Texas Hold Him (11 page)

And the lone beasts faced Straights.

A casual step to the post allowed him to loosen the tie with none to the wiser. Straights stepped out of the shop and into
the street, his attention focused on something he carried in his hand.

Perfect.

A lit cigar against the flank of the closest animal should do the trick.

* * *

Lottie pressed her balled fist against her belly, willing the queasiness to subside. Twice in one day, Dyer had saved her
from total humiliation, and though she was grateful for his rescue, she would have been more grateful had it not been necessary.

She stared across the street and willed him to hurry with her purchase. She’d seen enough of Natchez. Who knew how many others
on the street might recognize her?

The door to Flannery’s finally opened, and Dyer stepped from the sidewalk onto the street, examining her new cards as he walked.
The knot in her stomach relaxed until the rattle of a carriage caught her attention. Two spooked horses raced down the street,
their driver nowhere to be seen. And Dyer was about to step into their path.

She jumped to her feet. “
Dyer!
” she yelled, just as the carriage thundered past. She ran toward Dyer’s prone body on the brick street, praying with each
step as she dropped to her knees beside him.

“
Dyer? Are you all right?
” Please, God, let him be all right. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, searching for injuries.

He blinked his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. “Yeah, I jumped back when I heard you yell. But feel free to keep
checking me.” He lowered his voice. “We could continue this in my cabin if you’d like.”

Lottie sat back on her heels and plopped her hands onto her lap. She knew he joked to make light of the situation just as
she knew it had scared him too. She had no retorts to his comment, brilliant or otherwise.

“I—I thought it’d killed you.”

He stood and helped her to her feet before he pulled her into his arms and muttered against her temple, “I thought it had
too.”

She knew she shouldn’t hug him in the street. People had gathered, and it was broad daylight, but she didn’t care. Everyone
who passed them by now thought she was either the daughter of an ambassador or a saloon whore. For one the actions would be
forgiven, for the other, expected.

Dyer stepped back and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, patting it for reassurance. “What say we return to the
Belle
?”

She sighed theatrically. “If you insist.” And if her legs could still carry her.

Lottie finished her toilette and stepped quietly from her cabin. It was too early to disturb the other girls from their sleep,
but her excitement forbade her to stay in her bed any longer. Today she would learn an actual game. Of course Dyer didn’t
know that yet, but he’d get used to the idea soon enough.

The door made a soft
click
as she closed it behind her and made her way to the restaurant. Her lessons usually began at nine o’clock, and she had just
enough time to eat a little and sit a few moments out on the deck before she needed to report to Dyer’s cabin.

The smell of porridge made her stomach rumble as she entered the back entrance to the kitchen. Workers on board the
Belle
were given a small bowl of porridge each morning as part of their payment. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

“Here you go, Miss Lottie,” the old cook said with a wink. He handed Lottie her bowl with a piece of fried ham as a bonus.
They weren’t supposed to get the meat without paying, but he often slipped her a little extra on the side. She wasn’t sure
if wrinkled old men could be angels, but she suspected this one just might be.

“Thank you and good morning, Mr. Stanley.” She accepted her meal with a smile and headed out to the deck to eat in the cool
morning air.

A chair on the port side of the
Belle
allowed her to admire the town of Natchez while she ate. A shudder ran through her as she thought of how close the carriage
had come to running over Dyer. It was almost as if someone had intentionally sent the horses his way. Though that was silly.
Who could possibly want to kill Dyer?

She took the last bite of her porridge and made a mental note to thank Mr. Stanley for the extra bit of sugar he had sprinkled
on top. The deck was mostly deserted at this hour. A few people strolled to the restaurant or enjoyed coffee out in the deck
chairs, but most took advantage of the cooler morning hours to sleep.

A man ambling in her direction grabbed her attention from the corner of her eye. Unruly dark brown hair sprung from beneath
his hat, and untrimmed bangs covered much of his forehead. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, stopping in front of her.

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to be forward, but have we met?”

