Eagle, Kathleen (10 page)

***

No
mouse in the corner.

Okay,
how about a wolf in sheepskin or a blackbird in the pie? She couldn't tell
Reese what she was really doing here, couldn't tell anyone, and hinting at her
suspicions about his father's death was a bad move, a foolish move. What was
she trying to accomplish? Like everyone else, she was stupidly hoping he'd stay
around a while. Was she as bad as everyone else who wanted to stand around in
his shade, catch his quips, bask in his smile because he was who he was? Did he
linger in everyone else's head the way he did in hers?

She
was playing with fire and she knew it, and she also knew that the heat of that
risk excited her. It was a risk she couldn't afford to take. She wasn't just
some female in heat, damp from a hot shower and clothed in his shirt, the one
she knew he'd worn because it carried his scent and his— Damn!

She
was a mother. A
mother,
not just any female. She couldn't gamble with
her son's security, and that was exactly what she was doing every time she got
near Reese.
She could not permit herself to gamble.
It was a temptation
to her, a challenge, an illusion that could ruin her. It very nearly had.

Challenging
fate could become an addiction. Flying in the face of all the odds and seizing
the chance to single-handedly turn the world on its ear had strong appeal.
Unexpected appeal for Helen, who surely never thought of herself as a gambler.
When she became one, she found ways to put Helen the Gambler into her own
separate compartment. Most aspects of her life were sane and ordinary, and she
was able to keep them that way for a while. The Helen who bet the rent money on
the turn of a card was only an occasional Helen. The real Helen would replace
the rent money somehow. The real Helen was sensible, hardworking, a good
mother, a good friend, daughter, person. She had always been good at what she
did.

But
somehow never quite good enough, that real Helen. That plodding, ho-hum Helen.
There was always a vague dissatisfaction, a feeling that she could do more, be
more, make something more happen.
Take a risk.
She was afraid to lose,
but sometimes Chance, that terrible tempter, would present himself in such an
irresistible package that she would sneak a little taste of him. Just a taste.
And sometimes—oh, that taste. Juicy, sugar-coated, slightly metallic. Her mouth
watered as she drove up the wide stretch of faultless new asphalt toward
Pair-a-Dice City's flashy marquee. At least her palms didn't get clammy
anymore.

She
remembered the first time she'd played blackjack at a casino in Colorado. She'd
been with friends who were trying to fix her up with somebody's cousin from out
of town, an association that was utterly forgettable. But the game was not.
Although she'd long considered herself a good card player, she'd never been
exposed to gambling. She was no gambler, but she didn't mind watching the
others play. When one of the players moved on, Helen's date for the evening
suggested that she sit down and give it a try. She remembered feeling unusually
restless that night, impatient with the company she was keeping, eager to
separate herself in some way. And somebody's cousin's suggestion had sounded
patronizing, as though it might be amusing to watch her dabble in a man's game.

She
had taken the dare. She'd played a prudent, unpretentious game, and she had
gone away a hundred dollars richer. It was enough to buy Sidney the video game
he'd been asking for, the one she could not afford. But this was a
hundred-dollar windfall, and it was okay to blow a windfall on a faddish toy.
She was a winner. Fortune had smiled on her, and a winner's fortune must be
shared with those she loved.

Somebody's
cousin would have been history much sooner had he not provided more casino
dates. A few more social outings down the road, he was no longer needed.
Blackjack was not a social function for a serious player. A
good
player.
Helen was good at it, and she began to believe that she controlled the outcome.
She acquired a whole new vocabulary. It was her destiny to be a winner. She had
an inside track with Fate. A gilded tally sheet of winnings burned in her mind,
and the debit column that had been there at the start began to grow faint, hard
to read, easily forgettable, until she'd simply lost track of her losses.

The
fixation had consumed her for nearly a year, and by the time she'd looked it
square in the eye, she'd racked up some awful debt. She had lost her savings,
her modest investments, her car, her computer, her good credit rating, her
self-respect. Those things had proved less important than the need to play the
game. Only one part of her life remained inviolate, one thing she would not throw
on the table. It was the very real risk of losing her son that saved her.

But
now that bleak winter of her weakness was over, and she had survived. She had
been a fool, not a criminal—although but for the grace of God she might have
gone there, too, and with a criminal record she would not be qualified for her
present assignment. Like the recovering alcoholic who becomes a bartender, she
had turned her obsession into a tool that she had learned to manage and put to
good use with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, her longtime employer. Her judgment
might have been clouded, but never her loyalty.

She
could have turned the Bad River assignment down, probably should have, but she
had not, and she suspected that old demon Chance of working on her in a
different guise. He wasn't blackjack this time. He was the way back to her
son's roots, the light on Roy Blue Sky's front porch. He was both dangerous and
dear. He was irresistible. For Sidney's sake, she embraced what for Sidney's
sake she had avoided.

For
your own sake,
the
old demon whispered on the warm prairie wind as she locked her car.

Not
so, she insisted, but for the sake of greater knowledge. Sidney was asking more
questions these days, and he wasn't satisfied with her vague tales of a man
she'd loved and lost. She had a job assignment, and she had a mission. She
wanted the kind of answers her child deserved. Truthful ones. She thought she
could gather them for him the way the Indian women in the earth-tone mural in
the casino lobby were shown gathering wild cherries and digging roots. She too
was a digger of roots. She would store them for her son, give them to him for
his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't much, but it was something.

