The Gambler (2 page)

She glanced at the door before flicking her
gaze back to him. He was naked, she noticed. Standing in a stream
of moonlight she could see him clearly and the man certainly had
nothing to be ashamed of. Her gaze ran over him from his toned
thighs to his face. He was watching her and she wondered if she
could make it to the door before he could. Or if he’d shoot her for
trying.

“I don’t have all night, son, so spit it
out.”

Emmaline bit her lip. He thought she was a
boy. She nearly sighed in relief. If she made it out of the hotel,
he’d send the sheriff 'round looking for a man, not a woman. She
eyed the door again and balled her fist. The small bottle was still
in her hand. She clenched her fingers around it, once, and then
tossed it to the left. When he looked, she ran.

He yelled, his heavy footfalls smacking the
floor as he chased her. She made it to the door, her fingers
grappling for the handle seconds before he wrapped his arms around
her waist and they both crashed into the floor. “Get off me!”
Emmaline kicked, clawed and raised her head, clamping down on his
shoulder with her teeth. He threw his head back and yelled before
raising the gun and laid the barrel against her forehead. She
froze.

“You move another muscle and I’ll blow your
face off.”

Emmaline didn’t even attempt to breathe. She
stared up at him, her lungs aching for air, and was dizzy by the
time he moved.

He sat up, balled his fist around the front
of her shirt and stood, dragging her off the floor before slamming
her into the wall. He raised the gun again, leveling it with her
face and lifted her until her toes were dangling above the ground.
“Let’s try this again,” he said. “Who are you and what are you
looking for?”

She was going to be sick. Emmaline swallowed
the bile rising into her throat and licked her lips. He was bathed
in shadows again but she’d seen him through the saloon windows and
knew, those blue eyes were probably dancing with fury. He gave her
a small shake and her head bounced off the wall. Emmaline willed
herself not to cry as her hands started to shake. “I just want
what’s mine.”

He blinked and tilted his head to one side.
“And what exactly do I have that belongs to you?”

Emmaline tilted her chin and stared him in
the eye. “The land deed. It’s mine and I want it back.”

He stared at her for long moments, the hand
he had twisted in the fabric of her shirt loosened before he
lowered her back to the ground. When her feet were on the floor,
she raised her head up so she could see him. He was tall, the top
of her head only reaching his chest.

The gun wavered. He stared down at her,
squinting before he took a step back. His gaze roamed her from head
to toe before he reached out and jerked the hat off her head. “Son
of a bitch.”

Emmaline kept her chin lifted and hardened
her gaze as she reached for her braid and flung it over her
shoulder.

“You’re a girl?”

“I’m a woman, thank you very much.” She
straightened her shirt and met his gaze. “And I’d be obliged if
you’d get that gun out of my face.”

He glanced down at the colt, lowered the gun
before thinking better of it and raising it again. “Who are
you?”

“Where’s the land deed?”

“I’m the one asking questions here. Who are
you?”

Emmaline stared at him and crossed her arms
over her chest. “I’m the stepdaughter of the man you killed tonight
and I want my damn land deed.”

He gaped at her, whether it was because of
her language or her harsh demand, she didn't know, but he lowered
the gun and opened his mouth as if to speak but shut it with a
snap. He scratched the side of his head before his lips formed a
thin, angry line. “I won that deed fair and square. I’m sorry about
your father but you’re not getting the land back.”

If she didn’t unclench her jaw, she’d break
her teeth. Emmaline bit down harder and counted to ten in her head
and released the pressure, staring up at him and wishing she’d had
the sense enough to conk him over the head with something when she
entered the room. “It wasn’t his to gamble away. It was mine and I
want it back.”

“Not going to happen.” He crossed his arms
over his chest and threw her an infuriating smile. “The game was
fair. He offered the deed and he lost. The land is now mine. And
you, whoever you are, will just have to accept that.”

“I’ll have you arrested for murder.”

The man laughed. “Go ahead. Tell me your name
while you're at it. I’ll be needing it when the sheriff gets here
to arrest you for attempted robbery.”

Emmaline felt so defeated her chest ached
with it. What conscience this man had obviously wasn’t tortured by
the fact he’d killed someone. She’d watched him through the window
at the saloon, saw how confident he looked and knew just from a
glance he was a professional gambler. There was just something
about them. It was in the set of their shoulders, the way they
carried themselves. The smug look on their face as if the entire
world was theirs for the taking and this man was no different. He
towered over her and demanded answers he thought he deserved. He
wouldn’t get them. She’d die before she told him her name.

Glancing at the door out of the corner of her
eye, she made a quick lunge for it but held her ground, waiting.
When he made a move toward her, she kicked out a leg, her knee
catching him the groin. He yelled, lowered both hands to cup his
groin and hit his knees in agony.

Emmaline turned and ran, scrambled for the
door handle and was able to get it open moments before he grabbed
her ankle. She shrieked, kicked out again and planted the toe of
her shoe to the side of his head. When he fell, she ran, racing out
the door and down the hall and didn’t stop running until she was
clear on the other side of town.

She stopped when she reached the tree line
and heaved in deep breaths of air, watching the main road. He never
came after her. When her heart stopped racing, she turned and
started making her way home. She’d have to think of something else.
She had to get that land deed back, even if that meant tailing that
gambler clean across the country. Her future lay on that land and
she wasn’t letting it go without a fight.

* * * *

Emmaline lifted the shotgun and pulled back
the hammer. She sighted in on the stranger riding up the road and
waited until she knew he was within hitting distance. She pulled
the trigger and grinned when he ducked, his horse dancing
underneath him enough to knock him from the saddle to end up
sprawled on the ground. He cursed as the horse ran a few feet away
and Emmaline sighted on him again and waited.