Lottie smiled. “I don’t believe so.”

He removed his hat, allowing the brown curls to escape. “My name is Wayne Dawson.” He smiled.

Lottie held out her hand. “I’m Miss Lottie Mace.”

He took her hand in his, and she noticed his knuckles were smattered with red curly hairs. How odd. He shook her hand politely,
then released it.

“I’ve booked passage on the
Belle
to go to the big poker tournament in St. Louis,” he said.

“Are you a gambler?”

“Oh, I try, but I think to be considered a gambler you have to win occasionally, don’t you?” He grinned.

She smiled. “It helps a little, or so I’ve been told.”

“Are you going to the tournament?”

“I, um, I work on the
Belle
.”

“Oh.”

Something akin to pity flickered in his eyes. Lottie started to tell him she normally wouldn’t work on a riverboat, but how
could she do that without explaining why she found herself doing just that? Luckily, Dyer interrupted before the situation
turned any more uncomfortable.

“Good morning, Miss Mace.” He spoke to Lottie, but his eyes were fastened on Mr. Dawson.

“My, oh my,” Wayne said. “If it isn’t Captain Obediah Straights.”

Lottie snapped her head toward Dyer.
Captain?

Dyer’s gaze narrowed. “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it. But I was there when you were given your award. Not a soldier who fought in the war that hasn’t heard of Captain
Straights.” Wayne offered his hand. “I’m Wayne Dawson.”

Dyer shook his hand warily. “Were you in the war?”

“Nah, but I followed the war in the newspapers and the like. You’re quite a legend, Captain.”

“I no longer go by Captain,” Dyer responded tersely.

He turned toward Lottie. “If you don’t mind going on up for our meeting, Miss Mace, I would like to speak with Mr. Dawson
for a few minutes.”

Lottie reluctantly left the two gentlemen to their discussion. Who would have ever thought Dyer was a war hero? One of the
South’s proud sons. Was there no end to that man’s surprises?

She glanced back before she headed up the steps to Dyer’s cabin. His intense expression was as dark as she had ever seen it.
What ever Mr. Dawson had to say was
of extreme interest to Dyer, more than just some passing conversation. Perhaps he would tell her when he joined her for lessons.

She continued to his room and tried his door, surprised to find it unlocked. It was an oddly intimate feeling to enter his
room alone, despite the fact she had been in it many times. Once inside, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Pacing was an option,
of course, but it was a small room and pacing might come across as fidgeting, so she took a chair at the table and tapped
her fingers against the top.

Was finger tapping fidgeting? Probably. She clasped her hands on her lap and looked around the cabin.

Then her toe tapped.

Definitely fidgeting.

Maybe she should go ahead and get the cards out for the lesson. It would be a good opportunity for her to practice dealing
while no one watched, anyway.

She went over to the bureau, opening the drawer where Dyer kept his deck. She spotted it quickly and was about to close the
drawer when the edge of a tintype caught her eye. It was partially covered by a shirt, but enough of it was exposed to show
a woman’s face.

She removed the picture. A beautiful young woman in a white gown sat in a fancy lady’s chair. Standing at her side was a young
boy, no more than five or six. He wore his Sunday best and, based on the look on his face, he wasn’t too happy about it. He
was a handsome little boy with thick black hair and dark luminous eyes.

Dyer’s eyes.

“I trust I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Lottie almost dropped the tintype at the sound of
Dyer’s voice. She hadn’t heard him enter, and as tempting as it was to stuff the picture back into the drawer before facing
him, she didn’t.

“Who are they?” She held the sepia image in front of her.

An unidentifiable emotion flickered across his face as he lifted the tintype from her hand, placing it back in the drawer.

“Just some people I once knew,” he muttered, then removed the cards from her hand. “Ready for today’s lesson?”

The last thing she wanted to think about was poker, but Lottie knew that asking any more about the woman and child would get
her nowhere at the moment. So she said, “If you are,” and took her seat at the table.

