Wind Chill

by Herron, Rita

  “There’s meatloaf in the fridge when you’re ready.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck and kissed her dad’s graying hair before shrugging into her coat. Grabbing her overnight bag, she escaped her well-meaning father and headed for her car.

  Between the wind and the temperature drop, the air had more bite as she stepped outside. She leaned into the wind, averting her face and wishing she’d parked in the garage. Thankfully, her compact SUV started right up with the same dependability it had shown for years. She turned on her radio for some upbeat music to perk up for her shift. Tate being a no show was a bummer, but dwelling on that disappointment would negatively impact her tips. Unfortunately, her favorite station was in full storm-mode.

  “People.” Winter Storm Holly was becoming a local obsession. She navigated the winding driveway from her lifelong home, past the turn off for the Cottonwood Adventures office and to the main road. “It’s not our first brush with snow.” She laughed at herself, eyeing the remains of the most recent snowfall lining the shoulders on either side of the road and covering the wilderness in a blanket of white.

  Traffic was lighter than she expected and, once she was out of the driveway, the roads were mostly clear. Though she’d lived here all her life, it was hard even for her to imagine six feet of snow at the minimum. Maybe people were being smart and heeding the warnings to prepare for the worst. While that was the smart and safe way to go, it could cost her on a night when she needed the tips.

  She was almost to the casino before she found a station still playing pop remakes of Christmas classics. It was enough to put a smile on her face as she finished the drive and circled for the closest parking space she could find.

  As she gathered her purse and the bag with her good shoes, her cell phone rang. “Come on, Dad,” she groaned. But she brightened when the screen showed Tate Cordell’s number. Sucking in a quick breath, she pulled off her glove and swiped the screen to answer. “Cottonwood Adventures, Evelyn speaking.”

  “Evelyn!” He sounded slightly out of breath. “I am so, so sorry I didn’t make our appointment.”

  She stopped herself before she spewed platitudes and nonsense that he shouldn’t worry about it. It was time to change tactics. She’d been far too accessible in their prior conversations. He was a busy man, but she was no slouch.

  “I hope everything is well,” she said neutrally. “I’m about to head into another meeting.” It wasn’t a lie, she’d be meeting plenty of people on her shift. And she did need to speak with the manager on the hospitality side of the casino operations about her recent proposal for team-building excursions and events. “Please, send me an email and we can reschedule. Have a great—”

  “Hang on.” His tone hardened. “My internet connection went out.”

  “I hate it when that happens,” she sympathized. The weather was already draining the warm air from the car. Her ungloved hand was getting chilled. “Whenever it’s back up and running, send that email.”

  “You promised me a tour of the area.”

  Her cold fingers were quickly forgotten. He still planned to visit? He’d agreed to her outrageous price of a thousand dollars for a glorified walk through the woods, despite it being a snow-heavy season. They’d scheduled for the day after tomorrow and she’d assumed, especially after he didn’t make the online meeting that he’d intended to delay the entire thing. “You’re in Deadwood?”

  “Almost,” he replied. “Travel is interesting at best, but yes, I changed my plans to get ahead of the storm.”

  “Holly is a beast,” she agreed as a gust sent snow swirling across her windshield. “And I’m afraid the last update said the storm was barreling straight for us. We really should postpone until the worst has passed.”

  “If I can get in tonight?”

  His tenacity, the press in his voice, surprised her. “I’m not available until tomorrow at the earliest.” Maybe not then if she had to cover for a coworker.

  “What do you recommend?”

  “With this storm?” She looked up at the heavy gray sky, gloomier still as evening deepened and the light faded. “I recommend you wait it out. The wilderness will still be here once Holly blows over and everyone can dig out.”

  “Dig out?”

  She hadn’t asked, but she got the impression Tate had been raised in a warm climate. “They’re predicting several feet of snow accumulation. Factor in the drifts and it could be difficult if not impossible to get around for a few days.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  Loosely translated into business-speak, that meant she wouldn’t be getting an influx of cash anytime soon. Worse, she might have just botched the deal, giving him the impression this was winter every year. She scrambled to salvage something from the call. “A winter storm like this one isn’t something we see often, not even up here. As I explained earlier, the winter activities we want to offer won’t be interrupted by inclement weather any more often than we experience in other seasons.”

  “I understand, Evelyn.”

  Oh, she hoped he did. More importantly, she needed him to trust her lifelong expertise in the area and her innovative expansion plans. Tate Cordell had surprised her when he’d reached out, but to date his continued interest in Cottonwood remained the most promising solution to propel the family business into profitable and sustainable territory for the long term.

  There was a rapid tapping noise on his end before he spoke again. “I’ll keep an eye on the weather and be in touch.”

  The call ended before she could say thank you.

  Chilled again, she shoved her cell phone into her purse and put her glove back on for the dash across the parking lot.

  Stan, a friendly face from high school, was the security guard on duty at the employee entrance. He held the door open for her as she rushed toward the building. “Evening,” he said. “I hope you did all your storm prep before coming in.”

