Tyra's Gambler

by Velda Brotherton

  Her skin rippled, and a delicious feeling washed over her. Goose bumps popped on her arms. She stiffened, felt a deeper tingling that was very nice.

  “Relax, Tyra. We’re just getting to know each other better. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

  She chuckled and touched his cheek. “That’s what worries me. I’m sorta wanting you to do something to keep me feeling like this, or maybe make it better.”

  “Is that right? Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

  The heat of his breath through her shirt should have told her what was coming, but it was so quick, so lovely that it took her by total surprise. His mouth took the place of his hand over her breast, teeth gently kneading her nipple through the fabric. How could anything feel so good? Made her want to fold up around him so every inch of her body accepted his touch, his kisses.

  That feeling was dangerous. What if he got carried away? Like the nuns used to warn about. Men just had no self-control, didn’t care what they did to a woman, once they got aroused.

  But the nuns did much worse.

  Oh, dear God, much worse. Made her wonder: If there was a God, why did he allow such things? Forget that, foolish girl. You escaped.

  She and James Lee were getting married. And she didn’t care what they’d said anyway. They were there in their misery while she was here. It ought to be okay to enjoy this all-over deliciousness.

  Which, by the way, the nuns absolutely, positively forbade any young woman to allow. Only men and loose women enjoyed such wicked dallying. Sex was for procreation only. She could still hear Sister Louisa hammering that home nightly. Like there was much danger they’d get sex at St. Anne’s.

  His hand crawled beneath the waistband of her britches over her stomach. She stiffened, squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Tyra? What is it? I won’t hurt you.”

  Biting her bottom lip, she doubled her fists against her mouth. She couldn’t let him do that. It felt too, too…

  “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Doesn’t it feel good?”

  “Yes. No. Yes. I don’t think we ought to do this.” The sensation between her legs wouldn’t go away. She squirmed. It hurt. It felt delightful.

  A throaty laugh. “You’re going to be my wife. This is what we will do.”

  She swallowed, muffled Sister Marie’s taunts about the evil wickedness that went on between men and women. Shut up, shut up. Go away.

  His hand, down there, between her legs, doing delicious things.

  The strangest, most lovely feeling ever poured through her, made her see stars. Her mind went somewhere else, a bright shiny place that turned dark, then expanded in brilliant colors.

  “That’s my sweet girl,” he murmured, captured her hand and wrapped it around something hard inside his britches. He circled her grip with his, moved up and down. Dragged in a breath.

  A groan built deep in his throat. He shouted and pulsed in her grip, raised his hips over and over, then went limp.

  “Oh, God, James Lee. Are you all right? Did I do something wrong?”

  He lay there for a few more seconds, then laughed deep down in his throat. “No, my sweet. You did nothing wrong. That was just fine. You’ll learn much more after we marry, but that was just fine. Did you like it?” He raised on one elbow, rubbed a finger along her cheek.

  “I think so. It felt—uh—plenty nice.”

  “Oh? Just nice, huh?” He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  Well, maybe something that felt that good was a sin. But that was too damn bad. She had just become a sinner. She snuggled into his embrace and closed her eyes.

  Time crept around them, night critters sang, thoughts swirled through her. Scolding words reminding her she had sinned.

  After a while he said, “That was damned fine, Tyra. Damned fine.”

  “Yes, it was for me too. Is that how it always feels, or is that only the first time?”

  He chuckled and kissed her. “It’ll get better all the while. You just wait and see. Once we’re married, we can do the real thing. Now, we’d better get some sleep so I can spell Renner later.”

  “James Lee?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “If that wasn’t the real thing, then am I still a virgin?”

  “Oh, Tyra. Of course you’re still a virgin. We were just playing around. We didn’t have sex. It wasn’t the real thing.”

  Relief and a vague disappointment took the place of her earlier feelings.

