by Lisa Cooke
God must have blinked.
The devil was on the loose.
“Of course, Mr. Straights,” she said with a forced smile. “If the others don’t mind.” Unfortunately, the others welcomed Dyer to the game. Didn’t they realize what they were doing?
She ran her fingers across her pile of chips, wondering if she should turn tail and run while she had the chance. Then again, she’d beaten Dyer before, though never in a real game. She picked up the cards she’d been dealt and glanced across the table at Wayne Dawson. The sweat on his forehead and tapping of his cards against the table were a clear indication he was aware of Dyer’s prowess at the tables.
“Gentlemen,” Wayne said, folding as soon as he could. “I believe I am finished for the evening.” He tipped his hat toward Lottie, and she noticed a trickle of brown sweat at his temple. He didn’t strike her as vain enough to dye his hair, but maybe he’d turned gray at a young age. He left the table without looking back.
Lottie took a deep breath, focusing on her hand. She couldn’t allow Dyer’s presence to intimidate her. She had been doing very well when he joined the game, and she would continue to do well if she just kept with her plan. A quick survey of the other men’s tells gave her a little insight into the kinds of hands they thought they had. All she needed to do was learn Dyer’s tells. He sat to her right, two men away. Why did he keep rubbing his jaw? Then it hit her. It was a nervous gesture because he had a bad hand. Finally, she had learned to read him, but before she was sure enough to place her bet, she’d study him a little longer without his knowledge. Luckily, she was adept at subterfuge.
Dyer pitched his lowest card toward the dealer and waited for the new addition to his hand. He had a pair of pairs, which would probably take the pot, but that wasn’t what held his attention at the moment. Lottie seemed to be having a fit of some sort. She kept jerking her gaze from the corner of her eye back to her cards, and he wasn’t sure, but she appeared to be leaning toward him. If she didn’t straighten, the man beside her was sure to think she was attempting to look at his hand.
Then again, the man beside her was much more interested in her cleavage than in poker.
Dyer hoped he wouldn’t have to explain to the man why that particular cleavage was off limits. He looked back at his hand in an effort to stay detached, but not before he saw Lottie peeking at him over her cards.
He hadn’t intended to join Lottie’s table and had headed to another game when he saw a stocky man with a thick black beard staring at her. The hair on Dyer’s neck stood on end, and something in his gut told him to stay close to her.
Of course, that was before he’d decided she had rabies.
“Mr. Straights?” the dealer asked. “Are you in or out?”
Dyer tossed his chips to the center before lifting his gaze from his cards.
He glanced at Lottie as he rubbed his aching jaw, wishing he’d seen that fist coming back at the tavern. The son of a bitch had landed a lucky blow, but luck or not, it still hurt like hell. He laid his cards facedown on the table and sat back to think. It was down to him and Lottie, and she had just raised. If the silly look on her face was any indication, she actually thought she was going to win.
Question was . . . should he let her? He held a pair of jacks and a pair of nines. Chances of her beating that were pretty slim. There was more than two hundred fifty dollars in the pot, and thanks to him, she had beaten everyone else at the table. He tapped his fingers on the back of his cards. Time to help her earn on her entry fee.
“Too rich for my blood.” He slid his cards facedown toward the dealer. “Fold.”
Lottie squealed and raked in her chips. “I knew it!” Her eyes flashed, and her sparkling smile brought chuckles from all at the table. Even Dyer.
“What did you know, Miss Mace?” he asked.
“I just knew you were bluffing.” Her hands trembled with excitement while she sorted her chips into piles. “I could see it on your face.”
He arched his brow. “You’ve learned my tells?”
“Don’t feel bad, Mr. Straights. Everyone has tells.” She laid her hand against her bodice. “Why, I imagine even I do.”
Dyer feigned a look of surprise. “Imagine that.”
One of the other men smiled and stood. “Well, gentlemen, I believe it’s time for me to call it a night.” He tipped his hat toward Lottie. “I must say, it’s been a pleasure losing to you, ma’am.”
The other men followed his lead, and soon Dyer found himself alone with Lottie while she cashed in her chips.
“I think I should escort you to your cabin,” he said when she tucked her money into her bodice. The man with the dark beard had left the gaming room over an hour ago, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t waiting out in the darkness.
“Oh.” She laid her hand against her breasts. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and directed her out of the salon. “Well, now that you are a woman of wealth, you need to be concerned for those things.”
She giggled. “I can’t believe it! I won a quarter of my entry in just one night.”
Dyer smiled as they walked down the darkened deck toward her cabin. “You did have a run of luck to night.”
“Oh no.” She stopped in front of her door and turned to face him. “It wasn’t luck. That’s what makes it so wonderful. I’ve figured it all out.”
He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “All of what?”
“I’ve figured out how to read the other players.”
“In one night?”
“Of course not in one night. I noticed it first when we were at the inn.”
How could he be so stupid? “So it took you two nights.”
The little curl on her forehead actually bounced as she nodded her head with excitement. “Of course, you were the toughest to figure out.”
He folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “So are you going to tell me how you knew I was bluffing?”
