The Grand Opening

by Ava Miles

  That gorgeous mouth that had fit so perfectly to her lips—and bit her—curved. “I blew out our motor when I was a kid running over a whole swarm of toads that invaded our yard.” He tapped his sister’s nose. “If memory serves, you screamed bloody murder from the window the whole time.”

  Abbie shivered. “It was disgusting. First I saw the mass of them jumping forward in a unit, and then toad bits were flying everywhere. Yuck.”

  She was so not getting chummy with Maven. “Not too many toads around here. We should be safe. The mower’s in the shed out back. I get to call a halt at any time if he pulls anything.”

  “Agreed,” Maven answered.

  “He won’t,” Abbie declared.

  Peggy firmed her shoulders. “Abbie, why don’t you tell Dustin? I want to talk to your brother for a moment.”

  His infernal eyebrow winged up again. She wanted to shave it.

  “Thank you, Deputy.”

  When Abbie extended her hand, Peggy took it, one single mother to another. “Call me Peggy.”

  The woman’s clenched frame eased a bit. “Thank you,” she said before easing out the door with barely a sound.

  Peggy turned back to Maven. “We need to get something straight.”

  He crossed his arms way too nonchalantly for her taste. If she had to run him over with a lawn mower for him to understand, she would. They were never ever having a repeat performance of what had happened in his office.

  Chapter 11

  Mac wouldn’t have been surprised if Peggy had a weapon nearby, locked and loaded. She’d been hostile toward him from the start, so her attitude wasn’t exactly news. The first time they met, she had been under the weather, and while she hadn’t looked particularly pretty that day, he’d felt something shift inside him all the same.

  That determined chin, those high cheekbones, and that flat out take no prisoners attitude had intrigued him. When color had returned to her face, everything had come together—the dark pageboy hair, the brown eyes, the nearly translucent skin—and he’d been rocked back with more than intrigue. Sheer lust had coiled through him until he’d felt strangled. His lack of control and her outright hostility had made her difficult to ignore.

  Like a game of cards, life had a way of dealing out surprise hands.

  He wasn’t ready to fold yet.

  He’d tried bluffing—after she went after him publically, he’d ignored her, sending the message that he just didn’t give a damn. Then the moose had thrown them together again. And after the insane encounter in his office, a new strategy seemed to be his best bet.

  So he’d raise.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened.”

  She flinched at his honesty and then firmed her chin like she was preparing for an attack. He wanted to yank her to him and kiss her.

  “You bit me.”

  He blinked for a moment and then scratched his cheek. Of all the things, he thought she’d come back with, that hadn’t been one of them. “I did? Let me see.”

  She tugged her collar up higher when he reached for it. “Not necessary. Look, I have a kid. Hell, I have to walk out of my house every day. My friends saw it. My fellow officers could have. Hell, the whole town.” She narrowed her eyes. “Jill thought it was funny.”

  His lips pursed, trying not to laugh. If Jill knew, he could expect some pithy comment from her about getting a rabies shot.

  “Are you sure it was a bite? I might have nipped you a little. Your skin is like silk.” He stepped close enough to feel her body heat, smell the flowery aroma of her shampoo. “When you’ve wanted something for a long time, things can turn a little crazy.”

  She grabbed her throat like she couldn’t swallow all of the sudden. He understood the feeling. His mouth dried up, his body revving, his hands itching to feel those strong curves.

  “It can’t happen again,” she informed him.

  He leaned his head closer, so close the golden ring around her iris expanded. “I disagree. It needs to happen again. This isn’t going away, Peggy. We tried that.”

  She pushed him back with a palm to his chest. “So we try harder.”

  His heartbeat seemed to migrate to where she was touching him, pounding in hard, insistent beats. His hand covered hers. “I’m done trying. I want to explore this.”

  She tried to yank her hand free, but he held it in place.

  “Well, I don’t. Let go.”

  He caressed her wrist with delicate strokes. “Not until you admit there’s something between us.”

  She turned into him and, in one quick move, angled her elbow toward his neck. “I’m serious about you letting me go.”

