Texas Hold Him (8 page)

An emerald dress caught his attention from the corner of the room and, try though he might, he couldn’t stop from glancing
in Lottie’s direction. She stood by
the bar, studying a piece of paper before folding it and stuffing it into her bodice. She had said she’d be ready for her
next lesson by morning. Evidently she aimed to make good on her promise.

Dyer shook his head and joined the men at the table. There was money to be made, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t focused.

“What’s the game, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Draw,” the dealer responded, shuffling the deck to begin the first round.

Dyer accepted his cards and lost himself in the next several hands, until the unmistakable scent of verbena caught his attention.
He didn’t need to look up to know to whom the scent belonged, and, unlike Lottie, there was no danger in
this
lady interrupting his game. She knew him well enough to wait her turn . . .

Lottie set the tray of empty glasses on the counter and added up the amount of money she had earned so far. It was hard to
believe she already had seventeen dollars toward her entry for the tournament. Of course, that was nine hundred eighty three
dollars less than she needed, but it was enough to start her at the lower ante tables. Tomorrow she would get Dyer to teach
her the rest of what she needed to know to win her money.

“Oh no,” Sally muttered. “I was afraid she’d show up.”

Lottie followed Sally’s gaze and frowned. “Who?”

Sally nodded toward Dyer’s table, where a woman in a royal blue satin gown stood patiently waiting. Lottie clamped her teeth
shut to keep her jaw from dropping. She had to be one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Her thick dark hair was
piled artfully on top her head, with one long curl spilling over her shoulder to lie against her breast. The gown she wore
was of the finest material and was tailored to fit her remarkable figure with perfection. A matching lace fan fluttered under
her nose, drawing attention to her heart-shaped face and oval eyes.

Lottie suddenly felt tawdry in comparison. “Who is she?”

Sally snorted. “Mrs. Mimi Anderson,” she said, not even attempting to hide her contempt.

“A friend of Dyer’s?”

“Every chance she gets.”

Lottie tried to ignore the knot settling in her stomach. “Is she a widow?”

“No. But her rich husband is an old dolt who lets her get away with anything she wants.”

“And she wants Dyer?”

Sally shrugged. “Always has. But luckily he’s too smart to fall completely into her trap.”

“What Dyer does is no concern of mine as long as he keeps teaching me poker.”

“Of course.”

Lottie chose to ignore Sally’s sarcastic response. “Why does Mrs. Anderson’s husband allow her on the riverboat without him?”

“I think he’s just tickled to have a young wife, even if she does cuckold him.” Sally picked up a tray of drinks and started
back to the tables. “At least it mustn’t bother him too much. She rides the boats on a regular basis, and he obviously hasn’t
cut off her funds.”

Lottie intentionally kept her eyes averted from Dyer’s table, even when he quit his game and escorted the stunning Mrs. Anderson
from the room.

Lottie should be relieved. With that woman redirecting his amorous thoughts, perhaps now he could concentrate on teaching
her the game. A man like Dyer needed to satisfy his baser needs to stay focused on more important things. How he chose to
do that was no concern of hers, as long as he didn’t think she was going to be the next one in his bed.

Lottie picked up a tray of drinks and carried it back to one of the tables, absently wondering how Mrs. Mimi
Anderson would look with a whiskey dumped over her head.

“Dyer, honey,” Mimi cooed, gliding her hand inside his jacket. “It’s been a long time.”

He gazed down at the lovely face of the woman who had shown him more good times than he could count and thought it odd he
felt nothing.

She tugged him into the shadows of the deck outside her room and tipped her face up to him. “I’m going to be on the
Belle
for the rest of this trip.” She paused long enough to slide her hand down his chest and belly to rest on the front of his
trousers before she leaned even closer and whispered, “There’s no reason we can’t renew our acquaintance.”

His body reacted to her blatant invitation, but even though her soft figure was still beautiful and her smile still beguiling,
something in her eyes left him empty.

