Gambler's Tempting Kisses

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “I’ll double the wager, to six thousand. Are you with me, Devereau?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His voice sounded as cool as a glass of lemonade, and the thought only made Charity thirsty beyond belief. Why had she assumed a daring dress and a few artful smiles would carry her through? As things were going, it wouldn’t take but half an hour to lose everything Dillon possessed, and she choked when she reminded herself that this game was her idea.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Devereau?” their opponent asked with an acidic smile.

  “Thank you, yes,” she stammered.

  “Fine. Seven thousand.”

  “We’ll fold.” Devereau waited a moment and then nudged his wife. “Lay out the cards, Charity.”

  They fell to the table in a jumble. Powers took his time separating them with a lean finger, and then displayed the pair of tens he’d won with. She could practically hear his laughter as his accountant collected the winnings. Why hadn’t she been prepared for the reality of this card game? Six thousand dollars lost, all because she’d shied like a rabbit and—

  “Relax, sweetheart,” Dillon murmured against her ear. “It’s good strategy to let him win first—and I would have lost on that hand anyway. Have I told you how beautiful you look today? Keep smiling. It’s your best weapon.”

  Charity took a stabilizing breath while Powers shuffled. Dillon wasn’t blaming her for the loss—they had another chance.

  “Looking at you certainly calls up the memory of your father.” The dapper con man gazed at Dillon with eyes as blue and cold as china plates while he made the cards whisper between his hands. “But I never understood why you held me responsible for his death.”

  It was another of Powers’s ploys, and Devereau forced himself to remain above it. “Where there’s coal oil and gunpowder, there’s bound to be fire, Mr. Powers.”

  “But I didn’t shoot him,” Erroll insisted. “I was only calling a halt to a crooked dealer’s—”

  “He died as a result of that chandelier landing on him,” Dillon stated. “And he took my mother and the family livelihood with him. Enough table talk. Deal the cards.”

  Charity could hear him controlling the anguish that had squeezed his heart for sixteen years. She arranged the cards in a fan so her husband could see them, incensed that Powers would bring the subject up during play. Their hand was better—two jacks and two nines—and Dillon replaced the other card in hopes of forming a full house.

  She glanced up and saw their opponent reaching stealthily beneath his checked frock coat. “Are you scratching your fleas, Mr. Powers?” she blurted, “or do you have cards concealed in your vest?”

  Powers slammed his cards onto the table. “If you can’t control your wife’s tongue, then by God—”

  “She asked a perfectly legitimate question.” Dillon, too, had suspected Erroll’s covert movement and was pleased Charity had called him on it. “We have witnesses to my complaint,” he said, glancing at each of Powers’s bodyguards, “and the next time I suspect cheating, I’ll require you to either show me the object in question, or you’ll forfeit the contest to me. Shall we go on?”

  Their policing kept Powers in his place, but it didn’t prevent him from winning. Round after round went to the man whose merciless blue eyes made his victories even harder to stomach. When he wasn’t studying his hand, he was ogling Charity’s neckline or gazing at Dillon with an egotistical contempt that made her boil. Why had Mama pandered to such an insufferable bastard for ten years? Erroll Powers made Papa’s overbearing ways seem agreeable by comparison.

  But of course Powers had more money, and his dark hair, startling blue eyes, and deeply tanned complexion made him a natural magnet. The luck that had enabled him to dupe Kansas Pacific officials for so long was obviously working for him today, because by ten after eleven Powers had won all of Dillon’s cash and bank bonds, plus a row of Kansas City rental properties and part ownership in a steamboat business.

  Charity was appalled. Had she known about her husband’s various business ventures she wouldn’t have dreamed of printing that ad in the paper. As they retired to the hallway for fresh air, she was surprised he even wanted to stand beside her.

  Abe joined them, looking somber. “The bastard can’t seem to lose. It’s not smart to leave him in there unsupervised.”

  “We’re letting him tie his own noose.” Devereau kept his voice low, because they were attracting a crowd of men eager for a glimpse of the day’s celebrities. “Have you seen any more evidence of cheating? He seems to be playing a square game since we caught him with his hand in his vest.”

