by Lilah Rivers
The crying resumed. This time, it was much closer and the tears were harder, more heartbroken than ever.
“Don’t cry,” Laila whispered, tears of her own forming in her eyes. “Please don’t cry.”
“Laila…” the crying voice began calling her name. “Laila…”
She recognized the voice. It was her brother, Reuben. His voice sounded younger than she knew him to be. He was thirteen years old. But the voice made him sound ten. It was shaky, it was soft, and she could clearly tell it was him.
“Reuben.”
“Wake up, Laila,” her brother said from beyond the tree line. “Please wake up. Pa says we have to go to Ma now. We have to take in this wood right now. Wake up. Wake up.”
Laila frowned, confused. What was going on? Why was she suddenly cold? Her skin tingled as chills covered her arms.
She wrapped herself in a tight hug and without further thought, ran into the woods, following a narrow path between the trees.
Laila sat up, her eyes wide open, her brain fully awake. She looked into her brother’s misty eyes.
“Laila,” he was saying, gripping one of her arms with both his hands. He wrapped her hand in his and tugged softly. “Laila, you have to come now. We have to talk to Ma. Pa says she might not make it through the night.”
Laila was suddenly back in the cold reality she faced every day in harsh winter storms. Over the past week, the sudden snow, rain, mud, and sleet had destroyed the crops in their garden and killed off nearly half their cattle. The weather wasn’t looking too clear anytime soon.
Their mother, Rebecca Anderson, had taken ill within a few days, after securing the cows in the barn when the wind blew the barn door off its hinges. She’d been out in the blasting wind all night and half her body was frozen. She described it saying she had shards of glass flowing through her veins. She’d immediately taken to bed and woke up the next morning with a high fever and delusions.
The doctor was unable to get to them for several days. By the time he was there, the few methods the family knew of to treat an illness they knew nothing about weren’t good enough to stop the procession of the disease. It marched through her body, depleting her of all her fluids and nutrients until she was left a shell of the woman she was just one week ago.
Laila’s heart ached as she slid out of bed, shivering from both the cold and what she was about to go through. She wasn’t able to keep her tears from sliding down her cheeks as she slid her small feet into the padded slippers near her bed.
Her brother was holding her robe open so she could turn around and slide her arms into the sleeves. She did so but it didn’t stop her from shivering. She noticed Reuben had started a small fire in the fireplace in her room. That meant he knew she would be up for a while when she returned to her room.
Laila went ahead of her brother through her door, down the hall and into her mother’s room. Her father, Bart, stood at his wife’s bedside. He was holding her hand up against his chest. He turned to look at his children as they entered.
“Laila and Reuben are here, Becky.”
Laila’s chest tightened again when she heard the distress in her father’s voice. He was such a strong man; tall, muscular, intimidating. To see him deflated, to hear his voice distraught, it was almost too much for Laila.
She hurried to the other side of her mother’s bed and leaned over to kiss the pale cheek her dear mother had been left with. She remembered when it was plump and soft. Her tears dropped down to soak into her mother’s dark brown hair.
“Ma,” she whispered, trying to be strong but failing. She felt Reuben’s hands on her shoulders. He put his forehead down and she soon felt his tears soaking through the fabric of her sleeve.
“My sweet girl,” her mother whispered back, looking into Laila’s eyes. “You two stay strong. Please… please don’t give up. You can have a good life. I know you will have a good life if you keep the faith.”
“Momma,” Laila whispered again, her heart breaking. “Momma, I love you.”
She closed her eyes and prayed that God take her mother away from her pain and help them heal from the loss as quickly as they could.
Chapter 1
Jarrett gave his opponent a blank look shadowed by a knowing smile. He’d played poker with the man before. Bart Anderson was barely holding onto a failing ranch out on the outskirts of Juniper, the small town in Texas where they both resided.
Jarrett didn’t come from a failing ranch, however. He was the son of Elliott Raines, one of the wealthiest ranchers in the entire county of Coleburn, and the wealthiest in the town of Juniper, which was in the heart of Coleburn County.
He was also an excellent poker player. He’d been bluffing Bart Anderson all night long and it wasn’t gonna be hard to take what the man had left from him. He wasn’t looking at an impressive hand of cards but it was good enough to beat most of the plays Anderson knew.
He’d been surprised when Anderson sat down before the game started. The older man was a bit drunk, which always made him easier to beat. His words were a little slurred. He stumbled just a bit when he slid into the seat opposite Jarrett.
