By Any Means

by Cindy Nord

  “Groupings?”

  “A three of all one number, called “trips”, and two other cards of a different value, for example, is a good group. A pair is where two of the five cards in the hand are of the same value, and if other players have the same grouping in their hands, but of a different suit, then the one with the highest value cards wins the pot.” He tapped the center of the table near the lamp. “And the pot is usually in the middle between the players. That’s the basic objective of the game. Toss in cards, receive new ones, all in order to build the best hand and win the money bet during the game.”

  “From the value in his hand? A chance of luck against the other players, is that the excitement you like? Beating others at the game?”

  “Yes.” His teeth flashed white in his golden-hued face. “But we’re not talking about me right now, minx.”

  She smiled. “Go on. Keep talking.”

  “Another grouping might be a straight set of numbers of any suit running in numerical order, like a six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.”

  Gambling had been his salvation, and he lived and breathed these cards. In fact, this game had brought him to her. And just like how he’d been enamored of her teaching Ruby and Jubal, she now enjoyed the reverse role of learning from him. With each turn of the card, he informed and clarified, answering her questions with patience. They even played several open-faced hands while she chuckled at the comical names of each grouping: a full house, a flush, a straight flush, and the granddaddy of all hands, the ace-high straight royal flush.

  A half-hour slipped into one as the night air cooled and the lamplight flickered.

  With a laugh, he flipped over the queen of hearts. His voice rumbled, making her remember the night of the storm and the thunder that’d brought her into his arms. “And this one will represent you, Annabelle.” He tapped the card, “As long as I draw breath.”

  Queen of hearts. Exactly the role I’d hope to play in his life before dinner and the horrible mess that had somehow brought them to this moment.

  She looked up and saw something warm and languid in his eyes. The whiskey? Or something more? Her heart ached to believe so. Dare she dream? She could only play this out to find her answer, the reason that had brought her to this table. “Now, let’s play for real. Winner take all.”

  “We’ve no money for the pot. Shall I get some?”

  “Non…Monsieur Benedict. I propose we play for much higher stakes than your comfortable shield of money.” Managing a shaky smile, she peered into his eyes, saw his darken into a fathomless unknown. “…that is, unless you’re afraid?”

  “Afraid?” His face changed neither shape nor line, but his eyes…oh, the intensity in his eyes took her breath. “I rarely lose.”

  “Except when it comes to the possibility of losing me.” A strangle of impending catastrophe rose like bile in the back of Annabelle’s throat.

  Had she played her hand too soon?

  On a tightened jaw, he stared at her. Seconds dragged by. “What’s the prize?” he finally asked.

  Her heart rammed her ribs. She’d been maneuvering him to this moment since she’d sat down across from him.

  Say it…let him decide.

  “If you win, then you sell Le Belle Maison to your chosen buyer when the contract with Mother Superior is complete. And I?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I shall be gone at first light.”

  Annabelle refused to break her gaze as the moon laid a silvery wash across his face. His mouth pursed, his gaze piercing. A moment passed. Then two. He exhaled, the sound barely heard…yet she clearly saw the war raging inside him.

  “And if I lose?” The question crescendoed around her, then faded.

  The knot in her throat thickened.

  Just say it.

  “You remain in Kentucky, in this home surrounded by the people who love you.”

  Brennen sat motionless, his black eyes blinking, yet unreadable. He sliced his gaze to the dark horizon. The ever-present breeze kicked up, again ruffling his sable hair.

  Determined to remain silent, Annabelle nonetheless ached to reach over and smooth the soft, dark strands so badly in need of a cut. But, her reckless daring, her ultimatum, refused to allow her to move. The fear of his denial, of his laughing, of his shoving back from the table and stalking away weighted down her heart.

  Another breeze.

  Another swirl of leaves.

  Even within the cathedral of trees the crickets and katydids rasped at her foolishness. Blood drained from her veins. ‘Twas this, or leave.

  Regrets would serve her no purpose.

