9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  That accomplished, she collapsed in the bed, finally feeling safe.

  * * *

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Burke shrugged and dealt the cards. “We’re playing draw. Fifty-dollar ante, boys.” It sounded like an earthquake overhead, but he had a good game going with a couple of greedy fish, and he wasn’t about to let them off the hook.

  The five other players threw their money in the middle of the table, and so did he. He’d already taken in over two thousand dollars, but they had more, and hell, if they wanted to give him their money, he’d take it. He’d been playing square all night so none of them could kick.

  Without a single card being played, three hundred dollars and change laid on that table. He took a small sip, pretending like it was a big one, then poured half the whiskey out under the table. “It’s to you, Red. What do you want to do?”

  “I’ll bet a hundred.” The rotund lawyer with graying red hair tossed a bill on the table.

  “I’ll see that, and raise fifty,” the next man said.

  By the time it got around to Burke, he had to bet six hundred dollars or fold. With the way the others had bet, the odds were high that they all had better hands than he did. But then, he’d bluffed them the last time so chances were they thought they could bluff him this time. He took another look at his hand. All low cards, not one pair. He threw in the six hundred.

  “Okay, fellows, how many do you want?”

  “I’ll take three,” Red said. So he had a pair. Burke looked at the next man.

  “Three.” He had a pair, too.

  “Two.”

  Hmmm, possible three of a kind. Doubtful he’d make it four, though.

  The fourth man took three—he had another pair, but the last man only took one. He either had two pair and hoped for a full house, or four of a kind. Burke took one. Maybe he’d get a pair of deuces. Or maybe not. He sent them a slight smile.

  The betting grew hotter, and it took all the money he had to stay in the game. The others dropped out, one by one. Finally, it was the fifth man, calling himself Harris, and Burke.

  Harris sighed. “I’m out. What have you got?”

  “Ah-ah-ah. You didn’t call, so I’m not showing you my hand.”

  The loser threw down his cards. “You’re just a lowdown cheatin’ gambler!”

  Burke took exception to that—he’d played square all night. Not that he couldn’t cheat, of course, he just hadn’t needed to. “Mister, I think you’ve had enough liquor for one night.” He gathered the money tossed on the table. “Sleep it off, then come back tomorrow and we’ll play some more.”

  “I want to see what’s up your sleeves first. Take off your coat.”

  “I didn’t cheat and you ought to be man enough to take your losses. Now go home.”

  “Are you saying I’m not a man?”

  Rolling his eyes, Burke rolled the money and jammed it in his coat pocket. “No, I’m saying it’s time for you to go beddie-bye.” He stood and put his new hat on. “See you in the morning.”

  As he walked away, he heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. Slowly, he turned around. “Harris, don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Now put that gun away and go home. You’d be amazed how much brighter things look in the morning.”

  “Take off your coat, gambler. I want to see what’s up those sleeves of yours.” Burke saw the waiter who’d served Lexie and him earlier that evening sneak up behind Harris.

  “All right, but I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed, partner.” He shrugged off one sleeve and palmed his hideaway gun. “See?” He held up his arm. “Nothing there.”

  “Your right sleeve,” the loser snarled. “I’ll bet you have a dozen aces up it.”

  “And I’ll bet you I don’t. What do you say, about five hundred dollars? You’ve got that much left. How about double or nothing?”

  “Just take it off.”

  “Five hundred dollars, double or nothing. If you take the bet, I’ll take my arm out of the sleeve.”

  A horrible rumbling sound came from upstairs. “The hotel is falling!” a cowboy in back yelled. Bar patrons ran this way and that as the chandelier swayed overhead.

  As the waiter tackled Harris, Burke sprang and snatched the pistol before the man could hurt someone with it. Several men tossed the sore loser out on his face.

  When the waiter came back into the bar, Burke asked him, “What the hell is that noise? It’s been going on all night.”

  “I don’t know, sir. But it’s coming from your room.”

