Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders) (27 page)

“My beautiful Rory. Thank you for comin’ to get me. I’m, ah, a little drunk.”

“I see that.” When she got closer she smelled it too. “You okay to walk or should I bring the car around?”

“Probably need to walk it off.” Dalton stepped away from the building and swayed.

“Whoa there, cowboy.” She grabbed his arm and draped it over her shoulder. “Lemme help you.”

His balance was way off so Rory half-pushed him and half-pulled him through the gravel parking lot to her Jeep. She propped him up on the passenger side wondering how she’d wrestle him in. But he climbed in as if he were perfectly sober.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to end up this way. I hate bein’ drunk.”

She backed out of her parking spot. “So what were you doing at the bar tonight?”

“Reggie’s bachelor party.”

“You must’ve had a good time.”

“Nope. Saw a bunch of people I used to know. Most of ’em were getting drunk and acting stupid.”

“What about you?”

“I didn’t act stupid. Except for the leprechaun thing.”

What the fuck? “Leprechaun?”

“Uh-huh. Leprechaun cocktail waitress. Think she was a stripper too.”

“Guess they’re hard up for chicks to strip in Wyoming if they’re hiring leprechauns,” she said dryly. Then she grinned. She was
so
going to lord this conversation over him. Maybe she’d even speak with a brogue. Dance an Irish jig while she served him Lucky Charms.

“They shoulda asked you to be a stripper,” Dalton slurred. “You’d make a great stripper.”

“Why would I want to be a stripper?”

“Because you’re flexible. But mostly because you’ve got the body for it. Goddamn do I love your body. I just wanna put my hands all over it. Then my mouth. Right now.”

“Not happening when I’m behind the wheel in a moving vehicle, bud.”

“But I wouldn’t want you stripping for anyone but me. No other man gets to see you nekkid. Ever. So no stripping.”

“Shoot. Now my lap dancing skills will go to waste.”

Dalton made that growling noise. “Where the fuck did you learn to lap dance?”

Not going there. “Did one of the strippers treat you to a lap dance tonight?”

He shook his head. “One tried, but when I told her I wasn’t interested, she moved on to the next victim.” He hiccupped. “Jesus, my head is spinning like a fucking washin’ machine.”

Rory snickered. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been drinking so much.”

“I didn’t mean to. Know what sucks?”

“The shitty way you’re gonna feel in the morning?” she said sweetly.

“That too. What sucks is that I don’t do this kinda shit anymore. And by getting hammered in the most popular bar in town, everyone still thinks I’m the same drinkin’ and fightin’ and fuckin’ around guy. But I’m not that guy anymore. And I didn’t like that guy very much. So why the fuck did he show up tonight?”

“You sure that old Dalton was there tonight?”

He looked confused. “Huh?”

“Did you get into a bar fight?”

“Ah, no, I don’t think so.”

“Were you fucking around with women including magical leprechauns?”

“No. Fuck no. I’d never cheat on you, Rory. Never fucking ever. Been waiting a long goddamned time to have you. Now that you’re mine, not gonna screw this up this time. I swear.”

Not a combative drunk. A sweet drunk. And another sure sign he’d changed. Her inner romantic did a pirouette and blew her a kiss before yelling
told ya so, beyotch
. She sighed. “What sucks for me is you won’t remember this conversation.”

“The fuck I won’t… Oh, hell. Stop the car.”

Rory hit the brakes and pulled over.

“Gonna be sick. Shit.” Dalton barely flung open the door before he started retching.

Awesome.

But at least he hadn’t thrown up in the car.

Like you did that night with him.

Even more awesome to be reminded of that.

She considered turning up the radio so she didn’t have to listen to him hurling, but she toughed up. He kept yakking.

Finally he swiveled back around, nestled his head in the headrest and slammed the door. “Sorry.”

“You want to sit here a minute?”

“No. Pretty sure there’s nothin’ left since I threw up my stomach lining along with everything in it.”

Rory shuddered. “No color commentary necessary.”

“Sorry.”

They were close to his place and she got him inside without much trouble.

He flopped on the bed in his room. Coat on, boots on, clothes on. Rory grabbed his wrist and pulled him upright. She lightly tapped his cheeks to get his attention. “Hey. Dalton. Gotta get your clothes off before you pass out.”

Although his eyes were closed, he smiled. “I love that you always wanna take my clothes off.”

“You have a bangin’ body, McKay.” First she peeled off his long black duster and he was zero help with that. Then she yanked off his left boot and then his right. She pulled the snaps on his shirt until it hung open. She couldn’t help but run her palms down his pectorals. Warm. Firm. Rough. “Yes, you surely do have a bangin’ body,” she murmured. Her hands moved down his torso. She needed to undo his belt, but her fingers had another plan as they trailed across his ridged abdomen.

“I hold my breath when you touch me.”

“Why?”

“Because I never want you to stop.”

“Crazy man. If you don’t breathe you’ll pass out and not be able to feel anything anyway.”

“The voice of reason.”

“I’m not exactly the romantic type, Dalton.” Rory unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans and pushed him back on the bed so she could strip him to his boxers.

“I am,” he said softly.

“What?”

“The romantic type.”

“I know.”

“I don’t show you very often, do I?”

“I don’t expect it.”

“You should. You deserve it. Especially from me.” He sighed. “Thank you for picking up my drunken ass.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Yes. Then I’ll get you hard, get myself off and leave you with your boxers around your ankles wondering what happened when you wake up alone tomorrow morning.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even say she’d stay and then just sneak out, which would be equally shitty.

