Texas Hold Him (20 page)

He nodded and grinned. “Sure did.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself naming an animal something like that. Have you no decency?” She left the two men to their
business without waiting for his response. She didn’t particularly care to hear what flimsy reasons he could have for what
he’d done.

The old timer took the horses reins from Dyer’s hands, took two steps toward the barn, then turned back with a confused expression.
“What’s she got against the name ‘Skeeter’?”

Dyer shrugged. “You know how women are.”

He watched Charlotte Mason hurry up the ramp to board the
Belle
. He’d been concerned when that idiot of a captain had thrown her from the boat. She was far from her goal—or perhaps he should
say,
his
goal—of fifteen thousand dollars, and her leaving the
Belle
had only complicated things. But now she’d returned to win his money, and that was all that mattered.

Years of careful planning had almost gone awry. He hadn’t counted on Dyer Straights entering the picture, and even though
it had concerned him at first, now he considered it poetic justice. The spoiled little rich girl and her Yankee lover were
in for a rude awakening.

Lottie folded early for the second hand in a row. It wasn’t that her cards were terrible, but she’d decided earlier she was
going to study the tells of the other players before risking all of the twenty-three dollars Dyer had earned for her. The
man to her left kept his eyes downcast when he had a good hand, and Wayne Dawson chewed on his lower lip when his cards kept
him in play. The man who’d won the last two hands rubbed his chin before revealing his winning cards, and though she’d yet
to pick up on the others’ tells, she felt confident enough to stay in the next hand, should the cards merit.

She lifted them from the table, careful not to smile,
giggle or hiccup as she discovered the beginnings of a club flush. She slid her two off-suited cards to the center and received
the two new ones from the dealer.

Maybe it wasn’t right to pray for cards. It would probably insult God or tempt Him to teach her about the evils of gambling,
but she did it anyway on the off chance that God had a sense of humor or at least realized she was doing this to help someone
else. She picked up her two new cards and forced her face to drop, despite the fact she now held a club flush.

When it was her turn to bet, she hesitated, then cautiously pitched in the last of her chips. It worked, and when she raked
in the pot, she doubled her money. An hour later, she’d picked up some tells from each player and had earned one hundred thirty-seven
dollars.

She hadn’t prayed on the last four hands. There was no sense in reminding God she was gambling, especially since He currently
seemed to be looking the other way. He was probably busy keeping His eye on the devil.

“May I join your game, gentlemen?” Lottie raised her eyes to see Dyer standing beside their table. “Miss Mace?”

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.”

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.