She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know if I should.”
“Come, Miss Mace. It’s the least you can do. After all, I did teach you the game.”
“But if we end up playing against each other in the tournament . . .”
He put his hand over his heart. “I promise to mask my tells from everyone except you.”
“I suspect you’re making sport of me.”
He casually closed the distance between them and lifted a blonde curl from her shoulder. The soft tendril wrapped around his finger as he leaned toward her.
“If you’re so sure you can read me,” he whispered, “what am I going to do next?”
Her lips parted to speak, but the only sound that came forth was a tiny gasp he caught with his mouth. He slanted his lips across hers, savoring their fullness and temporarily getting lost in their innocence. But when the innocence changed to something more urgent, he pulled back to regain composure. Her eyes were luminous in the glow of the moonlight, and her lips unknowingly tempted him with their pout. If she had any idea how close he was to whisking her away to his cabin, she’d get better control over those lips.
“See? I knew you were going to do that,” she whispered back to him.
“Then why didn’t you run?” He wanted to hear her answer, but it was stolen from him when Sally Summerfield opened the door behind Lottie.
“Thank you, Dyer, for bringing Lottie here safely.”
“Y—yes,” Lottie stammered. “Thank you, Mr. Straights, for escorting me to my room.”
Sally stepped out onto the deck, waiting while Lottie entered the cabin and closed the door.
“What are your intentions?” Sally stood with her hands on her hips and a look that would have knocked a lesser man to his knees.
“My intentions?”
“Don’t pretend to be innocent with me, Dyer Straights.” She waggled her finger at him. “I’ve known you long enough to know how much you enjoy chasing skirts, but Lottie’s not like all those other girls.”
“I would never force her—”
“You don’t have to force them. All you do is look at them, and they melt at your feet like butter. But I’m warning you, don’t hurt her. You’d regret it for the rest of your life.”
Dyer stood on the deck at a loss for words, which was just as well since Sally had returned to her cabin and closed the door. Even if he’d had a whole passel of words, there was no one around to hear them. He raised his fist to knock on the door, then thought better of it. Sally had never chewed him out before, but maybe that’s what he’d needed all along. Lottie was a good girl. Hell, she was a great girl, and he had no business dallying with her.
He vowed to stay away from her, even knowing as he did that it was useless. She could get into more trouble than ten cowboys after payday, and there was no way he could stand back and do nothing when she did. He just needed to start thinking of her as his little sister. Once the tournament was over, they could go their separate ways. No more teasing or stolen kisses.
He had no room in his life for anyone or anything other than finding the man who’d murdered his family. It was time to remember that.
“How’s Lottie doing with earning her entry fee?” Newt asked, pulling Dyer’s attention away from the night.
“She just won two hundred fifty dollars,” Dyer answered as Newt sauntered over.
“How did you manage that?”
“It wasn’t easy, and most of it was mine.” Dyer grinned.
“Maybe we should just give her the money.”
“I thought of that, but if we did, she’d insist on repaying it. This way she’ll think she earned it free and clear.”
“That’s true,” Newt said. “Is she getting any better?”
“Some,” Dyer said with a shrug, “but not as good as she thinks.” He glanced toward Newt and lowered his voice. “She’s convinced she’s figured out how to read tells.”
“Ah,” Newt said, grinning, “and has she?”
“Not very well, or she wouldn’t keep losing.”
“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Newt chuckled. “Maybe she’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
“And maybe I’m the queen of England.”
“In that case, Your Majesty,” Newt said, smacking him on the shoulder, “I think you need a shave.”
Chapter Twenty-one
One thousand one hundred and forty dollars,” Lottie said to her empty cabin.
For some reason, counting it out loud made it easier to accept she had her entry fee in her hand. The tournament was in three days, and she was ready. It was still hard for her to believe how quickly she’d mastered the game. In the last week alone, she had beaten Dyer more times than she could count.
She tried not to feel guilty for taking advantage of him, but it wasn’t her fault they kept ending up going head to head. Almost every night, they were the last two at the table, and once she’d learned how to read him, he didn’t stand a chance.
Even Dyer knew she was ready. He’d stopped her lessons, and though she missed seeing him, it was probably for the best. Once she won the tournament, they would go their separate ways. Of course, that would be after she paid her debt.
The butterflies fluttered in her belly again despite her attempt to calm them with her hand. She should be terrified, mortified and petrified at the thought of paying her debt to Dyer, but the truth was, she had a hard time thinking of anything else.
Would he be gentle or passionate? Would he caress her like a lover or take her quickly in a fiery burst? Not that it mattered. All he’d done so far was kiss her, and based on the way that had affected her, she’d probably swoon as soon as it started and not regain consciousness until it was over anyway.
Lottie wrapped her money in a piece of cloth and pinned it inside her bodice. She had enough to pay for the rest of her passage and no longer needed to work the tables. To night she’d go watch instead of gamble.
A run of bad luck could snatch her entry fee, and she was too close now to take that chance. She’d watch and learn all she could before they arrived in St. Louis. Then she’d win the tournament and pay the blackmailer.
