Red River Showdown (6 page)

“Hopefully, that wide berth doesn't apply to the card table,” Clint said.

“Did you bring money with you?”

“Of course.”

“Then it doesn't apply,” Jean Claude said with a wink. “Now, if you'll excuse me, it looks as if the
Misty Morning
is accepting passengers.”

Clint looked over to the dock. From what he saw, it looked less like a boat taking on passengers and more like a pile of fresh beef being revealed to a pack of hungry wolves. Rather than wade into the flood of gamblers making their way to the single plank, Clint hung back and counted the number of faces he recognized.

The
Misty Morning
was a new boat. Clint didn't have to be an experienced sailor to know that much. All he needed was a pair of eyes and a nose to see that the boards in the floor barely even had a scuff on them and still smelled as if they'd just been cut off the tree. There were plenty of riverboats that were bigger. Even the one that had been docked there the night before was plenty bigger. The
Misty Morning
was made for gamblers, however. Anyone else needed to step off the deck before all their money disappeared.

The
Misty Morning
was also a very crowded boat. As soon as Clint walked onboard, he was around so many people that he couldn't stretch his arms out in any direction. Men in expensive suits were constantly bumping into him. Women in fancy dresses were stepping around him. Needless to say, Clint spent a lot of time guarding his pockets.

“Have you been greeted, sir?”

Clint turned to face the source of the smooth, deep voice that he'd just heard. Considering how many people were around, he figured the odds were pretty bad that the voice had been speaking to him. When he spotted the well-dressed man with the salt-and-pepper hair, Clint was surprised to find that the man was waiting for an answer.

“Oh,” Clint said. “You're talking to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man looked to be in his fifties. His black and gray hair was neatly trimmed and stayed perfectly in place. The mustache on his narrow lip was so thin that it seemed to have been drawn there by a swipe of a pencil. He wore a plain black suit, which somehow stood out from all the other plain black suits milling about.

“Have you been greeted?” the man asked.

“I don't believe so.”

“Then allow me to welcome you aboard the
Misty Morning.
Your accommodations are provided for you and your room number is at the bottom of your invitation. You do still have your invitation, don't you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Hearing that was enough to break the expressionless mask that had been on the older man's face until then. “Excellent. May I see it?”

Clint reached into his pocket and produced the invitation.

Seeing that he hadn't been bluffed after all, the older man smiled and let out the breath that had been forcing him to stand as if there was an iron rod running along the back of his jacket. He tapped a small number written at the bottom of the invitation that Clint hadn't even noticed before. “There it is, sir. You' ll find that room toward the rear of the boat.”

Clint folded the invitation again and stuffed it into his pocket. “A lot of these people didn't bring their invitations, huh?”

“You would be amazed.”

“Well, it'll probably make you feel better to know that plenty of these men will be losing their shirts and most everything they own on this boat.”

The man didn't answer, but he wore a real warm smile on his face as he walked away to greet the next gambler.

Clint found himself pushed in the general direction of the railing, so he stood there and looked over the side at the dock. Even though he was a stone's throw from the Boathouse, he felt as if he was already miles away. The street looked even smaller from this angle and the river looked a whole lot bigger.

A whistle blew from higher up near the smokestacks, and Clint thought he felt something within the riverboat start to shift. It was at that moment he realized how long it had been since he'd seen Mia. For all he knew, she could have been somewhere below the deck or even off the boat entirely.

“Aw dammit,” Clint groaned as he recalled Mia saying she still had some things in a room at the Boathouse. If the
Misty Morning
was going to leave soon, Mia could get left behind.

As Clint worked his way toward the gangplank, he saw a younger man working his way up from the dock. There were bags stuffed under each arm and one dangling from his hand. Clint was about to try to get past the heavily burdened fellow, but he felt someone push past him instead.

“Watch yourself,” Mia said as she hurried down the plank. She waved for the young man and then pushed Clint back onto the boat. “Where do you think you're going? I think the boat's about to leave.”

“I was going to try and find you.”

“Aww,” she said while patting his cheek. “That's sweet.”

“Is that stuff yours?” Clint asked.

“Yes. There's no way I could carry it all, and you disappeared before I could ask you.”

“All of it's yours?”

“Yes.”

“You barely had enough to fill one saddlebag.”

“I told you I went shopping,” she said impatiently. “You didn't seem to mind the dress I bought. Why should I even have to explain this to you?”

Clint held up his hands as if to surrender the point, while also getting out of the younger man's way. “No need to explain anything. I just didn't know you bought out half the store.”

“Are you worried about my money?”

“Now that I know you're on board, I'm not worried about a thing.”

“That's more like it,” she said.

Although there were still way too many people wandering around the upper deck of the boat, there were no more coming up the gangplank. After the next whistle blew, the
Misty Morning
started to rumble as the paddle wheel began to turn.

Mia had already found her way to the older man in the black suit.

“Hello, ma'am,” the man said. “Have you been greeted?”

“No, I haven't,” Mia replied cheerily.

“Do you have your invitation?”

“I had it awhile ago, but I think I may have misplaced it.”

The older man rolled his eyes and let out a weary sigh.

The
Misty Morning
pulled away from the dock and floated down the Red River. Clint stayed on the top deck and watched the dock drift away and the river widen in front of them. From what he'd heard, there were to be a few more stops that day and then they wouldn't be stopping until it was time to let people off.

