by Jean Stone
“Sounds like foolishness runs in the family.”
“Carson says she’s a poker whiz. But she’s never played with professionals. Mac, she’s convinced she can win.”
“So was her brother.”
Sterling gave a low, throaty laugh. “Mac, the man she’s taking on is a real pro.”
“Oh? Who?”
“He calls himself Montana now, but I managed to find out that his full name is—can you believe this?—Rhett Butler Montana. He owns a Mississippi riverboat casino called the Scarlet Lady.”
Mac couldn’t hold back a chuckle of his own. He’d gotten Montana a job on that boat years ago when his family had disowned him. Now he owned the boat. And he’d dropped the famous name his starstruck mother had given him. Montana suited him very well.
“Ah, Sterling. Not a world-shaking dilemma, but interesting. Is Katherine beautiful, smart, and conniving?”
“I don’t know what she looks like, but she’s just as determined to keep her family together and save their land as the original Scarlett. And she thinks Montana is ready to take it. Carson is worried. I said I’d see what I could do. If you can help, I’ll owe you.”
“Of course,” Mac said. Finishing their conversation, he dropped the phone into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. “And I think we can keep the lady from knowing she’s being helped.”
Mac had been surprised at the emotion in the normally unruffled Sterling’s voice. Gamblers who got themselves in trouble weren’t Mac’s idea of people with earth-shattering problems, but he couldn’t ignore her request to bail the girl out, and it was time he checked on the man calling himself Montana.
Though if Katherine had already left for the riverboat casino, Mac was too late to stop her. Maybe losing would teach her the lesson her brother hadn’t learned. Of course, she could win. Katie, Rhett Butler, and the Scarlet Lady.
Intriguing.
If the players were anything like their namesakes, the South could rise again. It was time he called in his marker from Montana. He tried the gambler’s office. Montana was on the river. Mac left a message and sat back to wait.
While he waited he thought about the mysterious Sterling who was never more than a voice on the telephone.
ONE
A hush fell over the rowdy Saturday-night crowd of gamblers on the third deck of the Mississippi riverboat known as the Scarlet Lady.
The dark-eyed man, Rhett Butler Montana—Montana to his customers—glanced up, searching for the reason. The third deck was reserved for the serious gamblers, but this kind of silence meant trouble. It took one look at the woman standing in the doorway to know he’d found the reason.
Her hair was shiny black, pinned up with a swatch of red glitter and feathers. Her dress, held up by thin straps that challenged the law of gravity, had a short skirt barely covering long legs that ought to be illegal.
She simply stood, studying the scene before her with mesmerized concentration—until she spotted Montana. Then, deliberately, it seemed, she parted and moistened her lips.
“Whoa, boss,” Royal Lennox whispered from his customary position behind the cashier’s booth. “Who’s the lady?”
But Montana didn’t answer. The connection between them was so potent he had no words. She didn’t move, and neither did he. Her gaze wasn’t just a question; it was a come-and-get-me dare. She was defying him to respond.
Lazily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his signature cheroot, biting off the end and clamping it between his teeth. Then he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment of her challenge.
Two could play whatever game she had in mind. In fact, he was counting on it.
The gamblers soon lost interest and the noise level rose once more. For another long heavy moment she continued staring, then gave a quick nod and started toward him in long graceful steps more like the slinky moves of a jungle cat than those of a woman wearing four-inch heels.
“Look out, boss, she’s giving you the evil eye. A woman like that’ll take your soul before you even know it’s gone.”
But Royal was wrong. Three steps before the woman reached Montana, she tilted her head, put a hint of a pout in her bottom lip, and gave him a nod that said they’d come out even, then moved past him and came to a stop at the change window in front of Royal.
“Yes, ma’am, Ms.?”
“Katie, just Katie,” she said in a low voice. She could feel the man with the dark eyes watching.
The man inside the iron cage seemed spellbound.
“Chips”—Katie’s voice was as smooth as silk, more Ivy League than Southern belle, until she added—“please?” She dipped into the purse swinging from a thin gold chain over her shoulder and pulled out two folded hundred-dollar bills that she handed to the banker.
Royal made a gallant attempt to speak, failed miserably, managing only a gulp as he slid a small stack of chips across the counter.
She turned, caught sight of Montana, then moved rapidly away. Moments later she was perched on a stool across from Montana’s best blackjack dealer.
As the smoke from his cheroot drifted into the darkness overhead, the riverboat owner groaned. Two hundred dollars’ worth of chips wouldn’t last her long. Not long enough for him to find out more about her, coax her into having a drink with him, and whatever might follow. Reaching a decision, he directed Royal to take the dealer’s place.
“Make sure she wins often enough to stick around,” he told his astonished employee.
“You want me to cheat, boss?” Royal’s voice came back in shocked dismay. “Really?”
Montana nodded. “If you have to.”
Having Royal cheat to lose wasn’t going to happen. He was a bad enough gambler to do it honestly.
As Royal relieved the dealer the puzzled man found Montana and lifted his eyebrows in question before turning over the cards.
