Working on a Full House

by Alyssa Kress

  Valerie stared at Mrs. Gordon. "What did you say?"

  "Excuse me?"

  Valerie went very still. "About who started the foundation, the one who paid for Nicky's transplant. Who did you say it was?"

  "Oh." Mrs. Gordon laughed. "Truth is, I wasn't supposed to know his name. But Richard did some sneaky research on the Internet... I think it was something French."

  An odd feeling tickled up Valerie's neck. "Beaujovais?" she asked.

  Mrs. Gordon pointed at her. "That's it!"

  The odd, tickling feeling turned into a million insects, buzzing all around Valerie. Roy. Roy had paid for Nicky's operation?

  "So you've heard of this Beaujovais fellow?" Mrs. Gordon asked.

  The insects were buzzing all over Valerie, sweeping up to the crown of her head. She was dimly aware of Mrs. Gordon, of the both of them, mother and son, staring at her quizzically. "I — I've heard the name." Valerie's professional persona managed a polite, farewell smile. "Take it easy for now, Nicky. I'll see you in a month."

  "Right, Dr. K." Nicky, apparently satisfied with Valerie's answer, and permission to get back to his life, started for the door. His mother gave Valerie one last glance before following after.

  Valerie remained in the examination room by herself, her head still spinning. Roy had set up that foundation. Roy had. He'd paid for Nicky's bone marrow transplant.

  Why?

  Valerie frowned and drew in a deep breath as she tried to puzzle it out. But a voice in her head wasn't waiting to think it through. A voice in her head was singing, joyfully, foolishly. He did it for you. You, you, you. He did it for you, to make you happy.

  No! Valerie shook her head briskly. She strode with swift, strong strides for the door. Roy hadn't plunked down a cool half million for her. Ridiculous. The man did own a heart, and he'd felt bad about Nicky's predicament, that was all. Not to mention he had enough money to throw it in any direction he damn well pleased.

  Valerie went out the door and into the hall. Clutching Nicky's chart in fingers of steel, she stalked toward her office. She was not — repeat not — going to imagine Roy had set up that foundation for her. Come on. That would be — why, it would be femme fatale business.