It did strike Clint as a bit odd that the boat wasn't going to make any stops along the way, but he doubted any of the gamblers would want to get off anyhow. Ever since they'd all swarmed the decks and gotten a look at their competition, nearly all the passengers had disappeared inside the boat. Clint remained where he was, leaned against the rail, and filled his lungs with the fragrant river air.

Behind him, Clint could hear the tapping of light footsteps moving toward the rail.

“It's so quiet out here,” a woman said.

Clint turned around to find a tall blonde in a cream-colored dress settling against the rail. Her long hair flowed into wavy curls that reminded Clint of decorative ribbons wrapped around a Christmas present. Her skin was smooth and fair. The lilt in her voice along with the parasol she propped on one shoulder gave her a distinctly Southern flair.

“Aren't you here to play cards?” she asked.

Clint nodded and turned so he was leaning back against the rail. “Sure, but there's plenty of time for that later. Besides, it's kind of nice to breathe in a few times without filling up with smoke.”

“It is rather foggy in the main room.”

“I take it the games are already starting?” Clint asked.

“Oh, my yes. I doubt they'll be ending anytime soon.”

“You must have traveled a bit to get here. Georgia, was it?”

The blonde blinked once and stepped back as if Clint had just read her future. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

“The accent says it all.”

She narrowed her eyes, studied him and then tapped her chin with her finger. “You're not from Texas because you don't talk like a cowboy. You're not from Oklahoma. I've heard plenty of accents from around there.” After a few seconds, she said, “Actually, I'm bad at this. You could be from anywhere for all I know.”

“Anywhere and everywhere. My name's Clint.”

Content not to question him any further on the subject, the blonde shook the hand Clint offered and said, “I'm Gretchen Bowes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gretchen.”

“Likewise I'm sure,” she replied as she added a little curtsy as if it was second nature. “So you are here to gamble?”

“If I was here to steer the boat, I'd sure be standing in the wrong place.”

Gretchen's laughter was as pretty as it was promising. “I suppose that was a silly question.”

“What about you?” Clint asked. “Are you a gambler?”

“I dabble, but it was my sister who received the invitation.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes,” Gretchen said with a nod. “She's the wild one of the family. She used to play cards with our daddy, and when she walked into a saloon to play for real money, she never looked back.”

“Since she's the wild one,” Clint said, “I suppose that makes you the beautiful one?”

Although a blush didn't actually show on her cheeks, Gretchen averted her eyes and covered her face with her hand as if it did. “Stop it,” she said as she moved a little closer. “We've only just met.”

“Sorry. All this river air must be getting to me. Perhaps we should get out of it before something happens.”

Gretchen gave a look of genuine surprise as she slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her full, red lips were parted as if to speak, but she didn't get a chance to say a word.

“Would you be able to escort me into the main room?” Clint asked as he held out an arm. “I wouldn't want to get lost and walk into the furnace by mistake.”

Shifting her surprised expression into a smile, Gretchen nodded and looped her arm around Clint's. “I wouldn't mind one bit,” she said. “I think this river air was getting to me, too.”

With a few practiced moves, Gretchen closed her parasol and swung it down so she could use it like a cane in her free hand. She fell into step next to Clint and timed her steps perfectly so her well-rounded hip bumped slightly against him as they walked.

The closer Clint got to the door leading down into the boat, the more the quiet, outside world faded away. The sounds of splashing water and chirping birds was quickly replaced by dozens of voices, glasses rattling against one another and a piano playing a steady stream of Chopin.

Clint and Gretchen walked down a single flight of stairs which led them into a large room filled with card tables arranged in perfect rows, with chairs set up perfectly around them. Nearly every one of those chairs was full, but Clint still felt as if he was missing something as he looked around the room.

“There must be fewer games started than I thought,” he said. “This only looks like about half the people that were on the deck before.”

“That deck looked positively chaotic.” Gretchen sighed. “But there wasn't this much space up top, you know. That made it seem like twice the number of people milling about.”

“Yeah, but there's still got to be plenty more people in their rooms.”

“Or they could be in one of the other poker rooms,” she offered.

“There are more poker rooms?”

She nodded. “Two more. One at the front of the boat and one at the back. They're not as big as this one, though.”

Clint had already spotted Mia sitting at one of the tables closest to the bar. She waved and shot him a look that was practically a command for him to approach her. “We might as well start here, I suppose,” he said.

“I'm going to find my sister.” Gretchen said as she stepped away from him. Brushing her hand along Clint's cheek, she added, “I'll find you later.”

“I sure hope so.”

Clint watched Gretchen turn around and head for one of the other doors leading out of the room. Even though she wore more than a few layers under her petticoat, the swaying of her hips was still easy to distinguish. When he finally took his eyes off the pleasant sight, Clint found Mia glaring at him with more than a little venom in her eyes.

Smiling and walking over to her, Clint tugged on the collar of his rumpled shirt as if that would make a difference in his appearance. “I feel a little underdressed for this place,” he said once he got to where Mia was sitting.

Her table was only half-full. One of the men was in his sixties and had a bushy set of muttonchops running along the sides of his face. The bristly hair barely even moved as he grumbled, “Only a little underdressed?”

Clint wanted to answer back, but the man had room to talk since he was sporting a tailored black suit complete with a gold watch chain crossing his belly.

“Who was that?” Mia asked.

“I don't know,” Clint replied. “I didn't catch the gentleman's name.”

“Not him. The blonde. Who was she?”

“I'm going to my room. We can discuss this when I get back.” Clint put his back to the table, walked away and hoped Mia would have forgotten about her question by the time he returned.