The rumbling purr of his voice made her wonder if her knees would hold out long enough for her to make it to her feet. A deep
breath gave her the fortification she needed to rise and face him.
The empty eyes that had met hers just a few moments before were now filled with something smoky and dark. He brushed his fingers
against her cheek and down the column of her throat, where he slipped them under the thin chain around her neck. She felt
him tug her momma’s locket from between her breasts before he clutched it in his hand and gently pulled her closer.
“It’s warm,” he whispered, then laid the locket back against her breasts, allowing his fingers to touch her heated skin for
a moment before he slid his hands up
her throat and cradled her head. Her body turned languid, and she watched, mesmerized, as he lowered his mouth to hers. She
fought to control her breathing, but somewhere in the last few moments, all control had been taken over by his presence.
The essence of bay rum tickled her mind, and his warm breath brushed the side of her face as her eyes drifted closed to accept
his lips to her . . .
cheek
?
It took a few moments for her mind and body to acknowledge the fact he had taken his payment with a chaste kiss on the side
of her face. She should be relieved. She
was
relieved. She blinked her eyes and squared her shoulders,
determined
to be relieved. Which would be much easier if it were true.
“Paid in full, Miss Mace.” He tipped his head and stepped behind her to open his door. “Until next time,” he said in a form
of dismissal, refusing to meet her eyes as she walked numbly out of his cabin.
Dyer closed the door and laid his forehead against the cool wood on the back. It had been a close call, and his body needed
a few minutes to calm down. He could have had her. No doubt about it, but she was as innocent as a lamb, and she had no idea
what she was doing to him.
Seemed only fitting, since he had no idea why she continually twisted him in knots. Maybe it was because she believed he could
somehow save her from what ever she was running from.
Foolish woman.
The last one who’d believed that ended up dead.
Newt often watched the river from the top floor of the
Belle
. It was quiet there, and the breeze from the river helped clear his mind. Lately, it had needed a little clearing.
“Newt?” Lottie walked toward him from the stairs. “May I have a word with you?”
With a tip of his hat, he said, “Always a pleasure, Lottie. What can I help you with?”
“I found a picture in Dyer’s cabin a little while ago.” Blushing at the implications of her statement, she quickly added,
“I had gone for a lesson, of course.”
“Of course,” Newt answered, trying to put her at ease.
“It was a picture of a woman and little boy. The boy looked like Dyer, but I don’t think it was him. I asked him about them,
and he said they were just some people he knew once. Do you know who they might be?”
Newt rubbed his hand across his jaw, then leaned onto his elbows against the railing of the deck. This had the potential to
get sticky. “Why do you want to know?”
“Whoever they are, it upset him.”
“He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to. I could see it in his eyes.”
Newt waited for a moment before answering, trying
to determine how many of Dyer’s secrets he should give away.
Finally, he took a deep breath and sighed. “A few years ago, Dyer and I were in New Orleans, and he had a few too many. Well,
actually we both did,” he added with a grin. “We had just left a whore house—” He stopped abruptly and winced. “Sorry.”
“Just continue with your story.”
He nodded. “Anyway, I could tell he was upset about something. Apparently the, uh, lady he’d been with looked like someone
he knew. He kept saying it was his fault she was dead.”
“Who was dead?” she asked when he hesitated with his tale.
“When I asked him, he said, ‘Marianne.’ Then he looked at me like his guts were coming out and said she was his wife.”
“He’s never mentioned a wife to me.”
Newt shrugged. “Hasn’t to me either, before or since, but he said it was his fault she and Joshua were dead.”
“That must’ve been the little boy in the picture,” she whispered.
Newt nodded.
“Did he say why he blamed himself for their deaths?”
“He mumbled a lot of things. Most of it didn’t make any sense, but he said something about a man setting his home on fire
while he was gone fighting in the war. Evidently they died in the fire, and he blames himself for not being there to help.”
“Does he know who did it?”
