The Winning Hand (10 page)

His name was Jake, and he was from Dallas which, as he said, practically made them neighbors.

“I’m really new at this,” she told him confidentially, and his sunshine blue eyes laughed into hers.

“Why, I could spot that right off, sugar. Now like I said first off, you want to plug in the maximum credits for each hand, otherwise you don’t get yourself a full payoff when you hit.”

“Right.” Dutifully Darcy pressed the credit button, then punched for the deal. She studied her hand thoughtfully. “I’ve got two threes, so I hold them.”

“Well now, you could.” Jake laid a hand over hers before she could press to hold the cards. “But you see, you’re after that royal straight flush, right? That’s the jackpot. You got yourself the ace, queen and the jack of hearts there. Couple treys aren’t going to get you anything. Even a triple’s just keeping you in the game.”

She nibbled her lip. “I should throw away the threes?”

“If you’re going to gamble”—he winked at her—“you should gamble.”

“Right.” She furrowed her brow and let the threes go. She plucked an ace and a five. “Oh, well, that’s no good.” Still she remembered what the blackjack dealer had said, and turned to Jake with a smile. “But I lost correctly.”

“There you go.” She was cute as a brass button, he thought, sweet as a daisy and looked to be just as easy to pick. Charmed, he leaned in a little closer. “Why don’t I buy you a drink, and we’ll talk poker
strategy.”

“The lady’s unavailable.” Mac dropped a proprietary and none too gentle hand on Darcy’s shoulder.

Her head whipped up, her shoulders tensed. “Mac.” He had that frigid look in his eyes again, she noted. Not that he spared her a glance. The ice was all for her new friend from Dallas. “Ah, this is Jake. He was showing me how to play the poker machine.”

“So I see. The lady’s with me.”

Jake ran his tongue around his teeth and, after a brief internal debate, decided he wanted to keep those teeth just where they were. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t know I was poaching.” He rose, tipped his hat to Darcy. “You hold out for that royal straight flush now.”

“Thank you.” She held out her hand, confused when Jake’s eyes shifted to Mac’s before he accepted.

“My pleasure.” After a short and silent male exchange, Jake swaggered off.

“I’d been doing it wrong,” Darcy began. And that was as far as she got.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come down here at night alone?” The fact that he was speaking softly didn’t lessen the power and fury behind the words. It only added to them.

“That’s ridiculous.” She wanted badly to cringe, and had to force herself not to. “You can’t expect me to sit in my room all night. I was only—”

“This is exactly why. Ten minutes at a machine and you’re getting hit on.”

“He wasn’t hitting on me. He was helping me.”

Mac’s opinion of that was short and pithy and put some steel back in Darcy’s spine.

“Don’t swear at me.”

“I was swearing in general.” He put a hand under her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “The cowboy wasn’t going to buy you a drink to be helpful. He was just priming the pump, and believe me, yours is easily primed.”

She started to shake, and realized it was just as much from anger as fear. “Well, if he was, and it is,
it’s my business.”

“My place. My business.”

She hissed in a breath, tried to jerk free and failed. “Let go of me. I don’t have to stay here. If I’d wanted some overbearing male ordering me around, I’d still be in Kansas.”

His smile was as thin and sharp as his name. “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“That’s both obvious and unoriginal. Now let go of me. I’m leaving. There are plenty of other places where I can gamble and socialize without being harassed by the management.”

“You want to gamble?” To her shock and—God help her—excitement, he backed her up against the machine with something close to murder in his eyes. “You want to socialize?”

“Mac?” Deciding she’d seen quite enough, Serena stepped up, a bright, friendly smile in place. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

He turned his head and stared. He’d completely, totally forgotten about his mother. He saw easily beyond the smile to the command in her eyes. And felt twelve years old again.

“Of course.” With a smoothness that blanketed both his straining temper and embarrassment, he shifted his grip on Darcy’s arm. “Serena MacGregor Blade, Darcy Wallace. Darcy, my mother.”

“Oh.” Not nearly as skilled as Mac, Darcy didn’t come close to hiding both her distress and mortification. “Mrs. Blade. How do you do?”

“I’m so happy to meet you. I just got into town and was about to ask Mac about you.” Still smiling, she slid an arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “Now I can ask you in person. Let’s go get a drink. Mac,” she added, casting a smug look over her shoulder as she led Darcy away, “we’ll be in the Silver Lounge. Tell your father where I am, will you?”

“Oh sure,” Mac muttered. “Fine.” He resisted, barely, giving the slot a swift kick, and instead dutifully cashed Darcy out.

In a relatively quiet corner of a cocktail lounge gleaming with silver tables and rich black cushions, Darcy ran her fingers up and down the stem of a glass of white wine. She’d taken one sip, to clear her dry throat, but was afraid to take more.

Mac was probably right about one thing, she’d decided. She didn’t hold her liquor very well.

“Mrs. Blade, I’m so terribly sorry.”

“Really?” Serena relaxed against the cushions and took stock of the young woman facing her. Prettier still up close, she mused, in a delicate, almost ethereal, way. Big innocent eyes, a doll’s mouth, nervous hands.

Not the type her son usually looked at twice, she reflected. She knew very well his taste generally ran to the long, lean and, in her opinion, somewhat brittle sort of woman. She also knew him well enough to be sure he rarely, very rarely lost his temper over one.

