Betting It All

by Cate Masters

  “That’s not what I said.” His fervent tone caught the fire building within him. “Real love is worth more than gold.” Not that he’d known it firsthand. It didn’t stop him from searching.

  Rose tinged her cheeks as she turned away. “And it’s more rare.”

  Reaching out, he poised his fingers near her hair. How he longed to grab hold, crush her to him. He’d prove her wrong.

  Or she’d prove him wrong. His hand clenched empty air. “Maybe. But if you close yourself off to it, you’ll never know its worth.”

  “Nor the devastation of its failure. No, I want a measurable fortune. This place will give me all I need.”

  He softened his voice to counter the determination in hers. “What if this place fails you?” He hated to ask, but had to know. Would she leave? If so, where would she go?

  She sent him a hard glance. “It won’t. I’ll hang these posters across the city and hand out flyers. Customers will come.” Her lip trembled, but she pressed her mouth into a grim line.

  The poor lass. She’d bet everything on this wretched place. “You’re right. Tomorrow, we’ll both go out and spread the word.”

  She nodded and walked back to the table. “I’m exhausted.”

  And, if he read her right, relieved as well. “I’m hitting the hay. Sleep well.”

  No distrust showed when she glanced up, but disappointment.

  Again, he clenched his fist to keep from rushing to her. If she learned to trust him, she might give him a chance.

  Then again, he might have a better chance of catching a leprechaun and finding its pot of gold.

  Chapter Six

  For two weeks after Norah passed out flyers, customers filled the saloon and ordered the advertised specials. Her heart grew light when men entered. Inevitably, the same thing happened. They drank their share of the allotted special, and then stared at her, apparently waiting for something more. When they didn’t get it, they put on their bowlers and departed.

  The second week ended the lower price specials. A few men came in, but stayed for only one drink and left soon after finishing.

  At midnight, she locked the entrance and closed the shutters. “Might as well close up.” She glanced over. “No reason to keep you.”

  He shrugged. “I have nowhere else to be.”

  “Mac….” How could she tell him she couldn’t afford to pay him next week?

  He wiped down the counter, though he’d already cleaned it earlier. “Why not reconsider my earlier offer?”

  She knit her brow. “What offer?”

  He inclined his head toward the corner. “You have a perfectly good piano sitting there idle.”

  Not while she'd run out on errands, it hadn't been. Yes, she'd heard the jaunty ragtime tunes, the heartfelt melodies drifting out the window upon her return, and always waited a few minutes after he'd finished before entering her own establishment. He played well, she had to admit, but well enough to draw a crowd? Oh, she couldn’t think about that now. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Disappointment evident, his jaw twisted as if she'd cold-cocked him. “Right. Good night.”

  Climbing the steps, she felt the weight of his stare and resisted its call. She had too much else on her mind. Every night, worry tore her apart.

  Tonight was no different. Brushing out her hair in front of the mirror, she blocked the thought that her dreams were shattering before her eyes. She couldn’t compete with the dance halls of the Barbary District, and refused to try.

  My money will run out before summer if I can’t turn a profit. No matter. Even if this place failed, she couldn’t give up. I’ll sell, and work for one of the bigger hotels, maybe the bank, until I can raise enough funds to open a hotel like the Palace.

  After climbing in bed, she pulled the quilt over her and closed her eyes. Sleep, she told herself, to no avail.

  The soft strains of piano keys echoed through the hall.

  Her eyes popped open. “No. He wouldn’t.” She crept from bed to the top of the stairs and gasped. “He is.” Fury writhed through her. “That….”

  She couldn’t finish the curse. The melody he played dampened the fire of her wrath. Like a balm to her soul, the song eased her tension. She slumped to the top step and hugged her knees as he played an upbeat ragtime, followed by a love song, and then a classical piece so wrenchingly beautiful it brought a tear to her eye.