  She smothered the scream building in her throat. “Sure did,” she replied. It wasn’t Stan’s fault that no one knew how to have a conversation about anything other than snowstorms right now. “Dad is all prepped at home and I have an overnight bag packed in the car, just in case I need to stay on and cover shifts.”

  “You really are set,” he said with a smile. “Have a good shift, Evelyn.”

  She returned the sentiment as she walked away. Back here behind the scenes, the casino had designed a pleasant-enough area, though the focus was on utility rather than creating the posh experience everyone maintained out front for guests.

  Stowing her coat and scarf in a locker, along with her boots, she slipped into the heels that completed the uniform and prepared for her shift. There weren’t any new notices regarding players or problems, so when it was time, she strolled out to the casino.

  It was her habit to take a circuit of the casino floor before taking her place at a table in the poker room. The routine helped her get a feel for the general vibe in and around the casino. Sometimes social events, big parties, or business groups amped up the energy and made everyone feel lucky. She had a similar habit when she guided tours with Cottonwood Adventures, always spending a few minutes by herself taking in the weather before loading gear or heading out.

  Tonight, the guests seemed upbeat overall. She didn’t hear any chatter about the weather, not even around the slot machines. There were the usual grumbles about luck, but the staff worked together to make sure no one turned mean or disruptive. Although the casino wasn’t at full capacity, business was brisk, which was a good sign for her potential tips.

  Evelyn opened her table for Texas Hold’em and the poker room host filled it immediately with four men she guessed were traveling together for business judging by the button-down shirts open at the collar and the khaki slacks that had probably been freshly creased this morning. The loafers were the big clue. No local in his right mind wore loafers in Deadwood at this time of year.

  She found the group amusing with their friendly banter and superb poker-table m
anners. The various strategies they each attempted to convince the others to fold were hysterical. They played for an hour straight before one man excused himself to take a phone call from his wife.

  Between hands, they discussed local attractions and dinner options. She dutifully recommended a casino restaurant without bringing up the adverse weather conditions. It would’ve been nice to suggest a winter walk or a sledding adventure, but Cottonwood didn’t have those options yet. Not for the public anyway.

  Other players came and went as seats opened up. The current game was tight as a drum and conversation declined as the betting increased. The intensity was palpable, though it was Evelyn’s job to keep up the impression that every player in the game had an equal chance.

  She relaxed a bit more as the hours ticked by and the players changed. Sure, she preferred working outside in tennis shoes or hiking boots instead of heels, but on days like today, the casino had become her salvation.

  In here, with no clocks, she could pretend she wasn’t running out of time for the business or for her personal goals. Her only task was to perpetuate the illusion that a life-changing jackpot was almost within reach. Beyond the tips, a shift at the casino also gave her a marvelous break from the constant news and weather warnings for the area. A customer might mention it in passing, but then someone would change the bet, or grimace, and the focus would shift back to the game.

  There could be one snowflake or three feet of snow or even snowmageddon blowing outside. None of that mattered in the casino. People around town might complain about ‘casino morals’ but she’d learned that, for her, it was a slice of bliss. She dealt the cards, players won and lost, she dealt more cards, and the tips added up.

  Did she want this forever? Not a chance. But right now, dealing at the Silver Aces was her best option. Maintenance expenses, equipment upkeep and property taxes didn’t go into hibernation after the last leaf walk in the fall.

  “Call,” one of the men at her table declared with unmistakable excitement and only three cards turned up. There was a rumble of disappointment around the table followed by relatively sincere congratulations as the winner showed his hand.

  Evelyn suppressed a smile as the winner gathered his chips. He took his time stacking the chips into his tray and then finally slid out of his seat, tossing a mock salute to the losing players.

  Groans and complaints erupted from the remaining players. Everyone wanted a chance to change their luck.

  “Know when to quit, that’s my motto,” the winner said. “There’s a song about that right?”

  “More than one,” she replied.

  With a wink, he slid a hundred-dollar chip her way as a tip.

  “Thank you. It was a pleasure having you at the Silver Aces.” Evelyn delivered the standard response politely when inside she was doing a dance of joy.

  When the remaining players were settled again, she pulled the freshly shuffled deck from the automatic shuffler and prepared to deal the next game. She didn’t need a clock to know her break was due after this game, her aching feet and back kept time for her. Tonight, she was looking forward to getting to the break room so she could check her phone. She wanted to make sure her dad was all right and, with luck, there would be an email from Tate with new post-storm options for tour times.

  “Pardon me. Is it too late to slide in for this hand?”

  She shot a quick glance at the poker room host and confirmed the customer was in the right place. Giving the man a nod to take the seat, she waited for him to post his minimum bet and then she dealt him in.

  “Evelyn Cotton,” he said as the players checked their cards. “Wow. It’s really you.”

  That voice filtered through her senses, a sweet memory and brand new at the same time. Her head snapped up and she was immediately caught in a bright, laser-blue gaze. Those familiar eyes seemed to freeze time, stopping it short and pitching her backward.

  Wyatt Jameson.

