High-Stakes Passion (5 page)

She showered and dressed, purposely wearing the one blouse she owned with a low neckline.

 

Audrey figured she'd need all those acting skills she hadn't used since her tenth-grade drama class to pull this scheme off. When the men turned to stare at her as she walked into the dining room, she almost lost her nerve. She tried to stop her voice from shaking when she said, “I couldn't sleep. Mind if I watch?”

A chorus of male voices answered, “Sure!” and, “Yeah!” at the same time. Dalt jumped up to get her a chair from the kitchen.

Mark's usual scowl grew even darker. Gone was the compassionate man from a few hours ago.

“Oh, thank you.” She sat across from Mark, folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. Her father had taught her that an important tool in winning a poker game was distraction. Might as well use the only asset she had. She was out to win.

She felt the men's gazes drop to her chest. “I used to play cards with my family when we were younger, and it was really fun.”

With a small sigh of relief, she could tell her ploy was working with predictable ease. Both Dalt and Jim tried to coax her into playing “just a couple of hands.” Pete hadn't raised his eyes from her chest yet. The lecher.

Thank goodness Ruth wasn't playing tonight. Audrey
knew another woman would have seen straight through her act.

Mark didn't say a word. He narrowed his eyes and raised a beer bottle to his mouth for a long swallow.

“Well, you'd have to tell me what beats what and all that stuff. Sure you don't mind?”
Don't overdo it, girl!

Several noes were drowned out by a bellowing “Hell, yes!” Mark slowly lowered his scorching gaze to her chest.

A tense silence hung over the table before Dalt challenged his boss. “Come on, Malone, let her play. What's the harm?”

Glowering at Dalt, Mark finished his beer and twisted the top off another. Finally, he gave a disgusted snort. “I can't believe y'all are gonna fall for this Little-Miss-Innocent act.” He shifted his eyes to her and said, “Fine. Join us if you must.”

Audrey pretended to listen intently as Jim explained about two pair and three of a kind. She even went so far as to get a pad from the kitchen and take notes.

Dalt shuffled the deck, slid it over to Mark to cut and then dealt everyone five cards. Audrey picked hers up and kept her face blank as she fanned them out. Two jacks, an ace and two sevens!

Mark opened with five dollars, and everyone stayed except Jim, who folded. Mark then raised five dollars and everyone stayed.

Audrey let go of the ace, hoping for a full house. When she got back a seven, she purposely let her excitement show. Pulling a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket, she raised the stakes and everyone folded.

She played it low-key for a while, and kept them guessing by folding with a fairly good hand or blundering a bluff.

Several hours later, Audrey had a considerable stack of
cash sitting in front of her. It was difficult to conceal a triumphant gleam behind a look of innocent amazement at her beginner's luck. Of course, it helped that all her opponents had been guzzling beer all night.

“Well, that does it for me.” Dalt stood and stretched, throwing in his cards.

One by one, the other men left the table. Jim had said he had to be up early and left around one-thirty. Pete had drifted off soon after that when he ran out of money.

Audrey glanced at the clock. It was after three in the morning and she and Mark were the only players left.

Mark dealt the next hand, and Audrey picked up three queens and two fives. This was the hand she'd been waiting for. As the bidding started, she continually raised the stakes until she knew Mark had bet all the cash he had. Perfect. The time was right.

“I'll see your ten dollars and raise you, let's see, um, oh, what the heck, I'm feeling wild. I'll just throw in this whole big stack of money.” She looked at Mark and gave him her best smile.

Mark leaned forward and glared at her. “I don't have that much money left.”

No IOUs were allowed. Probably because, Audrey guessed, it would give Mark an unfair advantage.

She took a sip of her iced tea, to wet her suddenly dry throat, and said a little prayer. With a casual wave of her hand, she said, “Well, I guess if you don't want to fold, you could bet something besides money.”

Audrey saw Mark's jaw muscle working as he gritted his teeth. His scowl grew menacing. “What do you want?”

She stopped smiling and looked directly into those tormented blue eyes. “I want…” Her gaze slid away, faltering under the guilt.

Say it, Audrey! An exclusive interview. Your life story.

She couldn't. She couldn't force the words out. She couldn't bear to see the look of betrayal in his eyes. He suspected something. But that was just it. He acted like he always expected the worst of people, and she didn't want to be another person who let him down.

“I want…” she forced her gaze back to his “…you to…stop drinking.” Of course! That's what she really wanted. For him to be the man he once was. That's the story she'd write.

His eyes widened. “What?”

She braced herself for the storm. “And shave that god-awful beard!”