  “He—he has two holdouts stuck under the table,” Charity whispered.

  Dillon considered this information and Littleton shrugged. “The presence of such devices doesn’t constitute cheating unless we catch him using them,” Abe said. “And we don’t have much time.”

  Charity shriveled with apprehension as she watched Dillon nod. He and Abe were so kind not to blame her for this fiasco. She glanced at the curiosity seekers, who stared at her in return. Where had she seen the gentleman in the tattersall suit?

  “We’re down to the Crystal Queen, aren’t we?” her husband asked quietly.

  Littleton nodded.

  Charity felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, Dillon, I had no idea I’d cost you—”

  “And I had no idea you were such a crack actress.” He brushed a stay red tendril from her temple with a gloved finger, wishing for some magical way to erase the worry from her pale face. “Every card game has a loser, Charity, and sometimes the luck of the draw overrides even the best professional’s skills,” he insisted. “Keep a straight face and a cautious eye. If we lose, we’ll go out proud—and we’ll demand a rematch.”

  She gazed up at him, her heart filled with gratitude. Dillon held her close and kissed her full on the mouth, oblivious to their audience. There must be a way to win his properties back! If she had to resort to trickery, by God that pile of deeds and money wouldn’t remain in front of Erroll’s dour accountant much longer.

  As they entered the game room again, Charity sensed something was amiss. Erroll’s henchmen were watching them with chilly, secretive grins, as though the battle were already over. She sat down and noticed that Powers had left his bandanna lying on the table ... an odd choice of handkerchiefs for a wealthy man.

  It was his turn to deal, so she pointedly handed him a sealed deck. She wanted to check the holdouts, but leaning over on a second lame excuse would be too obvious. Erroll was shuffling—Dillon’s fate rested in this shyster’s tanned, sinewy hands, and he obviously had no qualms about ruining them. As nonchalantly as she could, she extended her leg.

  Powers stopped shuffling to glare at her. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Devereau, but placing one’s foot in the crotch of the opponent is not acceptable game behavior.”

  Charity quickly straightened in her chair. “I—I was just stretching. Sorry.”

  The holdouts were still in place, but who could tell which cards might be concealed there now? A villain like Powers might have royalty of every suit stashed in places she’d never even thought of.

  “Ante up,” he said as he sent the cards sailing neatly across the table. “What’s the bid, Devereau? I must admit I’m impressed with the variety of investments you’ve amassed since you were a tow-headed youth.”

  Devereau looked directly into Erroll’s ice blue eyes, feeling the tight flutter of butterflies—more pronounced now, because this round affected not only his future but Charity’s as well. He hoped she didn’t flinch when she looked at the cards, because he planned to bluff to the hilt. Anything to stay in the game for two more hours, or until, by some miracle, he managed to bankrupt Erroll Powers. “I’m putting up my Kansas City casino, the Crystal Queen.”

  “Am I correct in assuming this is your last piece of property, Mr. Devereau?” His smile oozed the wicked assurance of a crocodile who’d cornered his dinner.

  “Yes, it is.
What comparable wager will you place, Mr. Powers?”

  Their opponent smoothed his ebony waves, considering the many deeds and holdings on his accountant’s table. Then he rearranged his cards with maddening slowness. “How about my estate in Leavenworth?” he ventured in a low, modulated voice. “Or—what the hell? If I lose this hand, it’s all yours. No sense wasting two hours passing bits and pieces between us, on the chance you’re holding a few good cards this time.”

  Charity picked up what he’d dealt, careful to maintain the poker-faced expression she’d watched Dillon wear so often. But once again their hand was a motley assortment of low numbers and a jack. Her head throbbed, and she wished there were some way to slip the high cards from Powers’s holdouts into their own hand.

  “Two and four,” Dillon whispered.

  She nodded, forcing herself to speak confidently. “We’ll take two, please.”

  Powers passed her the two top cards, smirking. “I don’t need any. Are you still in, or do you fold?”

