The Devil Wears Spurs

by Soraya Lane

  “Four aces,” he announced, leaning his chair back on two legs.

  Parker shook his head, looking down before slowly raising his gaze again. Ryder sat still, his breath catching in his throat as he recognized the smirk spreading across the other man’s face.

  “Well played, boy, but I think you’ll find that a king-high straight beats your aces. No?”

  Ryder dug his fingers into the table, never taking his eyes off Parker’s cards as he watched them flutter to the table. He never lost. All these years he’d ridden the toughest bulls, jumped on horses no one else would, hell, the only consistent thing he’d done in his life was gamble, and now …

  “Fuck.” The word was barely a whisper as his eyes shut, hand closing around his glass almost tight enough to turn it into splinters. “Fuck!”

  A hand fell on his shoulder and he shrugged it away, stalking toward the bar before he ended up with Parker’s goddamn neck in his hands. The fucking asshole had won, the one time he’d had the balls to put everything on the line, and now he’d lost the only thing that meant something to him. Parker had probably been fucking with him all night, making him think he was the better player. And he’d been the stupid asshole who’d fallen for it.

  “Send over the keys and the deed,” Parker yelled out, his voice backed by laughter from the other men they’d been playing earlier. “And don’t take too long, you hear me?”

  “Give me a full glass of whiskey,” Ryder ordered, pulling his wallet out and dumping a wad of cash on the bar. “Or the bottle.”

  The girl was taking too long—he wanted the drink now. “Hurry up,” he ground out, “and fill it to the top.”

  She did as she was told and he stalked off, heading straight for the door. For the first time in his life, emotion choked in his throat, tears burning fiercer than the straight liquor making its way to his gut. The only things he really, truly cared about were his family and his ranch, and now that he’d gambled away his share of the property, he’d lose everything. His brothers would never forgive him, his grandfather would disown him, and he couldn’t blame them. He was an idiot and he knew it. Maybe they would have all been better off if he’d never come back.

  * * *

  Chloe finishing serving a table and put down her tray, heading for the back door. She’d seen Ryder disappear after the game and she was worried. What the hell had made him bet the deed to his ranch? Maybe he was just stupid, and god only knew she shouldn’t have given a crap about a man who was prepared to gamble that big. Yet here she was with her arms wrapped around herself, goose bumps spreading across her skin, looking for him. Because from the moment she’d set eyes upon him at the rodeo, something had made it impossible for her to stop thinking about him. She might not have returned his phone calls but it didn’t mean she hadn’t been thinking about him.

  And there he was.

  She stopped, looking at the forlorn figure hunched over against the side of the building, before sighing and heading toward him. The clever thing would have been to walk back inside and finish her shift, but instead she was out in the cold, using her ten-minute break to comfort a drunk gambler. Sounded like her childhood all over again.

  “Hey,” she called out, not wanting to startle him.

  She received a grunt in reply, bloodshot eyes meeting hers when she stood over him. He was sitting on his butt, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them. His head had been hanging and now it was pushed back, tilted up to look at her. In the time since she’d seen him stumble from the card table, he’d drunk a lot of liquor. And he looked nothing like the guy she’d met at the rodeo. That guy had been confident, cocky, and powerful. This version of him didn’t remind her at all of the bull-riding cowboy who’d so brazenly caught her eye then come over and asked her out.

  “Did you bring the bottle?” He squinted up at her and held out a glass.

  “No,” she replied, dropping to her haunches to get a closer look at him. “But I can go back and get a water for you.”

  He shook his head and shut his eyes. “Need whiskey. Or bourbon. I’m not fussy so long as I can stay drunk.”

  Chloe sucked in a deep breath and told herself to walk away, to just head back to the bar and forget all about him. But she knew who he was, had always liked his older brothers the few times she’d met them, and she did kind of feel sorry for him. The King boys were notorious through Texas from what she’d heard, as much for their money as their reputations. They owned more land than any other family in the state.

  She studied Ryder’s face. And the Kings were known for their looks. He might have bet too big tonight and lost even bigger, but for some stupid reason she was still attracted to him. And the way he watched her when he talked? It sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the sexual heat in his gaze. Tonight and yesterday, the effect had been the same, although his lusty expression had been replaced with a defeated one from the moment he’d lost.

  “I’m going to call one of your brothers,” she said, moving closer until she was sitting beside him. Chloe was careful not to let her thigh brush his, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. She felt sorry for him. That was it. She was not going to get involved and she wasn’t going to act on her attraction. “Can I have your phone?”

  “Hell no,” he said, banging his head back and clenching his fists into tight balls.

  “You need someone to come pick you up,” she said, never taking her eyes off his hands. She was pretty sure he’d slam his fist into something solid rather than her, but she wasn’t taking her chances.

  “They’ll kill me,” he said, voice low as he dropped his head between his knees again. “They’re going to fucking kill me and I deserve it.”

  “They’re not going to kill you and I need your phone.” She held her hand out. “Otherwise I can just head back in and call from there. Your oldest brother’s Nate, right?”

