The Gambler (3 page)

She laughed but there wasn’t anything
humorous in the sound. “You won a hundred acres of trees and soil
that won’t grow grass.” She looked around the cabin and held out
her arm in a sweeping motion. “And this fabulous cabin.
Congratulations, Mr. Avery. What will you do with it all?”

Her sarcasm was noted but Tristan couldn’t
really blame her. She’d just been told she no longer owned her
property and someone she cared for was dead.

His mind snagged on that last bit as he
looked at her and he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes, her
dry lips, the shabby clothes and her spindly limbs. This girl had a
rough life. It made the money in his pocket feel like a steel rod
weighing him down. Something pulled in his chest and guilt rushed
through his system. He’d killed someone she depended on. The
knowledge caused his stomach to ache.

What was he to do now? He owned this property
outright and a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that
she was his responsibility too. He won that position when he killed
her stepfather and became the new owner of the land. He’d thought
to sell the property but looking at her, he knew he couldn’t do it.
How could he and sleep at night knowing he’d truly left her
homeless?

Damn it all to hell. Why did life always have
to sucker-punch him when things were going his way?

Chapter Two

Emmaline knew the exact moment he realized
her predicament. She could see it shining in his eyes as he stared
at her and something twisted in her gut. The last thing she wanted
was someone’s guilty conscience taking pity on her. She’d had
enough of that to last her a lifetime.

She could see the remorse in his eyes but she
wasn’t sure what it was for. For her living conditions or because
he would leave her homeless when he took the land from her? Or was
it because he’d shot Harold?

Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she
thought of her stepfather. Her current dilemma was all his fault
and the anger that came with it infuriated her. She blinked tears
away as her limbs started to tingle, then went numb.

She’d been expecting to hear Harold was dead
since she was eight and now twelve years later, she refused to
offer a tear in remorse. She felt nothing, really, which bothered
her more than knowing she would be homeless soon. Her stepfather
was the most irresponsible person she’d ever known. He was a drunk
and gambled away every dime he ever made and she’d been the one to
suffer for it. Her momma would turn over in her grave if she knew
how he'd neglected her.

She looked at Tristan Avery again. He was
still by the door, his hat in hand and his fancy clothes clashing
with the bleak interior of the cabin. He looked a bit lost, now,
much how she felt, and as much as her situation left her in dire
need of help, she wasn’t about to let go of the land.

Her mind raced, her options few. She turned
back to the stove, jostled the door and looked in to see if the
piece of wood lying inside was still burning. She smiled when the
lie popped into her head and she straightened. “Did he tell you
there’s money owed on the property?” When she heard no answer, she
turned. “He’s been gambling away everything we owned to raise the
money to save it from the bank. Unless you have a wad of cash in
that fancy suit jacket, you don’t have anything but a piece of
paper in your hand.”

He didn’t reply and Emmaline’s nerves were
beginning to rattle. She hadn’t eaten since the day before and with
Harold now gone, it didn’t look as if she’d be eating again anytime
soon.

She tilted her chin up a notch. “You got deep
pockets, Mr. Avery? Cause that’s what it’s going to take to get the
bank to let you keep this place.” She looked around the room and
snorted a laugh. “Although, from where I’m standing, the bank is
the one getting the worst part of the deal. You'd be better off
just walking away.”

“I can manage on my own.” He stared at her,
his brows lowering as he studied her. “If I leave, what will you
do?”

She shrugged her shoulder. “What I have to.”
She walked to the bed and picked up the old shawl lying across the
footboard and draped it around her shoulders. “Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I’ve work to do before the sun goes down. With Harold
not coming back, I’ll have to do his chores as well.”

Ignoring him, she walked to the door, leaving
him inside, and made her way out back toward the brush pile. She
didn’t stop when she reached it but kept going, into the woods
lining the back of the property, and ran into the shelter of the
trees. She dodged low-lying brush, swiping away branches as they
clawed at her face and when she stopped, she was panting for
breath.

She stared at the entrance of the mine, the
opening covered by tree limbs and the brush she’d piled in front of
it. She’d been working it for years now and the small amount of
gold she had secreted away was enough to take her somewhere nice.
But she couldn’t leave. Not yet. She knew she was close. Close
enough to a larger vein that would make her so rich, people would
treat her with the respect she deserved. “I’ve got to get that deed
back.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, she saw
the cabin through the trees, its thin ribbon of smoke coming from
the stovepipe in the roof. Tristan Avery was still in there as far
as she knew and if she was going to keep her land, she’d have to do
something drastic. Her livelihood depended on it.

Emmaline started back to the house. Tristan
Avery held her future in his hands and she’d be damned if she let
him just take it. She’d get her land back even if she had to seduce
him to see it done.

Rounding the side of the cabin, she noticed
his horse was gone. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Damn.”
Leaning against the rail holding the porch up, she chewed her
bottom lip. What would she do now?

Staring at the road, she wondered where he’d
gone. She hoped it wasn’t to the bank. When they told him the land
was clear of debt, he’d know she'd lied and want to know why and
she couldn’t tell him. If he knew there was gold on the land, he’d
want it for himself, and she’d really hate to shoot him. He was
much too pretty for that.

* * * *

Tristan made his way back to that broken down
cabin with more guilt hanging over his head than any man should
have to bear. He’d left the cabin shortly after she did and
reluctantly went all the way back to town. He talked to a few
people in the hotel, asked about the old Hunt place and got an ear
full from a man by the name of Jensen Cooper who was in the dining
room. He apparently owned the property next to Tristan's newly
acquired one hundred acres. When the man asked about her, Emmaline,
he’d called her, something in the way the man grinned caused
Tristan's hackles to rise.