  Brennen shifted his eyes, vivid and thick-lashed, to search hers. A smolder of deep intensity drove his gaze, underscoring the furrow that wedged between his brows. Moonlight cut across set shoulders the size of a barn while lamplight illuminated his tensed features. Silver streaks, unseen in the daylight, now shimmered to remind her that his youth, like hers, had been spent beneath unbearable tragedies. His eyes narrowed, forcing the pale crinkles at the corners to deepen. He skimmed her face, her mouth, dipped lower to the place where her night robe covered her breasts.

  Heat stormed her as her love for this aloof man intensified into a raging inferno. Should she forget her arbitrary ultimatum? Instead shimmy off her robe and offer herself?

  Would that make him stay?

  Would she?

  Annabelle stared at his forearms resting atop the table, his one hand wrapped around the whiskey glass, knuckles straining white. The other hand gripped the playing cards, the words Silver Rush embossed in a filigreed design across black, the thick stock paper worn where his thumb pressed.

  How many times in his life had he shuffled them? In Richmond? During the war? On too many riverboats to count? Her tableau of desperate thoughts seemed illogical, yet, they’d somehow defined this man.

  Then, a wicked glint sparkled his eyes as a much-too-charming grin returned.

  Her own lips parted on a rush of air, their tenseness doing nothing to stop her quiver. She knew full well he was the worst sort of sinner. A reprobate. A gambler. A rogue. Yes…he was every one of those things.

  And yet, God help her, she loved him. Annabelle’s eyes filled with tears, her heart banging loud enough to rupture.

  “I accept,” he at last agreed…and the first card sailed across the table.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brennen released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Her astonishing ultimatum had arrived on the backend of his own damned deck of cards. For a moment, he felt trapped, unable to squeeze air past the tightness in his throat.

  Smart…this dark-haired sorceress who’d once more wielded her magic.

  He stared at Annabelle, watching the lamplight dance within her ebony tresses. She’d reeled him in good and tight with her request to learn poker…only to spring her decisive wager on him without warning.

  He finished dealing their hands, then scooped up his five dealt cards. Before he could even splay them out, she’d arranged hers and peered over the squeezers at him.

  “I’ll take…two.” Fingers trembling, she tossed her discards aside.

  Shit. An apprehensive novice. He’d seen the signs before. The doubt in the eyes. The fear. “You sure? You didn’t look long enough at your cards. Poker’s not a hurried game, minx, and tonight the stake is high.”

  “Don’t try to rattle me,” she snapped. “I’m holding the potential of a winning hand, so you better start enjoying Kentucky’s evenings.”

  Brennen couldn’t stop the chuckle as he slid two replacement cards toward her across the table. “I’m beginning to like it here, minx, so your warning doesn’t worry me.”

  He kept his face calm …inside, however, his nerves were stretch tighter than a damned hatband. Several minutes into the most important game he’d ever played, he watched as Annabelle scooped up the new additions. Relief lightened her eyes.

  He relaxed a degree more. Eyes he could read. He’d made a damn good living out of doin
g just that. And right now her eyes told him he’d just dealt her a passable hand. A pair. Maybe two. A full house at best.

  Her chin raised. Glinting eyes locked on his. Bewitching. As green as a Virginia summer.

  Concentrate on the game.

  He slowly fanned out his cards, focused on what he’d been dealt.

  A Jack of Hearts came into view. Good. A face card’s always nice. The breeze picked up, tossing a lock of hair across his forehead. He blinked, but kept sliding his cards apart.

  Another heart, the king.

  Nice.

  A Ten of Hearts appeared. Sonofabitch. Brennen swallowed, then slid another card.

  The Ace of Hearts displayed.

  Four of one suit…the potential for…

  Ever-so-slightly, his hand shook.

  Jaw tightening, he stared down at the cards, unwilling to shift the final one into view. Instead, the image of him bumping into Annabelle that day outside the lawyer’s office, another of her sitting atop the wagon taking notes swam before his eyes. Another image arose, this one of her jamming her finger into his chest as she demanded he bring a sick Ruby to the main house. He stifled his trembling lips, knowing hers were the softest thing on earth. And the tornado…his mouth pulled thin. Good God, the tornado where she’d screamed out her fear of losing him. He couldn’t wait to reach her side that day, to lift her into his arms and reassure her he was safe.

