“Make me a bet, Stacy.”
“A bet?”
“Sure, bet me two dollars that I’ll be coming back.”
“But I always win.”
“I know. I’m counting on it.”
But he didn’t come back. Two weeks went by. The garage flourished. The Shelter for the Spiritual Odyssey of Man, and woman, too, began to come together. Donations suddenly started arriving. Volunteers turned up in every conceivable shape and form. There were writers who took on the shelter as their project for literacy. There were doctors who offered medical help. And the mayor appropriated funds for job retraining.
From their original plan to read tarot cards and offer spiritual guidance, Jane and Alice suddenly found themselves at the helm of a ship that was breaking new ground in the waters of the downtrodden.
The Braves won their division.
And Stacy paced her room at night and the garage by day.
“Lonnie,” she finally said, “I’m desperate. What am I going to do?”
“If you’re pregnant, I’ll get my shotgun. Even Jane’s nephew can’t compromise my godchild and get away with it.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean, Stacy? Let me hear your explanation as to why you’re sitting here driving us all crazy, and Gavin is on his way to Vegas determined to take Sol on his own turf.”
“Take Sol? How?”
“He’s sold everything he owns. He’s going to gamble for the money to pay Sol.”
“Gavin? Gavin’s no gambler, at least not that kind of gambler. He’ll lose and not solve anything. Why would he even think of doing such a thing?”
“I think he’s in love.”
“Well, so am I, but I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—I mean, I’d lose. The Lanhams always lose when it’s something important. Look at Lucky!”
“Yep, look at Lucky. And look at you. At least Lucky never turned his back on life. He always lived it to the fullest, and if he were standing right here, he’d tell you that he made mistakes, but he wouldn’t change a thing.”
“But what if I tried and ended up with nothing?”
“What do you have now, Anastasia Lanham? And better still, what if you won?”
For the rest of the day Stacy warred with the question. What did she have? Her garage was thriving. She had found new friends who were willing to share her good times and her bad. Her life had suddenly become meaningful, at least until Gavin had kissed her that last time and left. She’d never understood about belonging and commitment. She’d never known the physical well-being that came with the loving—not just satisfaction, but that warm glow that stayed with you through the day, that said the world is good, not perfect maybe, but manageable.
Gavin had never meant to cause pain. If he had, he’d have put restraints on his mother and his aunt years ago. Instead, he’d understood and supported them when he could, and rescued them when he couldn’t. Acceptance and believing, that was what made Gavin special.
That and his boxer shorts with the baseball print.
And his lips and arms and—
Stacy went home and started making plans. Gavin had left for Vegas that morning. If she caught a plane that night, she ought to be there before complete disaster occurred. Vegas never closed, but serious gambling was still a late-night affair. And she was definitely into late-night activities.
Fortunately a few people still owed Lucky favors, and it was time for Stacy to call in one of them. She called a nearby airport and managed to hitch a ride on a friend’s night courier flight to Vegas. Carefully Stacy packed her clothes, withdrew the money she’d sworn she’d never touch—the last of Lucky’s gambling cache. Leashing the dogs, she drove the truck to the small local airport where private and small commercial aircraft were based. The plane was waiting, and by eight o’clock they were sliding through a moonlit sky on silent wings.
The dogs cooperated, as did a tail wind, and before nine o’clock Vegas time they were checking into Sol’s Lucky Dollar Casino. Used to everything, the clerks took Stacy’s regal entrance as an everyday event. The vicious-looking black rottweilers walked on either side of the elegant young woman as if Vegas were old Petersburg and they were auditioning for a remake of Dr. Zhivago.
Through the glittering lobby, past the huge silver-dollar slot machine that gave the casino its name, past awestruck patrons and glassy-eyed players, Stacy walked slowly toward the elevators. Sooner or later Sol would learn that Lucky Lanham’s daughter was there, but there were so many special hotel guests that she doubted the desk clerk would alert Sol right away. Stacy wanted to test the waters first, take a trial run. Anastasia Lanham had come to gamble, and she meant to break the bank.
