Just Kin (Texas Romance Book 6)

by Caryl McAdoo

  The idiot snorted then pulled a green back out of his pants pocket. “She sure ain’t worth dying over, but a dollar’s all she has coming. The plate cost more than that.” He held the bill out.

  Lacey reached around the man, grabbed the money, took off her apron, and threw it at him. “Don’t you ever come near me again, or you’ll be sorry. You hear me?” She hurried out the kitchen’s door.

  The few patrons still littering the place stared as she hurried past, but she didn’t care. She never should have taken a job washing dishes in a saloon anyway.

  Pushing through the double half-doors, she stepped into the night then filled her lungs with the sweet air.

  Now what was she going to do?

  “May I walk you home, Miss? Fort Smith isn’t the kind of town for a lady such as yourself to be walking alone after dark.”

  She turned around. The gent tipped his hat.

  “Thank you, kind sir. And for helping back there, but I can make my own way. Haven’t got that far to go.”

  “Lacey, right?”

  “No, you must be mistaking me for someone.” Her heart quickened. How could he know her name? She hadn’t used it in weeks. “My name’s Beatrice. Beatrice Jones, but my friends all call me Bea.”

  No nevermind how he knew.

  The need to get away from the man overwhelmed her. “I do thank you kindly though, and bid you good night.”

  Smiling as nonchalantly as she could, she turned and made herself stroll down the sidewalk.

  Suddenly, he walked beside her. How had he done that without her hearing? “The Pinkertons have a flyer out on you, Lacey, with a sizable reward offered. If you want to remain free, best let me help you.”

  She stopped in her tracks and stared into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her heart thundered in her chest. Her feet wanted to bolt, but that would only confirm his suspicions.

  “Two hundred gold is a lot of coin, but Fort Smith telegraph is down, and I’ve been thinking. You might be exactly what I need.”

  So they’d upped the reward. Last she heard, it was only a hundred. “However might it be that a young Virginian woman is what you need, sir? I assure you, I am not for sale, but if I were, it would be ten times that amount.”

  “I’m not in the market to buy flesh, ma’am. I am needing a partner.”

  “To do what?”

  “Ever play any stud poker?”

  She nodded. Used to play with the boys for matches, but never for money. “You’re a gambler?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned over slightly at the waist, then extended his hand. “Jack Spade. Pleased to meet you.”

  A giggle escaped. “Really? Jack Spade?”

  “My father before me was a gambling man…with a wicked sense of humor, and my mother… Well, she never could stand up to him. So….”

  Taking his hand, she immediately marveled at its softness. Not a callous anywhere she could feel, but with a strength that he didn’t use. “Bea Smith. Glad to meet you, Jack.”

  “A minute ago it was Jones, dear.”

  His eyes made it easy to look into them. She held his gaze, gave him no hangdog ooops expression, and squared her shoulders. “Call me whatever you want.”

  He covered his grin with his hand, giving her the once over, then nodded. “How does Alexandra sound?”

  “Ooo, I like that. Fancy and good as any, but exactly what is it you have in mind?”

  “If you’re hungry, we can discuss it over a late supper. My treat, of course.”

  Of course she was hungry, she was always hungry. And what could it hurt for her to listen to what he had in mind? He had saved her after all.

  How old was he anyway? Mid-twenties maybe. No more than thirty. Definitely older than Charley, and definitely a man.

  “Thank you, Mister Spade. I’d love to.”

  Chapter Five

  The shave-tail lieutenant handed over the last letter to the last man. Those who received none gave a collective groan as the regiment broke ranks. Charley pocketed his and the boys’ mail and headed to the field kitchen.

  Shame Houston and Bart had KP. Guess having Buckmeyer and Baylor as last names didn’t cut a path in the general’s army.

  Safe saying Uncle Henry made extra sure of it.

  Charley stopped just inside the tent. The small mountain of spuds that still needed peeling made him grin, but that didn’t bother his boys any. Neither even bothered looking up from their chore.