  Ryder jumped up, boots thumping loud as he stumbled. She rose and reached for his arm, fingers closing around his forearm to steady him as his wild eyes met hers. This was why she always preferred to be sober—she hated the idea of not being in control, or being vulnerable.

  “Not Nate,” he mumbled. “Not Chase. Just you.”

  She sighed and let him lean on her, cringing at his whiskey-laced breath. She was as sober as a nun, hadn’t had anything to drink since her one beer at the rodeo, but right now she was ready to down a shot just to take the edge off what she was about to say.

  “I finish my shift in an hour,” she told him.

  He stumbled and looked at her, his gaze meeting hers then traveling down, resting way too obviously on her breasts. She hooked a finger under his chin and jerked his head back up so he was staring into her eyes again, trying not to laugh at the goofy expression on his face.

  “You don’t get to check me out,” she told him. “Now you either sit tight and drink some water until my shift is over, or I’m calling your brother. Your choice.”

  He groaned as she walked with him a few steps and then gave up. Ryder was way too heavy to be leaning on her; he must have been six foot four and he wasn’t exactly a lightweight.

  “Just one more drink,” he mumbled.

  “No,” she said, surprising herself by how firm she sounded. “Sit here, I’ll bring you a water, and you’re not to move.”

  “So you’ll take me home?” he asked, gazing up at her like a lost puppy dog. Gone was the lusty expression—now he was just plain drunk.

  She sighed, wishing she’d just kicked back and had a soda instead of spending her break looking for him. “Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

  “To your place,” he mumbled.

  “We’ll see,” she told him. There was no way she was taking him back to her place, but she would make sure he got home safe.

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she’d regret helping him, but the poor guy had just bet away the deed to his ranch, and if anyone could help him, she could. If he gave her what she needed, s
he could solve all his problems.

  She grimaced as she pushed open the door and walked into the noisy bar. Yesterday she’d been playing hard to get, with no intention of holding out for long where Ryder King was concerned. Now she was about to spend the evening with him because she felt sorry for him, and let him in on a secret she’d long buried. Now it had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with business.

  If only she were still in law school, none of this would have happened. But then if she were still in law school, she wouldn’t need Ryder’s help to get her back there. And having a little fun with him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. All her life she’d been the good girl, done the right thing, been the grown-up when she should have just been a kid. So long as she could still get what she needed, she wasn’t going to say no to a good time. At least until she was back studying. Then she could go back to being the good girl.

  Chapter 3

  Ryder’s head was pounding as he waited for Chloe. If she’d let him keep drinking he’d at least still be numb, but he was sobering up fast and reality was hanging over him like the Grim Reaper. He’d lost it all.

  He dropped his head between his knees and shut his eyes. His family had worked for generations to create an empire, his grandfather had made theirs one of the wealthiest families in Texas, and now he’d gambled the biggest portion of his inheritance away before the ink had even dried on the paperwork. No amount of bull riding or borrowing could make up the cash difference, either—his only salvation was that his part of the ranch wasn’t on their oil land. His big brother was custodian to all of their joint property now, and Nate would never jeopardize even one blade of grass when it came to King land. Which was why Nate, not him, was named successor to the empire.

  “Still feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Ryder forced his head up. It was like raising a lead balloon. “Yeah,” he said. He was feeling more like a complete idiot than sorry.

  “That’s the problem with gamblers,” Chloe continued, slipping on a leather jacket that made her look like a cute biker girl, her purse under her arm as she stopped beside him and offered him a hand. “The highs are high and the lows are very, very low.”

  Ryder clasped her palm and pulled himself up, letting her take more of his weight than he ever would have if he were sober. His head might be throbbing but he was still drunk enough to be unsteady on his feet.

  “I’m not a gambler.” Her words grated, rubbed him the wrong way.

  She made a noise that sounded like laughter, only she wasn’t smiling. “Says the guy who just lost his property in a poker game.”

  Ouch. “I might be an idiot, but I’m not a problem gambler,” he told her, keeping hold of her hand as he walked on unsteady feet out to the parking lot. “I usually only bet on horses. And I’m damn good at it.”

  “So you’re not a poker player?” she asked, stopping beside his SUV.

  “I guess not,” he admitted, fishing his keys from his back pocket when she held out her hand. “How did you know this was my SUV and why aren’t we taking your car?”

  She took the keys and left him on the passenger side, leaning on the door trying to steady himself. The driver’s door slammed shut and he forced himself to yank his open and join her.

  “Because it’s the only Range Rover Sport in the lot, and my car’s a heap of junk. I could leave it unlocked and still no one would bother stealing it.” She laughed. “I know you have money, but I still would have picked you as more of a pickup truck kinda guy.”

  Ryder shrugged. “I’ve got both. But this drives like a demon.”

  They were silent as she started the SUV, adjusted her seat, and revved it into life. He stifled a grin as she eased off the gas—his V8 engine was hot and ready to go as she exited the lot.