Mark slammed his cards on the table and hollered, “What the hell kind of bet is that?”

“Well, if you don't think you can do it….”

“I can quit drinkin' any time I want!”

Remembering that day in the barn with the mechanical bull, Audrey took a deep breath, lowered her chin and looked at him with an evil grin. “Come on, Mark. Show your sack!”

She knew what part of the male anatomy this term referred to, and it took all her willpower not to run to her room and lock the door. For one terrifying moment, she thought he might reach across the table and grab her throat with his bare hands. His eyes narrowed to slits and his upper lip curled in a snarl.

He took a deep breath as he slowly composed his expression. Keeping eye contact with her, he leaned back in his chair and one side of his mouth rose in a dangerous imitation of a smile.

That frightened her more than the thought of being found out.

He grabbed his beer and took a long, deliberate swallow before he said quietly, “Let's see…” He studied the money in the middle of the table. “I calculate you got about seventy-five dollars there. That may be worth taking a razor to my throat, but not giving up my beer. If you want to play for high stakes, you'll have to offer me something more.”

“W-what do you mean?”

Mark clasped his hands behind his head. He looked smug, as if he sensed her uncertainty. “I'll see your bet by shaving my beard. And I raise you by pouring out the booze. Now you can see my raise with something I want, or fold.”

“Uh, maybe we shouldn't….”

“Oh no,” he cut in. “This game just got real interesting.” He narrowed his eyes and jerked his chin. “You started it, you can finish it.”

She was trapped. Surely he didn't want…. “You, um, want me to go on a diet?”

His eyes smoldered as he slowly shook his head. “I think you know what I want, Audrey. I want you in my bed. Tonight. Now, do you fold? Or play?”

The room began to spin and she couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes to escape those piercing blue ones. She'd come this far. She couldn't quit now. She had her pride, too.

She opened her eyes and looked at her cards. He couldn't possibly beat her full house, could he? She straightened her spine, stuck her chin out and looked at him. “Okay.” Her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat. “I call. If I lose, I'll sleep with you.”

D
amn, the woman had spunk! Mark should've felt triumphant. He knew his straight flush was practically unbeatable. But she was acting like some sacrificial virgin standing at the edge of a volcano.
Is this the only way you can get a woman, Malone? Do you really want her this way?
His stomach burned.

What did she really want? Was this because of the kiss in the kitchen? Would she really risk her precious virtue to get him to stop drinking?

He'd wanted her since she'd smiled at him that first morning, her beautiful emerald eyes shining with excitement. But not like this. He had no doubt she'd pay up if she lost. That stubborn tilt to her chin would see her through. But there were tight lines around her mouth, and her eyes were filled with apprehension.

Maybe if he became the
Lone Cowboy
again, she'd
come to him willingly. He wanted her excited, her eyes flaming with passion. His chances of that happening tonight were less than the chances of him ever getting another straight flush.

Who was this force of nature who'd found a way to make him care? He realized he didn't know anything about her. Not even her last name.

He leaned forward. “What've ya got?”

Audrey's face wavered between smug and worried as she spread her cards. “Full house, queens high.”

Aw, hell. Before he had time to change his mind, he tossed his cards across the table, scattering them. He scowled at Audrey and threatened, “Don't expect to win the next one, darlin'.”

 

A week later, Mark was cursing that poker game. Muttering a string of obscenities, he glided the razor up his neck. He'd planned on growing the beard once he sold the ranch. His face was too recognizable without it, and he'd wanted no reminders of his past. Damn it! He threw the razor into the sink and bent over, leaning on one hand. Why had he thrown that game? He'd had her right where he'd wanted her. Jeez, he wanted a beer. No, he wanted
her.
But a drink would have to do.

Mark strode to the living room, hoping Audrey would see him, daring her to say something. But no one stopped him. He stepped behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and unscrewed the lid. Closing his eyes, he raised it to his lips. A pair of green eyes filled with contempt and loathing swam before his closed lids.
Gonna add welshing on bets to your list of sins, Malone?

To hell with this! He slammed the bottle on the bar and
stalked back to his room. Why did he care what she thought of him?

He'd avoided her intense eyes and voluptuous body all week. He barely managed a civil conversation with John, and he refused to alienate Audrey by snarling at her. Thinking of her passion-sated body lying in his rumpled bed was the only thing that made it worth this trouble.

The past week, he'd drunk enough iced tea to piss out a west Texas grass fire. He'd also done a lot of thinking. Looking back on his behavior over the last few weeks was worse than climbing in the chute with a rank bull. Shame filled his throat with bile at the thought of facing everyone. But John was right. He needed to cowboy up and get on with it.