“One of the neighbors saw a man leave the house while it was still burning. Dyer knows the murderer
was a soldier with the Confederacy, and he has a general description, but he doesn’t know his name. That’s why—”
“He goes into the towns alone,” Lottie finished for him. “He’s looking for the man who killed his family.”
Newt nodded.
“But he can’t blame himself for the sick actions of a rogue soldier.”
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
Lottie touched her locket. She understood a little about guilt. Even though she had never known her mother and never would’ve
harmed her if she had, there still wasn’t a day gone by that she didn’t feel guilty for her death. “I’ve offered to help him
find the killer more than once,” Newt said. “But this is something he seems set on doing by himself. I figure he has that
right.”
“I suppose,” Lottie muttered, but only because it seemed impolite not to say something. In actuality, Newt’s information left
her stunned. It explained so much about Dyer, and it seemed as though the more she learned, the more she wanted to help. Living
for revenge made for an empty life.
“There are some things a man has to do, Lottie,” Newt said. “You can’t stop him, nor should you try.”
There he went, reading her mind again. “I have no intentions of doing anything of the sort. I’m only interested in Dyer for
poker lessons.”
He chuckled. “And I’m going to St. Louis for the cold weather.”
“Well, from what I understand, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” She refused to acknowledge his sarcasm. “If you’ll
excuse me, I have a great deal to do
before this evening.” She smiled and left Newt to head back to her room.
To night she intended to enter her first game, and she needed to spend time handling her new cards and studying her notes.
She had twenty dollars, but she knew better than to risk all of it to night. She would start with five dollars, then see how
she did from there.
Her boss, Mr. Craft, had encouraged her when she’d asked him if she could spend some of the evening at the tables. He seemed
to think the novelty of a woman gambling would attract more men to the salon, though for the life of her, she didn’t know
why. It wasn’t as though she had horns or purple hair. She simply wanted to play the cards like the other gamblers did.
The afternoon flew by, but as evening approached, the butterflies in her stomach doubled in number. She wasn’t afraid to play
the game. It was the possibility of not being allowed at one of the tables she feared the most. She had no idea how the other
men would react to her joining their game, and if one of them threw a big enough fit, she might not be allowed to try again.
Then what would she do?
She hurried into her satin dress and down to the gaming salon, refusing to think of the consequences if she failed. Dyer wouldn’t
arrive until sometime later, which was just as well. If she lost, at least he wouldn’t be there to witness her humiliation.
A table in the back of the room had already started to fill with eager gamblers. It was one of the lower ante tables she had
kept an eye on for the last few nights. She sauntered over and smiled.
“You gentlemen mind if I join you?” she asked.
Ten eyebrows shot up at her question. Most of the
men appeared at a loss for words, but one of the braver gents eventually cleared his throat and said, “You wantin’ to play
cards with
us
?”
She brushed her hand against her hair the way she had seen Sally do and said, “If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”
With a glance at the other men, he shrugged. “I don’t mind. Do you gentlemen mind if the lady joins us?”
The other men mumbled and coughed nervously, each eventually claiming they didn’t mind at all. She wanted to giggle, but since
she’d never seen any of the other gamblers giggle, she controlled the urge.
“What’s the game?” She took a seat at the table. Another round of anxious muttering finally brought an answer from the brave
one, “It don’t matter to us. What would you like to play?”
“Have you heard of Texas Hold’em?”
“Yes’m. Is that what you want to play?”
“If it’d be agreeable with you gentlemen.”
Lottie allowed herself to relax and pitched her ante into the center of the table. This was better than she’d thought it would
be. So far, the biggest danger was that the men at her table would have a fit of apoplexy before she won her money. Of course,
that could work to her advantage.
She picked up her cards, careful to mask her tells, though she wasn’t exactly sure what her tells were just yet. A pair of
tens was a good start. Perhaps she should frown just to confuse the other players. Or maybe she should smile instead so they
would think she had a bad hand and was
trying
to confuse them. Then again, no expression at all might really keep them perplexed. Hmmmm, this was harder than she’d expected
. . .