  This was the last place on earth she’d expect to see him. Of course she’d given up on ever seeing him again, period. What had she done so wrong that fate or luck or whatever dumped him at her table? Her gaze swept over the room. Surely there had been another dealer with an open seat.

  Somehow, she forced her attention back to the game. Verifying bets on the first round were complete, she turned up three cards in the middle of the table. For the first time since she’d gone solo as a dealer in this room her stomach churned with something just shy of panic.

  “How have you been?” he asked after placing his second-round bet.

  “Fabulous.” The audacity of the man to walk in here and act as if they were old friends who’d simply lost touch.

  She dealt the turn, adding the fourth card to the middle of the table. Reading her players, she gave a nod acknowledging one player raising the bet and another player folding. Wyatt added chips, staying in the game.

  With an effort, she wrenched her gaze from his. She hadn’t seen those stunning eyes since the night they’d graduated high school. Eleven long, lonely years without a word from the guy who’d been her best friend and her boyfriend. During those last two years of high school, she’d given him her heart and her virginity, shared all of her dreams and the worst of her fears. She’d bared her soul to him, revealing all of that and her budding expectations for the two of them.

  Dealing the river, she turned up the fifth card in the middle of the table and called for final bets.

  As each player made a bet or folded, she called for the showdown, less surprised than she should’ve been when Wyatt won. While her mind whirled over what brought Wyatt back to Deadwood, she cleared the table of cards and chips and reset for the next game.

  Growing up had not been easy for him. As his best friend, she’d caught glimpses of the rocky home life he’d endured on a daily basis. Still, in her heart there had been an understanding between them, and she’d been crushed when he’d walked away, with zero explanation.

  Eleven years of silence. No letters or calls. He’d simply excised himself from both Deadwood and her in one shocking move. She’d been shattered more than heartbroken. He’d been the one person she’d counted on and confided in and she’d thought…

  Well, clearly what she’d thought had been irrelevant.

  By some miracle her hands didn’t falter in the next deal. Muscle memory was a wonderful thing, she supposed. She should’ve been focused on the game and the other players, yet one question screeched incessantly through her mind: why was he here?

  “What brings you to the Silver Aces this evening, Mr. Jameson,” she said, oozing professional courtesy. If they’d met on the street she might have tackled him. She indulged in a quick fantasy of wrapping her hands around his throat until that sexy half-grin disappeared.

  “Mr. Jameson? That’s my dad’s name. You always called me Wyatt.” He smiled at the other players. “We went to high school together.”

  That earned both of them a round of vaguely curious murmurs and glances from the others at the table. Evelyn called for opening bets, motioning to him as she would any other overly-chatty player and moving the game along. The casino only made money when the cards and money were flowing, and the casino was her priority, not unanswerable questions.

  This time Wyatt lost. She mentally gave Lady Luck a high five. Normally winning or losing only troubled her if a player was rude or belligerent about it. Not this time. As soon as she reached the relative privacy of the breakroom, she was going to give in to the whoop of delight swirling inside her.

  Her thoughts might be mildly inappropriate, but no one would know or care. Especially not Wyatt. If he’d cared about her at all, he would’ve taken a minute to say goodbye before walking out of her life.

  Her replacement walked up, timing the changeover perfectly. “That’s it for me, gentleman.” She smiled at each of the men around her table, including Wyatt, as she gathered her tips, including the chip from Wyatt. “It’s been a pleasure and I wish each of you the best of luck here at the Si
lver Aces.”

  Doing the job well was far more important, and more mature, than indulging her childish vindictive streak and sticking out her tongue as she walked by her old flame.

  Her father hated that she spent the off-season in the casino but without the seasonal work, they would’ve lost the business five years ago. She’d long ago stopped pointing out that her expansion ideas would put an end to her days of dealing poker. That line of thinking only created more resentment, one thing her personal life didn’t need more of, so she cut it short.

  There was a petty victory cheer and a dance of joy in her immediate future just as soon as she exited the casino floor.

  “Evie?”

  She flinched at the sound of the nickname that was used so rarely these days. Of course Wyatt had followed her. Of course he would revert to that old familiarity, sweeping her back to the days when they’d thought they were unstoppable and love would last forever. She walked on, refusing to turn around.

  “Can we talk?”

  “No.” No, no, no! The hurt and angry teenager standing guard at the wall she’d build around her heart screamed. He didn’t deserve another minute of her time.

  “Please?” He fell into step beside her.

  Slot machines chimed and jingled all around them. Lights flashed and a ticker high on the wall showed the odds on the upcoming heavyweight boxing match in Las Vegas as well as a tennis tournament in Shanghai.

  All of that overwhelming stimulus and yet her senses were dialed in on Wyatt. The natural feel of him striding beside her and the enticing scent of his skin drew her back. Why? After eleven years, neither of those factors should be familiar. They were both different people, two adults on paths that should never intersect.

  As the past threatened to swamp her, she considered what had changed. His youthful athletic build had filled out. That short beard sculpting his jaw made her fingers tingle with the urge to touch. There was a subtle hitch in his gait that she couldn’t quite pin down. He was in a casino, for crying out loud, and playing poker with the skill of a man who did so regularly.