Jensen Cooper was too interested in her to
Tristan’s thinking. His eyes held an unhealthy desire that caused
Tristan's fingers to clench into his palm as the man went into
great detail about Emmaline's life and her habits. He knew too much
just to be a friendly neighbor.

His fists tightened just thinking of that
dirty old man and the look on his face as he’d talked about that
girl.

His gut twisted again. He couldn’t throw her
out of the cabin, forbid her to be on the land, and live with
himself. Nor could he just leave knowing she was out there alone
with no one to see to her, especially with Jensen Cooper right next
door.

She'd also lied to him about money being owed
on the property which led to more questions. Why would she tell him
that?

He made his way back up the road, seeing a
faint light glow behind the walls of the cabin. The wind was
whistling through the trees and he pulled the collar of his coat up
to block it.

Stopping in front of the cabin, he dismounted
and tied the horse’s reins to the post holding the old lean-to roof
up.

There wasn’t a sound coming from inside. He
walked to the door, turned his head and listened. It was eerily
quiet and he knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. He heard
a shuffling, the clatter of things being put away before the door
handle moved.

The door opened and he wasn’t surprised to
see the barrel of a shotgun meet him. He smiled and reached up,
grabbing the gun barrel and holding it away from his face. “Do you
try to shoot everyone who comes out here?”

“No one ever comes out here.”

Her eyes were glassy and if he had to guess,
he’d say she spent the time he’d been gone crying. That guilt cut a
bit deeper but he smiled and forced the gun barrel down. “Can I
come in?”

“Why?”

Good question. He’d been asking himself that
all evening. “Well, to be honest, I’ve no where else to go.”

She laughed and gave him a look that said he
was a liar. “Try again, gambler.”

Tristan smiled and lifted the bag in his
hand. “I bought too much food to travel with and need someone to
help me eat it.”

Her eyes flashed with something that if
Tristan had to put a name on, he’d call desire. Her gaze flickered
toward the bag and he saw her throat move as she swallowed. Jensen
Cooper was right. This girl rarely ever had a decent meal. “Fried
chicken and baked potatoes.” He looked down into the bag and
inhaled. “I think there’s a bit of apple pie in here too.”

She opened the door and lowered the gun.
Tristan blinked when he got a good look at her. She’d bathed, the
evidence in her still damp hair that hung in wavy curls all the way
to her hips. Her shift was clean and she smelled of soap and some
flower he couldn’t place.

When she stepped back from the door and held
it open, the light from the single candle on the table caused her
figure to outline in perfect detail through her shift. His first
assessment of her being small was accurate. She was tiny, bone thin
and half starved.

He ignored the fact and walked inside the
cabin, shutting the door behind him. The room held a soft warm,
glow but that was about it. It was as cold inside as it was out and
he wondered how she managed to keep from freezing to death.

The potbelly stove popped, the wood inside
cracking, but it couldn’t have been more than a piece or two in
there. He looked back toward Emmaline and smiled when she crossed
her arms over her chest. “I hope you like chicken.”

He ignored the conditions she lived in and
walked to the spindly table, sitting the bag down. He pulled the
food out, saw her out of the corner of his eye and the look on her
face was enough to make him want to go to town, find the bastard
who was supposed to be her father, and shoot his worthless hide all
over again. How could a man leave his daughter to starve without
the guilt eating him alive?

Pulling the one chair out, he made a great
production of holding it for her. “Madame.”

She looked at him wearily but sat, pushing
her hair away from her face. He slid the food toward her and looked
to the shelf near the stove, grabbing two plates and laying them by
her right hand. “How about you serve us up some of that and I’ll go
grab some firewood for you.”

She looked up, a startled look in her eyes.
“There isn’t any more.”

“Any more what?”

“Firewood.”

Tristan laughed and shook his head. “You’re
surrounded by forest on three sides. How can there not be any more
wood?”

She shifted in her seat and folded her hands
in her lap. “The axe broke earlier this year so I have no way to
cut any.” She glanced up at him and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve
picked up every broken branch and twig I can find for a mile around
in either direction.”

The remorse he’d felt for killing her father
changed then to an ugly shade of loathing. What kind of man let his
daughter live like this? In a squalid cabin with no food and
clothes so tattered they looked by rags. She was left with nothing
to even provide for herself and that guilt he’d been trying to ease
just grew a little bit more.

“Well, I’ll just go see what I can find to
heat this place up a bit. You go ahead and start without me.”

He left her there in that candlelit room and
walked clear to the back wood line before he yelled, cursing a blue
streak his momma, rest her soul, would wash his mouth out for. How
could anyone be so… He didn’t even have a word for what he thought
of her father. Stepfather, he reminded himself, but it made little
difference. The man was responsible for her until she wed and he
hadn't provided for her.

Cursing under his breath, he searched the
dark for anything he could find to burn, his mind tumbling over
what he could do to help this girl. She obviously needed a husband.
Someone who could provide for her, protect her and see that she had
everything she needed to survive. He wasn't sure what role her
stepfather had played in her life but surely the man had been of
some use? Glancing back at the cabin and seeing light from the
candle shining through the walls, he knew it couldn't have been
much.

He stumbled across a pile of branches
Emmaline had pulled from the forest, most too big to cut without an
axe but found a few he was able to break with his foot. Most were
still too large to fit inside the stove and he was left with
nothing but scraps of bark, twigs and more than one splinter. He
cussed again.