Love in the Cards (Whole Lotta Love #1)

L
OVE IN THE
C
ARDS

S.L. Carpenter

Sahara Kelly

Content © S.L. Carpenter and Sahara Kelly, 2016

Cover © S.L. Carpenter for P and N Graphics, LLC, 2016

This work was previously published elsewhere as ‘Lady Luck’, but has been re-edited for this edition. Please note: we didn’t mess with the ending!!!

Dedication

To our readers—those great folks who’ve either never asked or don’t care what the hell we’re smokin’ when we write this stuff— our sincere thanks!

Prologue

Sunset was the time of day Donnie Cartwright loved best. And when he had the chance to walk away into the scrubland and enjoy it… Well, his day was damn near perfect.

This one classed right up there with the rest of his perfect days, the sun dipping low toward the distant mountains and the air soft with the promise of a slight chill to come with the darkness. He turned around and looked at the tall building that was starting to glow in the rays of the dying sun.

It was his.
All his
. And wasn’t that just a freakin’ miracle? An ordinary guy with nothing special in his resume had turned an almost abandoned stretch of land into a humming, vibrant place where other ordinary people could come and have a good time.

Donnie knew he’d been damn lucky. Dropping out of college to join the military had taught him discipline and patience along with a number of other abilities for which he had little use these days. Field stripping an AK-47 didn’t count for much on a resume. But taking his honorable discharge along with his accumulated marine pay and leaping onto the dot-com bandwagon—well that had been the result of youthful stupidity, enthusiasm and intuition, but it had paid off handsomely, putting a hefty six figures into his bank account within an amazingly short space of time. And he’d sold out before the whole thing went bust, unlike some of his contemporaries.

It had been that simple civilian act of folly that had enabled him to get into his car one day, wave goodbye to Richmond, Virginia, and head west with no particular destination in mind. He was free to follow his nose and he did—until he stumbled into this serenely majestic little corner of Nevada and found himself looking at a tumbledown collection of buildings masquerading as a casino and with a “For Sale” sign prominently displayed.

He’d made a wrong turn onto Route 50, but wondered now if the hand of fate hadn’t steered him that way. Once again, Donnie got that tickle at the back of his neck that told him
here
was something he should take a closer look at. And, being the kind of man he was, Donnie followed his instincts.

Fifteen years later, here he was, sitting amidst the sagebrush, breathing in the dusky air and watching the sky paint itself with colors that he couldn’t even begin to describe. It had been a long fifteen years in some ways, a blink of the eye in others. But it was fifteen years he’d never regretted. And in front of him was his lifetime achievement—The Last Resort.

The casino portion thrust skyward, its native stonework picking up the sunlight yet blending with the mountains in the distance. Beside it were the sparkling glass skylights of the convention center, starting to glow as the shadows increased and darkness crept across the land. All around were smaller buildings, and a little further away was the development that had grown around the heart of his project. His workers needed a place to call home—and so did he. Donnie had tapped an old friend, an architect who was only too happy to mastermind the design and had ended up buying one of the smaller homes for himself. He came out with his family a couple of times a year just to get away.

The result? A glowing jewel tucked off the main highway, a place where gamblers could gamble, conventions could afford to occupy all the rooms without blowing their budget and—well, there were other pleasures to be had as well. More discreetly, of course.

Known to insiders as Beaver Canyon, a low-roofed building nestled on its own little corner of his land. The address was, appropriately, 69 Beaver Canyon Road. Donnie grinned. It was a natural adjunct to any kind of Nevada complex and he was extremely proud of it. And the girls who lived there.

But tonight his focus was on the casino. It would be starting to buzz with excited customers and soon filling with eager clients whose headlights were even now making trails down the access road into the rapidly filling parking lot.

Tonight was one of the biggest events for the Last Resort casino. The grand Poker Championship, offering a half-million dollar prize to one lucky winner. It wasn’t on the scale of some of the big bad boys in Las Vegas, of course. But to the locals and the regular clients of the Last Resort—well, it was something pretty special and definitely worth the trip down a dusty highway into the foothills.

A half a million bucks wasn’t to be dismissed lightly and neither were the players who were about to go head-to-head in an attempt to win it. The tournament was exciting, pushing up the adrenaline level and electrifying the atmosphere, even for those who came only to watch or shove a few coins into a slot machine.

Donnie’s fingers itched and he flexed them, knowing he was about to go back inside to mingle and maybe deal a hand or two at some of the tables. He enjoyed the camaraderie of blackjack every bit as much as the intensity of the poker games. He’d reserved the right to deal the final hands himself. Owning the place came with perks and that was one of them.

Yeah, it was gonna be a great weekend, with throngs of gamblers, fascinated onlookers and all the fun and excitement anyone could ask for. Let alone the owner.

With a sigh of contentment, Donnie Cartwright retraced his steps back toward his pride and joy.

Life, he mused as the stars began to shine above him, was pretty fucking
good
.

Chapter One

“Hit me.”

It occurred to Maggie French that a casino was one of the few places in the world where a woman could say those words and not worry about the results. She rested her arms on the leather edge of the blackjack table and watched as the dealer flipped two cards onto the pair of eights she’d doubled down.

“Lookin’ good.” The man grinned at her, showing white teeth beneath a dark moustache.