Her knees were knocking. Her breathing was coming fast and clumsy. Trying desperately to hold down the unwelcome rise of excitement, she moved slowly, her lips plastered in a smile that was so tight, her teeth hurt.
Three more steps and into the elevator. She’d made it, without seeing Gavin or Sol. She didn’t want to see Gavin yet either. She couldn’t stop him from what he was planning to do, and she didn’t want him to try to stop her. Running on the raw edge of fear, she knew that it was going to take every ounce of control for her to get through the evening.
The bellman opened her door and led her inside, turning on the lights. It was not just any suite, but Lucky’s regular suite. Of course she couldn’t afford it, but by the time she left she’d either have the money, or Sol would own everything. One night in a hotel suite would be peanuts to a man like Sol. Stacy ordered the dogs to sit and reached for a tip. She needed something to keep her mind occupied as she surveyed the familiar surroundings.
There’d been a time when she’d thought she was in fairyland being there with her handsome father, following him around the gambling rooms and accompanying him to Sol’s private quarters, the quarters where the big stakes games were held, by invitation only. Until she’d begun to understand what it meant to lose.
Lucky had never let her see the downside of his glamorous lifestyle until she’d come with him to Las Vegas. Then she’d known that gambling was an addiction, a promise, the allure of the dream. When a gambler lost, it was more than the loss of money, more than the loss of a dream, it was like dying a little more each time the disappointment came. And for Lucky, the disappointment had come more often, and the dying had been too painful to watch.
Until finally Stacy had gone home and had waited for the call that had come too soon. Lucky had died. But Stacy knew that Lucky had really lost a long time ago when baseball didn’t need him anymore. Every bet he’d made after that had been his way of thumbing his nose at life which had taken both his loves—his wife and his physical ability to play the game he loved.
In the end, Stacy had been the only thing left he’d really cared about. For by then, Lucky had known it was too late.
A maid appeared at the door to unpack Stacy’s clothes and gather those that needed pressing. On leaving, she reminded Stacy of the hotel’s customary invitation to all suite occupants to be its guests for dinner.
Stacy called the desk and asked that someone come upstairs and walk Frankenstein and Dracula while she dressed. Moments later an ashen-faced employee took a leash in each hand and left with the boys accompanying him unwillingly.
Once alone, Stacy collapsed on the bed and took long, deep breaths. From beneath her blouse she fished her lucky coin and held it tightly. She didn’t know who the patron saint of gambling was, if there was one, but she knew that she needed all the help she could get.
“Oh, Lucky, if you’re up there anywhere, I could sure use a little edge.”
There wasn’t even a tinkle to indicate that he’d heard her.
Delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to help. Stacy finally gathered her courage and marched into the bathroom. She discarded her traveling clothes, covered her dark brown hair with a shower cap, compliments of the hotel, and washed away as much tension as she could with a sharp spray of hot water
.
Wrapped in a blanket towel, she blotted every drop of water from her skin, poured scented lotion into her palm, and applied it to the body she’d felt so inferior, until Gavin had touched it with his magic hands.
Gavin. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. Then, resolutely, she put him out of her mind and began to dress. She wore no bra. Her dress, with its strapless bra built in, would stand alone. Brief wisps of lace made up her panties. She wore self-supporting sheer red stockings that ended in a band of lace at her thigh.
Pulling on a short robe, she padded to the dressing table and started on her face. First she curled her hair with the curling iron. Big hair, the girls from Texas called it. High fashion the models in their designer gowns would have said.
A mess, Stacy thought, then continued with her make-over. She might never have passed her vamping certification, but it wasn’t because she didn’t have the equipment, or the experience in using it. She did. But she’d given up this kind of life six years earlier.
Stacy knew that you never gave a sucker an even break. She skillfully applied concealer, makeup, and eye shadow. Finally she clipped a great waterfall of red rhinestone earrings on her ears. What she looked like wouldn’t have anything to do with her winning, but confusing or distracting her opponent wouldn’t hurt.