The single blackjack player at the table turned to the slot machines, leaving the woman who called herself only Katie alone. For a moment she and Royal engaged in conversation. Royal was apparently explaining the game. Montana’s worst fears were about to come true. A novice with only two hundred dollars wouldn’t last long, even with Royal dealing.
But thirty minutes later the stack of chips had legitimately moved from the dealer’s tray to the player’s side. The woman was either the luckiest player on the boat or she was really good. In either case, his plan was working. He continued to watch for a while, then, after she made a really bad bet and somehow still won the hand, he decided she had no more idea of what she was doing than Royal. She just didn’t have to deal with the same distraction.
It was time he gave her some.
Across the room, Katie Carithers moistened her lips again. This wasn’t working out the way she’d planned. By now all her lipstick had to be gone. He was watching; she felt the heat of his eyes burning her back. As she won one hand after another no matter what she did, she was beginning to get nervous.
She’d come here to play poker, the game she knew. If it hadn’t been for the confusion she’d felt at the encounter with Montana, she’d never have ended up playing blackjack. The dealer had to explain the rules. As far as she could tell, winning at this game was a matter of sheer luck, and the dealer obviously had none. Even her uncanny ability to count cards and remember exact sequences couldn’t account for her success here: The dealer was using a machine with more than one deck.
She was steadily filling her pockets, but in the scheme of things, this amount of money was mere chicken feed. Sooner or later she’d have to find a way to force Montana to approach her. At the same time he had to be convinced that she was a complete novice. Considering her lack of experience, that shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish. Considering the skill of this blackjack dealer, though, she might have a problem.
“What about raising the limit?” she asked.
“Not without the boss’s okay.”
“The boss. Would that be Mr. Montana?”
“Yes, ma’a
m.”
She leaned forward and gave the dealer her best smile. “Then ask him.”
The small crowd of onlookers she’d drawn suddenly parted and the subject of their conversation appeared, taking the cards from what Katie had decided must be the worst dealer in the history of the game. She had no experience with professional gamblers, but if her brother, Carson, had gambled at this table, there was no way he could have lost a fortune.
“I’ll take over, Royal.”
“Then I’d like a new deck,” Katie said with exaggerated self-confidence. That ought to tip him off to her lack of experience—no gambler worth his salt asked for a new deck when he was so far ahead.
“But—” Royal began.
“Of course,” Montana said, cutting off his associate. He shoved the shoe holding the multiple decks of cards beneath the table and brought out a single pack of cards. In agonizingly slow movements, he peeled off the cellophane and let it drop to the floor. “I’m the owner of the Scarlet Lady.” His gaze fell to the stack of chips surrounding her. “Looks like you’re about to break my bank.”
“Surely you don’t think I’m a threat to you?”
“Depends. I think you could be.”
His gaze was direct and potent. It said that as far as he was concerned, there was nobody else in the room.
“Do you always take over when your guests have a winning streak?”
“No, but then I can’t remember when a player asked to raise the limits when they were already winning. That makes me anxious.”
“You don’t look like a man who’s anxious.”
“Haven’t you heard? Looks can be deceiving. Sometimes a smile is a gambler’s best friend.”
She had to hand it to him. Nothing rattled him. Anyone named Rhett Butler Montana had to be tough.
When she came on board, she had headed for the poker tables on the third floor, thinking to get away from the slot machines and the noise. Counting the cards was easier when the atmosphere wasn’t raucous.
She forced herself to lower her gaze. She’d made contact with the man she’d come here to meet more quickly than she’d planned, and now she was having doubts. If her opponent had any weakness, he certainly didn’t show it. His hands were completely steady as he shuffled the cards. Only his half-mocking smile said he knew she was up to something, but just hadn’t figured out what.
“Name’s Montana,” he said, cutting the cards and shuffling them again. “And you are?”
“A gambler,” she said. “I take risks. What about you?”
He continued to shuffle. “I’ve been known to take a risk or two myself. What did you have in mind exactly?”
“For starters, what about upping the ante?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. To what?”
She hadn’t thought that far. Then, remembering her plan to lull him into a false sense of security, she said, “Double or nothing.”
Montana didn’t even blink, only his smile quirked almost imperceptibly, then disappeared. Double or nothing? She’d wanted him to think she was inexperienced. From the expression on his face, she knew she’d reached her goal.
“As you wish,” he agreed.
She let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She’d been afraid he’d refuse her challenge. The money she’d won so far wasn’t nearly enough. Not yet. Double that amount just might be a start.
The onlookers whispered among themselves curiously, then drew back. She could sympathize with their unease. It was obvious they weren’t certain what was happening, but they sensed that it was something big. Apparently Montana didn’t normally play.
“Would the lady in red like to cut the cards?” he asked, extending his hand across the table, his fingertips grazing hers as he opened his palm and displayed the cards. They weren’t touching any longer, but they might as well have been. She could still feel his heat.
Katie’s mouth went dry, and her heart started to tap-dance against her rib cage. She took in a steadying deep breath, then raised her eyes. Big mistake. Up close, what she’d thought were eyes of bottomless black were in fact a rich, dark brown dancing with flecks of gold.