  Before she realized it, she stood in the center of the saloon, watching him, captivated by the movement of his shoulders, hunched over the keys, his splayed hands striking the ivories with precision and passion. Enthralled, she found herself moving closer, wanting to run her touch along his wide shoulders, thread her fingers through his hair.

  Instead, she gripped the edge of a table, not daring a breath. Every note he played vibrated through her, the chords building inside her, wanting release. Wanting him. God help her, she wanted him to fill her, to bring her to that vibrating crescendo and—

  Her breath, twisted in her throat, burst free. Fear pinned her in place. The music would have to be enough.

  Mac’s fingers danced across the keys, and he gave himself over to the music. Ah, but it felt grand to lose his troubles in a song.

  As he ended one of his favorite Beethoven sonatas, his neck hair stood on end. He glanced up to see Norah only a few feet away, staring.

  He let his hands fall away from the keys. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. If I don’t practice, I get rusty.”

  She spoke as if awakened from a sweet dream. “It was beautiful.”

  So was she. Her hair, loosely bound in a knot and hanging to one side, made his fingers curl, wanting to explore the silken strands.

  He forced himself to look away. “People generally like it.”

  Her steps tentative, like testing the thickness of ice, she drew nearer. “Do you know other such songs?”

  Had she never heard classical music? “Yes.” His fingers stroked the keys, teasing out another song. A slow melody, pretty enough to the ear, but haunting. He focused on his playing, though fully aware of her movements. Slowly, she approached and settled her elbows atop the piano and rested her head on her arms. Oh, that she might lean on him that way….

  After he ended the song, she sighed. “I had no idea.”

  He sent her a sidelong look. “Does this mean you’ll let me play for your customers?”

  She stepped backward. “I can’t.”

  Defeat slumped his shoulders. Such a hard-headed woman. He’d touched her soul with his music, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough for her. “Right.” He plucked a sour chord.

  “I can’t afford to pay a bartender and a piano player.” The way she said it sounded more like a plea than an argument.

  Maybe he still had a chance. “We could always play a hand of poker, and you could pay me with your winnings.”

  “What if I don’t win?” She turned away, evading him.

  “The odds are in your favor by design, aren’t they?” He let his fingers wander down the keys in a plucky manner.

  “What do you mean?”

  The alarm in her face told him she knew exactly what he meant, but he explained in a casual tone. “Your methods are good, but not undetectable. I knew what you were doing on the train.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why didn’t you turn me in, then?”

  “I figured you must need the money.”

  She tilted up her chin. “I left that lifestyle behind in Trenton.”

  “Or on the train.” Somewhat outside Trenton’s borders.

  Her cheeks flushed a rosy hue. She squared her shoulders. “Yes. On the train. I’m making a new life here.”

  He rose. “So am I.” Did he really need to remind her?

  “I know. Maybe in the future, I can help you.”

  He scanned her length. She could help him right now. If he didn’t depend on her for his weekly wage, he’d take three steps to whisk her up in his arms, carry her up to her bed, and unleash the devil on her. M
aybe bring out the she-devil in her as well. Yes, he’d love to see that. Feel her slender calf along his waist, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He’d quench the desire burning in her eyes.

  Without thinking, he edged toward her. “That would be nice.”

  She tensed. “Yes.”

  The word caught him like a hook and reeled him in. “Yes.”

  In closing the narrow space between them, the meaning had changed. When, at the last moment, she ducked away, he caught her in his arms. “Norah.”

  Braced against his hold, she searched his face, lingering at his mouth.

  His chest tightened, and his lips met hers. At her caress on his cheek, he tightened his embrace. When she returned his kiss with equal passion, all reason fled his brain.

  “Norah,” he murmured. His growing need urged him to press his lips against her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Explore every inch of her, though the more he tasted, the more he wanted.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she arched her head back, exposing more of her neck. He trailed his lips along its length, his desire heightened by her moans.

  Until he realized what she moaned. “No. No, no, no.”