He'd survived worse than a lost career, hadn't he?

He owed John an apology. He owed John and Helen a lot more than that, but he could never repay them. Just two more on the list of people he'd let down. Mark grabbed the razor from the sink and finished shaving as best he could. He'd go see John now. Before he left his room, he rummaged around in his closet and pulled out his Stetson.

The
Lone Cowboy
was back.

When Helen opened the door of her small house, Mark could smell bacon frying. He stood a moment before he remembered and took off his hat.

“Mark! Come on in.” Though she recovered quickly, Mark had noticed her eyes widen in shock when she first saw him. “What are you doing here so early? Is everything okay?” Helen motioned him in, linking her arm through his as they walked toward the kitchen. He glimpsed a faint smile of approval.

“Fine. Is John busy?”

Helen squeezed his arm and beamed at him. “He's in the kitchen. Come on back and I'll get you some coffee.”

John sat at the small kitchen table reading the paper, sipping from a steaming cup. Glancing up, he did a quick double take, but erased his shocked expression immediately. Before Mark asked, John stood and said, “Let's go into the study.”

“I'll have breakfast ready when y'all are done,” Helen said. “And I'll cut your hair for you after you eat, if you want.” She handed Mark his coffee and winked.

John entered his study and motioned for Mark to sit. He folded his arms across his chest and sat on a corner of his big, scarred oak desk, but didn't speak.

Mark stood for a moment, sipping his coffee, remembering John's study in the Walsh's old house back in Fort Worth. As a kid, Mark had always loved going in there with John. This one looked exactly the same.

He looked around the room, examining the books that filled the shelves on two walls. There were the same red leather chairs with the brass buttons around the edges, the same old-fashioned globe in the brass stand in the corner and the same feeling of refuge and peace.

It smelled the same, too. Like old leather and furniture polish and a hint of fine cigar.

On the wall behind the desk was a large framed picture of Mark taken astride a bucking bull. The bull's back legs kicked up six feet in the air, with a cloud of dust behind it. Mark's left arm was raised behind him, and his right hand, in a thick leather glove, gripped the rope tied around the bull's body. He'd worn the same black cowboy hat he carried now, and had his chin tucked into his chest in a look of steely determination.

He hadn't seen that picture in a long time. Looking at it made his chest hurt. His rodeo days were over. Could he
recapture the grit of that man on the bull? He looked away and sat down.

John broke the silence. “What's going on?”

Mark looked at him and shifted in his chair. “First of all, I owe you an apology for being such an ass these last couple of weeks.” He lowered his gaze to his hat, shifting the brim round and round in front of him. “I can't believe you put up with my crap for this long.”

John's eyes were suspiciously moist when Mark finally looked up. John cleared his throat. “I don't quit on the people I love. Apology accepted.”

John had never told Mark he loved him. That was probably the closest he'd ever come to it. But it was enough. Mark had never told John he loved him, either. Come to think of it, he'd never said those words to anyone. Probably never would. “I've decided I want to keep the Double M. Will you stay on?”

John walked over to look out the window as the faint light of dawn crawled over the land. “No more booze? You gonna work the ranch?”

Fair questions, all things considered. But Mark hated being doubted. “You have my word.”

John turned and offered his right hand. “Then I'll stay. Good to have you back.”

 

After he left John and Helen's, Mark parked his truck in the garage and went straight to the stables. He hadn't ridden Lone Star since the accident. Hadn't even considered whether he could. What if he fell flat on his face? How the hell had he gotten in this predicament?

Oh, yeah. Audrey.

He saddled up Lone Star and led him out of the stable. The stallion was frisky after months of being cor
ralled. Mounting was tricky, but after a few false starts, Mark felt steady enough in the saddle to walk around the paddock.

His hands trembled and his stomach clenched. God, his leg was so damn weak. And it hurt like hell. But if he wanted Audrey in his bed, he'd have to be the rodeo champion she thought he was. When he imagined making love with her, his need for a beer evaporated like the water in a stock tank in July.

He gripped the reins tighter and kicked Star to a trot. Soon he was racing across the pastures trying to outrun the demons that had chased him for two decades. He'd missed the wind in his face and the smell of horse. And there was a hint of rain in the air. Was it April now? The bluebonnets would be in bloom. He caught sight of a separated calf and roped him on the third try. Maybe he could do this.

Is this what the love of a good woman did to a man?