  “So let me get this straight,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “You’re telling me you’re not even a regular poker player and yet you were prepared to put everything on the line over one game?”

  He shrugged. So she thought he was stupid—he did too—but talking it to death wasn’t exactly helping. “I’d taken his money all night and I wanted to teach the asshole a lesson. If you knew him, you’d understand.”

  She made that half-laugh noise again that was starting to really piss him off. “He was playing you, Ryder. A good poker player knows their limits. That was just stupid.”

  Now his back was up, like prickles tearing along the spine of a dog about to pick a fight. “And you know a whole lot about poker all of a sudden?”

  She glanced across at him, her gaze piercing. “You’d be surprised.”

  Ryder stayed silent, too busy nursing his wounds to argue with her over something he was already pissed about. What the hell could she possibly know about poker anyway?

  “Left or right?” she asked, braking.

  “Left,” he said, leaning forward to turn the radio on. “Then keep going straight and take the second exit.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” Chloe asked, using the control on the steering wheel to turn the music down.

  She’d gone from hot to pain in the ass pretty damn quick. “I’m going to feel sorry for myself, drink some more, then worry about it in the morning.”

  She sighed, loudly. “So you’re happy to bet everything and lose it, but you haven’t even thought about doing the same to win it back?”

  Ryder pushed up from his slouched position, turning in the seat to face her. “I don’t have anything else left to bet.” Well, technically he did, but he wasn’t putting anything else on the line. “And why the hell are you so damn nosy anyway?”

  She glanced at him again, her eyes darting from the road to him and back.

  “What you have is an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks he’s the shit right now,” Chloe told him, her voice low. “Which means you have something to work with.”

  “Are you talking about me or Parker?”

  She sighed again, clearly frustrated with him. Only she was sober and he was just starting to sober up—or at least that was his excuse for being one step behind her.

  “Parker,” she clarified. “He’ll be expecting you to run with your tail between your legs, and if you go back to him, especially in front of the same set of guys, there’s no chance he won’t say yes to a rematch. It was stupid but he’s an arrogant douchebag and he can be baited.”

  Ryder grunted, slouching again and staring out the window, everything a murky blur in the darkness. “You make it sound so easy.”

  She accelerated past a slow vehicle, foot heavy on the gas.

  “You drive pretty well,” he said, watching as she flicked through the electronic controls on the steering wheel. “How did you know how to use the command system?”

  Chloe stayed silent, leaning back deep into the seat, one hand resting on the top of the wheel, the other on her thigh. When she finally spoke her voice was low, quiet.

  “When my dad was on a high, we had the best cars and rented the flashiest houses,” she told him, staring straight ahead, the line of her jaw hard where before her face had been so soft. “And every time we lost the lot, we’d go back to having nothing all over again. So even though I drive a heap of junk now, there’s been the odd time I’ve been behind the wheel of something decent.”

  Ryder ignored the headache that was clawing through his brain and turned to face her again. “Your dad was a poker player?”

  “Sure was,” she said, voice almost a whisper now. “If it was a card game he played it. Didn’t matter what it was, so long as there was money on the table.”

  He started to sober up real fast, her pain vivid as she spoke. “So when I asked you if you knew how to deal earlier…”

  When she laughed her entire face changed, eyes softening at the same time as her mouth. “You were asking a pro who’s very good at bluffing.”

  This time he was chuckling. “If you’re so good at poker, why the hell are you working for tips at a bar?”

  She
made a noise that was impossible to decipher, but he got that he’d pissed her off. “Because I know the gambling trap and what kind of life it leads to.”

  “I take it your dad’s long gone?”

  She raised her other hand and gripped the steering wheel tight, knuckles going white. “Along with my college fund and the money my mom left me when she died. I stuck with him for years but he’s as good as dead to me now.”

  “Shit.”

  She took her eyes off the road for a second to look at him. “Yeah, shit. That’s why seeing what you did tonight pissed me off so much.”

  Now he was confused. “Yet here you are helping me.”

  She gave him a look that made him shut his mouth. It wasn’t often he was brought into line by a woman, but given the fact that she’d saved his ass by driving him home, he didn’t have a choice other than to behave. Ryder groaned. If he’d only chased Chloe instead of another game, they’d probably be holed up somewhere together having a drink, and he’d be trying to talk her into going back to his place for an entirely different purpose. Instead she felt sorry for him and was giving him a lift home.

  “If I could help you win your ranch back, would you say yes?” she asked, her voice lower than it had been, a deeper tone that commanded his attention.

  “Sure,” he said, not having to think about his answer. “Right now I’d do anything to win it back.”

  “Anything?” she asked with a smirk.

  “Prostitution, drug smuggling, murder…” He cleared his throat and glanced at her. “Okay, so maybe just the first one.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, glancing at him as they approached a turnoff. He gestured left again and she slowed. “I can help you.”

  “How?” Ryder asked, pushing his thumbs against his temple and rubbing, trying to ease his headache. “Because I’m pretty sure they’re not just going to let you walk in and ask nicely for it.”