Jarrett never had to worry about getting men to play with him. Sometimes, he’d give up a small pot and let them think they were winning. Then he would pull out the big guns and knock them for a loop. He didn’t let that happen often. Soon, if he kept winning the way he was, he’d have built up a big enough kitty to take Pauline, marry her and go off on their own, and start their own lives together.
He wanted to have plenty of options on the table for Pauline to choose from. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams, lavish and expensive like she liked, and to build her a house and give her land and jewelry and anything else he could.
It would have been perfect if his father had given him his blessing to marry her. If he had, the family would have paid for anything Pauline wanted. And anything he wanted.
“Good luck, baby,” he heard whispered seductively in his ear. Pauline’s soft breath on his ear when she uttered the words made goosebumps rise on his arms. He glanced over at her and enjoyed the smile on her face, the narrowness of her eyes when she gazed at him.
He grunted in a gruff voice. “Don’t need luck, sweet face. But thanks anyway.”
Pauline was wide in hip and busty with a small waist that was cinched in tight and covered by a lacy corset. She put one hand on that narrow hip and pushed her body out to the side. He admired the curves of her body.
She narrowed her brown eyes and shook the waves in her teased chocolate colored hair. It was precisely because she looked like that that prevented Pauline from gaining his father’s approval. He told his son he would never approve of a woman like Pauline, whose reputation for entertaining men of all creeds made her undesirable material.
“Go on, then,” she said, flipping one hand in the air. “Call if you’re so sure.”
Jarrett hesitated. He wasn’t sure the hand he held was good enough to beat what Anderson might have. He pushed the self-doubt away, not liking the way it felt. He could hear his pa in the back of his mind, chiding him for making such bad decisions all the time. He was weak – lily-livered – a coward.
Elliott Raines had never called his son those things. But he didn’t have to. Jarrett felt them even when they weren’t said. They were the words he could see in his father’s eyes whenever the old man looked directly at him. He was a disappointment.
All because he’d fallen in love with a woman who worked in the saloon. She was good to him, he insisted. She loved him and gave him a lot of attention. She praised him and made him feel good.
“I call,” he said. Anderson laid his cards down.
A sharp feeling of panic shot through Jarrett. He laid his cards down flat. The sharp breaths sucked in by the other players around the table could probably have been heard from outside the building.
Jarrett had lost. Three thousand dollars.
The number sent a chill through him. If he paid the man, he
would have nothing left of the kitty and he would have to borrow from his father to pay it off. He didn’t want to go through that. The thought of asking his father for the money made him almost as sick as seeing the hand Anderson had just beaten him with.
“I’d like to propose something to you,” he said, moving his eyes around the table to let the other players know he was including them in the conversation. “If you all agree to it, I would like to play another round, double or nothing, except not double in cash.”
“What do you propose instead of cash?” Anderson asked.
“Cattle. Thirty head. On top of the cash. If you win, I owe you all of it. If I win, you owe me nothing. What do you say? It’s a win-win for you, you must admit.”
Jarrett knew the proposal would sound odd to the others. They weren’t stupid men. He was fairly certain they could tell he didn’t need to win anything from Anderson. But getting the debt off his back would be more profitable than trying to take from a man who already had significantly less. He would gain some respect while getting himself out of a jam with his father.
“I don’t see why not,” one of the other men said. “But what if one of us wins? What do we get?”
Jarrett didn’t want to think about having to pay one of the other men. “Just a one on one match between me and Anderson. That way the debt can be solved between us.”
The men around him looked at each other. They all looked intrigued. He couldn’t help being a little annoyed by it. They were enjoying his uncomfortable situation. He could tell. He wasn’t going to live down this loss anytime soon. If only he hadn’t let his arrogance get the better of him. He was a good player. But sometimes the cards weren’t dealt in his favor.
“I guess we can agree to that,” the same man said reluctantly, looking around for the approval of the other players. They all nodded. They just wanted to see what would happen to Jarrett.
Somewhat relieved, Jarrett looked at Pauline.
“You want to cut the cards, my dear?”
“Think it would be better if one of the other men did that,” Anderson said, finally speaking up. “Don’t need to be your girlfriend. Making things go your way and all.”
Jarrett was glad to hear the sound of heavy drink in Anderson’s slurred words. Surely, he would beat him this time. He just had to have the right cards. He just had to play the game right.
Chapter 2
“Thirty head of cattle would do good to replenish the cattle my ranch lost those five years back,” Bart Anderson continued. “You sure Pa would approve?”