  Valerie was no femme fatale, but her ever-present guilt mixed with a smidgen of uncertainty to produce a trembly anxiety. Maybe she should call Roy. She knew she wasn't going to, but the anxiety wondered if...maybe she should.

  ~~~

  Sitting at the bar of the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas and sipping a dry white, Cherise felt decadent and out of place. She decided both sensations were good. It was time for some changes in her life.

  As she set down her glass and glanced at the watch on her wrist, however, Cherise's stomach took yet another one of the turns it had been indulging in since she'd left Palmwood three hours before. Was she ready for quite this much change?

  Looking up from her watch, she saw Kenny across the lobby, threading his way down the quaint, fake Parisian street toward the bar. Ready or not, change was on his way.

  Her stomach not only turned, but began rolling downhill. Oh, God. She hadn't guessed how...big it would feel to see him again.

  She'd told him to meet her here, but he hadn't yet spotted her. There was a strange expression on his face as he maneuvered athletically around milling tourists. It took a minute for Cherise to figure out why his expression looked strange to her.

  Kenny looked serious.

  They he saw her, and she nearly collapsed in her wrought iron seat. The power of his eyes across the room, the amazing promise of his body — everything — squeezed her chest.

  But she managed to stand as he came up to her table. He was wearing tan chinos, a silk shirt, and a smile of visible concern.

  Cherise did her best to smile back, and watched as Kenny's gaze dropped to her flat stomach before he took her proffered hand.

  "I'm not pregnant," she announced.

  "Oh." Kenny's gaze flew up again. He didn't bother trying to hide his disappointment. Cherise gauged the depth of this disappointment by the length of time it took him to figure out the only possible implication of her declaration. If she weren't pregnant, then she'd driven all this way simply to see him. His face traveled slowly from slack to a wide, beaming grin. "Oh," he said again. "Oh."

  "Sit down," Cherise snapped. "Before the smug police come to arrest you."

  Still beaming, very obnoxiously, Kenny sat. Cherise followed suit. She had a feeling they were going to make enough of a scene as it was, even sitting.

  "Uh, uh, uh," she warned, when Kenny reached across the table for her hand. "Not yet. You have to listen to me first — and this may not turn into anything. I haven't decided."

  Kenny's smug smile dimmed. "I'm listening."

  Cherise chewed the inside of her cheek. This was much more difficult than she'd imagined. The reality of him was so powerful: his appearance, his warmth, his scent.

  But as much as she was willing to accept some change, she was determined to hold onto a few reins.

  "I'm not going to marry you," she made known.

  He didn't give her the satisfaction of looking surprised. Of course not. This was Kenny. Instead, he surprised her. "Good," he retorted, wearing a big smile.

  Cherise pressed her lips together. Good?

  Kenny tapped the tabletop with an index finger. His smile faded into his earlier serious expression. "Because my financial advisor says I'm not ready to take on a spouse. He told me I'd need another nine months, minimum, before I'd built up that kind of equity."

  Cherise stared at him. "Your financial advisor?"

  Despite his serious expression, there was a suspicious glint in Kenny's eyes. "I hired him a couple months ago, about a week after you told me what for." Kenny lifted a shoulder. "Decided it was time to get real about a few things, take myself seriously..." He looked up at her, blue gaze steady. "So people I thought were important might take me seriously, too."

  Cherise knew she was still staring. The emotion she'd been experiencing since setting eyes on him a few minutes ago, the one she'd been trying so hard to hold with some reins, burst free. "Your financial advisor," she repeated, her voice a wispy thread.

  "Yep. I've still got my house, believe it or not, and a sensible car, not to mention twenty thousand dollars in the bank. For me, that's amazing."

  "It is," Cherise agreed. Love was splashing through her in torrential waves. He'd hired a financial advisor. He'd kept his house. He had money in the bank. Because of her.

  Kenny shifted in his seat. "I, uh, wasn't sure how much it was going to take to impress you."

  He was nervous, Cherise realized, as he averted his gaze.

  "I'm, ahem, pretty impressed," she said.

  His gaze flew back to her. The big grin returned: white teeth, male vigor, and pure joie de vivre. "Already?"

  Cherise nodded, her love pounding inside her.

  Kenny did reach across the table then. He took her hand. "That should have been harder to do."

  Cherise shook her head. "No... No... Because you were right about a few things, too. How I have to be in control, and how that limits me. I...don't want to be limited."

  Kenny's big smile dropped. "Oh," he said.

  Cherise blinked a few times. "Oh," she said. "Oh, no. I didn't mean — That is, I want a relationship with you, Kenny. Not with a bunch of — For heaven's sake, why do you think I drove out here?"

  "I don't know." Kenny laughed and his grip tightened on her hand. "Somehow we haven't gotten around to you explaining that yet."

  Cherise laughed, too, though she was now more nervous than ever. Kenny had hired a financial advisor. He'd come halfway — one might argue more than halfway — in order to make a relationship with her work. She had to come through now, and travel at least halfway to meet him. She cleared her throat and looked down at their joined hands, tan and cocoa flesh laced together.

  "I don't want to marry you," she repeated. "But I do want to be with you. And I — I'm rea
dy to take a few chances."

  Kenny was smiling again, but not in the smug way. Now he looked encouraging, warm... Strange, but he almost looked safe. "What kind of chances?" he asked.

  She cleared her throat again. "I don't want to quit my job, but I do have quite a bit of vacation time saved. If you wanted to..." Her courage nearly failed her, but she felt Kenny squeeze her hand. "Well, if you wanted to go to Europe for a month or so, I'd like to go with you. Oh, I would so love to see Paris, and the French countryside."

  Kenny correctly translated. "Painting country."

  Cherise lifted her eyes to his. She'd been wrong to fear. There was such understanding there, such encouragement. Having someone actually encourage her to paint was the most novel, and exhilarating, experience. "Yes," she told him. "Painting country. I'm afraid I won't be traveling light, not with easels, brushes, and canvases."

  The grin returned, big and bright and beautiful. "Sounds like I'm going to be a pack horse."

  A snort escaped Cherise.

  "Unless you had some better use to put me to?" The question was intimately low.

  She snorted again, and looked at him sidelong. "You'll have to actually do some winning at those poker tournaments if you intend to pay our way."

  Kenny laughed and the glint in his eye deepened. "Will I have to win in order to share your bed at night?"

  Cherise nearly choked, but managed to lie, "Absolutely."

  "Then you are looking at the future winningest member of the European poker tour." Kenny used his hold of her hand to pull her across the little table.

  Cherise closed her eyes. The sensation of his lips touching hers was exquisite.

  "I love you, Cherise," he murmured against her mouth. "I love you so much."

  It was the last push, the nudge right out of her safety zone. Could she? Dare she admit to such vulnerability? The future was still terribly uncertain, a cliff looming in front of her. Was she going to fall off the cliff? Or was she going to fly?

  There was only one way to find out. Cherise sighed out the truth. "I love you, too, Kenny. Oh, I love you."

  He pressed his mouth against hers harder, and the exquisite sensation spun around her dizzyingly. But she didn't fall. She felt lifted right up.

  By Kenny, as it turned out, who'd risen from his chair and was pulling her up from hers. "My house," he said. "It's the only place that'll do."

  Cherise would have followed him right then to a dirt-floor cave. "Mm," she agreed.

  "But afterward," Kenny warned, pulling her close as he began to lead the way down the fake Parisian street. "We're going to talk, and really work all the details out." He looked down at her. "I'm ready to work now, you know, Cherise. To work and to play."

  "Handy." Cherise smiled. "So am I."