  “Hey, girls. You both got letters. Want me to read them to you while you work?”

  Houston scowled then shook his head. “I’ll read my own mail in my own time.”

  “Me, too. How about you helping?” Bart pointed his knife. “We’ll not make mess without aid.”

  “I will if you two will answer me one question each.”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything.”

  Charley found a stool then held out his hands. “Wait, count out yourselves ten taters each and hand me a dozen over here.”

  They complied.

  “Now, I’ve got two bits says I can peel my twelve before either of you two privates can skin your ten.”

  “I’ll take that bet.”

  “Me, too! You say go, Sarge.”

  Charley won the first round then lost the next two. Wouldn’t do him taking all their coin. Then he upped the wager to four bits, and beat them both around the stump and back.

  With all the taters finally peeled, he stood, wiped his knife, and slipped it back into its sheath. “Meet me in my tent after mess.”

  “What about your question?”

  “I’ll ask—and you two young ladies will answer—after supper.”

  As expected, the boys beat a hasty retreat to his canvas domicile, demanded their letters first thing, then sat cross-legged in the dirt reading by his lamp’s light.

  “Want to trade?” Houston held out his letter toward Charley.

  “Not yet. You about finished, Bart?”

  He nodded but kept on reading, smiled real big, then looked up. “Am now.”

  “Either of you heard a word about Lacey Rose?”

  “No. And she hasn’t written in a long time either.”

  “Yeah, and used to, we’d always get one from her even if it was short. You hear from her?”

  “Nope, not a word since my last letter.”

  Houston shook his head then held Charley’s eyes. “You know anything?”

  “No, but…well…I wrote her right after that first little fight we had with the Blue Coats, and see….”

  “What did you tell her?” Bart balled his fists like he wanted to fight or something stupid.

  “Nothing bad. Only that I figured she should think of me as kin, and uh…that we men might be gone ten years or better. Aw, boys…I didn’t know exactly what to say. I didn’t want her pining over me.”

  “Why not?” Houston threw his arms out, palms up. “Who better?”

  “She’s in love with you. Has been for years.”

  “She tell you that, Bart?”

  “Not in so many words, but we both saw it.” The younger by seven months nodded toward his best buddy. “Anyone but you, Charley, we’d both been sick about it.”

  Houston nodded. “He’s right, and you’re dumb as a foxtail if you don’t know it. She’s been sweet on you for years, like Bart said.”

  “Why didn’t either one of you chowderheads say something?”

  “We figured you knew, right Bart?”

  “Kind of…maybe.”

  “What does that mean, you sweet on her, too?” Houston poked the boy’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know. She said I was her best friend on account we’re both half-breeds. Guess I sort of hoped it was true.”

  After Charley read their letters, and them his, he sent the two off. They both had one more day in the kitchen, and being late meant a whole extra one.

  Deep into the night, he examined his heart. He’d been gone ove
r five months, and not a day passed by that he didn’t think about her. How many times had he relived that kiss? Her boldness…him kissing her back.

  Was that love? Could it be he just didn’t want to admit it? Why hadn’t those two said something though?

  That bothered him bad.

  Her not wanting to write to him wasn’t so strange, more a given. But she loved those boys, both of them. And before, she wrote them regular. Why hadn’t she at least sent them a letter since his to her?

  Something must have happened. Had to.

  Reveille found him still on his cot. He couldn’t remember the last time it had. Through chow, he toyed with the notion of writing her again, but then mid-morning everything changed. The regiment got orders to go south. General Buckmeyer himself informed the troops they’d been ordered to San Antonio.

  Suited Charley. He’d killed more men than he ever wanted before his first shave. Besides, he’d like getting a good look at the Alamo.

  “Excellent.”

  Lacey grinned at Jack, then handed him the fresh shuffled deck. “You’re a good teacher.”

  “Think you’re ready for the big time?”

