by Jillian Hart
"See that you don't." The lawman left his glass on the bar, nodded in thanks to the barman, shot a warning look to the man called Tannen in the corner and strolled out of the saloon.
"I know someone who is hiring." The tidy shopkeeper type midway down the bar moved closer a few stools. "Are you looking for ranch work?"
"Horses, mostly. I'm a wrangler, but I can work cattle."
"I was doing the final fitting for Mr. Sinclair. He bought a new suit. He told how he had to fire one of his best cowhands for stealing. You might have a chance of getting the job."
"I'll look into it. Thanks." He appreciated the tip. His gaze swiveled to the gal. Looked like she was having more trouble. The penny-ante gang shook their heads, pointing out there were no free chairs at the table. Like they couldn't draw up an extra one. He crossed his arms over his chest, wondering how long it would take for folks, even drunk folks, to figure out she wasn't what she first appeared.
"We got an extra seat over here." A sly, deep-noted voice called above the rumble of bets and calls. The pianist came to the end of her song and in the beat of silence, heads turned. Conversations stilled. He had to shout over the first strains of "Oh Susanna". "You're lookin' to play and we're short a player."
"Because you shot him." The disguised girl braced her feet, gloved hands fisted. The gesture wasn't entirely masculine, but it wasn't wholly feminine either. An improvement.
"Didn't shoot him. There's a hole in the roof to prove it." The man's Cheshire grin widened. Whoever he was, he'd spotted a tenderfoot and figured he could take him for all he had.
This was gonna get interesting. Dakota rocked back on his heels, watching the girl as she gave her hat brim a tug, squared her slender shoulders and gulped. At least the red bandana hid the graceful column of her throat.
"Don't worry, boy, we won't bite." Tannen pulled out the spare chair next to him. "This won't hurt one bit. Come have some fun."
Don't do it. He willed the advice as she bit her bottom lip, debating. What was there to debate? The men were out of her league. They'd take every cent she had. He'd seen the tale before.
"Fine. I'm in for a couple of hands. At least you're letting me play, and I thank you." She hitched the gun belt strapped to her hip and marched across the saloon.
Hell, no way was this was gonna end well. He squeezed his eyes shut. Good thing his Peacemaker was strapped to his thigh. He might need it.
And why was he getting involved? The question shot through his brain, but he ignored it. Looking back, he might come to regret that decision. She made something inside him rear up like a wild beast, powerful and protective. It had to be because of her gentle horse, obviously well loved. Anyone could win him over with that. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was a woman. Nope, that wasn't it at all.
He shoved his empty shot glass at the barkeep. It looked like things were about to get interesting.
Chapter Three
"Looks like you lose again, kid." The man called Tannen began to gather the fat pile of money he'd won. "That's what happens when you bet small. Nothing good ever comes from that."
"This is my first real time playing." The truth tripped off her tongue before she could call it back. Great. Now they had a reason to kick her out before she could win her eight dollars back.
"Your first real game? Ha!" Tannen counted out his latest winnings. "What did you do, kid, play with your pa in the kitchen?"
"He taught me everything I know."
"That explains it then. I'm sure he did his best." His calculating gaze turned mean. "Well, there's a lot to learn in the real world, and we'll all be glad to teach ya. Right, boys?"
"You bet." The balding guy on her left grinned like a hyena right before the attack.
Not comforting at all. Not one bit.
"You stick with us, kid." The rough looking gunslinger across the table grinned, showing tobacco stained teeth and the wad tucked against his cheek. "We'll show you the ropes."
"You got that right, Dune. We sure will," chortled the portly man next to him and took a swig from his tin full of whiskey. "First thing you gotta know about poker is this. Bet big or go home."
"What's in your billfold, boy?" Tannen's foreman leaned in, hard eyes glittering as he shuffled the deck. "Open it up and make a real bet."
"Bet like a man," Tannen advised as if they were best friends.
Tannen. The last time she'd seen him had been from a distance, talking with Pa the day before he took off. She always tried to keep distance between her and Tannen. She didn't like him. She didn't trust him.