  Dazed, he froze to be sure he heard her right. “No?”

  One strong jerk sent her stumbling backward, as if equally unbalanced by the kiss. Her grasp sought out the edge of the table behind her.

  “No.” She was breathless but determined.

  Hell’s bells. “But you….” He stopped short of accusing her of inviting it. Had she? He’d surely wanted her to.

  “No.” She spoke with greater certainty. “And never do that again.” Fear edged her husky tone.

  So she wasn’t as hardhearted as she wanted everyone to believe. He could almost smell her need. But once again, her frightened look gave him pause.

  Words died in his throat. He wouldn’t have done it this time, had he foreseen this end. What had happened to her to cause such a reaction?

  With a nod, he trod to the front door, opened it, and made a show of locking it before crossing the threshold. “Sleep well.” He pulled it shut behind him, and waited until the light winked out inside before striding away. No trolley tonight. He had too much pent-up energy to expend.

  Releasing a long breath, Norah closed her eyes. What the hell just happened? Had she gone mad? Mac bartended for her. Nothing more. He’d surprised her by being reliable and, until tonight, trustworthy.

  He’d revealed his true intent. He wanted to seduce her. Probably to take over her business. Weak idiot that she was, she’d almost begun to trust him. No one would take away what she’d painstakingly scrabbled together. Before coming here, she’d had nothing. She’d been no one. She could never let herself be put in that situation again.

  Following his path across the floor, she went to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough, he’d locked it. Trembling, she bolted it, too, then put out the light. Curiosity drove her to peer past the shutters. Mac’s figure retreated down the dark street.

  Not until he disappeared from sight could she move. Sighing, she relaxed against the window frame. I’m such a fool! The heat in his eyes had transfixed her. Made her yearn to taste his lips, his skin. Throw her head back in surrender, silently begging him to take her. Her nails would dig in his skin, her moans urging him on.

  A shudder coursed through her. Too often, as a child, she’d heard the moans from behind Estelle’s closed door. Terrifying sounds, grunts and gasps that caused her to imagine her mother in trouble. During a particularly loud session, she once burst into the room. Estelle had shot her a look of disgust and told her to go play. A hardness in his smile, the man muttered something about letting Norah join in. Go on, Estelle had said in a slur, slapping at the man’s shoulders, she had work to do.

  Work.

  He’d begun pumping away before Norah could slam the door again, his grunts filling the hallway.

  Shame burned in Norah’s gut as hot tears streaked her face. That was the moment she vowed never to let a man control her, ride her like a cowboy breaking a wild pony.

  No, she wouldn’t be broken.

  But something about Mac made her trust him. Worse, made her long to run her fingers along his strong jaw, trace his neck to his chest. Taste his stubbled cheek. Unfasten his shirt to explore his contours. A man so worldly would make her first experience scintillating.

  No, she mustn’t think that way, let him infect her, win her over. Too long, she’d waited. Her chance for success depended on keeping her wits about her.

  Seduction would erode her senses. She couldn’t chance it, though for once, she wondered whether the pleasure might have been worth the risk.

  Before Mac, she’d thought she had nothing worthwhile to give to any man. He made her question everything she believed.

  ***

  The night air couldn’t cool Mac’s frustration. His boots pounded against the ground until he walked to the wharf and stood looking out over the bay. Silver crests rippled across the water’s surface, reflecting the half moon hanging above.

  San Francisco. It proved itself everything he’d imagined, and more. A great city filled with unending delights.

  So why wasn’t he happy? He had a place to stay and a respectable job, working for Norah. Maybe that was the problem. He should scour the city for other work. Something else might suit him better.

  His gut twisted at the thought. If he left, he might never see her again. She’d forget him the moment he set foot outside her beloved ‘gentleman’s club’. What a foolish notion. She couldn’t admit the place was only a saloon, if better decorated than most. Whatever profits she made, he guessed, provided her barely enough to get by on, but it would take a long while to establish the reputation she hoped, not unless she risked it all for the bigger dream. Sometimes that’s what it took. Staking everything on one goal.