  Charity fought the tears that threatened to run down her face: they still held only random, uncombinable cards. It looked like the Crystal Queen, and the opulent lifestyle it represented, was on its way into Powers’s possession. And there wasn’t a damn thing she or Dillon could do about it.

  “Still in,” her husband announced.

  Erroll’s chuckle was muted. “I’m feeling generous, Devereau. Shall I make the wager more interesting by extending a loan of say, ten thousand dollars? You could repay—”

  “Shut up and play,” Dillon ordered. “Either you’ve got the best cards or you don’t.”

  Powers sat back in his chair, gazing at his cards as though they were women he was trying to decide between. Then his nose crinkled. “Going to—ah! ah!—excuse me!”

  The sneeze was real but Charity sprang from her chair when he reached toward his lap rather than his handkerchief. “Don’t touch that queen of hearts, Mr. Powers! I have her twin sister in my hand,” she cried out. “I won’t watch Dillon lose everything to a cheat who—”

  Bart’s pistol took the rest of the sentence out of her mouth. He now stood at Powers’s shoulder, aiming toward her chest—as were Erroll’s accountant and the bodyguards by the door. “Enough of your paranoid accusations, woman!” Erroll thundered. “Show your hand! This game’s over.”

  “As the accused, you’ll show yours first.” Dillon rose, placing himself in front of Charity. “Call off your damn guards. Neither of us is armed.”

  Powers stood suddenly, knocking Bart off-balance as he reached into his trousers for his own snub-nosed weapon. A wild shot rang out and the room became a circus of men dodging the bullet, all clamoring about who was cheating whom—until the door flew open and an authoritative voice ordered, “Police! Guns to the floor! Hands in the air!”

  The pandemonium ceased immediately. During the muffled clatter of firearms falling to the rug,

  Charity hazarded a glance at the newcomer. The man in the tattersall suit was holding them all at gunpoint, looking as though he made such dramatic entrances every day. She studied his swarthy face, trying to recall... he’d requested a song in the parlor car, and—and he’d been on her very first train ride from Leavenworth to Abilene!

  Now he was directing men in policemen’s uniforms to stand beside Powers, Bart, and the accountant. How had all this happened so quickly? “Mr. Powers, you’re under arrest,” he was saying, and we’re taking you—”

  “Who the hell are you?” Erroll demanded. “I’m going nowhere until these hustlers have been—”

  “I’m Detective Cantrell,” he replied calmly, “and I’ve been on your trail since Leavenworth. Thanks to a recent advertisement, we were finally able to pin you down. I have altered ledger sheets and witnesses to testify that you embezzled Kansas Pacific funds in Leavenworth, Abilene, Wichita, Dodge, and numerous stations in between. You don’t have a leg to stand on, Powers. Come with me.”

  Erroll’s blue eyes glittered accusingly. “I’m not leaving until I see her cards,” he said darkly. “All my properties are hanging in the balance, and I’ll be damned if Devereau gets them by default.”

  “You first, Mr. Powers,” Littleton said in a purposeful voice. “Our agreement was that if we caught you cheating again, you forfeited. It’s not Charity’s fault you got greedy and stupid in the final hand.”

  Hearing the approval in Abe’s voice gave Charity courage again. “He has two holdouts stuck under the table,” she said quietly. “He’s hiding the queen and ace of hearts, among other things.”

  Cantrell gave her a quizzical look but he squatted, and then pulled the two spikes out of the table’s underside. “Who would have guessed I’d find such an angelic organist here in a men’s club, telling me her opponent was concealing—”

  The bottom fell out of Charity’s stomach. The detective pulled a king and ace of spades from one spike, and the queen and ace of diamonds from the other. “I...I saw it—”

  “You think I was stupid enough to keep the same cards there after you pulled your shuffling stunt?” Powers jeered. “I—”

  “You were stupid enough to keep cheating,” Devereau said calmly, “so the game—and everything you own—is ours. Fair and square.”

  “But I—”

  “Get him to the station,” Cantrell directed his men. Handcuffs came out of their pockets and two officers locked each of Erroll Powers’s wrists to their own.