  That didn’t sound encouraging. Burke took the stairs two at a time, wondering what sort of trouble Lexie had managed to get herself into. He threw open the door, but saw only a bathtub full of water with a towel on the side. No Lexie. Her bedroom door was closed.

  He yanked it open, and heard a blood-curdling scream. A pile of furniture blocked the doorway, but somehow he managed to get over it and grab her.

  “What’s the matter, Lexie?” he yelled.

  She struggled in his arms, scratching and clawing. “Get out of here, you... dog!” She chomped down on his hand.

  He jerked his arm out of harm’s way. “Dammit all, woman, what the hell’s wrong with you?” It took a good share of his strength to keep her from flailing around. Blast it all to deuces, she’d left teeth marks on his hand.

  “I blocked the door, you—you cad! How did you get in?” She quieted and he let her go. When he did, she punched him in the gut, doubling him over.

  “Lexie,” he gasped, “the door opens out, not in.” He took another gulp of air. “And I hadn’t planned on ravishing you, anyway. At least, not tonight.”

  Chapter 3

  “Don’t worry, we can pass for sisters.” Charity hastened Helen toward her seat on one of the front passenger cars. “We both have blond hair. Not a soul will question us.”

  “Yes, and I love the way you fixed mine this morning!” Helen sat and gazed up at Charity. “Do you think Lexie’s on her way to Amargo, too?”

  Charity stowed her bag under the seat. “She is.” And Burke, too. Charity had hired the two pickpockets to keep track of them. “They’re in the last passenger car—not so much soot back there. Normally, I would have chosen to sit in one of the back cars, too.”

  She pulled a small mirror out of her purse so she could keep an eye on the back door of the passenger car. While she didn’t see any reason why Burke would come this far forward, it never hurt to be safe. “So tell me about Patrick.”

  Helen’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, he’s just wonderful! So handsome, too. He has nearly black hair, a fine smile, and shoulders you just can’t help but stare at.”

  “What’s he do for a living?”

  “That’s the hard part.” Helen sighed and her jaw sagged a bit. “He’s a gambler. Lexie doesn’t think he’s good enough for me. She says he’d be an embarrassment to the family.”

  “Is that so?” Charity patted the girl on the hand. “But you know deep in your heart that he loves you—enough to give him five thousand dollars?”

  “Absolutely. And he’ll come back for me. I know he will.”

  Charity didn’t feel the need to point out that if the girl had really thought that, she’d have waited in Silverton for him. Still, taking money from women didn’t fit with the Patrick O’Shaughnessy she’d known. Neither did Burke’s little scam on Helen’s sister back at the Durango train station. Either both men had fallen on hard times, or something about this situation wasn’t clear.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Charity glanced up at a handsome, smiling gentleman. His fashionable clothes were clean and he’d shaved and combed his hair, so she nodded.

  “I’m Gil Smith and I’d very much enjoy your company for an early lunch. If you’d see clear to join me, I’d be happy to buy.”

  “Certainly not!” Helen frowned and gazed at Charity, seeking approval for her reaction.

  But something about this man in
trigued Charity. For one thing, she knew beyond any doubt that his name wasn’t Smith. Besides, there’d be less of a chance they’d run into Burke in the dining car this early. She wasn’t ready to reveal her hand yet. “We’d be happy to join you, Mr. Smith.” She offered her hand and he brushed a kiss on it. “I’m Charity Ann Templeton. This is my sister, Helen.”

  He doffed his derby at the younger girl. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Templeton.”

  “Miss Campbell.” Helen widened her eyes and pressed her fingers on her lips.

  “Miss Campbell?” He seemed a bit taken back.

  “Different fathers,” Charity explained. She fetched her reticule from under the seat and stood. “Let’s dine now.”

  A deck of cards fell out of her handbag. Gil picked them up. “And maybe a game after?”

  “My pleasure.” At least, it would be pleasurable as long as they retired from the dining car before the noon hour. She’d have to win a modest sum from him in a hurry, rather than spend time setting him up and going in for the big kill.