  ~~~

  He was in seat seven — lucky seven — waiting for the first deal. Roy leaned back in his chair at one of a sea of green baize tables for contestants in the July No Limit Hold 'Em tournament, the main event of the World Series of Poker. He took a casual gander at the nine other players at his table. They, along with everyone else in the room had ponied up ten grand each in order to participate.

  Having already won the Pot-limit Omaha event and Seven Card Stud, Roy knew he was being discussed as a real contender this year. The old curse about him and the World Series had been forgotten. He could very well win.

  He damn well intended to win.

  Roy smiled at the white-haired lady in seat number one, meanwhile disguising the odd twinge he'd just felt at the idea of winning the prestigious tournament. Unfortunately, it was not a twinge of excitement or anticipation. Rather, it was a twinge of dread.

  What if he did win — and it didn't matter? What if it he was left...empty?

  Roy cleared his throat and retrieved his fading smile. He couldn't afford to imagine that. But the idea hammered at him anyway. What if winning even this tournament — the biggest of all — didn't help? What if it couldn't?

  "All right, let's play," growled a heavy-set man seated to Roy's right.

  The dealer shuffled the cards. Roy watched. But he couldn't stop the question from chipping away at his will, from messing with the blocks he needed to align in his head. What if this big tournament didn't make a difference?

  Swish, swish, swish. One by one, the cards flew around the table, landing on the baize before each player. Roy looked down at the two cards in front of him. All around the table, hands reached forward, bending cards carefully upward for a peek.

  Roy stared at the backs of his own two cards. His stomach performed a very unusual and unhappy maneuver. He should look at his cards, too. He knew he could force the blocks to fall into place.

  But what did it matter? Roy's stomach unbent and flipped the other direction. Suddenly, abruptly, he couldn't fool himself any more. He couldn't even try.

  It just didn't matter what cards he had, not in this hand, nor in the next one, nor in the one after that. It made no damn difference in the world how well he did in this idiotic tournament. He felt his mouth straighten into a thin, flat line.

  It wouldn't help. Even winning the biggest tournament of all wouldn't make a dent in the emptiness he could sense all around him. The emptiness he was at that moment falling through.

  Abruptly, he stood. The dealer glanced his way. Everyone else at the table glared at him. It didn't matter. Roy had to get out. Right then. He had to — to — He wasn't certain what he had to do, quite frankly, he just knew that whatever it was, it was urgent and real, unlike this game.