He checked that thought. Love? Hell, Audrey didn't love him. She just wanted the
Lone Cowboy.
His new housekeeper was no saint. She'd gotten what she wanted. He was clean-shaven and sober. Now that he was, he'd persuade her to come to his bed freely—not because of a bet. She'd responded to his kisses, melting and burning all at once. That wasn't something you could fake.

The Lone Cowboy
would get back in the saddle in more ways than one. He wanted to crush her in his arms, bury himself inside her and take her again and again, until they were both spent. Then wake beside her in the morning and have her again. Just thinking about that was enough to start his blood racing south.

What was she doing now? He had to see her. He tugged the reins around and galloped Lone Star home.

 

It was time to leave. Audrey's bags were packed and sitting in the foyer. If she left now, she could arrive in Fort Worth in time to have lunch with her dad at the Cattleman's Club. Then Sunday could be spent writing up her piece for the magazine.

She was due back at work Monday with story in hand. And she had one. Not an in-depth interview, but a story nonetheless. The story of a man who struggled to walk again after months of surgeries and physical therapy.

As far as she could tell, Mark had honored their bet. Mark had avoided her all week, denying her the chance to explain about her promotion and the need for a story. But she wasn't sure she would have had the nerve to confess, anyway.

The hands had just headed for the fields when Helen walked in. “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning.” Audrey reached into the cabinet for two mugs and motioned for Helen to sit. “I'm glad you're here. I wanted to say goodbye.” She poured them both some coffee, feeling more lonely than when she'd arrived.

Helen looked up from her coffee, frowning. “Must you leave today?”

Audrey stared down into hers. “I should get back. I have another…” She hated lying to Helen. But neither could she admit the truth.

“Mark stopped by this morning,” Helen saved her from having to choose. “I haven't seen him out of bed at that time of day in weeks. Not to mention sober.” Helen rushed on, excitement lighting her eyes. “He told John he's keeping the ranch!”

Mark wasn't selling? A spark of hope lit in her heart. He was going to be okay. This ranch was a part of him. He belonged here.

“Are you sure you couldn't—”

“No.” Audrey cut her off and stood to pace across the kitchen, hating to see the joyful expression on Helen's face disappear. “This was always meant to be a temporary job.”

Helen stirred her coffee, gazing into her mug. “You know, when you first came here, I had a feeling you were just what this place needed. You don't know how worried John and I have been. Mark changed so much after the accident. It was like he'd given up on life.”

Audrey turned and leaned on the counter. “Yes, but why? Rodeo's a dangerous sport. Dozens of cowboys get injured, some permanently. Yet they remain positive. A few even stay involved in the circuit.”

Why had Mark started drinking? Was it only the loss of his career? Or was there, as she suspected, something more, something to do with his nightmare and that picture on his armoire.

Helen frowned. “Mark is quiet, reserved. I always thought his nickname had more to do with his preference for being alone than a play on his name. He never let anyone close. Never let anyone help.” She looked at Audrey with admiration in her eyes. “I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but I know this—he's back among the living. And I think it has something to do with you.”

Audrey dropped her gaze to the counter. Shame dug in and clutched at her heart. She'd lied to Helen. And now the dear lady thought she was some sort of saint. But she was a fraud.

“Oh, dear, has Mark ruined his chance with you?”

Audrey felt the tears on her cheeks and swiped them away. How on earth could she tell this sweet woman the
truth? She shook her head. “No, no, it's nothing like that.” Grabbing the empty mugs from the table, she took them to the sink and turned on the water. “Helen, how long have you known Mark?”

“Since he was just a kid. His family lived next door to us. Why?”

“There's something else you're not telling me, isn't there? I mean, I know he can't ride anymore, and that's got to be frustrating, but…” Audrey gazed out the window, thinking aloud. “He had product endorsements, the charities and this place. He was probably close to retiring, anyway. And it's not like he's in a wheelchair. He doesn't even use a cane.”

Audrey turned and Helen lowered her eyes, tracing the tablecloth pattern with her finger.

“You know, don't you?” Audrey said quietly.

When Helen looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “You'll have to ask Mark.”

Audrey's shoulders drooped, weighted with dread. “It was something awful, wasn't it?”

“Only Mark can tell you, dear.”

“Like he'd tell me,” she muttered. She whirled back around to the sink, washing the mugs to distract her from ominous thoughts. Looking up, she glanced out the window and saw one of the ranch hands riding up. She did a swift double take when she got a good look at the man.

It was Mark on Lone Star!

“H-he's riding!” Audrey whispered, clutching the counter for support before her knees gave out.

Helen stood and came to put her arm around Audrey's shoulders, flashing a grin. “Miracles do happen. Maybe you shouldn't give up so easily, dear.”