Jarrett didn’t like the tone he was using. He was being condescending. Jarrett was too wealthy for a lowlander like Bart Anderson to speak to him like that.
“I can do what I like,” Jarrett growled, narrowing his eyes. “Deal the cards, Pauline. This coward is trying to get out of playing me.”
Bart raised his eyebrows, giving the younger Jarrett a look that showed how little he cared about being called a coward. One side of his lips lifted in a grin that Jarrett himself used often when he had the upper hand on someone else.
But Anderson didn’t have the upper hand, Jarrett told himself. He was just another fool in a game Jarrett knew how to play very, very well. He swept his eyes around the table, taking in all the players and the people standing behind them. The game had drawn the attention of nearly everyone in the saloon.
He hid his nervousness well. None of them knew the anxiety and fear brewing up inside his chest. If he lost this hand, it would cost his family $3000 and 30 head of cattle. When he’d made the offer, no one was paying attention to their game. Now everyone was watching.
Losing would mean utter humiliation to him. For the first time, he wished he could communicate with Pauline through their thoughts, so she could ensure he won by telling him what was in Anderson’s hand.
He flipped his fingers for the hand to be dealt and watched as the cards slid into a pile in front of him. He put on a brave face but his nerves were on fire. Flipping the cards up so he could see them didn’t give him any comfort. The hand was crappy. He needed to be very careful. Anderson would easily beat him if he got even a slightly better hand.
Jarrett stared at the pair of deuces and wondered if he could possibly pin all his hopes on a hand like that. He traded off a few cards and tried to think strategically. He’d never been in such an awkward position before.
The cards he received were no better to giving a good hand than those he started out with. With a grunt, he lifted the corners of his lips and gave Anderson a look of triumph.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Bart Anderson lifted his eyebrows. “I have nothing to lose here and everything to gain. I am ready when you are, sir.”
Jarrett realized his mistake too late. There should have been some stakes high enough to make it more difficult for his opponent. He’d spoken too soon. He could hear his father telling him how stupid he was in the back of his mind.
“Are you ready then?” he asked, hoping they wouldn’t notice his stalling. It didn’t matter how long he stalled. The outcome would be the same. He was certain his pair of twos would not carry him into the winner’s circle.
Anderson flipped over his cards.
Full house.
Jarrett’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He felt nauseous. His father was going to be furious. He would never hear the end of it. Their herd was a thousand strong but losing thirty wasn’t a blow to their numbers, it was a blow to their pride.
Suddenly, Jarrett felt like the useless troublemaker his father always accused him of being. All he wanted was to find some happiness doing something and be allowed to do it without impediment.
The money was another blow. He would have to ask his father for it. There was no way he was going to use his savings to pay this man. His win was a fluke. It shouldn’t have happened. His luck had taken a turn for the better recently. Why did that streak have to break now? With this game?
“We’re waiting, Raines,” the man sitting next to Anderson spoke up, his voice taunting. Jarrett’s eyes darted to the man’s face but he didn’t look intimidated. Disappointed but determined not to let them notice, he flipped his cards over.
A deathly silence covered them like a thick blanket. No one moved. All eyes were on Jarrett.
When Anderson caught sight of his pair of twos, his eyes widened in shock. He looked up at Jarrett, back to the cards and back to Jarrett’s stony face.
“You won,” Jarrett forced himself to speak the words. “I will owe you the money and the cattle.” He lifted one hand and flicked two fingers at Pauline without taking his eyes from Anderson’s face. The man was obviously holding in his excitement. It was a good thing. Jarrett’s fingers were itching to pull a trigger. He was going to be in big trouble with his father. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to.
“Pauline, get me a pen and paper. I will write the man a promissory note. I am good for it, Anderson. I’m sure you know that.”
Anderson nodded vigorously, his eyes still wide with delight. There wasn’t a word spoken in the room as Pauline fetched the pen and paper and gave it to Jarrett, who wrote out the promissory note. Signing the note was the hardest thing Jarrett had done in all his 20 years of living.
He was lucky his father wasn’t the type to thrash his sons. Otherwise, Jarrett would be adding to many scars. He hadn’t been the best of sons over the years, but who was to say what was good and what was bad? He was just a young man trying to find his way.
Every excuse he could think of ran through his mind while he wrote out the note. He folded it, returning his stare directly at Anderson. He held the folded paper up between two fingers and leaned forward on the table.