  She lay there for a long while after he began to snore softly, thinking about what he’d said. And wondering just what he meant by “the real thing.” What they’d done had been about as real as she could take. If only she’d asked Wilda or Rowena more about what men and women did after they married. And most especially if it was okay for her to enjoy it. There for a while it had felt so blamed good, till she got to remembering what the nuns had said. The trick must be getting married first. Taking care of that dreaded “virgin” word. Would she then all of a sudden know what sex was really like? And most of all, would she be able to enjoy it with all those dark warnings from her childhood echoing inside her head?

  Trouble with that was, lately she wasn’t so sure she wanted to marry James Lee. Did she have to marry him now that they had done what he said wasn’t sex but it felt so good? They were good friends, but he was bossy, and so sure he knew everything better than she did. Being friends was one thing, but marrying someone who would always be telling her what to do, how and when to do it? Now, that was not a thing she really wanted. Still, if they got to enjoy this sex thing all the time, it might be worth it to marry him. Determined to tell James Lee how she felt, she relaxed and fell asleep.

  A storm came up during the night, thunder shaking the ground beneath her till she startled awake. James Lee was saddling his horse, and she scrambled to her feet, preparing to do the same.

  “You stay here, Tyra. Renner and I can handle this.”

  “I’m going. I’m tired of being treated like a useless helpless woman, dammit.”

  “I said no. You’ll get hurt. Stay here and stop arguing with me.”

  For a moment she stood spraddle-legged and stared at him. Words deserted her, but anger fumed toward an explosion. Rain pelted through the leaves of the gigantic cottonwood trees where they’d camped, the huge drops running down her face. She expected steam to pour from her flesh at any moment.

  Before she could defy him openly he was gone, disappearing into the heavy curtain thick as a waterfall.

  “Well, to hell with this,” she muttered, heaved the saddle off the ground, and stomped to Morgan, tied to a picket line under the protection of the trees. Within minutes she had him saddled and was mounted. It would take all three of them to keep the goofy cows from running in every direction. You’d think they’d get accustomed to thunder, but no, every time a storm hit it was like they’d never heard it before. And blamed if James Lee would stop her helping.

  Three of the stupid bovines ran toward her, and the well-trained Morgan easily turned them back toward the herd. Shouting echoed out of the distance. Renner and James Lee corralling the crazed cattle. A blaze of light and thunder cracked the thick night air. That flash revealed the bawling, scrambling herd, some lunging up the muddy bank of the creek, and the two men working to hold them.

  She dug her heels into her mount’s flanks and joined them, closing the gap between the two. How long they fought to control the cows she couldn’t guess, but her thighs ached, her butt was dead, and she was soaked to the skin. The storm finally moved on before they quieted down.

  “We lost three or four. They went off that way.” The words shouted between the two men echoed in the silence.

  “I’ll get ’em.” She took off before James Lee could stop her, which he was bound to try. She knew that like she knew her own name. They definitely had to talk.

  It didn’t take long to find the four cows, bunched together, grazing in a patch of waterlogged grass. She reined up and watched
them for a spell. Staring at her, chewing their cud, and acting calm as could be.

  What, us? Behave like a bunch of wild animals? Brown eyes swore it never happened.

  In her wet clothes she shivered in an early morning breeze that rose to follow the storm. Morgan whinnied; so did a horse approaching. She hunched her shoulders, waited for the rebuke.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” James Lee rode up close enough his words hurt her eardrums.

  One deep breath and she turned on him. “You are not my father or my boss. I understood I was part of this crew, riding for your brand just like you and Renner. So what gives you the right to make me stay in camp like some whimpering female? Some child?”

  “You ride for my brand, you do what you’re told, and I told you to stay in camp. Now get your butt back there, and I’ll take care of this.”

  “James Lee, you can go straight to hell.” Nearly speechless after his barked orders, it was all she could think of to say. Childish, of course. This was not the end, not by a long shot.

