Texas Hold Him

by Lisa Cooke

  “I’ll leave you two to your lessons,” he said as he left her alone with Dyer. Not exactly what she’d hoped he’d say.

  “I see you and Newt have become quite close.” Dyer’s comment surprised her. It had a tone to it that, if she didn’t know better, she would swear was jealous.

  “He’s a true gentleman.”

  Dyer snorted. “Anytime you begin to think of a riverboat gambler as a gentleman, you are walking precariously close to trouble.”

  She looked up at his profile while he stared out across the river. There was a rugged handsomeness about the man that never failed to give her a start. “Does that go for you too?”

  Slowly, he turned his face toward her, narrowing his gaze. “That, Miss Mace, goes double for me.”

  He leaned close enough to her that she could smell the pleasant mix of shaving soap and bay rum from his morning toiletries. Her heart pounded wildly as she watched his face for a clue as to what he was going to do next. He had leaned far too close for it to be anything proper.

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “How about some lessons?”

  She didn’t miss the double entendre in his statement, but she wasn’t going to let his attempt to scare her away keep her from her goals. She took a deep breath and raised her chin a notch.

  “I think this is a fine time for another poker lesson, Mr. Straights.” She arched her brow. “I thought of several other questions I needed to ask.” She didn’t allow herself to grin at the flash of panic she’d seen in his deep brown eyes, despite the fact he had it coming.

  Dyer pulled the deck of cards out of his bureau drawer, wondering again about his sanity. Newt was as fine a man as Dyer knew, yet he had warned Lottie to stay clear of Newt when he should have encouraged her to get closer. If Newt took her under his wing, perhaps Dyer could be free of the little minx once and for all.

  “What am I going to learn today?” Lottie asked, reminding him that the minx in question was in his cabin . . . and the door was closed. He pushed in the drawer to his bureau, forcing his mind away from the path it had started to take.

  He dropped into a seat at the table and shuffled the deck. “I’m going to show you which hands beat what.” He dealt five hands faceup on the table. “In poker, each hand consists of five cards. Different types of poker have different ways of getting those five cards. In some games, the dealer gives every man—”

  “Or woman,” she said.

  “Or woman,” he conceded. “The dealer gives a card facedown, and then the next card is faceup, or different variations of that.”

  “But if your card is faceup, everyone knows what you have.”

  He nodded. “They know part of your hand, but not all of it. That’s what makes the game interesting.”

  She frowned. “When do you place your bets?”

  “That depends on the game too, but usually after each round of cards is dealt.” He motioned to one of the hands. “In this game, this hand would’ve won because there is a pair of sevens, and none of the other hands have anything better.”

  “So a pair wins?”

  He shrugged. “Usually, in a game like Draw, a pair will win, but there are other hands much better than that.” He laid out examples of different winning combinations of cards. “Three of a kind beats two of a kind, and of course four of a kind is better than either of those—”

  “Wait.” She glanced up at him, pulling her lower lip between her teeth for a second. “Would you wait here for just a moment?”

  Dyer nodded but didn’t have the chance to ask her why before she darted from his cabin. With any luck at all, she’d realized this was more complicated than she’d thought and changed her mind. He shook his head. More than likely she had a list of questions she had forgotten and was simply going to retrieve it.

  He took the opportunity to lay out samples of the winning hands, starting from the highest to the lowest, and had just finished placing them on the table when she returned, carrying several sheets of paper. She set a bottle of ink beside them on the table and dipped in her pen.

  “Would you start again, please? What is the highest hand?”

  “That would be the royal flush . . .”

  She wrote down everything he explained to her, stopping only to fill her pen, and when he finished, she had two pages of notes. She hadn’t asked a single question, a realization that both pleased and frightened him. When all the questions she’d stored finally erupted, it could no doubt cost a man his life.

  He looked at her nervously from the corner of his eye. “Any questions?”

  “No,” she answered, then blew on the paper to dry the ink.

  He raised his brows, knowing full well she had at least a million questions, and her lack of asking them was probably just a female scheme to catch him off guard. He should insist she ask them, but then again, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

  “Memorize that over the next few days; then you’ll be ready for your next lesson.”

  “I’ll be ready by tomorrow.” She gathered up her papers and ink and headed to the door, stopping for a moment to add, “Thank you.”

  “You thank me now, but you’ll be cursing me by the time you lose everything you have.”

  “Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”

  He shrugged. “Just reality, Miss Mace. Men like me make their fortunes off of people like you.”

  “It wouldn’t do for you to beat me, Mr. Straights. If I don’t win, you don’t get your payment.”

  She left the cabin before he had a chance to respond— not that he had anything in particular to say anyway. She had no more chance of winning that tournament than a pig had of singing “Dixie.” Which brought him to another unfortunate realization: he was teaching her poker for nothing except the mildly entertaining aspect of their lessons.

  Entertaining? Damn, if that wasn’t proof of his failing sanity, nothing was.