Gazing into those vivid blue eyes, she brushed his hair from his cheek. “I’ll stay.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Where are we staying again?”

Dalton bit back a laugh. Rory hadn’t stopped talking since he’d picked her up. He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. “At the Bullock.”

“The one on Main Street?”

“The suite we’re staying in is in a renovated building behind it.”

“How far?”

“You’ve been to Deadwood. Everything is within walking distance.”

“I know. But the fuck-me heels I’m wearing at your request—” she shot him an arch look, “—aren’t exactly winter sidewalk friendly.”

“Just hold on to me. I’ll keep you upright.” He grinned. “Unless I’m too busy keepin’ you horizontal.”

“I’m so looking forward to that,” she purred.

“Me too.”

Rory gave the questions a thirty-second rest before she started in again. “Is this a two-day poker tournament?”

“No. It’s two one-night poker tournaments. Two different venues. Neither of which are at the Bullock. Which works out for us because I don’t stay at the hotel where the events are held.”

“That seems odd and inconvenient. Have you always had that superstition?”

Dalton shook his head. “Mostly it started when I traveled by myself and didn’t want to pay the higher room cost. Didn’t bother me when I split the hotel bill with Tell. So I found cheaper rooms close to the venue, because I wasn’t actually in the room much. That’s when I had much better luck. Don’t know why that is, but I’ve done it that way for years.”

“What are your odds of winning?”

“Better than most. Tomorrow’s pot is bigger so we’ll see if I have to throw tonight’s game so I don’t have people tryin’ to knock me out in the first round tomorrow night.”

“The strategy part of card playing boggles my mind.”

Dalton laughed. “At least I’ve got you thinking there
is
strategy involved in Texas Hold’em and it ain’t all luck of the draw.”

Rory quit asking questions and gazed out the window.

The Black Hills were covered in snow so the drive up 385 to Deadwood was like a postcard. The setting sun reflected purple on the frosted trees and the sky. The roads were slick and the traffic was heavier than he expected.

This weekend marked the first time Dalton had brought a woman to a tournament. In years past he’d taken women back to his room when the games ended, but he’d never had a woman on the sidelines cheering him on. Winning or losing didn’t matter to Rory—she’d be waiting for him regardless.

Deadwood didn’t attract the big-league poker players, but the money was decent enough the mid-range players made it a destination. Those were the guys he worried about. The ones who considered Deadwood “their” town and banded together to defeat anyone new who dared to sit at the final table with them.

Rory waited in the truck while he retrieved the keys for their room. After he pulled up to the building he was glad for private parking. Deadwood appeared to be jam-packed. “Come on. Let’s see the room. I’ll come back for the luggage.”

He unlocked the door and she stopped just inside the doorway. “Dalton. This place is awesome.”

The suite of rooms wasn’t decorated old west style, but modern. A living room filled with low-backed furniture that faced a gas fireplace. An eating area with a counter and barstools.

Rory disappeared around the corner and he followed her. “Look at this bathroom.” It had a gigantic walk-in shower with a bench and two showerheads, and the room boasted an enormous sunken tub, surrounded by opaque glass bricks.

“Looks like we can have some fun in there, huh?” He took her hand. “Let’s see the bedroom.”

Rory squealed at seeing the king-sized four-poster bed and immediately jumped on it. “This has some give, which is lucky for us since you try to pound me into the mattress whenever possible.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all, high roller.” She kicked off her shoes and sighed.

Dalton wandered to the window and peeked out to see a view of the parking lot.

“What time do you have to check in for the tournament?” she asked.

“About forty-five minutes.” He’d reached that antsy stage where he needed to expel his nervous energy before he started playing. He turned and Rory stood right in front of him.

She ran her hands down the lapels of his wool vest. “You look sexy as sin. With your black hat, jeans, boots and white shirt, now alls you need is a pocket watch with a gold chain, a thin cigar clamped between your teeth and you look every inch the mysterious rogue card sharp from Wild West days.”

“Bit of a fanciful image from a woman who refuses to admit her romantic side.”

“You have been showing me the benefits of a little romance in my life, McKay.” Rory placed her hand on his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yep. Just ready to get goin’ to the tourney. Why?”

“Would you be mad if I hung out here while you do your poker thing? You won’t be there all night, right? I could just—” Rory pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, “—slip on something a little more comfortable and wait for you.”

Her suggestion filled him with relief. He could get the feel for the people and the place without worrying about her. “That’s a great idea. I’ll get the luggage.”

After he unloaded everything, Rory gave him a kiss for luck. Then she sang the chorus from “The Gambler” really loud.

“Thanks for getting that stuck in my head,” he grumbled.

“You’re welcome.”

A few hours later Dalton brushed the snow off his shoulders and stamped the slush off his boots before he inserted the keycard into the door. Probably a good thing Rory had remained in the room. The weather sucked. Hopefully it’d be better tomorrow night.

The room was quiet. No TV, although she did have the fireplace burning.

He checked the bedroom before he tracked her to the bathroom.

The lights were dimmed, music drifted from her iPod. A sugary sweet scent perfumed the air. All nice enticements, but none as enticing as his Aurora, up to her chin in bubbles, all that glorious blond hair in a messy pile on top of her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, and maybe from the half-empty margarita glass in her hand. Her lips were tilted into a sultry smile. “Hey, five-card stud. So did you win?”

“Eliminated in the third to last round.”

“I’m sorry. Unless…that’s what you wanted?”

He nodded.

“See anyone you know?”