  She hiked her off shoulder and studied the fancy room. Traveling first class suited her fine and beat her original plans like an ace on a deuce. “What happens if I lose?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We’ll still be partners?”

  “Yes, we will. You still afraid I’ll send you home, Lexie? Collect the reward?”

  How could he read her mind? From that first night, he’d known what she’d been thinking. “Sir! Alexandra, if you please. Alexandra Paulos.” She stuck her nose up a fraction in the manner he’d taught her. She truly enjoyed acting a little blue at the mizzen.

  He chuckled. “Good girl, now go look on my bed.”

  She scooted her chair back from the little table where she’d been practicing, waited to see if he was getting up, then when he stayed seated, strolled into the connecting larger room.

  There on his bed, a beautiful red ribbon topped a fat bundle wrapped in fancy paper. She called out without taking her eyes off the package. “What is it?”

  “Open it. You’ll see.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Jack stood in the doorway smiling. “But…”

  “Open.”

  Slowly, she untied the ribbon, then carefully folded out the paper revealing a splash of blue and a thick band of lace. She lifted the beautiful dress and held it out. About the fanciest she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Holding it beneath her chin, she twirled and faced him. “Thank you, it’s so elegant. I love it.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  Oh, goodness! He remembered. What a wonderful gift! Wait. How’d he even know? “But I never told you. Matter of fact, it isn’t until tomorrow, the sixteenth of November. How’d you know?”

  “May Meriwether Buckmeyer.”

  Her back stiffened. What was going on? “The author?”

  He laughed. “One and only. I’ve read all her books. You were the baby born in The Ranger named after Wallace Rusk and Sassy Rose Fogelsong Nightingale. At the time, she was married to Charley’s father.”

  Lacey returned his half-smile. Just like he said; gather all the information available before you ever make a bet. She tipped her nose up twice the prescribed height.

  “You must have me confused with some fictional character, sir, name of Lacey Rose, did you say? A half-breed born to an unmarried mother? Humph! I’ll have you know, I am Alexandra Paulos.”

  “Yes, you are. Of course you are. Now try the dress on, so you’ll look the part. We’ve got time before we get to St. Louis to have it altered if need be.”

  “Can I wear it this evening?”

  “No. You’re not playing tonight.”

  “Oh, balderdash! Why not?”

  “Ever hear the story of the golden goose?”

  Fairy tales? She plopped on the edge of the bed. “Who hasn’t?”

  “A couple of the men who’ve been sitting in are going to be in St. Louis.”

  “So? I lost last night, just like you told me to.”

  “Exactly, and we’ll leave it at that.”

  She exhaled. “Fine, what are we going to do then?”

  “I have a supper date. You, my dear, may amuse yourself however you choose as long as you stay in your room.”

  Perfect. Just the way she wanted to spend the evening. Alone. And while he took another woman to dinner. Not that she wanted anything more from him. Or did she?

  No! She hated him too often. He said they were partners, but he made all the rules! And though he absolutely forbid her from receiving any gentleman callers…he on the other hand….

  What was fair about him doing whatever he pleased with whomever he wanted whenever he decided to then telling her to stay in the room? Nothing, that’s what. It was a man’s world, indeed.

  That’s what Laura Langley Rozier always said, that woman who used to be her mother.

  Alexandra Paulos’ mother—minor royalty if anyone must know—lived in Greece in her big house on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, hosting dinner parties and attending operas.

  She smiled at the big old lie Jack had made her memorize.

  Only took two sessions with the ship’s seamstress, and the dress fit like one of Aunt May’s fancy party gowns the hateful Laura Langley Rozier sewed.

  Never made Lacey anything but plain old, drab everyday work garb. Humph. Jack Spade got her shoes to match, and a feather hairpiece with blue plumes.

  The image in the mirror looked like a beautiful exotic woman, not at all like Lacey anymore. If only Charley could see her now….