Then again, she didn't trust any man. The only man who affected her in an entirely different way was the one dressed in black hunkered up at the bar. Even the bartender seemed leery every time he approached to refill Dakota's drink. She counted out ten dollars for the pot and shoved the rest of her dwindling funds into her trouser pocket.
She picked up her cards, schooling her face as she glanced at her hand. A pair of aces. Not bad. She watched the other players carefully. Noted Tannen's frown lines, the gunslinger's slight shift in his chair and the brief flash of excited greed in the foreman guy's eyes. All tells she'd carefully studied during the first few games she'd intentionally lost to them.
"I'm out." The portly man rubbed one hand over his face and threw his cards on the table. "Why are you dealing me crap, Cliff?"
"It's yer lucky day, I guess." The foreman guy grinned, guarding his cards much more than he had previously.
"You ever been out west before, boy?" Dune, the gunslinger, dropped money into the pile with lazy ease. But when he peered over the top of his cards, his gaze was steel.
"Some." Kit hedged, thinking of the real Uncle Howie working in St. Louis. "Never been this far west before, though." That was true.
"Guess this ain't what you're used to." Tannen counted five silver coins from his money pile and tossed them into the center. "You look like the citified type. No offense."
"None taken." They could think she was citified all they wanted, as long as they thought she was a man. She sipped her sarsaparilla and wiggled her top lip. The mustache was really starting to itch.
"Being used to a city, you gotta feel like a fish outta water." Tannen turned toward her, smirking.
She dug five silver eagles out of her pocket. "I like it here. All this wide open space. No traffic, no hustle and bustle. People are everywhere in St. Louis. Can't hardly cross the street without being nearly run over by some horse and driver in a hurry."
At least that was her best memory of St. Louis, during her mother's illness and before her death. Kit blew out a shaky breath. She had been ten years old.
"I'm surprised to hear you say that." Tannen didn't sound sincere, not at all. "Most city folks don't cotton much to our way of life here. We live by the gun."
"Nothing wrong with that." Especially since she had a six shooter strapped to her belt. She waited a beat as the balding guy folded, and Cliff the foreman raised and Dune's brow furrowed as he debated his next move.
"I like guns," she said.
"Is that right? Then you and I ought to do all right, little guy." Tannen smiled like a wolf and counted out ten bucks. "What are you planning on doing with Hubert's little plot of land?"
"Keep it, since the kids have to live somewhere." She peeled off another ten. Her money was going down fast, but that wasn't why her hands were shaking. She didn't like this conversation or the way Tannen looked at her like she was a rabbit he was about to grab in his big sharp wolf's teeth.
"You know about the mortgage on the land, right?" Victory snapped in cold eyes.
"There isn't any mortgage." She remembered to keep her voice low, not to let it screech upward an octave like it was doing in her head. Mortgage? Pa hadn't said anything about it.
"Hubert and I agreed to a loan a few days before his tragic house fire," Tannen said. "Are you in or are you gonna fold?"
"I'm in." She peeled off most of her greenbacks, good thing she had bac
kup money stashed in her boot. A total of one hundred and thirty dollars sat in the middle of the table. That would mean food supplies for winter, new clothes and shoes for Fred and Mindy, and lumber. Lots and lots of lumber.
"I call." Cliff grinned, shared a knowing look with Tannen. "A pair of queens."
"Can't beat my kings." Tannen's wolf smile returned.
"I got nuthin'." The gunslinger tossed down his cards.
"Cards on the table, Chapman." Tannen knocked back a swig of whiskey. "Let's see how bad you did."
"Not bad." She spread her cards for all to see, grateful for the luck of the draw. "Guess I've got the winning hand."
"Not so fast." Tannen's burley hand slapped over the pile of cash. "Let's take a minute and make sure yer really the winner."
Uh oh. The flicker of warning in her stomach became a flaming torch of doom.
Ignore the panic itching along your spine. Keep your voice low, she reminded herself. Act like a man. Hold your ground.