  The good folk of Natchez came aboard as good folk were prone to do when a riverboat as grand as the Magnolia Belle came to town. Dyer watched from the third-floor or Texas deck, as it was called, as the women in their fancy bustled gowns and the men in their fine suits and hats strolled up the gangplank to the first deck. Some would go to the restaurant for their evening meal, but many would head straight to the gaming room on the second level.

  He searched the faces of the men who came aboard, all the while cursing himself for being a fool. He didn’t even know the name of the man he sought, only a brief description, but sooner or later his luck would change. It had to.

  The crushed economy of the post war South had forced many to move from their homes, and the bustling cities on the Mississippi continually brought new people to their ports. Eventually he would find someone who knew who the bastard was and where he could be found. In the meantime, Dyer had other work to do.

  The gaming salon filled quickly as evening settled on the Mississippi. Dyer picked his marks by the clothes they wore and the way they carried themselves as they walked into the room. Cocky dandies attempting to impress young ladies were usually the easiest to help fill his wallet, and there appeared to be several on the Belle this evening.

  Dyer walked over to one of the tables, smiling his least intimidating smile. “May I join you gentlemen?”

  A young man with more money than sense removed the cheroot from his mouth and grinned. “If you’re sure you have enough to play at this table, suh.”

  The lady standing behind him giggled and waved her fan prettily under her nose, a reaction that caused the young man’s cockiness to raise a degree or two.

  “I think I can manage,” Dyer said, making a mental note to thank the young woman when he was through fleecing her gentleman friend. His desire to impress her would make Dyer’s job much easier.

  An emerald dress caught his attention from the corner of the room and, try though he might, he couldn’t stop from glancing in Lottie’s direction. She stood by the bar, studying a piece of paper before folding it and stuffing it into her
bodice. She had said she’d be ready for her next lesson by morning. Evidently she aimed to make good on her promise.

  Dyer shook his head and joined the men at the table. There was money to be made, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t focused.

  “What’s the game, gentlemen?” he asked.

  “Draw,” the dealer responded, shuffling the deck to begin the first round.

  Dyer accepted his cards and lost himself in the next several hands, until the unmistakable scent of verbena caught his attention. He didn’t need to look up to know to whom the scent belonged, and, unlike Lottie, there was no danger in this lady interrupting his game. She knew him well enough to wait her turn . . .

  Chapter Six

  Lottie set the tray of empty glasses on the counter and added up the amount of money she had earned so far. It was hard to believe she already had seventeen dollars toward her entry for the tournament. Of course, that was nine hundred eighty three dollars less than she needed, but it was enough to start her at the lower ante tables. Tomorrow she would get Dyer to teach her the rest of what she needed to know to win her money.

  “Oh no,” Sally muttered. “I was afraid she’d show up.”

  Lottie followed Sally’s gaze and frowned. “Who?”

  Sally nodded toward Dyer’s table, where a woman in a royal blue satin gown stood patiently waiting. Lottie clamped her teeth shut to keep her jaw from dropping. She had to be one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Her thick dark hair was piled artfully on top her head, with one long curl spilling over her shoulder to lie against her breast. The gown she wore was of the finest material and was tailored to fit her remarkable figure with perfection. A matching lace fan fluttered under her nose, drawing attention to her heart-shaped face and oval eyes.

  Lottie suddenly felt tawdry in comparison. “Who is she?”

  Sally snorted. “Mrs. Mimi Anderson,” she said, not even attempting to hide her contempt.

  “A friend of Dyer’s?”

  “Every chance she gets.”

  Lottie tried to ignore the knot settling in her stomach. “Is she a widow?”

  “No. But her rich husband is an old dolt who lets her get away with anything she wants.”

  “And she wants Dyer?”

  Sally shrugged. “Always has. But luckily he’s too smart to fall completely into her trap.”

  “What Dyer does is no concern of mine as long as he keeps teaching me poker.”

  “Of course.”

  Lottie chose to ignore Sally’s sarcastic response. “Why does Mrs. Anderson’s husband allow her on the riverboat without him?”

  “I think he’s just tickled to have a young wife, even if she does cuckold him.” Sally picked up a tray of drinks and started back to the tables. “At least it mustn’t bother him too much. She rides the boats on a regular basis, and he obviously hasn’t cut off her funds.”

  Lottie intentionally kept her eyes averted from Dyer’s table, even when he quit his game and escorted the stunning Mrs. Anderson from the room.

  Lottie should be relieved. With that woman redirecting his amorous thoughts, perhaps now he could concentrate on teaching her the game. A man like Dyer needed to satisfy his baser needs to stay focused on more important things. How he chose to do that was no concern of hers, as long as he didn’t think she was going to be the next one in his bed.

  Lottie picked up a tray of drinks and carried it back to one of the tables, absently wondering how Mrs. Mimi Anderson would look with a whiskey dumped over her head.

  “Dyer, honey,” Mimi cooed, gliding her hand inside his jacket. “It’s been a long time.”

  He gazed down at the lovely face of the woman who had shown him more good times than he could count and thought it odd he felt nothing.

  She tugged him into the shadows of the deck outside her room and tipped her face up to him. “I’m going to be on the Belle for the rest of this trip.” She paused long enough to slide her hand down his chest and belly to rest on the front of his trousers before she leaned even closer and whispered, “There’s no reason we can’t renew our acquaintance.”