  They made small talk during the hurried meal. Charity decided Mr. Smith had a lot more money than she’d first suspected and that he had “fish” written all over his forehead. Taking a chunk of his money wouldn’t even be a challenge.

  He proved her correct—she collected a couple hundred bucks in no time. As he escorted the ladies back to their seats, Charity decided to see if he knew where they could find Patrick. “Do you know Patrick O’Shaughnessy?”

  “Yes, I do. Fine young gentleman.”

  Helen settled into the seat and arranged her skirts. “Very fine.” She giggled.

  Charity had known Patrick all his life and she had to agree with Helen. Mr. Smith wasn’t hard to look at, either, with his salt-and-pepper hair emphasizing alert emerald-green eyes. Nice shoulders, too.

  Best get her mind back to the business at hand. Patrick O’Shaughnessy. “Do you know where we can find him?”

  “Now that, I can’t tell you. The last time I saw him we were enjoying a rollicking game of cards in Silverton.”

  “He’s in Virginia City,” Helen blurted.

  Charity stared at Helen. The little imp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You never asked.”

  * * *

  After the noon meal, Burke insisted on sitting in the smoking car.

  While Lexie preferred clear air, she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight. “Certainly, I’ll join you.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance that told her he’d rather she go back to the passenger car. Too bad for him. He would abandon her at his first opportunity. She’d make sure that opportunity didn’t arise. Besides, she had quickly grown impatient with the ladies on the train who ogled Burke whenever they thought he wasn’t looking. Few women rode in the smoking car.

  After they found a place to sit, he ordered coffee for both of them, then leaned back into the padded leather chair and lit a fat cigar. Lexie didn’t know how he could tolerate the nasty things. Her father smoked them, too.

  Burke took a deep drag, then blew smoke rings. “I might kick up a little fun while we’re sitting here doing nothing.”

  “Fun?”

  He shrugged and took another puff. “Maybe poker. Maybe three-card monte.”

  “You don’t have to play cards to have fun. There are books. Or we could chat.” She waved the smoke away from her face. “Normal people can always find something productive to do.”

  “Gossip and fairytales don’t line your pocket.”

  “Neither do they get you assaulted or incarcerated.”

  “Ah, but exactly where is the fun you spoke about?”

  “Frankly, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, I don’t need your sort of fun.”

  “Burke.” The cigar smoke swirled in the air, hanging in a cloud at the ceiling. “You ever wonder why the smoke never travels the same way twice? One time it goes straight up, other times it twists.”

  “Air currents.”

  He flashed her a charming smile. “See? End of conversation.” He stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She watched him walk to the end of the car and shake hands with the very same fellow that they’d met on the Durango-Silverton train. The two men chatted a bit. Burke offered the older gentleman a cigar, which he lit, then Burke led him back to her table.

  “Remember Gil Smith, darlin’?”

  Oh, great, another smelly cigar. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you again, Mr. Smith.”

  “Gil, here, wants a little game.”

  “And I’d be pleased for you to join us,” Mr. Smith added as he sat to her left, opposite Burke.

  “Certainly not.” Were he a decent sort, he would not have even asked. Having to contend with Burke’s gambling ways was irritating enough.

  Mr. Smith took a long drag and blew smoke rings to rival Burke’s. “Do you have moral compunctions against cards?”

  “No, only gambling.”

  “Then we’ll play with matchsticks.” He pulled a box of matches from his valise. “Throw yours in the pot, too, Burke. We’ll divide them in thirds.”

  Lexie could hardly bow out now. After observing their game yesterday, she learned that poker was a game of odds. Odds, she could calculate. In fact, the whole idea intrigued her. She could use her mathematical ability that had never before found a purpose. Besides, they weren’t gambling. Not really. Not with money.

  “Well?” Burke took a deck of cards from his vest pocket and expertly shuffled them. She admired his skill even though she didn’t approve.