“Did you learn what you needed to from Mr. Dawson?” she asked as he shuffled the deck. The slight hesitation in his hands
confirmed her suspicion there was more to his conversation with Dawson than a casual discussion.

“I thought he might be able to give me some information, but I was wrong.” He finished his shuffle, then dealt each of them
two cards facedown. “Up for a little Texas Hold’em, Miss Mace?”

There was a slight catch in his voice, and when her eyes locked with his across the table, the deep, aching emptiness she
saw in their depths caused her heart to twinge. He glanced away.

“Dyer, I—”

“Well, Miss Mace?” he interrupted, and she realized with embarrassment she had used his first name. “Do you want to learn
to play or not?”

When he returned his gaze to her eyes, his carefully
built wall was back in place, and his soul was well guarded once again. Clearing her throat, she picked up her cards, surprised
to see her hands trembling.

“Of course.” She fought to regain her composure. “I think I’m ready to learn a game.”

“You’re far from ready, but unfortunately you are also running out of time.”

A well-timed reminder.

“What are the rules for this game?”

“You can use your cards with any combination of five cards that will be dealt faceup on the table. The winner is the one with
the best hand as a result. We will make our first bet with these two cards. Then I’ll lay three cards from the deck on the
table, and we’ll bet again. There’s another round of betting after the fourth and fifth card.” He tapped the edge of his cards
against the table. “You did bring money for betting, I assume?”

“I have some money saved, but I hardly think it would be wise for me to gamble with it just yet. You have a distinct advantage.”

“Hmmmmm.” He paused to think, though she suspected he’d already thought through this situation and was about to take advantage
of her.

“Poker isn’t poker without the risks.” He returned to his bureau and retrieved a stack of chips in three different colors.
“These,” he said, referring to the white ones, “will be worth five dollars. The reds are ten and the blue ones are twenty.”
He counted out a stack. “Two hundred fifty dollars ought to be enough to start with.”

“I don’t have two hundred fifty dollars.”

“No, but I do.” He counted out his own stack. “If you win, I will pay you the amount in cash. That should help you with your
stake, right?”

“Yes.” Two hundred fifty dollars would help a great deal toward her stake for the tournament, but she knew Dyer well enough
by now to know there was a catch. “But what if you win?”

“I’ll take my payment . . . with a kiss.”

A kiss. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t kissed her before, and when she won the tournament, kissing would be the least of his requirements.

“Agreed.” She looked at her cards. A jack and a ten was a fairly good start. “I’ll open with five dollars.” She tossed a chip
to the center of the table.

“I’ll see your bet and raise you forty.”

Lottie’s mouth dropped open. “
Forty dollars?
”

“Yes, Miss Mace, forty dollars.”

She tapped her cards on the table. “What do I do now?”

He shrugged. “That depends. If you think your hand can win, you want to call my bet, and we’ll turn over the next three cards.
If you don’t think you have a good start, you fold and only lose the five dollars you’ve put in.”

“Oh.”

She concentrated on her hand again, hoping that somewhere among the clovers, a sign would magically appear. When none came,
she realized she’d have to make this decision on her own.

“All right, I’ll call.” She picked up forty dollars of her chips and reluctantly added them to the table.

Dyer turned over the next three cards; an ace, a jack and another ten appeared.

She gasped. “Is it my turn to bet again?”

He nodded.

She had a pair. “I’m all in.” She shoved her chips to the center and smiled at him.

“You are not doing a very good job of masking your tells,” he warned.

“How do you know?”

“Good point,” he said. “I’ll call.”

He turned over the next two cards and another ace and ten were revealed.

She squealed and showed her cards. “I have a full house.”

She reached for the chips, but her grab was stopped when Dyer laid his hand on her hers. He turned over his cards to reveal
a pair of aces. He had four of a kind.

“I believe, Miss Mace, my hand beats yours.”

She nodded silently.

“And since you have no more chips, I believe, it also means you owe me a kiss.”

“Yes.” She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

He shoved back from the table and walked to her chair. “This will be much easier if you stand.”