She'd
been dragging her feet since she'd left the Blue Sky place. She'd wanted to stay,
and the wanting irked her. She had a job to do. Since Roy's death, she'd been
feeling a new sense of urgency about getting it done, turning up the big shell
game. She wasn't sure what that was yet, but she could smell it, and she would
root it out. Oh, yes, she was deep into roots lately. But along with the scent
came a new sense of uneasiness. She wasn't sure where this uneasiness was
coming from, but it had taken root in her gut. Roots were supposed to be
stabilizing.
She had no business feeling queasy.

She
couldn't afford to worry about who was shuffling the shells.

On
her way to the blackjack pit she exchanged nods with Peter Jones, one of the
other dealers. A passing smile went to the housekeeping supervisor, whose name
escaped her. Housekeeping was not suspect. While she was friendly with everyone
she worked with, she became friends with no one. She had a knack for mentally
separating herself and becoming an observer, even as she smiled and took part
in the card players' patter. She appeared to be on autopilot, and a dealer on
autopilot was just what cheaters looked for. But for Helen, there was no
autopilot. There was self and second self. It was a skill she'd developed as a
teacher and honed as a gambler. She was so good at it that rarely did she get
that I'm-onto-you look from anyone. And when she did, she simply shifted her
focus.

The
pit boss supervised the shift change, and all seven of the seats at Helen's
table were soon occupied. No one would have guessed that she was more
interested in the game going on to her left than in her own. The dealer had
just paid a player for a losing hand. A simple mistake, or a "push and
pay" move? She would watch the pair to see whether it happened again. And
if it did? Helen wasn't looking for penny cons. She was looking for patterns.
She was looking for serious money.

When
the pit boss told her to take a break, Carter was on hand with a cup of coffee,
complete with cream and sugar, just how she liked it. Carter was good about
things like that, and not just to her. He took a personal interest in the
employees, noticed things about them, and remembered in a nice, easy way.

"Your
favorite customer was in a little while ago," he told her with a grin.
"You know, that cowboy from Nebraska. He said to tell you he'd be back
later, and that you were in for a long night. Said he was on a roll and mighty
cashy."

"Did
you mention anything about a fool and his money?"

"I
said, 'Miss Ketterling will be on the floor soon, and you're welcome to roll
right up to her table whenever there's an open seat.' I have a feeling if my
brother knew somebody was promising you a long night, he'd have him rolling in
a different direction."

She
gave him a doubting look, and he laughed. Then he glanced away.

The
place was really jingling tonight. It never rocked or jumped or even hopped.
The movement on a busy night was surprisingly sedate, with the exception of the
occasional bells and whistles signaling a large payout on a slot machine. The
sound of money pouring in was a soft, seductive sort of jingle, as soothing to
casino buffs as elevator music.

"I
have a feeling Reese might stay around a while," Carter said, slipping his
suggestion into the mix like a clever angler. "What do you think?"

"I
think he might finish out your father's term, if that's what's expected,"
Helen replied. It was her habit to hover near the pit during her break, chat
with someone, grab a soft drink, observe, and the mention of Reese should not
have made a difference in her habit.

"It
has nothing to do with what's expected. You two lost touch altogether, did
you?"

Helen
said nothing.

"Well,
he was flying pretty high there for a while, playing pro basketball,"
Carter went on. "It was like he moved to a different planet. Of course,
we'd go watch him play, and in the off season maybe he'd come and see us for a
day. Sometimes we'd get to the Cities and maybe do the town, go to a concert or
something. He's a real jazz fan. Did you know that?"

"No,
I didn't." He hadn't been a jazz fan when she'd known him, back when he
was twenty-two years old and full of himself and his prowess.

"It's
funny how that kind of success can isolate a person. And then he started having
his problems."

"With
injuries," she said. She'd seen one of them happen, watched the play on
TV. Somebody had stepped on his hand during a tussle over a loose ball. He'd
finished the game after the team doctor had popped his finger back into place
and taped it up. The announcer had marveled at how tough Blue Sky was.

"Well,
yeah. Is that what he told you?" Carter shrugged, then leaned against the
low divider that separated the bar from the landing above the first tier of
slot machines. "I mean, he sure had his share of injuries. The kind of
stuff a man doesn't like to talk about much. Especially Roy Blue Sky's son. He
doesn't want any crybabies."

"I
suppose that isolated him, too. Not being able to talk about his..."
Injuries.
Is that what he told you?
"Problems."

"With
the kind of money he made, he wouldn't have any trouble paying somebody to
listen."

Listen
to what?
Helen
wanted to say, but she simply nodded. Injuries was what she'd heard, what she'd
understood. What kind of problems couldn't he talk about?

"It'll
be great if he gets on the council, even for a short time," Carter said.
Helen was still dwelling on Reese's isolation and his need to talk with
someone, but Carter was on to more pressing matters. "Our employer needs
more supporters."

"You
think Ten Star could count on Reese for support?"

"Reese
has been around. He's a businessman now. He understands what it takes to make a
profit in the real world. If he got on the council, I think he'd help us."
Animated by the prospect, he pushed away from the wood-trimmed divider.
"And if you stick around, Helen, you've got a bright future with us, too.
I know you're a teacher, but I might be able to make it worth your while to
switch horses here."

"It
would have to be
very
worthwhile," she said. "Teaching is my
first love."

He
touched her shoulder. "You help me nudge Reese in the right direction, and
I'll show you how I define
worthwhile."

"I'm
not sure how much help I could be."

"It'll
be interesting to find out, though, won't it? Isn't that why you're really
here?" A slow smile shimmered in Carter's dark eyes. "Isn't the big
man the fish who got away?"

"Maybe
I'm
the one who got away."

"Well,
sure." He nodded politely. "Who knew he'd actually do what he said he
was going to do, huh?"