Her chin shot up. "Last time I checked, aces trump kings. That makes me the winner."
"Well, now, it's curious how you lost three hands straight and won the fourth one."
"Beginner's luck?" After all, this was her first real match.
"I think you cheated." Tannen launched to his feet. "Grab him, boys. Let's see what he's hiding up his sleeve. Or his gloves. Take 'em off."
Uh oh. Kit's throat went dry. The minute they saw her hands—her feminine hands—and even in their drunken haze they'd likely figure out the truth and toss her out of the saloon. How would she provide for her sister and brother then?
"Is there a problem here?" A familiar baritone thundered close. Boots struck the wood floor and came to a stop behind her chair.
"None of your business, mister." Tannen patted the walnut handle of his holstered Peacemaker. "This is a private matter among friends."
"Then that makes me a friend, too. This kid and I go way back." An iron hand clamped on Kit's shoulder. "Get your winnings and let's go."
Tiny chills were popping through her body. She managed a nod and reached for the pot. Tannen's fingers curled around his gun's grip, but he didn't draw. His face had gone pale. Across the table, the gunslinger took one look at Dakota and stayed seated.
"Hey, that's not fair," the portly guy protested. "We were gonna split the pot."
"After you fleeced Howie you mean?" Dakota dropped something dropped onto the table. His black Stetson. "Gather up your winnings, and let's go."
She did as he requested, scooping her earnings into his hat, money she'd earned fair and square.
"Thanks for the game," she told her fellow players. "Have a good evening."
"Watch your back, Howie Chapman. I'll be looking for you." Tannen's threat shone darkly in his eyes as he watched her go. "Next time, you might not be so lucky."
Next time she came to play, she'd pick a different saloon.
"Walk straight to the door. Don't look back." That familiar voice rang low, for only her to hear. "Quick, before his temper gets the best of him and this ends a different way."
Remembering the bloody player she'd replaced, she suspected Tannen was a sore loser. No big shock there. She pushed through the swinging doors and tumbled onto the boardwalk. Sunset had drained all the light from the sky, leaving behind the twilight dusk cloaking the town with shadow.
Dakota's footsteps knelled on the boards behind her. "Howie, huh?"
"It's my uncle's name." She faced him, staring up at the magnificent splendor of steely chest and granite face. Dakota Black coming to her rescue again. "That's twice I owe you."
"I'm not done yet." He steered her down the boardwalk, his touch a searing hot brand on her elbow. "In here."
"But I—"
"In." The warning in his voice normally would have riled up her stubbornness, but the softer question in his gaze stumped her.
This man may be hard iron, but he was more than he seemed. She slipped through the door he held for her and stood in a hotel lobby breathing in the scents of fried chicken and fresh brewed coffee. He seemed intent on watching out the window, standing to one side of the glass as Tannen and his gunslinger charged out of the saloon. The pair glanced up and down the boardwalk before exchanging words. The muffled boom of their angry voices penetrated the glass panes, muffled by the clink of dinnerware and the murmur of nearby conversations.
"They're splitting up," Dakota reported as he strolled away from the frame. "Likely looking to catch you on the road and get their money back."
"That wouldn't have turned out well for me, so it's a good thing you stepped in when you did." She blew out a trembly breath, realizing she was clutching Dakota's hat to her chest and she'd forgotten to speak in a man's voice.
She also realized the hotel owner was staring. Not at her, but at the ominous man in black, looking tough enough to chew nails without a wince, who held his Colt Peacemaker, army issue, like he knew how to use it.
"A table for two." Dakota holstered his gun.
"Right this way." The hotel man blinked owlish eyes behind round spectacles, gulped, and led the way to the adjacent dining room.
"We'll give Tanner some time to cool down his temper, give up on looking for you and head back to the saloon." Dakota held out her chair, ignoring the curious diners who might be wondering why a man was pulling out a chair for another man.