  Blocked by him and his raging temper, she backed down rather than cause someone to get hurt. He was ready to physically force her to do his bidding. This was most definitely the last straw. Back in camp she poured herself a cup of coffee and perched on a log near the fire, Morgan tied nearby, ready to ride out. From this moment on she’d take nothing from James Lee. It was as if plans for her entire life had exploded in one wild, crazy night.

  Chapter Four

  Zach hit two saloons in Gonzales before he found a poker game. Maybe he would have more luck waiting for the night crowd, but he itched to get started. Three cowboys and two dandies had a game going that looked like it might be prosperous. He approached the table, limping carefully on the injured leg. More than sore, it hurt like hell, and all he wanted was to sit down before he fell down. He fingered Callie’s brooch from his pocket and set it carefully on the felt tabletop. Waited while the men played out the hand. He leaned on the back of a chair so he wouldn’t fall on his ass.

  The dandy with a string tie and a fancy vest glanced at him as if he were a piece of cow dung on his boot. A derringer lay next to his pile of chips.

  “This get me in a game?” Zach attempted to address everyone, letting his gaze slide from one to the other. Sizing them up for later.

  String Tie picked it up, weighed it in one hand, rubbed a fingernail over one gold edge, and tilted it to watch the sparkle in the diamonds set around the blue center stone.

  “Buy-in’s a twenty-dollar gold piece. This might get you that far, but then what you got?”

  He really wanted to hold back the necklace and bracelet. “It’s worth more than that. Weight alone covers the buy-in. Look at those stones. A dozen diamonds and that sapphire. Ought to be worth a hand, at least.” Good thing Callie had clued him in on the deep blue, almost purple, stone.

  String Tie stared up at him with eyes like black marbles. “You steal this? You look a bit the worse for wear.”

  “No, sir. I did not. To tell you the truth, a sweet lady asked me to play a hand with it, as she’s broke and wants enough money to pay her rent.”

  The men around the table laughed. “So what happens if you lose?” Dandy asked with a sneer.

  Zach shrugged. Kept a steady gaze aimed at the man. “Reckon I’ll have to pray she don’t kill me.”

  “Aw, hell, Evan. Let him play a round. Might be entertaining. I could use me something like that. The little woman is spittin’ mad at me for playing poker in the middle of the day ’stead of helping her out in the garden. She’d look right purty in that doo-dad.”

  String Tie, now known as Evan, laid the brooch on the table at the empty chair, gestured for Zach to sit, and passed him a stack of chips. He made the sixth player.

  Inside he was smiling, but he kept his humble look in place. They thought him a mark, and he didn’t blame them. His clothes were a mess, though Callie had done her best to clean them up some before he left.

  With a huge sigh of relief, he eased into the chair. Pain shot through the leg. If he could just lay hands on that cussed cocky woman who shot him, he’d tell her a thing or two. His head swam for a moment, but the feeling passed, and he was ready to play poker.

  “What’s the game, gentlemen?”

  “Five-card stud. Ante fifty cents, plus a bring-in by low card the first round. Low bet five dollars, high twenty.” The dandy dealt hole cards all around, then one face up, and slapped down the deck. Zach had a three up, low card, and tossed in a second white chip. Everyone covered, and the third card was dealt. An ace of clubs for Zach, and once again he threw in a bet, this time raising to a red chip. He waited for the fourth card, another three before looking at his hole card. A three of spades. String Tie slid the last card to each player. One of the cowboys showed a king of spades on top of a jack, a ten, and a nine of spades. A possible straight, but doubtful with only thirty cards out of the deck on the table. He measured five blue chips and tossed them in the pot. Zach had another three. The players dropped out one by one till the play came back to Zach. He studied the cowboy for maybe ten seconds, then raised him four blue chips, the top limit for a bet. Great sighs went around the table. The cowboy called.

  Zach turned over the ace in the hole for a full house and raked in the pot. The hands went downhill from there, but Zach still picked up four more game wins, one on a pair of deuces. He lost one game, but got out early so his loss was minimal. Time to go.