  His body reacted to her blatant invitation, but even though her soft figure was still beautiful and her smile still beguiling, something in her eyes left him empty.

  He was getting tired of empty.

  He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Perhaps we will, sweetheart. But for now, I have to earn my entry into the tournament.”

  It was a boldfaced lie. He had enough money saved to pay everyone’s entry to the tournament, but it was as good an excuse as any for staying out of her bed.

  He leaned down and kissed her full lips, wondering how many other men had done the same, before he tipped his hat and walked away, convinced that now he was officially insane. He no longer toyed with the condition. He had finally arrived.

  “Dyer?”

  Stopping, he took a deep breath, debating whether he should face her, then decided it would be rude not to. Mimi stood just inside the open doorway of her cabin. Moonlight bathed her face and flowed softly down her body, as though nature itself had decided to add to the temptation.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  He winked in response, then continued his walk away from her room, past the gaming salon and around the corner to the steps to his own cabin. There would be no more poker for him this evening. He’d just turned down a night of unbridled sex with a gorgeous woman, and he didn’t even know why. But what ever the reason, there was one thing he did know. In his current state of stupidity, he needed to stay away from the tables.

  Lottie took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on Dyer’s door. It was the third time she had made it this far, but as with the other two attempts, she froze just short of striking the door of cabin ten. Dyer hadn’t returned to the salon after leaving with Mimi Anderson the night before, and Lottie had visions of him jerking open the door with Mimi still in the bed behind him.

  It wasn’t that it mattered to her how he’d spent his night. Lord knew, he was a grown man, and how he chose to waste his time was of no concern to her. She just didn’t want to embarrass Mrs. Anderson.

  She straightened her shoulders, deciding this time she would knock on the door, regardless of the consequences. After all, it was time for her lessons.

  She rapped loudly. “Mr. Straights?”

  “Yes?”

  She jumped and spun around. Dyer stood behind her with a cocky grin and a little too much amusement on his face, given the circumstances. She quickly composed herself. “I believe it’s time for my lessons.”

  He pulled out his pocket watch to check the hour. “I believe you’re right,” he responded in mock seriousness.

  She stepped to the side to allow him to unlock his door before she followed him into his cabin. A quick glance around saw no evidence of a woman or any unsavory activities, but his mood was too jovial to be coincidental. They must have spent the night in Mrs. Anderson’s cabin. He walked to his bureau, retrieved his cards and sat down at the table.

  “Today, Miss Mace, you will learn some of the terminology of the game. That is, of course, assuming you learned yesterday’s lesson?”

  “I told you I would.”

  “Yes,” he said, shuffling the cards. “You did.” He dealt them both a hand faceup before he paused for a moment to hold her gaze in his. “Do you always do what you say you will?”

  His voice had dropped to the low timbre he used whenever he wanted to rattle her. She knew it was his way of constantly reminding her what she owed for the lessons. Her virginity was a high price to pay, but she had already agreed. Her father’s life was worth it.

  “Yes, Mr. Straights,” she answered, refusing to look away. “I can keep my word as well as any man.”

  His gaze narrowed slightly before he finally redirected it to the cards. “In that case, you have some things to learn.”

  She opened her reticule and pulled out her paper, pen and ink. “Ready.”


  “Why doesn’t that surprise me,” he murmured, then began his instructions. “The first person to start the betting usually says they open with a certain amount, say five dollars. The person to their right must decide if they want to stay in the game or fold.”

  “Fold?”

  “That’s when you slide your cards to the dealer and quit on that hand.”

  “What if I don’t want to quit?”

  “Then you either call, which means you match the bet, or raise, which means you increase it. If you increase it, the gentleman after you must either fold, match your bet, or raise it even higher.”

  “How many times does it go around the table?” she asked, writing as fast as she could.

  “That depends on the game, but usually there’s betting after each round of cards is dealt.”

  “What if I run out of money, but I don’t want to fold?”

  “Then you’re all in. That means you can stay in the game, but you can’t win any more than you put into the pot.”

  He pointed to the hand he had laid in front of her. “What would you have done with this hand?”

  She had an ace, a jack, a two, a four and a six. “I would have folded.”

  “Why?”

  She pointed at his cards. “You have a pair of threes.”

  He chuckled. “In a real game, you wouldn’t have known I had a pair.”

  “Should I have stayed in?”

  He shrugged. “An ace high is a good hand if no one else has any pairs or something to beat it. You probably should stay in a round or two to see if anyone else is going to fold. But of course if you’re going to do that sort of thing, you need to learn to bluff.”

  “Bluff?”

  He leaned across the table, placing his finger under her chin to tip her face up to his. “Lie, Miss Mace. You need to learn to lie.”

  “I—I don’t know why I must lie to play poker.”

  “It’s not a lie with words. It’s lying with your face and gestures.” He traced his finger across her lips. “You can’t smile when your hand is good or pout when it’s bad.” He stared at her mouth when he touched it, and she realized with embarrassment her breathing had picked up considerably.