  He should know. It was how he’d lost everything: family, friends, his girl. But he still woke up each morning. Still breathed and ate and got by. Occasionally, he even enjoyed life.

  Until meeting Norah, he was content wandering across borders. The single-minded passion of her dream had rekindled his.

  Even if he never attained his own, he wanted her to succeed. Her dreams deserved to live. His served only himself, but then, he’d never claimed to be a saint.

  “Mac,” a man called.

  Down the dock, two men approached, a woman staggering beneath each of their arms.

  He saluted. “Johnny, Seamus. Up to no good, are you?” His Irish accent slipped out, making him cringe.

  Johnny guffawed. “We’re on a lucky streak, Mac. And Victoria’s my lucky charm.” Leaning to kiss the wench, he wobbled.

  His luck wouldn’t last, Mac guessed. “Congratulations. And you, my fine friend?”

  Seamus stumbled, and the girl under his arm steadied him. “I started winning when Anastasia showed up.”

  Sounded like a setup. “Is that right? Winning at what?”

  Beer spilled from the bottle Seamus pointed at him. “Crap shoots. You should try your luck.”

  Mac needed more than a two-bit trollop to sate his appetite. “Not tonight.”

  Victoria’s lidded gaze swept across him. “Mac’s better suited for the cock fights.” She gave a throaty chuckle.

  “Or the fist fights.” Anastasia’s unabashed stare left no doubt she’d love to see him shirtless and sweaty.

  “The fist fights? Where?” It might be just what he needed to knock some sense into him again.

  Johnny jerked his head. “Outside Warehouse Five. You might have a chance. Eddie was tiring when we left.”

  “Was he now? Maybe I’ll go watch awhile.” Measuring six foot five, with a chest the size of a box crate and the stamina of an ox, Eddie Harrison could still pummel an average man to a pulp after ten fights. Mac hadn’t dared to test his strength.

  “Just watch?” Anastasia pouted.

  “Who knows?” Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If anyone knew the truth of it, M
ac did.

  Chapter Seven

  A sleepless night left Norah ragged. For hours after Mac left, she listened for his footsteps downstairs. Sometime just before dawn, she gave in to sleep.

  After dressing, she made a pot of coffee. He’d need it after his long night out. It would serve him right if he suffered from too much drink, but she’d need him to stay alert on the job. Even if no customers arrived.

  She took special pains to sweep her hair to one side—Mac always watched longer when she wore it that way—then carried the two steaming cups down to the bar.

  “Mac, time to wake up. It’s nearly noon.” She couldn’t blame him for sleeping in after she’d done so herself.

  Odd. No snores sounded from the back, and the door stood open. “Mac?”

  Only silence answered. She walked down the hall and knocked on his door. “Mac?”

  No noise issued from within, so she cracked open the door. Her final call to him died in her throat. The bed covers lay flat, if a bit crooked, with no outline of a man beneath.

  “He’s already up?” She knew that to be false as she uttered it. She’d heard no indication he’d ever returned.

  With a heavy breath, she carefully closed the door. Just like a man. She turned him down so he probably went whoring. “Surprising he didn’t before now.” Perhaps he had, and she simply hadn’t realized.

  No matter. When he returned later, she wouldn’t let him know how much he’d disappointed her. Obviously, he didn’t care. Why she’d thought he might be different, she couldn’t say. Every man could be counted on for one thing: to use a woman and throw her away.

  She’d never give Mac the chance.

  Her anger faded as the day wore on. By mid-afternoon, she grew nervous. What if a customer should arrive?

  “I’ll have to serve them.” Drinks, nothing else. To be sure they understood, she set her Colt revolver beneath the bar.

  She opened the shutters and turned on the lights to signal she’d opened for business.