  After trading a stack of chips for the brooch, he turned in the remainder for twenty-dollar gold pieces. The dandy had used a pocket watch and a gold ring to stay in the game, and Zach won those, too. He glanced around the table at the sour faces. “Gentlemen. Thanks for a game. I’d best keep my promise to the lady and git this money to her.”

  “Hey, you ought to give us a chance to win some of our losses back,” the cowboy they called Buck said.

  “Yeah,” from the others.

  Players could leave as losers, but not as winners. Code of the game. This could get hot and heavy, and he had no chance in a fist fight. “Tell you what. She don’t need it all. I’ll come back tonight. Or better yet, I’ll bring this back and start over again.” He tapped a finger on the brooch before sticking it in his pocket.

  The itch was on, and his every instinct was to remain at the table into the night. He gazed down into their hard stares. Damn, he could play all night, lose some, win some. If he came up empty, he could simply leave. Hop on the next train. She’d never know what happened.

  He eased toward the empty chair. The little boy, Bobby, was probably right now going to bed not knowing what he would eat tomorrow. And Callie had shared with him anyway. Taken him in. What kind of woman does that? She could just as well have shot him and got away with it.

  Hand on the back of the chair, he shook his head. Just once, he’d do the right thing, see what it felt like. He could give Callie what she needed first. When he came back, it would be with all three pieces of jewelry, and by God, he’d clean up. Then maybe leave town with his pockets stuffed. He bade them so long with a promise to come back.

  Limping toward Callie’s, he decided to keep out enough to buy himself a horse and tack, much as he hated the ornery cusses. He made it as far as the well curbing before the pain took over. He sat and closed his eyes, couldn’t walk another step. The leg felt like someone had put a hot brand to it.

  “Mister?”

  He jumped, squinted to see Bobby standing before him. “You okay, Mister?”

  The boy looked so concerned he couldn’t help but grin. “I’m fine. Do me a favor and holler at your Ma. I’m gonna have to sit here a while, and I’ve got good news for her.”

  Bobby turned and ran for the house, yelling, “Ma!” at the top of his voice. Callie burst out the front door.

  “Land sakes, child, what’s wrong? I thought you were being attacked or something.”

  “Zach is back, Zach is back. He says could you come out here?”

  Callie rushed across t
he bare yard, chickens squawking and running in all directions, their wings flapping up dust. He smiled with pleasure at what he was about to show her. When she reached him, he rose, stuck his hand in his pocket, and pulled out her share of the winnings, wrapped securely in a dirty bandana.

  “Careful. Maybe we ought to take it inside to the table. You’ll have gold pieces rolling all over the yard if we don’t.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him down. Laughing, he hugged her one-handed to keep from tumbling into the well.

  “Let me help you. You look all tuckered out.” Using her shoulder for support, he shuffled beside her into the house, sank into a chair, and placed the winnings on the table.

  Worn features flushed with excitement, she wiped flour-covered hands on her apron and stared at the bandana pouch in the center of the table. “Well, open it. Open it.” One arm around Bobby, cheeks flushed, she waited.

  He plucked at the knot, taking his time to increase her pleasure. At last the red fabric fell away to reveal all three pieces of jewelry mixed with a pile of twenty-dollar gold pieces.

  Hands clutching her mouth, she stared in disbelief. “How—how much is there?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. You get to count it.”

  “I can’t believe you won this much. I didn’t think—I mean, what a strange way to make so much money. You must be very lucky.”

  “In five-card stud, a pair of deuces can win the pot, and often does when you’ve just got a few playing. Most of the deck just lays there.”

  She glanced up at him. “What’s deuces?”

  “Cards with a two on them. Two of hearts, diamonds, clubs, or spades.”

  He couldn’t help laughing at her puzzlement while she separated the coins with trembling fingers, counting and making stacks. When she finished, there were two stacks of five twenty-dollar gold pieces, and the necklace, bracelet, and brooch she’d given him. For a long moment she simply stared down at the coins; then she gave him one stack and kept the other. The jewelry lay in the center of the table.