Dyer took a long draw on his cheroot while he eyed the men at his table. The game was high stakes, and even though many of the gamblers aboard were lying low until the tournament, some had not yet made their entry fee. He suspected most of them were at this table. The hundred-dollar ante scared away the faint of heart and most of the intelligent. But Dyer wasn’t there for the money, just the rush.
Joseph Cullen sat across from him. He didn’t need the money either, but the desperate men who joined a table like this often made mistakes, and Cullen was like a vulture waiting on carrion. There was one seat left at the table, and Dyer couldn’t help but feel relieved when Lottie entered the room and stopped to watch instead of join the group. Especially when the last of the players took the spot.
“This seat available?” The dark-bearded man took the chair without waiting for a reply.
Dyer reached his hand to him. “Dyer Straights,” he said by way of introduction.
The man pulled his seat out and sat without returning the handshake. “I’m Abe Johnson. We’ve met.”
Dyer frowned. The man looked vaguely familiar, but with all the people he’d met in the last four years, he couldn’t place him.
“I hope our previous meeting was cordial,” Dyer said as the dealer distributed the cards.
Johnson grunted and picked up his cards. Dyer did the same and made a mental note not to turn his back on this man. He obviously disliked Dyer, and there was a look in his eyes that bordered on crazy. Which fit him, since that was the way the man played poker. Within four hands, he was busted.
“Damn you to hell and back, Straights.” Johnson stood and squared his shoulders. The room suddenly fell into silence as those sitting around the table scurried to safety.
Dyer stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.
“The game was played fair and square, Mr. Johnson. You shouldn’t play with more than you can afford to lose.”
Johnson’s face flushed red with anger, and his mouth twisted with rage. “You cheated.”
“I don’t need to cheat.”
Johnson reached for his gun, but before he could touch the grip, Dyer’s was out of his holster and pointed at the man’s chest. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
Johnson froze, which was the first smart thing he’d done all evening. He moved his hand away from his gun and glared at Dyer. “You don’t even remember me, do you? You son of a bitch.”
“Can’t say as I do.”
Johnson spat on the floor, then stormed from the room. Dyer followed to be sure he left the boat before returning to the gaming salon and a very frightened Lottie.
She hurried to join him at the bar. “He could have killed you.”
“Not at that speed.” He ordered a whiskey, careful not to turn his back to the door.
“Weren’t you frightened?”
“Just about pissed myself.” He winked at her.
She gave him her best look of censure, which with all the practice she’d had lately, was getting better. “I fail to see the humor in this.”
“The man is gone, Miss Mace.” He raised his glass in a salute to her and gulped the whiskey in one drink. “It’s over.”
He tipped his hat and sauntered from the room. He couldn’t take the chance of Johnson coming back for him and Lottie getting caught in the crossfire. Though Dyer doubted Johnson would come back. That type usually scurried away as soon as things got hot, but he’d better not ignore the touch of crazy in the man’s eyes. His gun would be by his side to night just in case.
He glanced up and down the deck, but it was peaceful except for the ruckus caused by the tree frogs on the bank. It sounded as though all of them were looking for women and none had found one. Dyer had the opposite problem. He’d found one he wasn’t looking for, and now he didn’t know what the hell to do with her.<
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Someone stepped up behind Dyer, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. He reached for his gun.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Dyer slowly raised his hands as he turned to face a smug Abe Johnson, his gun aimed at Dyer’s chest.
“I guess I should have shot you while I had the chance,” Dyer said, buying time to think. Men don’t usually talk and shoot at the same time. At least the sane ones don’t.
“I guess you should have,” Johnson said, pointing his gun at Dyer’s head, “but it’s too late now. I want my money.”
Dyer didn’t care about the hundred dollars Johnson had just lost to him, but he’d had enough experience with this kind to know he wouldn’t just take the money and leave. Johnson had some sort of personal score to settle. Dyer could see it in his eyes.
He paused for a moment, trying to determine if he should pull his gun, when suddenly Lottie stepped out of the shadows behind Johnson.
“Drop your gun, Mr. Johnson,” she said, “or I’ll have to shoot you.”
Dyer couldn’t see her clearly, but based on the expression on Johnson’s face, she’d shoved a gun against his back. He did as she requested, then raised his hands. “I wasn’t going to kill him. I just wanted my money.”
“Mr. Straights won that money fair and square. It’s time you left the boat.”
Dyer pulled his Colt and aimed it at Johnson. “I think if I were you, I’d listen to the little lady.”
Johnson waited only a moment before he nodded once and hurried down the deck to the gangplank. This time, Dyer watched him leave the Belle and slip into the woods before he returned his gun to his holster.
He turned toward Lottie, her tiny derringer still in her hand, her eyes still wide with fear.
“I appreciate the rescue, Miss Mace.”
“I owe you a few,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
He smiled. “Where did you get the gun?”
“I used to keep it with me after the war for protection from carpetbaggers and such. I started carrying it again after that man attacked me the other night.” She glanced down at the gun, then back to him. “I must confess, I’ve never actually pointed it at anyone before.”