He was getting tired of empty.

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Perhaps we will, sweetheart. But for now, I have to earn my entry into
the tournament.”

It was a boldfaced lie. He had enough money saved to pay everyone’s entry to the tournament, but it was as good an excuse
as any for staying out of her bed.

He leaned down and kissed her full lips, wondering how many other men had done the same, before he tipped his hat and walked
away, convinced that now he
was
officially insane. He no longer toyed with the condition. He had finally arrived.

“Dyer?”

Stopping, he took a deep breath, debating whether he
should face her, then decided it would be rude not to. Mimi stood just inside the open doorway of her cabin. Moonlight bathed
her face and flowed softly down her body, as though nature itself had decided to add to the temptation.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said.

He winked in response, then continued his walk away from her room, past the gaming salon and around the corner to the steps
to his own cabin. There would be no more poker for him this evening. He’d just turned down a night of unbridled sex with a
gorgeous woman, and he didn’t even know why. But what ever the reason, there was one thing he
did
know. In his current state of stupidity, he needed to stay away from the tables.

Lottie took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock on Dyer’s door. It was the third time she had made it this far, but
as with the other two attempts, she froze just short of striking the door of cabin ten. Dyer hadn’t returned to the salon
after leaving with Mimi Anderson the night before, and Lottie had visions of him jerking open the door with Mimi still in
the bed behind him.

It wasn’t that it mattered to her how he’d spent his night. Lord knew, he was a grown man, and how he chose to waste his time
was of no concern to her. She just didn’t want to embarrass Mrs. Anderson.

She straightened her shoulders, deciding this time she would knock on the door, regardless of the consequences. After all,
it was time for her lessons.

She rapped loudly. “Mr. Straights?”

“Yes?”

She jumped and spun around. Dyer stood behind her with a cocky grin and a little too much amusement on
his face, given the circumstances. She quickly composed herself. “I believe it’s time for my lessons.”

He pulled out his pocket watch to check the hour. “I believe you’re right,” he responded in mock seriousness.

She stepped to the side to allow him to unlock his door before she followed him into his cabin. A quick glance around saw
no evidence of a woman or any unsavory activities, but his mood was too jovial to be coincidental. They must have spent the
night in Mrs. Anderson’s cabin. He walked to his bureau, retrieved his cards and sat down at the table.

“Today, Miss Mace, you will learn some of the terminology of the game. That is, of course, assuming you learned yesterday’s
lesson?”

“I told you I would.”

“Yes,” he said, shuffling the cards. “You did.” He dealt them both a hand faceup before he paused for a moment to hold her
gaze in his. “Do you always do what you say you will?”

His voice had dropped to the low timbre he used whenever he wanted to rattle her. She knew it was his way of constantly reminding
her what she owed for the lessons. Her virginity was a high price to pay, but she had already agreed. Her father’s life was
worth it.

“Yes, Mr. Straights,” she answered, refusing to look away. “I can keep my word as well as any man.”

His gaze narrowed slightly before he finally redirected it to the cards. “In that case, you have some things to learn.”

She opened her reticule and pulled out her paper, pen and ink. “Ready.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” he murmured, then began his instructions. “The first person to start the
betting usually says they open with a certain amount, say five dollars. The person to their right must decide if they want
to stay in the game or fold.”

“Fold?”

“That’s when you slide your cards to the dealer and quit on that hand.”

“What if I don’t want to quit?”

“Then you either call, which means you match the bet, or raise, which means you increase it. If you increase it, the gentleman
after you must either fold, match your bet, or raise it even higher.”

“How many times does it go around the table?” she asked, writing as fast as she could.

“That depends on the game, but usually there’s betting after each round of cards is dealt.”

“What if I run out of money, but I don’t want to fold?”

“Then you’re all in. That means you can stay in the game, but you can’t win any more than you put into the pot.”

He pointed to the hand he had laid in front of her. “What would you have done with this hand?”

