Texas Hold Him (21 page)

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.

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.”

“Could you have shot him?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation.

“A word of advice: never point a gun at a man unless you know you can pull the trigger.”

“Oh, I could have pulled the trigger. I just couldn’t have shot him.”

Should he ask? “And why is that?”

“I don’t have any bullets.”

Dyer leaned against the rail to help support his suddenly buckling knees as he watched her walk away. In order to save him,
the woman had pressed an empty gun into the back of a very dangerous man. Had Johnson turned on her, he could have killed
her in an instant, and Dyer would have been unable to stop it.

He wasn’t sure if it was the bravest thing he’d ever seen or the most foolish, but either way, it made his stomach drop.

The Texas Deck was usually the best place to catch the river breeze, and today was no exception. Lottie stepped into a shady
spot and leaned against the rail to enjoy the view. They would be in St. Louis by tomorrow evening, and the tournament was
the day after that. That left two days for her to prepare and pace and fret herself silly.

“Aren’t nervous, are you?”

She jumped at the unexpected sound of Newt’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, joining her at the rail.

“I think I’m still a little edgy because of what happened last night.”

“You needn’t worry about Dyer. He’s capable of dealing with the likes of Johnson.”

“I’m sure he is. It’s just . . .” Lottie stopped speaking when she realized Newt’s attention was elsewhere. His gaze narrowed,
and he brought his hand quickly to his eyes to shield them from the sun as he studied the river.

“What is it?” She could see nothing in the muddy water that should cause such concern. No animals, no trees, no bodies. Then
the river gave up her secret, and the
Belle
groaned and dragged to a stop.

“Mudflat,” Newt said, heading toward the back of the boat. Lottie hurried behind him.

“Surely the captain will be able to back off the flat.”

“Don’t think it will make much difference if he does.” He came to a stop at the back of the boat, just above the paddle wheel.

“Why not?” She stopped beside him to watch as the big wheel frothed the muddy water for a few seconds more, then stopped.
By this time, several of the other passengers crowded around the rails, pointing and chatting nervously about the situation.

“Looked like the flat goes across the river. He’d have no place to take her if he
could
get off,” Newt answered.

The decks of the
Belle
creaked and shuddered as the steam engines fought to reverse the paddle. The large red wheel strained for a few moments before
it finally stopped completely with a burst of steam. The captain alerted the crew by ringing bells from the wheel house, and
the workers on the lower deck shouted to each other as they released the pressure and shut back the engines. She prayed they’d
be successful. Stories of boilers exploding and killing boatloads of passengers ran through her mind.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Woodruff’s voice carried over the confusion. He stood at the foot of the steps leading to the wheel house
and waited for the crowd to still. “There’s no need to be concerned. We’re stuck, but we’re safe.”

“
Stuck?
” one of the men shouted. “What the hell do you mean, stuck? We have to get to St. Louis!” The crowd chimed in with agreement.

“There’s nothing I can do about that. The water is down, and we’re just going to have to hope it’s raining upriver, and we’ll
float free. We’ve still got almost three days until the tournament.”

Woodruff headed back up the steps as the crowd dispersed, grumbling as they did.

“What are we going to do?” Lottie turned to speak to Newt, surprised to find he no longer stood behind her, but was across
the deck in deep discussion with Dyer. She wasted no time in joining them.

“Get your things and be back here as quickly and quietly as possible,” Dyer said, ushering her to the steps that led to the
cabins.

“Why?”

He leaned over and lowered his voice. “We’re jumping ship, but we don’t want someone else to beat us to the yawl boat.” He
rushed away from her before she had the chance to question him.

The pitifully small collection of her possessions fit easily into her carpetbag, especially since she’d returned the short
satin dress to Sally. She wished she could take the time to thank Sally for her help and bid her farewell. But Dyer seemed
to think they needed to hurry, and now was not the time to question him.

By the time she returned to the deck, he was ready and waiting. Dyer took her valise and ushered her to the lower deck, where
Newt stood casually guarding the partially lowered yawl boat. A quick release of the pulleys dropped the boat to the water,
and in a matter of moments, they were on their way to land. Shouts from the decks of the
Belle
reached their ears at the same time they arrived on shore.

Newt chuckled. “I believe the others have noticed our departure.”

Several men crowded on the deck, gesturing toward them—and not in a gentlemanly way. “Oh dear,” she said. “Should we return
the boat?”

Dyer hopped out of the boat and pulled it up onto the land. “Why? So they can beat us to any horses that may be between here
and the next town? Or maybe so we can have more to compete against at the tournament?”

He was right. Their best course of action was to get as much of a head start as possible, though it seemed unsporting. She
absently reached for her locket, then lowered her hand. There was nothing she could do to retrieve her necklace now, but that
didn’t mean she couldn’t still save her father.

“Well, Miss Mace?”

“Well . . .” She turned her back to the
Belle
. “What are we waiting for?”

Taking Dyer’s hand, she stepped gingerly out of the boat, careful to avoid the mud at the river’s edge. Newt followed, and
the three shoved their way through brush and bramble until they discovered a road about half a mile inland.

Lottie’s gown and shoes had not been made for traipsing through the woods. Broken twigs and briars tangled in the hem of her
gown and petticoats. The buckle of one shoe was either loose or broken, and the per sis tent tickle at the base of her neck
caused her to suspect a spider’s web was caught in her hair.

“Wait.” She dropped onto a fallen log by the road to repair the damage.

Dyer stopped at the sound of Lottie’s voice and turned back to face her. What was she doing now? They had a lot of ground
to cover before nightfall, and any delay at this point could cost them dearly.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

She picked at the twigs in her hemline. “I seem to be carrying part of the forest with me.”

He knelt in front of her, flipping back the hem. There were indeed an assortment of sticks, leaves and briars collected under
her skirts, but those were not what caught Dyer’s attention. Her slender ankles and calves were scratched and bleeding, and
one shoe was loose, its buckle completely missing.