  He gave a cursory nod to nobody in particular and stepped around his seat. Then he turned and walked briskly through the sea of tables and crowd of onlookers toward the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  "Hey, what the hell is your husband doing?" Peter Lindstrom uttered this accusation while storming toward Valerie down the hall at Valley Pediatric.

  Valerie looked up in annoyance. She hated it when Peter wanted to talk about 'her husband.' She felt particularly annoyed by it today, when she was still feeling queasy about the foundation Roy had set up — though not for her.

  "What is it?" she asked, returning her attention to the chart she'd been discussing with Cherise, a Cherise who'd been glowing ever since her return from a whirlwind trip to Vegas.

  "He walked out of the World Series of Poker!" Face red, Peter pointed toward his office. "I just saw it on my portable television. They'd only dealt the first hand, and Roy Beaujovais walked out. Just stood up and left! Shit. I had money on him, too."

  Valerie frowned at Peter. "Maybe he changed his mind about playing."

  "Changed his mind?" Peter's eyes widened. "It costs ten thousand dollars just to get into the game."

  A sliver of alarm went through Valerie. She remembered reading weeks ago in one of Peter's books that Roy never walked out of a game if he was down in the money. Ten thousand dollars sounded like 'down.'

  "Come," Peter said, and spun back toward his office. "I'll show you."

  "Come on," Cherise said. She was frowning, too.

  Valerie didn't need any further prodding. Her concern was growing by leaps and bounds.

  On Peter's heavy, ornate desk sat a sleek little portable TV. An announcer was trying to sound excited about a bunch of people sitting at tables. Then the video switched to a shot of Roy standing up from one of those tables.

  "Roy Beaujovais," the excited announcer gushed, "one of today's favorites to win, rose from his table directly after the first deal. Not a word to anybody, he simply walked out. Must have been really bad cards," the announcer decided, and laughed.

  The video showed Roy's straight back as he steadily marched his way around the tables.

  "Nobody knows why Mr. Beaujovais took a powder," the announcer went on. "Although one can't imagine anything short of a dire family emergency pulling a top player away from his ten grand investment, and a shot at seven million dollars and the title."

  "What is he doing?" Valerie murmured, watching the shot o
f Roy as he disappeared out the door of the room.

  "The announcer said family emergency," Peter remarked.

  Still staring at the TV, Valerie shook her head. "He has no family. Both his parents have passed away and he has no siblings."

  "There's you." Peter gave a pointed look toward the bulge visible beneath Valerie's long, flowing shirt.

  Valerie put an automatic hand over her belly and glared at Peter. "I didn't call him." She straightened from her position bent over to watch the TV. "But I'm going to now."

  Indeed, a small part of her shrilled that she already should have called Roy, especially after she'd found out about the foundation three days ago. And now, well, something was obviously wrong. Valerie bit her lip and felt a climbing sense of urgency.

  ~~~

  Roy kept walking, one foot in front of the other, despite the blistering Las Vegas July sun overhead. He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to keep walking, he had to keep ahead of the emptiness.

  All of a sudden he found himself standing in front of the valet service at Mandalay Bay. He had no idea he'd walked so far.

  "Can I help you, sir?" asked a young man in a uniform. Roy must have looked a sight, for the valet was giving him quite the hairy eyeball.

  Roy still didn't know what he was doing, but an autopilot appeared to have taken over, for he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out the ticket for his car.

  The young man took the ticket. "I'll get that for you right away, sir."

  Roy barely noticed the world around him until his Cadillac purred to a stop by the curb. He tossed the valet a tip and unthinkingly took everything out of his pockets, the way he usually did before he started a long drive. His wallet, cell phone and a few quarters and dimes landed on the passenger seat of the car a moment before he, himself, slid into the driver's seat.

  Where the hell am I going? he asked himself as he sat there with both hands atop the steering wheel.

  He had no idea. All he knew was if he wanted to keep the emptiness at bay, he'd better put his foot on the gas pedal.

  He did, cruising out of Mandalay Bay and hanging a right. Moments later he was on I-15, heading west.