  “You have no right to take me away before I see her hand!”

  But the detective ignored him while gathering up the guns from the floor. “You other men can claim these after you answer a few questions. Nice to see you again, ma’am. You must have a manner as delightful as your voice, seeing’s how you foxed your way in here.”

  Charity smiled, but it wasn’t because of the detective’s teasing compliment. Erroll’s bandanna had landed on the floor during the scuffle, and she chuckled as she held up the ace and queen of hearts it concealed. “She always was your lucky card, right, Dillon?”

  “No, you are, you little . . .” He crooked his elbow around her and planted his lips on hers, an exuberant kiss that had Abe and Acree and the others chuckling good naturedly. “What the hell would you have done if Cantrell hadn’t barged in when he did?”

  Charity shrugged. “What did we have to lose? He really did hide her under the table the first round—”

  “You mean you didn’t have her twin sister?” Littleton quipped.

  “We haven’t held a queen this whole blessed game,” Devereau crowed. “Had you fooled, didn’t she?”

  With a gloved finger, he flipped over the cards Erroll had been holding. “Well I’ll be goddamned,” he breathed, and he gazed at his wife with profound gratitude and love. “Powers had the makings of a royal flush in spades, all but the ace he was reaching for. I knew he had some sort of system going, but we couldn’t have kept bluffing long enough to call him on it. You just saved my life again, you know that?”

  Charity felt a rush of joy, and when she threw herself into his arms she was laughing and crying at the same time. Fate had dealt them a miracle: they’d retained Dillon’s holdings and acquired Erroll Powers’s magnificent estate and his business ventures as well. Abe Littleton was actually grinning as he gathered up their papers, but that was nothing compared to the way her husband was studying her. Intense affection, unrelated to wealth or winning, lit up his light brown eyes.

  “In all fairness, we should repay what Powers bilked from the Kansas Pacific,” he suggested. “I’d hate to see them go bankrupt because of his escapades.”

  “I’m all for being fair,” she replied with a giggle. “It won us a card game, didn’t it?”

  He glanced about the room, where only Abe remained with them, and caught her up in his arms once more. “But before we do that,” he crooned, “we’re going back to the cottage so you can change into your new lavender dress, and then we’re going to celebrate until all hours of the night. We can afford such an extravagance
, can’t we, Mr. Accountant?”

  Abe looked up from his papers with a knowing smile. “I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy yourselves.”

  All the way back to Winthrop Street they rehashed the most desperate moments of the poker showdown for the carriage driver. Charity couldn’t believe their good fortune—surely this was all a dream, and when they woke up tomorrow Dillon would once again bemoan his injured hands. But she kept her doubts to herself, memorizing the sight of his golden, grinning face as the sunlight glistened in his hair and mustache.

  Devereau held her close against his side as they walked up the stairs to the little house. It was time to declare his love: Charity deserved to know where she stood with him, yet he couldn’t resist stringing her along for just a few hours more. “The time has come,” he said in a mysterious voice, “so you’d best enjoy yourself to the hilt today, Mrs. Devereau. After dinner, we renegotiate.”

  “Yes, we do,” she replied saucily. “And we’ll see who gives in first.”

  Charity stepped into the house, thinking of a dozen ways to torture him with her body until he had to say he’d keep her. But her chuckles caught in her throat.

  Mama was standing in the parlor, watching them with her calm, catlike gaze.

  Chapter 27

  “Well—Mama.” Charity knew precisely why her mother was here, just as she suspected that a woman brazen enough to enter the house in their absence would have no qualms about rifling through their belongings. Still holding Dillon’s elbow, she walked a few steps farther into the entryway, where she had a better view of the parlor.

  Devereau’s game box stood open upon the marble-topped table, just as they’d left it. Charity couldn’t see if his weapons were still inside, but the fact that her mother was watching them with both hands in her skirt pockets suggested that she might be armed with more than her own pistol. “We weren’t expecting you,” she continued in as confident a voice as she could muster. “Last time I saw you, you were leaping off the train on the back of Jackson Blue’s horse.”