  The ache in Brennen’s chest built as his thumb shifted to move the final card into view.

  The Queen of Hearts.

  An agonizing mixture of disbelief and anger shot through him, stealing his breath.

  A Royal Straight Flush.

  Unbeatable.

  He’d won. And in doing so, he’d lost her. Heat pulsed through him as he stared down at the grouping. In poker, the rarest of all…like Annabelle’s presence in his worthless life.

  Four months ago he would have splayed the hand out before her with a whoop of joy. Except he wasn’t that same man tonight. He’d learned responsibility, had taken charge once more, had grown in more ways than he could even count. All because of her.

  He lifted his gaze to Annabelle.

  Her face was pale with fear.

  He knew she’d be gone by sunup. No more laughter. No more joy. No more purpose in his life. Again he’d wander, roaming to the next gaming table, then the next, sliding into a whore’s bed for an empty night while he forevermore wished she were Annabelle.

  His gaze narrowed on her sweet lips. He’d been the first to really kiss her. Her innocence and vulnerability that night had exposed that truth.

  There was still so much he wanted to teach her aside from cards.

  Still so much to share.

  She shifted her cards, a sad grimace tugging at her pretty mouth.

  He studied her face, her features, her ebony hair that draped one shoulder. He longed to reach over and bury his fingers in the long silken mass, to pull her close and live inside her forever.

  Forever.

  A word that he’d never before considered with a woman. Everything came down to this choice. This moment.

  This hand.

  Brennen closed his eyes, fought to regain his composure, but failed. His grip on his cards tightened. Sweet Jeezus. He loved her. Had for some time. Except he’d just been too caught up in his own damned selfishness to realize the truth.

  The awareness sliced his heart like a cavalry saber. With sheer precision, the blade of certainty burrowed in deeper, shredding apart any lingering doubt.

  His entire being shaken, he opened his eyes. He could run to the riverboat. Hell’s fire, he could run to Kansas, or clear across the country, yet he’d never outrun his love for her. Winning this hand didn’t fix a damned thing for his future. Without her and Le Belle Maison in his life he had none.

  “Well,” she asked, impatience threading her voice. “Are you drawing any cards?”

  He glanced down at his hand one last time, then chuckled. “Quit your yapping, minx. You’re makin’ me nervous.” Decision made, he slowly pulled out the queen and tossed her on the discard pile face down. “I’ll take one.”

  Swallowing hard, concern clouded her eyes. “That’s all? Just one?”

  How could he explain this to her when he was still struggling to understand the change himself? But he felt good…damned good, because he now realized she was all that mattered in this world. He couldn’t wait to kiss her again…and he would, just as soon as he threw away the game.

  The green of her eyes as she met his deepened into a color he’d never seen before. Vibrant. Anticipating.

  He stifled a smile. “I only need one card to end this, Annabelle.”

  For half-a-second her eyes flared wide, then narrowed, darkening into fire and ice. He could see the dread that rose to choke her. “Y-You don’t have to do this, Brennen.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  He picked up the deck and wrapped his hands around the pile. On a sustaining inhale, he dropped a new card.

  Give me something other than a heart.

  He lifted the replacement.

  A two.

  Of spades.

  He smiled.

  “So, do I just show my cards now?” she whispered. Her hands shook so much he ached to reach over and slide his atop them.

  “Yes.”

  A flush swept her cheeks. Breathless, she fanned open a full house grouping of three fives and two fours.

  Eyes bright with hope lifted.

  He’d waited long enough.

  With a smile he lay his cards upon the table face up. “Looks like you’ve won, minx.”

  She gasped. “Y-You needed the queen of hearts…”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He slowly raised, leaning forward. “She’s been sitting here the whole damned time.”

  Annabelle stood, and he stepped sideways around the table toward her.