A ten and a four. Not bad. Her brain whirred through the possibilities as she sipped her soda casually.

She’d stand on the eighteen. She tapped the four with a short, unvarnished fingernail and was rewarded for her patience with a nine.
Niiiice.

Now all she had to do was wait until the other three players had made their calls, see what the dealer drew, and with any luck she’d be up a couple hundred dollars more.

He turned the cards with ease, his large hands caressing the little squares of cardboard with consummate skill. His nametag said “Donnie”, but his short haircut screamed military, as did the unwavering confidence and control he radiated from behind the table.

She fidgeted a little on her chair. Too much soda along with an earlier margarita filled her bladder, and those enchiladas she’d had for lunch were making their presence known by bubbling in her ass. She squeezed her butt tight against a fart, crossed her legs to hold in her kidneys and figured she probably looked like an accordion being squished by an enthusiastic amateur musician.

But these inconveniences were minor and she put them out of her mind. Because Maggie French was, before anything else, a gambler.

Not that anyone would know it to look at her—no indeed. A quietly dressed woman in clean blue jeans, white shirt unbuttoned over a pale blue tank top and minimal jewelry. Her brunette hair wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and her makeup little more than a dash of lipstick, some mascara and the inevitable moisturizer. It could be desert dry at times, so she indulged in a good brand every now and again. But that was as far as she went. She blended in with the general rabble thronging the tables and that was just the way she liked it.

She laughed and cheered with the rest of the table when the dealer bust out, scooping up her chips with all the enthusiasm of a suburban housewife on bingo night. And truthfully, it was a thrill. Small potatoes, a couple of fifty dollar chips and four twenty-five dollar ones, but it was a win.

And winning was what it was all about.

Whether at Trivial Pursuit—she was good at it unless the category was “sports”— Monopoly, which she occasionally lost unless she had all four railroad stations, thumb wars or any card game ever invented, Maggie played to win.

When she’d discovered poker, Maggie discovered heaven. The cards seemed to fit her hands perfectly, her mind grasped the concepts with the instant familiarity of an old friend and she loved the shapes and colors that danced from the deck.

And that was why she was sitting in the casino of the Last Resort, holding in several bodily functions, and exchanging grins with a seventy-year-old grandmother who’d probably just doubled her Social Security check for the week.

Maggie was going to win the poker championship and go home with half a million dollars.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind.

“Lady, you’ve either just hit a big jackpot or you’ve gotta pee real bad.” An amused voice sounded from behind her and Maggie turned in surprise to find herself face-to-chest with a patron of the casino who’d been standing at her back during the last hand.

And fuck it, he was too damn observant. She relaxed a little. He wouldn’t have a clue who she was. “Nice guess, Mister. I really do need the little girls’ room.” She glanced back at the dealer and nodded her thanks, tossing a chip across the table and sliding off the stool.

“Hey, Miss.” Donnie was pushing something across the table. “Here. Enjoy a drink on the house. Tell the bartender I comped you.”

“I—well, thanks. Thanks, Donnie. That’s very kind of you.” Maggie picked up the chit.

“My pleasure. You’ve got a nice smile.”

“Don’t I have a nice smile?” The older guy a couple of seats away from Maggie whined plaintively.

“You, sir, have a blackjack. That’s even better.” Donnie the dealer went back to his game and Maggie moved away.

Blocking her from leaving, the stranger stood motionless. “You ever see Niagara Falls? The water just runs on and on. Sort of like a dripping faucet. You know…drip, trickle, drip. Always made me feel like going to the bathroom myself.” He had a shit-eating grin on his face, watching her squirm. “Oh sorry. Am I in your way?”

“Another verse of ‘Singin’ In The Rain’ and we’ll have golden showers, so
move
.”

“Well, when you’re done, you want to fill up again by having a drink with me?”

She sized him up. Not too tall, but clean-shaven and with shiny brown hair that was a tad longer than it needed to be, something that Maggie found appealing. He was flashing her a nice smile, wearing tidy clothes…he looked about as threatening as a happy golden retriever. Awww…what the hell. He might try to hump her leg but he seemed harmless. They were in a public place, surrounded by crowds of gamblers and in all likelihood there was more security than at the White House. A drink couldn’t hurt, right? She needed something to take the edge off before tomorrow’s game began.

“That sounds good. Thanks. I’ll meet you at the bar?”

“Sure.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You gonna run out on me? It’s not like we’ve been introduced or anything. And it’s just a drink. We can wait to pick out curtains in the morning.”

The challenge in his words and the teasing expression got to her and she smiled back. “Nope. My name’s Maggie and I’m not running out. I’m going to pee and then I’ll be back. Okay?”

He grinned. “Okay.”

Shit. He’s got a helluva cute smile.

“And wash your hands, Maggie.” He looked sternly at her.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
What a cute idiot.
And then hurried off before the silent fart that finally escaped made its presence known.

~~~~~

Deuce watched her walk away with a smile. Then he blinked a few times at a seriously foul scent in the air. Surreptitiously sniffing under both arms, he shrugged and turned to see an empty spot at another blackjack table.

“Is this seat open?” Nobody complained, so he took the stool. “Hey buddy, I need some chips.” Deuce reached behind him to get his wallet and tossed a couple of twenty-dollar bills on the table.