He stood, dusted off his pants with his hat
and turned toward the cabin. One look at him and she knew it was
the gambler from last night. Butterflies started dancing in her
stomach. What did he want? She waited, watching him take a few
steps closer and aimed for a spot by his head and pulled the
trigger again. He shouted, ducked and hunkered low to the
ground.

“Stop your damn shooting!”

Holding his hands up as if to surrender,
Emmaline lowered the barrel an inch. “State your business.”

He straightened and reached into his coat
pocket. Emmaline lifted the gun again. “Hang on a minute,” he said.
“I’ve got the deed to this property.” He waved it in the air and
took a few more steps closer.

Emmaline let him get close enough to see his
face. He was handsome and his clothes told her he had enough money
to buy the place three times over. His brocade vest was a rich
purple in color, shot with gold threads throughout, his black
jacket tailored. His hair was blonde and cut short, which was
unusual for these parts, and she was sure he was up to something.
After their encounter last night, him riding out here to give her
the deed back was too ridiculous to think. “That’s close enough,
mister.”

He stopped, repositioned his hat on his head,
and tossed her a smile she was sure was supposed to flatter her. It
didn’t.

Glancing down at the paper in his hand for a
brief moment, he looked at the cabin and the surrounding forest.
“This is the Hunt place, right?” He stared at her, his head tilting
just a fraction before his brows lowered. “Are you the girl from
last night?”

Emmaline raised the gun again. “Unless you’re
here to give me the deed, you’ve no business here. Now either hand
it over or go grab that horse and get back on it.”

The man grinned and lifted his hand, the
paper he held blowing in the breeze. “Can’t do that, Ma’am.
According to this piece of paper, you’re standing on my property.
If anyone should leave, it would have to be you.”

“I can make you leave.”

He smiled and tucked the deed back into his
jacket pocket. “And I’ll go get the sheriff and have you hauled out
of here like an unwanted squatter.”

She huffed out a frustrated breath, glared at
him for a full minute and turned, walked back inside the cabin, and
slammed the door behind her.

Emmaline placed the gun back on the shelf and
walked to the stove, laying her hands over the top to warm them.
The old hunk of iron was barely throwing off heat but compared to
the brisk wind outside, it felt like heaven.

Her thoughts were a tangle of what ifs. The
man outside wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want the land and her
situation had turned from bad to worse. She should have known
Harold would eventually ruin them beyond repair and now that he
had, knowing she’d been right, it left a bad taste in her
mouth.

The rumbling of her stomach echoed in the
room and the tears she’d been fighting rolled down her cheeks. She
swiped at them angrily, refusing to be beaten, once again, by her
idiotic stepfather’s choices. He’d been a careless bum his whole
life and she’d forgiven him one time too many. Not this time. She’d
never forgive him for leaving her homeless. She couldn’t.

Hearing the door to the cabin open, she wiped
away the rest of the tears and stared at the wall. “I don’t recall
inviting you in.”

“Well, legally, it's my cabin so I don’t need
your permission. You are officially trespassing and unless we can
come to some sort of agreement…”

She whirled and locked eyes with him.
“Evicting me already? Such a gentleman. I bet the ladies just fall
at your feet with such sweet talk.”

He grinned and she tried to ignore the dimple
in his cheek or how much younger he looked in the bright light of
day. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than she
was. And he was even more handsome up close. His eyes were bluer
than they appeared in the saloon and his fancy clothes and fresh
barbered look appealed to her. She scowled when she realized she
was looking at him as any woman would a man she found attractive
and reminded herself he was a lying, cheating, murdering dog. “Get
out.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned
back against the door, his smile widening. “Make me.”

* * * *

Tristan didn’t know a thing about this girl,
other than the man he’d shot the night before was her stepfather
and she was brave enough to sneak into his room to rob him, but he
liked her. She had more gumption than most men he knew and the fire
in her eyes was a welcome change from all the doe-eyed looks women
usually gave him.

He looked around the inside of the cabin and
was confused. She was fighting to keep this? The cabin was one
room, drafty, the light from outside seen through almost every
board and the floor was nothing more than hard-packed dirt covered
in ratty braided rugs. A small bed was against the right hand wall,
the blankets thin and threadbare. A potbelly stove sat in the
center of the room, a small shelf beside it housing a few pots and
bowls. A small table with one chair took up the left hand wall.
Pegs on the walls showed a few articles of clothing and that was
it. Nothing else. It was as barren and gloomy as an outhouse.
Smelled like one too. And this girl lived here?

Removing his hat, he turned his head to look
at her and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really sorry I
shot your pa. It all happened so fast. I…”

“He was my stepfather and don’t apologize for
him.” She shifted her weight to one foot and Tristan gave her a
good look. She was thin, pale, and the dress she wore should have
been used for cleaning rags a long time ago. Her hair was braided,
the dark brunette strands hanging all the way to her hips. Her
brown eyes were large and seemed too big for her dainty
features.

He blinked and focused back on their
conversation. “I wasn’t. I just hate it happened the way it
did.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Bound to happen
eventually.” She ran her gaze over him from head to toe before
looking back up. The look in her eyes hardened and he saw the
contempt aimed at him. “So, what is it you want, Mr….?”

“Avery. Tristan Avery.”

“Mr. Avery. Why are you here?”

Tristan patted the front of his jacket where
she'd seen him tuck the land deed. “I came to see what I’d won.
That’s all.”