  Playing cards with matchsticks still bordered on scandalous. Her parents would go into apoplexy if they knew their daughter even considered playing poker with two strange gentlemen. They had shipped her and Helen off to Colorado just because Helen had played honky-tonk piano in a dubious venue. At the time, Lexie had agreed with their decision. Their moral stance was solid. This, however, was shaky ground. Shaky indeed.

  She worried her lower lip as Burke riffled the cards from one hand to another. Mr. Smith divided the matchsticks in three piles and shoved one pile in front of her. His green eyes distracted her again, reminding her of her father’s. She turned her attention to Burke, whose confident air and easy smile made every woman’s heart melt. Not hers, of course. He shuffled the cards again while gazing at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Just a game or two,” Mr. Smith cajoled, “with matchsticks.”

  She bit her lower lip and breathed deeply. Just this one game, she vowed. She wanted to prove that with correct calculation of the odds, she’d win all their matchsticks. Then she’d quit.

  “I’ll play.”

  * * *

  Smiling with smug satisfaction, Burke shoved the deck of cards toward Gil. “You deal.”

  “All right. What’s your game?”

  “Vingt-et-un,” Lexie answered. “I don’t know all the hands for poker, but I can count to twenty-one.”

  That, she could. “Vingt-et-un, it is.” Burke took a puff from his cigar. “Do you remember the value of the cards?”

  “Face cards are ten, aces are one or eleven, and the rest of the cards count as the same value as the number of pips on them.”

  “Very good.” Amazing, actually. He’d never had to repeat a single thing to Lexie. What a gal! She learned at a glance. In a week, she’d probably be telling him how to play. “Gil, deal ‘em.”

  “Oh, and a jack of spades and an ace of spades are a blackjack and I win everything.”

  The sparkle in her eyes told him that she wanted a blackjack in the worst way. He suppressed a chuckle. Miss Alexandra Campbell had the same excited look he’d seen in thousands of recreational gamblers, only brighter. They hoped they’d win—but she knew she could win. And he’d bet his lucky hundred-dollar bill that she would win. At least, she’d win a square game.

  The three of them played a few practice hands. Burke taught Lexie how to bet and when to double-down. She caught on like a flash, to his delight, and the more she learned, the more he
r cute little bottom wiggled in the chair.

  With some discipline, this woman had the brains to be a real thoroughbred.

  * * *

  Flush with money, Burke took great delight in renting the nicest rooms Amargo had to offer.

  “I’m going down the street to the saloon to ask if anyone has seen my brother.”

  Lexie sat on the bed in her room, all prim and proper with her back stiff and her hands folded in her lap. “I’ll wait in your room.”

  “My room? What the heck’s the matter with your room?”

  “You’d leave without me. You won’t leave without your trunk and carpetbag.”

  “All right.” Burke shrugged and tossed his key at her, then checked the lucky hundred-dollar bill in his hat liner to make sure it didn’t show. “I’ll be back in an hour or so and we’ll get some supper.”

  The boardwalk radiated heat from the afternoon sun. Burke smiled and doffed his hat at a couple of ladies, who covered their mouths and giggled. Neither one of them had the backbone that Lexie had, he’d bet.

  He ducked into the mercantile and bought some matches—Lexie had won every danged one of his. He left the store and lit a cigar. The tinkering honky-tonk piano and the smell of whiskey and cigars led him to the Nugget Saloon. The hotel clerk’s directions hadn’t hurt, either.

  After supper with Lexie, he’d get out his tools and set up a faro game in the hotel lounge. While he was registering for the hotel room, he had spotted several fish ripe for the catching. He could use the money, and maybe a sweet little lady—

  A jolt on the back of the head sent him reeling and the saloon floor rose to meet his face much too quickly for comfort.

  “I want my money back, Patrick O’Shaughnessy, you lying, thieving bastard,” a man roared.

  Burke held still for a moment, then shook the cobwebs out of his head. One thing for sure, his brother had been there.

  “Before I get up, sir, I need to tell you that I don’t hold any grudges for you clobbering the wrong man.” He rolled to his side and assessed his assailant, who stood with his fists balled up, ready to fight. “I’m Burke.”