  The next day, sporting a little rouge and wearing her second best dress, one of the first Jack bought for her, she checked herself into one of St. Louis’ better hotels. Her mentor went on off to the best.

  She tried to wait patiently, but found herself pacing the room. Nervous as a cornered turkey at Thanksgiving, she hoped she could remember it all.

  Everything he’d been teaching her swirled together and balled in her gut, almost as big as the wad of greenbacks he’d stuck down in the bottom of her carpetbag. She’d never seen so much cash in all her eighteen years, except she’d done some fancy aging since being in Jack’s company.

  Alexandra Paulos, older and much wiser, turned twenty-two back in June.

  And that woman just loved playing poker.

  Every international woman on tour needed one little vice, didn’t she?

  Lacey loved playing the part.

  Flipping her new fancy little fan open, she played with it, watching the mirror and loving the effect. After all—she held her hand out bent at the wrist as though a fancy dude wanted to kiss it—wasn’t that money’s purpose? To be multiplied at the card tables?

  No matter how many times she rehearsed his words, the thought of losing all the dollars clouded her soul, but she had to keep him happy, or he might haul her back to Texas, hand her over, then start anew with his reward cash.

  Why had they upped it to five hundred gold? That woman couldn’t leave well enough alone!

  At half past six, she changed her dress then admired her reflection. She couldn’t get enough.

  Just like Mister Spade always said. You’ll distract them with your beauty until you start gathering their coin. He probably only gave such compliments on account of knowing how very much she enjoyed hearing them.

  But—moving closer to the mirror, she scrutinized the girl there—anyone who looked hard enough could see she was plain at best. If not for the nice clothes he bought for her and her hair…no man would even take a second look.

  God sure gifted her with beautiful thick dark hair, and it tickled her backside below the waist after she washed it. Jack always commented on it, and paid a woman a lot to have her curl it and pin it up so pretty.

  She turned slightly, trying to look over her shoulder and see the back of it. The turquoise blue headpiece secured over her lef
t ear sure set it off, too.

  At exactly a quarter after seven, she entered the game room at the St. Louis Gentleman’s Club. While buying the minimum stake—a thousand dollars’ worth of chips—she scanned the chamber.

  Only one other lady played at the far table to her right. Was she a student of Jack’s also? Or one of the other dandies aplenty in the place?

  Strolling the perimeters with a drink in his hand, he never even looked Lacey’s direction that she caught. She moved to her left and took a seat at a table with four players and two empty chairs.

  Painstakingly, she built her stack to twelve hundred thirty. He proved to be a good teacher. Per his instructions, she’d spotted the better player and refused to lock horns with the shark.

  At half past midnight, the last ten players came together at the center table. All evening, she’d forced herself not to notice Jack and assumed he did the same.

  Twice it came down to just him and her, and precisely as he’d predetermined, she bluffed him out of big pots each time. She’d loved raking the chips in then stacking them neatly.

  Ooops, had she accidently let the handsome cowman sitting beside her see her hold card? Tsk. tsk. She smiled demurely. He winked.

  Then it came, the very hand for which he’d been preparing her. Red ace up with its sister in the hole.

  First three rounds of betting grew the pot to over five thousand. The galoot sitting next to her looked like a fancy rancher and threw his money around like he owned all of Texas. Caught a third king on his last round of cards.

  Her heart stopped beating. Almost all of her money huddled in the middle of the table in the biggest mound she’d ever seen there.

  The ace of spades fell onto her little row of pasteboards. She remembered to turn her lips down a hair as she sucked her lungs full. Could they all hear her crazy heart? Beating so loud, pulsing blood to every nerve’s end?

  An hour and a half later, back in her room, she emptied her purse on the bed and started separating the bills by denominations. Before she got the little darlings all sorted, he plied his special knock on her door. She grabbed her pistol then stood next to the portal.

  Reaching over, she rapped three times, waited a breath, then sounded another tap a bit louder. At a proper answer of two timed knuckle knocks, she opened up.