And, she decided as she finished off her creation with lip gloss and blush, she was Lucky Lanham’s daughter, and she intended to make him proud. Stepping into the red-jeweled gown, she slid the zipper into place and stepped back to view the results.
Yes. She might never be beautiful, but she was Anastasia, and Anastasia was majestic. Stacy intended to see that every man in the house knew it.
When the dogs were returned, she clasped matching rhinestone collars around their necks and replaced their leather leashes with velvet.
Taking one last look in the mirror, she fastened her lucky silver dollar around her neck and, tucking her jeweled purse beneath her arm, she left the room.
In the lobby every guest stopped and gaped at the woman exiting the elevator. Even Elizabeth Taylor couldn’t have set a more glamorous stage. With a silent command to her bodyguards, Stacy walked through the gambling rooms to the restaurant, where she was shown to the best table in the house.
After a leisurely meal that she couldn’t have identified afterward, Stacy left the restaurant and walked through the tables, studying the games without appearing to do so. Finally she settled at the roulette table. The odds were in favor of the house, but for her purposes, that was fine.
Stacy exchanged her money for dollar chips and started to play, only one bet at a time and for only a dollar. The stack of chips before her rose steadily. Stacy ignored the other gamblers, who urged her to increase her bets. Finally, she gathered up her earnings and cashed them in. In less than an hour she’d turned one dollar into three hundred.
The blackjack table proved equally generous. By midnight she’d won over five hundred dollars without losing one bet.
As she called to the dogs she was intercepted by a uniformed hotel employee who handed her a note. Unfolding the paper she glanced inside.
Sol knew she was here.
He was inviting her to join him at a private poker game in progress in his quarters.
Stacy took in a long, deep breath and nodded.
Moments later she was exiting the private key-operated elevator which led to the penthouse suite.
The music and noise of the downstairs gambling parlors was gone. Only the sound of rippling water and the low murmur of conversation broke the stillness. Stacy, Frankenstein on one side and Dracula on the other, followed the employee across the lush white carpet past an indoor waterfall and into the room where the game was being played. She paused in the doorway and surveyed the men around the table.
There was a gasp and everyone turned toward her.
She recognized two bankers from her time with Lucky, a famous game-show producer, and Sol, who raised his eyebrows in undisguised glee. In the shadows, wearing a grim look, was Gavin.
Ten
“Ah, Stacy.” Gavin stood and held out his hand. “You’re late, darling.”
Darling? Stacy was nonplussed. She hadn’t know what to expect, but a charming welcome came as a surprise.
As Gavin reached her side, the dogs cocked their heads anxiously, waiting for Stacy to signal their expected behavior. But it was Gavin who took their leashes from Stacy and directed the dogs to a spot near the door. “Sit! Stay!”
After a nod from Stacy, they complied, but gave every indication that they were ready to spring forward at any excuse.
Gavin struggled with a fierce need to jerk her up and carry her from the room. He used the dogs to buy time while he searched for a way to keep Sol from carrying out his threat to punish Stacy. He didn’t know how Stacy had found out where he was and what he was doing, but knowing that she’d followed him made his heart swell.
“Thank you for coming to wish me luck, Stacy. Would you like to have a drink before I escort you back to your room?”
Even now as she glared at him, he felt the warmth of her touch steal across his fingertips and spread up his arm. For a moment their gazes met and locked, then defiantly Stacy turned away.
“Hello, Sol,” she said, “it’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has, Ms. Lanham. I believe you know all the players?”
Stacy tried to put Gavin’s lethal look of fury out of her mind as she nodded at each man and made her way around the table to Gavin’s empty chair. “I’ll take your chair, Gavin darling. I’m sure you won’t mind sitting out the next hand.”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“Yes, but it wouldn’t stop me.”