"Good idea." Kit collapsed onto the cushioned seat, looking down at the pile of money in Dakota's hat. Enough money to buy a start on her dreams. It had been worth it. "I bet come midnight and a bottle of whisky, Tannen will have forgotten all about it."
"I wouldn't go that far." Dakota settled across from her with his back to the wall, looking dark and dangerous enough to make every patron squirm. "He might not be the type to forget. I don't think 'Howie' should tempt fate by coming to town again."
Her rescuer had a point, but she couldn't agree with him. She straightened her winnings into a neat pile, tucked the money into her pocket and ordered the large plate of fried chicken. She planned to take the leftovers home for Fred and Mindy. After all, what she'd done tonight had been for them, too.
"Where did you learn to play like that?" Dakota asked once the hotel owner had taken their orders. "You have skill."
"My pa taught me."
"He was a gambler?"
"He lived and breathed cards. I watched him play since I was small. When I was six, he sat me down at the kitchen table and taught me the game. I've been playing with him at home ever since. This was my first real game without him."
"And he let you come here by yourself?"
"He's gone." Sadness flicked across her face.
"Sorry to hear that. Sorry for your loss."
"Oh, he didn't die. He moved on. That's Pa. Always something better around the corner. We had a chance for something here, a real home. My sister and brother didn't want to leave either, so we stayed."
"Let me guess. Your younger brother and sister." He steeled his chest, telling himself not to care, not to get roped in.
"How did you know?"
"A hunch." He didn't know what it was about her that got to him. He lived a solitary life. He liked it that way. But having her for a dinner companion was nice. "Let me put two and two together. You figured you could earn a living by taking up his profession. There doesn't look like a lot of employment opportunities around here for you."
"Exactly. I'm responsible for Fred and Mindy. I'm all that's standing between them and the world."
"And it's a tough world out there." No one had to tell him that. "Your winnings should see you through the winter to spring. You took in quite a bundle."
"I know. I've never held so much money all at once before." It wasn't pride that lit her up, but accomplishment, he realized. Maybe a touch of surprise. "Tonight worked better than I'd thought, except for the tiny problem with Tannen."
"Tiny problem?" He arched one brow.
"It will be one by tomorrow." Up went her chin again, sheer determi
nation. "Tomorrow, most of my problems will be hardly noticeable thanks to you."
"Don't know what possessed me. Should have minded my own business." The hint of a smile settled in the corners of his mouth before he could stop it.
"If you hadn't, I'd have been bear food."
"You were lucky I was walking by."
"Why were you walking? Do you live around here?"
"Never stepped foot in this town before." He spotted a movement through the window. Tannen had returned, marching down the boardwalk like a man on fire. He shot by the hotel, met up with his gunslinger, exchanged heated words and stormed into the saloon.
Good. With any luck that would be the end of it.
The hotel owner rushed over with two plates stacked high with steaming food. Dakota's stomach rumbled. He nodded thanks as the plate slid in front of him.
"Thank you, sir." She tilted her head, smiling up at the hotel owner. "This smells wonderful."
"Uh, g-good, good." The man's gaze darted back to Dakota and slid to the gun at his hip. Perhaps the impression of walking into the hotel with it drawn had scared the bookish looking man. "Let me know if you need anything else. Hap-happy to oblige."
"This will be fine." He wanted to reassure the fellow. "Didn't mean to startle you earlier. Just had a little trouble with one of the locals."
"You and me, both." The man looked a little less nervous as he scurried away.
"You have an effect on people, Mr. Black." She shook out her napkin like a lady and laid it across her lap. "I would have been more than slightly intimidated if I'd come across you in the road first, but the bear helped me to see a different side of you."
"My warm and cuddly side?"
"Your good aim." Humor danced like sapphire sparkles in her eyes. "Blue likes you. That's all the character reference I need."
"Then you trust too easy."
"Hey, I didn't say I trusted you. There isn't a man I trust as far as I can throw him."
"You're a smart lady, Howie."
"It's Kit. Katherine, actually, after my mother." That loss would always hurt. "She passed away when I was ten. After that it was me and Pa taking care of the family."