She had an ace, a jack, a two, a four and a six. “I would have folded.”

“Why?”

She pointed at his cards. “You have a pair of threes.”

He chuckled. “In a real game, you wouldn’t have known I had a pair.”

“Should I have stayed in?”

He shrugged. “An ace high is a good hand if no one else has any pairs or something to beat it. You probably should stay in
a round or two to see if anyone else is
going to fold. But of course if you’re going to do that sort of thing, you need to learn to bluff.”

“Bluff?”

He leaned across the table, placing his finger under her chin to tip her face up to his. “Lie, Miss Mace. You need to learn
to lie.”

“I—I don’t know why I must lie to play poker.”

“It’s not a lie with words. It’s lying with your face and gestures.” He traced his finger across her lips. “You can’t smile
when your hand is good or pout when it’s bad.” He stared at her mouth when he touched it, and she realized with embarrassment
her breathing had picked up considerably.

She sat back away from him and cleared her throat. “So it’s not so much lying as masking your emotions?”

He smiled a slow smile. “They’re called ‘tells.’ ”

“What are called ‘tells’?”

“The subtle signals a man gives that tells what kind of hand he has. A certain way he frowns or rubs his chin. After a while,
you can spot them and you know if your opponent is bluffing.”

He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s very important that you mask your tells because, trust me, I’m not
the only gambler who is aware they exist. You see, most people find it difficult to lie.”

“But you don’t?”

He winked at her. “I guess you’ll just have to find that out for yourself.”

She touched her paper to see if the ink was dry before she folded it and stuffed it into her reticule. She knew she was fidgeting
to avoid replying to Dyer’s comment, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. He
had the unnerving ability to leave her fumbling for responses.

“When can we play a real game?” she asked, bringing the topic back to cards.

He gathered the cards and stood to replace them in the drawer. “We’ll discuss that after you learn today’s lesson.”

She left the table and walked quickly to the door. The room was getting a little too warm for her liking. “I’ll know it by
tomorrow.”

He sauntered over and leaned against the wall beside the door. “I’ve no doubt you will. In the meantime, you need to work
on your tells.”

“Wh—what do you mean?”

Placing his hand against her face, he drew his thumb across her lower lip before he leaned closely to her and whispered, “When
you’re nervous, your lip trembles.”

She snapped her mouth shut. “I’ll be sure to watch for that.” She jerked open the door and left without bothering to check
if there were witnesses to her escape.

Dyer chuckled as Lottie scrambled from his room to the relative safety of the outside world. He didn’t know why he enjoyed
tormenting her so much. Perhaps it was the insanity. Which would serve her right, since she was the cause of it in the first
place.

But now was not the time to ponder Lottie or her trembling lips. It had been months since his last visit to Natchez, and he
hoped someone new had arrived with the information he needed. He lifted the mattress on his bed and removed his holster and
gun. He’d need to be well armed for some of the places he intended to visit.

The gun belt fitted comfortably around his hips, and the leather strip around his thigh was all too familiar.
Someday he would put his gun away, but not now. Not until he finished what he’d begun.

He pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirtsleeve to strap the small gun holder to the inside of his forearm. The derringer
it held was of little use except at close range, but as a backup weapon, it had served nicely on more than one occasion.

He pulled on his jacket, checking the sleeve carefully to be sure the gun mechanism could spring the derringer into his palm
if needed. Satisfied, he left his cabin to visit the hellholes of Natchez. It took him most of the morning and most of his
patience to ask the same questions over and over. But he did it anyway, because he had no choice.

The Weeping Rose was the last saloon Dyer had to search before returning to the
Belle
. According to someone at the last saloon, a man by the name of Marples frequented the establishment and might have the information
Dyer needed. He was determined not to place too much importance on the tip. He’d been led astray more times than not over
the last few years, and most likely this tidbit would also lead nowhere.

He stepped up to the bar. “Is Marples here?”