Eyes suddenly lit up as the men realized she intended to play. The other players slid back in their chairs and picked up their cards. Stacy took Gavin’s hand and quickly calculated that he couldn’t possibly win with the cards he was holding. When the bid came to her, she pitched the cards to the table. “Gavin’s out.”
The game-show producer took the hand, and the deal.
“I was afraid you might not come, Stacy,” Sol went on, “but I see you’re still your father’s daughter.”
“Not necessarily. When I play cards, I win.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’re out of practice? I can’t imagine that running a garage would keep the fingers nimble.”
Gavin felt a flood of recriminations sweep over him. Sol had planned all of this, even the game. He’d given Gavin the chance to win his freedom, gambling that Stacy would come. He’d already won and they hadn’t played a hand of poker. Gavin knew how Stacy felt about taking risks, and yet she was there, for him. What had he done?
“You’d be surprised what Stacy does with those fingers to keep them in shape,” Gavin said, smoothly capturing Stacy’s bare shoulder with his hand. “Did you get checked in all right, Princess?”
Just a touch and the connection was reestablished. Stacy let out a tight breath. Good, he wasn’t going to refuse her help. “Oh, yes, darling. Now sit and quit fidgeting so I can concentrate.”
Gavin studied his stack of chips and grimaced. He hadn’t done badly, but he hadn’t done well. The money he’d brought along wouldn’t begin to support high stakes gambling for the two of them. Stacy wasn’t going to give up without a fight, and if she were right about never betting more than ten dollars because she’d lose, this might be a short game. Still, he didn’t want her to be embarrassed or do something foolish before he could talk to her. He slid his chips over to her position. “Go get him, Stace. You can do it.”
“Thanks, Gavin, and I have a little money of my own.” With that she opened her purse and took out a roll of bills.
Gavin hid his surprise. Where had she gotten so much cash? He watched her exchange it for chips and turn to face Sol with a challenge that even he couldn’t miss. Sol’s eyes stayed glued to Stacy’s silver dollar that had turned sideways and was caught between her breasts.
; Gavin had known she was beautiful beneath the coveralls. He’d known she was beautiful in faded shorts and a T-shirt. He’d seen her in a simple designer dress and flat shoes. But the woman he was watching now was sheer royalty and sultry sexuality.
“Deal, boys. What’s the game?”
“Since you’re the lady, you name it,” the producer said graciously.
“Stud poker, five-card draw. Bet in ten-dollar increments only.”
“Ten-dollar increments?” Sol looked around the table and back at Stacy as if he thought she had some trick up her sleeve. “I never heard of such a thing.”
“I thought we were going to gamble,” the banker complained.
“We will,” Stacy promised, with only a slight tremor in her voice. “But I’ve been away from the table for six years. It won’t hurt you guys to humor me for a while.” She leaned forward, stretching the dress’s limitations to the maximum. The silver dollar popped out of its resting place and hit the table with a clink. “Just until I get myself back in sync, men.”
Gavin felt his stomach lurch and fought back the urge to jerk her out of that chair, throw her over his shoulder, and march out the door. One look at Sol told him that was exactly what their enemy was daring him to do. Gavin felt as if he were caught between a boulder and a steel wall.
She was game, Gavin thought, and courageous, coming here to do the one thing she’d sworn not to do—gamble. Still, she was hedging her bets. Limiting the bet to ten dollars might give her the confidence to win, but they’d be there from now until next year before they’d win enough money to pay Sol off.
Gavin glanced around at the other men. Wearing dinner jackets and diamond jewelry, they put their wealth on display. But what Stacy couldn’t see were the men he was sure were standing just behind the doorway—big men with guns, mean enough to enforce whatever rules Sol chose to make. He groaned and tightened his grip on Stacy’s shoulder.
He’d never felt so hopeless. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that he loved this woman, and he couldn’t protect her. He’d gone blindly into a scheme that could cost her everything, cost him everything. Now she was there, ready to take a chance like none she’d ever taken, not for herself but for him.
Lean Mean Loving Machine: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 12