  She wasn’t ready. He wanted to sigh. Hell, his body wanted to weep. When he stepped back, he raised his hands like a white flag of surrender.

  “I’ll let you go for now, but this is a long way from over.” He crossed the hall. “I’ll tell Keith goodbye. Then, we’ll get out of your way.”

  “Fine. I’ll say goodbye to your sister and nephew.” She stormed out.

  When he reached the next room, he stopped. Keith stood against the wall, clearly eavesdropping.

  “You hear everything?” he asked, not bothering to pretend the situation away. Dustin had been a champ eavesdropper, hiding in cabinets in Mac’s office or his mom’s room when he wanted to know things they wouldn’t tell him, like who his father was. Thank God he still didn’t know.

  He ducked his head. “Uh–huh. Why’d you bite my mom?”

  After talking to Dustin about sex, erections, and other embarrassing things, he didn’t squirm. He took a moment to come up with something truthful, but not too explicit.

  He hoped to hell, for his own sake, Keith wouldn’t ask Peggy the same question. He didn’t think she’d shoot him, but he was pretty sure she’d seriously wound him. Funny, hadn’t she already?

  He crouched down so that he and Keith were eye to eye.

  “Keith, I like your mom. You like her too, right?”

  The kid’s nod couldn’t have been more emphatic.

  “When you show her how much you like her—like kissing and hugging her—have you ever accidentally squeezed her too hard or anything?”

  “Uh–huh.”

  “So that’s what happened with your mom and me. I was too happy to see her.”

  Keith’s eyes narrowed as he tried to work through the puzzle, just like his mom’s always did. “You got too excited? Sometimes that happens to me too. Mom tells me to calm down.”

  Yes, he’d gotten too excited all right. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

  “She’s pretty angry.” He glanced around Mac’s shoulder like he was looking for Peggy. “You should tell her you’re sorry.”

  “I will. Thanks for reminding me.” He wondered if he’d ever been this nice as a kid. “So it’s okay if I like your mom?”

  “You like her like a girl, don’t you?”

  His somber expression twisted Mac’s stomach. The kid knew how things worked, even if he didn’t know all the details.

  “Yes, I like her like a girl.” And he felt like he was back in junior high, talking about sneaking out of class to practice French kissing with Heather Barlett.

  “Mom doesn’t really kiss any guys except family—and only on the cheek.”

  His nerves jumped. The kid had way too much insight for someone his age. Must be a McBride gene. “I’m not family,” he said, keeping it simple, but sticking to the truth.

  Keith’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum as he shuffled forward. “Be nice to my mom. My dad wasn’t. Uncle Tanner said we need to make her happy.” His voice was a low whisper, like he was confessing a secret.

  Mac’s throat squeezed. He’d conspired with Dustin to brighten Abbie’s life, trying to fill an impossible void left by the bastard who’d fathered him.

  “Your Uncle Tanner’s a smart man.”

  Keith pointed to himself. “I am too. I got all As on my report card.”

  Mac gave him a
high five. “Good for you. Now let’s go find your mom.”

  And he didn’t squirm at all when Keith took his hand and walked with him outside to a frowning Peggy.

  Chapter 12

  Usually Wednesday’s poker night lifted Mac’s mood. Tonight he was having trouble concentrating on his hand—a first—and sliding into the easy male camaraderie he’d come to expect with this group. Brian always joked around. With enough encouragement, Arthur talked about his interviews with influential persons. His son, Alan, bitched about his father smoking bootleg Cuban cigars while he was on his “no more heart attacks” diet. Cince regaled them all with stories about the hands he’d played on gambling steamboats along the Mississippi River, embellishing them like a circus barker. Add in Tanner, and he had a damn good poker group.

  The age range covered a wide swath, but Mac liked it that way. Yes, it was lower limit poker, and the people weren’t professionals—save Cince—but it was fun. He hadn’t gotten into poker originally out of love for the game, so it was nice to be around guys who simply enjoyed it. He could sit back and relax with a cigar between his teeth and a dram of whiskey by his side, savoring the feel of crisp cards in his hands while he talked smack with the other guys as they tried to figure out the one thing that had puzzled men since the beginning of time.