  “D-Does that mean…”

  “Yes, I’m stayin’ put.” He caught her upper arms and edged her backward.

  On a gasp, she bumped against the veranda’s post, her eyes wide, staring up at him.

  How easily he’d fallen under her spell.

  “F-For real?” The strangled word filled with hope rushed out.

  “Forever.” They’d been dancing around this damned thing for months. The card game only exposed the truth. He felt exhilarated. Anticipation raw. The unknown hovering just on the horizon of hope.

  “I’ve loved you from the moment I first met you,” he said, raking a hand through her hair, his voice dwindling to a thin thread, “I just didn’t know how much ‘til I almost lost you.”

  Her eyes held a mesmerizing glint, an oasis of green leading him from a bleak and barren world. She sucked in a soft, sweet breath and slid her hands up his arms. Temptation beckoned in her scintillating gaze. “If you kiss me, my victory shall be complete.”

  Something dark and primitive shifted inside Brennen. “If I do that, there’s no going back.”

  “I’ve already won, monsieur…I’m only looking ahead.”

  On a low growl of pleasure, Brennen crushed his mouth upon hers. After months of denial, his need for her swelled. Demanding. Impatient.

  She arched against him, pressing her sweet curves closer still.

  Their kiss deepened as their muffled groans mixed with the night. He delved into the suppleness of her mouth, his tongue caressing and memorizing her taste.

  With a muttered oath he broke their kiss, then skimmed his mouth lower, nipping her jaw, the curve of her shoulder, savoring the wild flutter at the base of her throat.

  “B-Brennen…please…oh please…” Impatient, she begged for the unknown, her innocent audacity a potent blend that striped his soul bare.

  He swept her into his arms, and then extinguished the light. Darkness threaded the moonlight to embrace them as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing close, stifling a sigh. Three strong steps took him across the veranda to the chaise lounge, the wicker tucked
in the shadows against the wall.

  His knee met the cushion and he lowered, resting her against the pillows. Her hair splayed like an ebony curtain across his arm as she gazed up at him, dark lashes framing her eyes. The catch of her breath, tremulous and soft, cautioned him to slow down, even as his burning need for this angel ramped higher. He’d never had a home, not a real one filled with love…and tonight he had the world at his fingertips...for tonight he would have Annabelle.

  No more denials.

  No more waiting.

  No more lies.

  As he gazed into her eyes, tenderness reflected back. He slid his fingers through her tresses. Wispy hair feathered downward as he lifted the silken ends to his lips. “You’re everything I never knew I needed,” he rasped.

  “I’m glad.” A soft smile touched her lips. She reached for the bottom of his shirt, slipped a button free. Then another, working her way upward until the garment draped open across his chest. The lengths of linen lifted in the breeze, and cool air brushed his skin. She skimmed a warm palm over his shoulders, then edged lower, sliding down the line of hair that stopped at his pants.

  At her bold touch, he throbbed, impatient.

  With a shrug of one muscled shoulder, Brennen dropped his shirt to the floor. “My turn,” he said, reaching to untie the belt that snugged her waist. He gave a soft pull. The robe drifted open to reveal her flat belly, the indentation of her waist, her soft voluptuousness.

  Heat pulsed in his groin as Brennen shifted. He caressed the velvety softness of her skin, sliding his hands over the curve of her breasts. A night goddess, she sighed acceptance of his caress…her essence easing out into the very air he breathed.

  On a groan he swept open her robe, exposing the pink crests taut in the coolness. He drank in the sight, then bent low. Another gasp melded with the night as he nipped, then suckled…laving his way to her other breast. With a swift tug he removed her garment until she at last lay naked before him.

  From the top of her raven tresses to the souls of her little feet, Annabelle Swan was perfection, and the gift that she now offered stole his breath. Moonlight caressed her curves and valley, and love for her drove straight through him, the sensation humbling. “You are my world and all my tomorrows, and I want you so much, I can scarcely breathe,” he whispered, then once more claimed her mouth.