* * *
Dyer watched Lottie from across the room and tried to figure out what the hell she was doing. In the span of twenty seconds,
her expression had changed at least ten times, and based on the looks on the other players’ faces, they weren’t sure what
she was up to, either. He leaned back against the bar, deciding watching her was more interesting than joining any of the
other games in the room.
In the matter of a few minutes, she smiled and raked in the pot. Evidently her plan had worked . . . what ever it was. She
folded early in the next hand, then quickly won two more. He didn’t know how much she’d earned, but based on the way she sparkled,
it must be more than she’d hoped.
Then out of the blue, she gathered up her winnings and hurried from the gaming salon. He was bound and determined not to follow
her. It was none of his business what she did. But, damn it, the gentleman in him suspected she was about to get herself into
trouble. So he stepped out onto the deck and watched as she rushed up the stairs to the passenger cabins. He hesitated before
heading to the steps and was almost to the first one when she came flying down to return to the salon.
Frustrated with himself for getting caught looking out for her, he started to make up an excuse when she interrupted him with,
“I’m so glad I found you.” Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed with excitement as her smile lit up the deck.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Fifteen dollars.”
“For what?”
She fanned out a handful of money. “I just won fifteen dollars at the tables. And I already had twenty, so that gives me thirty-five
dollars.”
“I believe that is correct,” he said, wondering how any one woman could be so beautiful.
“Well, I obviously know how to play this game, and I need to move up to the higher ante tables—”
“Miss Mace—”
“I could play at that lower table all night and not make a dent in my entry fee, but if I move up, well, maybe I won’t even
need to enter that tournament after all—”
“Miss Mace—”
“You are such a good teacher. I just knew if I could have you teach me I’d do well—”
He finally placed his finger against her lips. “If you don’t stop to take a breath, you’re going to swoon.”
She frowned. “Are you going to lend me the money or not?”
“It’s not smart to gamble with borrowed money.”
“I’ll pay you back. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing. I won three out of four hands.” She held up her money again
for him to see.
“Winning a few hands at a lower table is just luck.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “It’s not luck. I’ve learned how to mask my tells.”
Dyer bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t have the heart to tell her there was a difference between masking her tells and
confusing her opponents to the point of distraction. Then again, if the results were the same, did it really matter?
“You’d be best off to practice at the lower table a little while longer.”
“I can’t afford to waste the time. I have to earn my entry.” She folded her money into her hand, giving him a petulant look.
“Are you going to help me, or do I need to find Newt?”
He knew she threw Newt’s name at him hoping he’d get jealous. What she didn’t know was that he didn’t give a rat’s ass if
Newt helped her or not.
“I’ll lend you the money.” Now, why in the hell did he keep doing that?
She flashed her sassy little smile again, and he had the distinct impression she was dragging him around by his balls.
“Oh, thank you! I’ll pay you back—”
“Miss Mace, you know I don’t take money as payback.”
Her sassy little smile sagged a mite. “What do you want?”
He shrugged. “A kiss.”
“Oh, of course.”
She closed her eyes and turned her cheek toward him, obviously expecting the same payment he’d taken before, but earlier he’d
been protecting himself in a moment of vulnerability. That moment was gone now, and it was time for him to take back his balls.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, jerking her hard against his chest. Her eyes flew open, and a startled gasp rushed from
her mouth.
He leaned into her, nibbling the side of her neck as he spoke. “Fifteen dollars is a lot of money.” His lips trailed up her
throat to her jaw, then brushed against her cheek. He grabbed her hips, pulling her against his groin.
She made a tiny sound before she softened, allowing
every inch of her body to press against the hard planes of his. She slid her hands around his neck, and the feeling of her
fingers through his hair sent a shiver down his spine. The control he thought he’d had slipped away fast.