“I don’t think so,” she said in a sultry whisper instead of the in-charge tone she’d intended to use. So? What the hell, she’d intended to confuse and conquer. Like her friend Cat had said as she helped Katie plan her strategy, she might as well go for the gold. “Deal ’em, Mr. Montana. I’m ready to play.”
Their gazes met and sizzled like rainwater on a hot fire as he slid the top card off and placed it facedown in front of her, then dealt himself a card, faceup. He’d drawn a seven.
“Haven’t seen you here before,” he said.
“Haven’t been here before.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve heard it’s a dangerous place for a woman to frequent alone.”
“Oh?” he questioned, a hint of a smile at his mouth. “So what changed your mind?”
“Money, Mr. Montana. I need some and I intend to win a lot of yours.”
“I like a woman who’s honest about her intentions.”
“I never have been any good at lying,” she said.
He allowed himself a half smile. “Then you won’t mind if I tell you mine?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. If you win, you’ll have your money. If I win, I intend to have you.”
“I don’t think so,” she said in a voice more shaky than she liked. “This is a gambling casino, money is the medium of exchange. You can’t change the stakes in the middle of the game. Deal the cards please.”
Her next card was a nine, his a ten. The dealer was showing seventeen points. Over twenty-one or under seventeen and she’d lose. Katie itched to peek at her hidden card, but making such a move would be a show of weakness or foolishness. Either characteristic would help her position. If she peeked she might even give herself away. She knew that was what he expected and maybe she wouldn’t discourage that thought just yet. But a little distraction might be good.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to add a little Southern honey to her voice as she stretched her shoulders and rearranged one shoulder strap. “All this”—she glanced around—“smoke and noise has made me thirsty. May I have something to drink?”
He countered with a glance of his own, up and down, never moving his gaze away from her. “Certainly. A glass of champagne?”
“Oh no, iced tea is more what I had in mind.”
This time he didn’t hold back a laugh. “Bring the lady an iced tea,” he said, taking a look at his hole card. “The dealer stands.”
“So do I,” she echoed.
“Without looking at your hole card?” he asked.
“I told you, I’m a risk taker.”
“I already knew that,” he countered.
“Oh? And how is that?”
“Any woman who wears a dress without a neckline or a hem has to be.”
She glanced down at the felt-covered table and said a silent thank you that the surface wasn’t glass. He was right. After the first few minutes of sitting on a stool, she’d given up tugging the skirt down and the top up. Not only that but her feet hurt. Why had she tried to look like a dark-haired Dolly Parton? She’d settle for her slender five-foot-five-inch body. She’d even settle for her modest bustline. It had been Cat, her friend and employee, who’d produced the Wonderbra that gave new interest to an area of her figure that she’d always considered in need of it.
At that moment her glass of iced tea arrived. Everyone was watching her to see how the game would proceed. Taking a sip, she blinked her lashes and in her most disinterested voice said, “Shall we see who won?”
“Why not? The dealer shows seventeen points.”
Katie’s heart jumped up into her throat and lodged there. If she hadn’t already swallowed the iced tea, it would never have gone down. “Let’s see what I’ve got.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he drawled, and she knew it wasn’t the card he was r
eferring to.
Katie couldn’t handle any more suspense. She reached out and flipped over the card. “A ten. Nineteen points. Looks like I came out on top.”
“There are times when I like being on the bottom,” Montana admitted. “I don’t mind being dominated now and then—at cards,” he added, the gold in his eyes twinkling merrily.
Katie was out of her league. She might be able to hold her own playing cards, but this conversation was making her crazy. She’d pushed her luck as far as she could for tonight. Even the steady riverboat seemed to be rocking beneath her feet. “I think I need some air, Mr. Montana,” she said, and stood. “Thank you for taking such a personal interest in one of your customers.”
“Please, drop the mister. Just call me Montana. And you haven’t finished your iced tea.”
“I’ve had enough, thank you.”
“But you haven’t given me a chance to get even.”
“Getting even,” she mused. “There is a certain amount of satisfaction in getting even.”
“I agree. Why don’t we talk about a rematch.”
“I don’t think so. But don’t worry—Montana—I’ll be back.” She glanced down at her chips and frowned. What was she supposed to do with them?
As if he understood her confusion, Montana raised his hand, beckoning to the dealer he’d replaced. “Just join me in my quarters while Royal cashes in your chips. He’ll bring your money.”
“No. I can’t. I’m meeting someone.”
At that, he frowned and glanced quickly at the door. “Where?”
“On the dock.”
He looked at his watch. “After one o’clock. I hope your date is patient—unless you plan to swim.”
Damn! She hadn’t thought about that. The boat left every night at midnight for a special journey upriver. A two-hour cruise had sounded just about right for her first foray into the world of gambling. She hadn’t expected to have everything go so smoothly.
She hadn’t worn her watch; her faithful Timex hadn’t matched her outfit. Now she tried to sound-disinterested as she asked, “How long before we get back?”
“About half an hour,” he lied. The truth was closer to twenty minutes, depending on the current. He’d better work fast. Taking her by the arm, he started through the crowd. “Shall we?”