  Women.

  He figured poker night was like a self–help group for the male species without all the psychological hocus–pocus. They all left feeling a hell of a lot lighter, whether they’d won or lost.

  Tonight Tanner was staring him down hard, though, and not over the cards. He must have caught wind of what had happened with Peggy the other day. God, he hoped he hadn’t seen the hickey. Mac wasn’t one to get uncomfortable when people knew his “female” business, but this situation made his hands itch. Maybe because he was a big brother, too.

  “How’s the grand opening coming along?” Arthur tapped his cigar on the ashtray and then clamped it between his teeth.

  “We’re ready. The fun begins on Friday. Just two days away.” Cince signaled Mac for another card. “It’s a pretty nice location for poker night, though, right? Not that rotating it at everyone’s house wasn’t nice.” They were in one of the six high–roller poker suites Mac had designed for the hotel. Each was fitted with its own sweeping bar named after an indigenous tree growing in the valley. Tonight they were in The Ponderosa Room.

  Brian smoothed his hand over the green felt poker table. “It’s like a baby’s bottom.”

  “You’ll make a good father, thinking like that, but it’s kinda sick, kid,” Arthur commented, nudging his new grandson–in–law in the ribs.

  Mac reached for a cigar in the embossed wooden case. Smoking one always made him feel like Brett Maverick, minus the western getup. He’d seen every episode of Maverick on reruns growing up. It had helped him pretend his father was like Brett, although Mac had never seen any of the charm or generosity of James Garner’s TV character in his dad. Being nicknamed Maverick after his first big tournament couldn’t have flattered him more.

  “Poker tables are like beds to me,” said Mac. “Since I spend so much time at them, I want them to be comfortable. I designed each one myself.”

  Each table in the hotel focused on a specific type of poker. Some were big, some were small, and groups of all sizes could be accommodated. The stunning ellipse–shaped Hold ‘Em table they were using seated nine. The cushioned brown leather armrests supported players’ elbows, helping them shield their cards throughout hours of grueling play. Add in the Italian leather throne chairs that curved to the body in ergonomic magic, and Mac could play for days without anything more than a few short breaks.

  He couldn’t wait to break them in.

  “I can see why people pay your prices, Mac. This room is inspired.” Alan’s head turned away from his cards. “Restoring antiques has always been my favorite hobby, so I’ve seen some fine wood in my day, but this stuff…it’s like you coated the wood in liquid gold.”

  Mac traced the edges of the table, admiring the room. Yeah, everything looked awesome.

  “When the high rollers hit, their mouths are going to drop, I’m telling you. Mac outdid himself with this place. Not that the other hotels aren’t freaking ridiculous in their own way,” Cincinnati observed.

  “Thanks, Cince,” Mac replied. “Can’t wait to play poker until the sun sets on the 4th of July. Then, we’ll top it all off with a big party when the tourney’s over. I’m still working on Rye Crenshaw to sing at least one song for us, like ‘I’m Proud to be an American’ or something.”

  Cincinnati rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “God, I love that guy, and he’s a talented poker player, too. Hope he agrees. Regardless, it’s going to be a hell of a show.”

  Poker night could turn serious, but the easy–going camaraderie was sheer fun. They’d agreed to play low–limit poker—that way no one would lose their shirt. It didn’t seem to bother anyone that Mac, Cince, and Tanner took most of the hands, although Arthur tended to surprise them every once in a while. The old guy could bluff like nobody’s business. Brian and Alan were improving. He’d whip them all into shape by the end of the summer so they’d be tournament ready.

  Mac considered his cards. He had the makings of an ace high straight. He took stock of the cards he suspected everyone else held. The jack he needed would show up.

  “The hotel opens to guests on Friday, and the tourney kicks off Saturday morning,” Cincinnati informed them. “I’m Mac’s biggest opponent.”