“Mac did ask me not to come down to the casino alone at night.”

Serena arched a brow. “I can’t see that he’d have any right to do that.”

“No, but … he’s been so kind to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“What I mean is, he really only asked me that one thing. It’s understandable he’d be angry I didn’t listen.”

“It’s understandable he’d be angry because he’s used to getting his way.” Serena studied Darcy over the rim of her glass. “That’s not your problem.”

“He feels responsible for me.”

It was said in such a miserably depressed tone that Serena had to swallow a chuckle. She had an inkling her son felt a bit more than responsibility. “He’s always taken his responsibilities seriously. Again, not your problem. Now, tell me everything.” She leaned forward, inviting confidences. “I’ve gotten it all second hand—either from what Mac told my husband or the papers. I want the whole story, straight from the source.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Oh, at the beginning.”

“Well.” Darcy contemplated her wine, then risked another sip. “It was all because I didn’t want to marry Gerald.”

“Really?” Delighted, Serena inched closer. “And who is Gerald?”

An hour later, Serena was fascinated, charmed and feeling sentimentally maternal toward Darcy. She’d already decided to extend her quick trip to several days when she covered Darcy’s hand with hers. “I think you’ve been incredibly brave.”

“I don’t feel brave. No one’s ever been as kind to me as Mac has, and I’ve made him so angry. Mrs. Blade—”

“I hope you’ll call me Serena,” she interrupted. “Especially since I’m going to offer you some unsolicited advice.”

“I’d appreciate some advice.”

“Don’t change anything.” Now Serena squeezed Darcy’s hand. “Mac will deal with it, I promise you. You be exactly what you are, and you enjoy it.”

“I’m attracted to him.” Darcy winced then scowled down at her empty glass. “I shouldn’t have had the wine. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re his mother.”

“Yes, I am, and as such I’d be insulted if you weren’t attracted to him. I happen to think he’s a very attractive young man.”

“Of course. I mean …” She trailed off, her eyes shifting up, then going wide. “Oh.” She barely breathed as she stared at the man who stepped up to the table. “You
are
the war chief.”

Justin Blade flashed a grin at her, then slid into the booth beside his wife. “You must be Darcy.”

“He looks so much like you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare.”

“The day I mind being stared at by a pretty young woman is the day life stops being worth living.”

Justin draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. He was a tall, lean man with black hair streaked with silver as bright as the table, and his eyes were green, sharp and deep in a tanned and weathered face. They skimmed over Darcy with both approval and interest.

“Now I know what Mac meant about the fairy wings. Congratulations on your luck, Darcy.”

“Thank you. It doesn’t seem real yet.” She glanced around the glittery lounge. “None of it does.”

“Any plans for your new fortune? Other than giving us the chance to win some of it back.”

She smiled now, fully. “Oh, he is like you. Actually, I seem to win a little every time I play.” She tried to make it sound apologetic, but spoiled it with a chuckle. “But I have put some back—into the shops and salons.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Serena declared. “We do have wonderful shops here.”

“And they genuflect when they see you coming.” Justin’s fingers drifted up into his wife’s hair and began toying with the strands.

It made Darcy realize she’d never seen her parents touch like that, so casually, so intimately. Not in public or private. And realizing it made her unbearably sad.

“Another round, ladies?” Even as he asked, Justin was signaling for a waitress.

“Not for me. Thank you. I should go up. I thought I’d look for a new car tomorrow.”

“Want company?”

Darcy fumbled with her purse as she rose, and smiled hesitantly at Serena. “Yes, if you’d like.”

“I’d love it. Just call my room when you decide what time you want to go. Someone will find me.”

“All right. It was nice meeting both of you. Good night.”

Justin waited until Darcy was out of earshot before lifting an eyebrow at his wife. “What’s going on in your head, Serena?”

“All sorts of interesting thoughts.” She turned her head so that her lips brushed his.

“Such as?”

“Our firstborn nearly punched a cowboy for having a mild flirtation with our Kansas pixie.”

“Another wine for my wife, Carol, and a draft for me,” he said to the waitress before shifting to face Serena. “You must be exaggerating. Duncan’s the one who likes to trade punches over pretty women, not Mac.”

“I’m not exaggerating in the least. Fangs were bared, Blade,” she murmured. “And murder was in the air. I believe he’s seriously smitten.”

“Smitten?” The word made him laugh, then his laughter faded into unexpected anxiety. “Define ‘seriously.’”

“Justin.” She patted his cheek. “He’s nearly thirty. It has to happen sometime.”

“She’s not his type.”

“Exactly.” She felt her eyes sting and sniffled. “She’s nothing like his type. She’s perfect for him.” Resolutely she blinked back the tears. “Or I’ll find out if she’s perfect before long.”

“Serena, you sound uncomfortably like your father.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Sentimental tears dried up with the insult. “I have no intention of manipulating or scheming or plotting.” She tossed her head. “I’m simply going to …”

“Meddle.”

“Discreetly,” she finished, and beamed at him. “You are very attractive.” She skimmed her fingers through the silver wings of his hair, lingered there. “Why don’t we take these drinks upstairs, up to bed, War Chief.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Of course I am.” Her smile was slow, seductive and sure. “Is it working?”

He took her hand to pull her to her feet. “It always has.” He kissed her fingers. “Always will.”