not going anywhere. I have money to earn.” She handed him his jacket and spun around to return to the gaming room.
“Like hell.”
His statement hung in the night air, managing to raise every hair on the back of her neck as it did. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned back to face him.
He had some nerve. “You, Mr. Straights, are not my father. You have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do.” She took a step toward him and poked him in the chest with her finger. “Since you have made it ever so clear that you have no intentions of helping me out of my dilemma, you’ve left me no choice but to deal with my situation my own way.”
She turned to walk away, but only made it two steps before he spun her around and pulled her into his arms. The sudden impact of his chest hitting hers brought a gasp from her lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his hips into hers.
“You want money?” he asked, lowering his mouth. “I’ll give you money.”
His mouth slanted across hers before she had a second to think or react. She clutched the front of his shirt in an attempt to shove him away, but the movement brought a low moan from him that caused her knees to weaken in response. He moved his lips across hers, tasting and tugging at her mouth until her lips parted to allow him deeper access. He swept his tongue inside before he pulled his head back to look down at her. His eyes were even darker than usual as he raked his gaze to her lips, then down to her breasts where they strained against the neckline of her dress.
“Well now,” he purred. “Come with me to my cabin for the night, and I promise to pay you well in the morning.”
Lottie’s jaw dropped. He had just propositioned her like he would a common harlot. She shoved back from him, then soundly socked him across the jaw before spinning away.
Dyer rubbed his face as he watched Miss Mace storm down the deck into the night. She packed quite a wallop, but that didn’t surprise him any. Everything about that lady was out of the ordinary. Her right hook shouldn’t be any different.
He couldn’t help admiring her spunk though. He picked up his jacket from the deck floor and pulled it on, stopping to brush off the sleeves before making his way back to the gambling salon. He hoped his insult snapped Miss Mace to her senses and made her realize she had no more business aboard a riverboat than a whore did in Sunday school.
If you play with fire, you get burned. He winced at that thought. He’d intended to scare her with his kiss, but instead she’d melted against him like butter. He hadn’t expected that either, and like her right hook, both incidents left him more stunned than he cared to admit.
Lottie picked up the glass of whiskey from the bartender and headed back toward Dyer’s table. It had taken her several minutes to regain her composure after their encounter on the deck, but the man had ordered a whiskey, and it was her job, after all, to bring it to him.
Holding her head high, she walked back to his table and stopped beside his chair. “Here is the whiskey you ordered, Mr. Straights.”
He threw her a sideways glance, then lowered his hand to stroke the back of her silk-covered calf. “I appreciate it, princess.”
He winked and slid his hand up her leg to her thigh. He stopped just at the top of her garter, where he ran his fin
ger around the edge of its lace, challenging her with his eyes. None of the others at the table could see where his hand had slipped, or maybe they didn’t find it unusual, but Lottie felt the steam come out of her ears.
She took a deep breath and forced a smile on her lips. “You have to be the most infuriating man I have ever met.”
He chuckled. “Thank you, darlin’. I always strive to be the best at what ever I do.”
She stood with the glass of whiskey in her hand, waiting for the perfect moment. Not too soon, so that he would miss the anticipation, but not so late that he would have the opportunity to escape. She saw it as soon as it flickered in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare—”
“Too late,” she interrupted, dumping the whiskey on his head, leaving the glass sitting upside down on top like a little sparkling hat. She hurried from the room to the cheers and laughter of the men who had witnessed the baptism of Mr. Dyer Straights, thinking it fitting that a man of his ilk should be christened with whiskey instead of holy water.
She didn’t slow down until she stood just outside the door to the cabin she shared with three of the other working girls. It was still too warm to go inside, but she was close enough to dart in and lock the door should Dyer come looking for her.
Lottie stared out into the night, listened to the peeping of the tree frogs and wondered if she’d gone too far this time. Her father had always said her temper would get her into trouble someday, and maybe this was the day. What had she been thinking?
A movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention as a man walked slowly toward her out of the darkness. She started to slip into her cabin but stopped when he softly applauded.
“Well done, madam,” he said, continuing to walk until he stood close enough for her to see him clearly. “Dyer has had that coming for some time now.”
He took off his hat and bowed deeply at the waist. “I’m Newt Crawford.” He straightened and chuckled. “I just had to meet the lady who left Dyer at a loss for words.”
“Miss Lottie Mace.” She glanced over at the handsome gambler who seemed tickled to death with her antics. She only wished she felt the same. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”