  Mac huffed out a laugh. “In what universe? I beat you with four queens in Vegas at our last tourney. You know I always kick your butt.” It wasn’t true, but banter was banter.

  “Your ass is going to be sore come Monday night. You might be crying after you lose in your new hotel’s first tourney.”

  Arthur harrumphed. “Can’t wait to watch. Never did care for all that noise in Vegas. Slot machines erupting and club music blasting. Heard your style is more like a library.”

  Mac fingered the edge of his king of hearts and stared back at Tanner, who was still stony–silent, his expression cold. “Serious poker players hate all that racket. That’s why they always play in the back room.”

  Arthur put aside his cigar and pulled out one of his signature red hot candies. “Anyone?”

  Brian’s nose wrinkled. “Doesn’t exactly go with beer.”

  “Shut up and play,” Tanner interjected.

  Everyone gave him a look, but they did as they’d been commanded. Mac took the hand with the straight. Like always, raking in a pile of colorful casino chips settled him to the core, giving him a feeling of security, success.

  Few cared about chips like he did. He’d designed the compression–mold for security, but also to showcase the hotel’s brand and logo—The Grand, for The Grand Mountain Hotel. He even dreamed about the sound clay chips made when he ruffled them. Kalick, kalick, kalick.

  “I’m taking you this time, Mac, my boy.” Cince shuffled the cards in the extravagant and gravity–defying Russian style, cards springing from his thumb and pinky and cascading across the table as his hands kept separating them further and further apart.

  “Show off,” Mac commented, rubbing his lucky piece.

  No one could shuffle with more flourish than Cince. He’d been a dealer before becoming a player, and his flourishes had helped him rake in major tips. Now he used all the knowledge he’d picked up from dealing at the tables.

  His wide mouth formed an eerie grin. “Let’s play.”

  “You’re kicking my ass,” Brian commented as Cince raked in the chips on the next hand. “I’ve got a wife and twins to take care of.”

  Cince slapped him on the back. “You know the old saying, right? Poker is the hardest way to make an easy living. Besides, Mac won’t let Jill go. She’s indispensible to the hotel.”

  “She’s got a job for life if she wants it,” Mac added. “Jill’s a natural.”

  “Girl’s got spunk,” her father com
mented.

  “Got all that empire building gumption from her grandfather,” Arthur noted, rolling his red hot candy across his front teeth.

  “Great, twin girls with spunk. I’m never going to sleep again once they’re born. Like Brasserie Dare isn’t enough.” Brian was half–joking, but Mac caught the shine of new–father fear in his eyes.

  “It’ll be great. Nothing like kids,” Mac murmured, thinking about Dustin and his recent asinine stunt. Kid still wouldn’t talk to him. He thought Uncle Mac had sold him out. Well, it wasn’t their first boxing match. They’d go a few rounds more.

  The group played late. Tanner came on strong, winning two hands in a row—a first. Mac could almost feel the intensity radiating from him like heat off August asphalt. When they called a halt, and everyone headed out of the room, Tanner hung back. Mac started collecting the chips and putting them back in the rack to give them some time.

  When the door closed, Tanner put his hands on his hips. “You gave my sister a hickey.”

  Mac pushed the rack away. A tinge of embarrassment slid up his back. “Since I’ve got a baby sister myself, I won’t tell you to buzz off. But you’re not taking a swing at me. I’ve got a tourney starting. A bruised face would attract the wrong kind of press.”

  Tanner didn’t respond to the joke. His jaw clenched. “I figure since you left a mark—and don’t have that black–eye you’re so worried about—she wanted it there. At least in the moment. It’s the future that worries me.”

  “Is this the whole ‘intentions’ talk? We might need another drink.”

  Tanner waved away the glass he offered. “I’m only warning you to be careful with her. I wasn’t home when her ex turned into a fucker, but I’m here now. I won’t see her hurt again.”

  Mac poured himself a single malt and swirled it around, releasing the leather and spice scent. “Hmm…I understand the sentiment. Again, big bro and all. Your sister…well, she’s as prickly as a porcupine, so I’m probably the one who’s in danger here.”