The Winning Hand (9 page)

“Good blood. Strong stock. You can be proud of your heritage, lass. Darcy, is it? And are you a married woman, Darcy Wallace?”

“No, I’m not. I—” She snapped back and her brows drew together. “Excuse me, who is this?”

“This is Daniel MacGregor, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She managed to close her mouth, take a breath. “How do you do, Mr. MacGregor?”

“I do fine, fine and dandy, Darcy Wallace. I’m told my grandson is paying a call on you.”

“Yes, he’s here.” Weren’t her lips still tingling from his? “Um. Would you like to speak to him?”

“That I would. You have a fine, clear voice. How old might you be?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“I wager you’re a healthy girl, too.”

Totally at sea, she nodded her head. “Yes, I’m healthy.” She only blinked at Mac when he cursed under his breath and grabbed the phone away from her.

“Shall I check her teeth for you, Grandpa?”

“There you are.” Pleasure, and no remorse, rang in Daniel’s voice. “Your secretary transferred me. Of course, I wouldn’t have to be transferred all over hell and back to have a word with my oldest grandchild if you ever bothered to call your grandmother. She’s feeling neglected.”

It was an old ploy, and made Mac sigh. “I called you and Grandma less than a week ago.”

“At our age, boy, a week’s a lifetime.”

“Bull.” He couldn’t stop the smile. “You’ll both live forever.”

“That’s the plan. So, I hear from your mother—who bothers to call home from time to time—that you lost yourself a million-eight and change.”

Mac ran his tongue around his teeth, glancing over as Darcy wandered to the window. “You win some, you lose some.”

“True enough. And was the lass I was just speaking to the one who scalped you?”

“Yes.”

“A Wallace. Good, clear voice, good manners. Is she pretty?”

Mac eased a hip on the desk. He knew his grandfather well. “Not bad, if you overlook the hunchback and the crossed eyes.” Idly he flipped open the notebook on the desk as Daniel’s hearty laughter rang in his ear.

“She’s pretty then. Got your eye on her, do you?”

Mac lifted his gaze from the pages crowded with margin-to-margin writing, and studied the way Darcy stood facing the window. The sun was a halo over her hair. Her hands were linked together in front of her. She looked as delicate as a wildflower in the unforgiving heat of the desert.

“No.” He said it definitely, finally, wanting to mean it. “I don’t.”

“And why not? Are you going to stay single all your life? A man your age needs a wife. You should be starting a family.”

As Daniel blustered on about responsibility, duty, the family name, Mac cocked his head and read a page. It was about a woman sitting alone in the dark, watching the lights of the city outside her window. The sense of solitude, of separation, was wrenching.

Thoughtfully he closed the book again, laying a hand over it as he watched Darcy watch the city. “But I’m having such fun, Grandpa,” he said, when Daniel finally paused for breath, “working my way through all the showgirls.”

There was a moment’s pause, then a roar of laughter. “You always had a mouth on you. I miss you, Robbie.”

Daniel was the only one who ever called Mac by his childhood name—and then he used it rarely. Love, Mac thought, was inescapable. “I miss you, too. All of you.”

“Well, if you’d tear yourself away from those showgirls, you could come visit your poor old granny.”

Obviously Anna MacGregor wasn’t within hearing distance. Mac could imagine the punishment she would mete out if she heard her husband call her “poor,” “old” or “granny.” “Give her my love.”

“I will, though she’d prefer you give it to her yourself. Put the lass back on the phone.”

“No.”

“No respect,” Daniel muttered. “I should have taken a strap to you when you were a boy.”

“Too late now.” Mac grinned. “Behave yourself, Grandpa. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See that you do.”

Mac stayed where he was after he replaced the receiver. “I’ll apologize for The MacGregor’s interrogation.”

“It’s all right.” She kept her back to him, stared out at the sun shining on towering buildings. “He sounds formidable.”

“Hard shell, soft center.”

“Mmm.” She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but how could she have helped hearing Mac’s part of the conversation? The love and exasperation in his voice had touched her. And his words had cleared up her confusion.

Showgirls. Of course he would be attracted to the long legs, the beautiful bodies, the exotic faces. He’d only been curious, she supposed. That’s why he’d kissed her. But damn him, damn him for stirring up all this need that she’d managed to live very contentedly without until now.

“I seem to have gotten distracted from the point of coming to see you.” He waited for her to turn and face him. At a casual glance she appeared perfectly composed. But he couldn’t seem to glance at her casually. He was compelled to search, and a search of those eyes revealed bruises and storms. “Now
you’re angry.”

“No, I’m irritated, but I’m not angry. What was the point,” she began, then paused significantly, “of your coming to see me?”

That flair for sarcasm surprised him. The edge of it pricked at him enough to have him pushing off the desk and shoving his hands into his pockets. “The point was the press. I know you’re concerned about your name getting out. We’re being deluged with calls for the full story. I can hold them off, but it’s bound to leak, Darcy. The hotel employs hundreds, and several people already know your name. Sooner rather than later, one of them is going to talk to a reporter.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She supposed she should be grateful he’d given her something else to worry about. “I’m sure you think I’m a coward, not wanting Gerald to know where I am.”

“I think that’s your business.”

“I am a coward.” She said it defiantly, tossing up her chin in a challenging gesture that contrasted with her words. “I’d rather agree than quarrel, rather run than fight. But that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Here with you, about to become wealthy. Cowardice works for me.”

“He can’t hurt you, Darcy.”

“Of course he can.” Lifting her hands, she gave a weary sigh. “Words hurt. They bruise the heart and scar the soul. I’d rather be slapped than battered with words.” Then she shook her head. “Well, whatever happens, happens. How much time do you think I have before my name gets out?”

“A day or two.”

“Then I should make the most of it. I appreciate you letting me know. You must be busy. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Kicking me out?”

She managed a small smile. “We both know you have other things to do. I don’t need you to babysit.”

“All right.” He started for the door, then stopped and turned with his hand on the knob. “I wanted to
kiss you again.” He watched her gaze flick warily to his face. “A little too much for your own good, and maybe for my own.”

Her heart stuttered. “Maybe I’m tired of my own good, and willing to gamble.”

Something flashed into his eyes that made her shudder. “High stakes, bad odds. Too risky for a novice, Darcy from Kansas. First rule is never bet what you can’t afford to lose.”

When he closed the door quietly behind him, she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Why do I have to lose?”

She kept to herself the rest of the day, writing furiously in her notebook. The garage that had towed in her car called to tell her it was repaired. On impulse she asked the mechanic if he knew anyone who would buy it. She was finished with it, after all, and with everything else—save her notebooks—that she’d brought with her from Trader’s Corners.

When the mechanic offered her a thousand dollars, she snapped it up without bargaining, and hurried out to sign over the paperwork.

There was a slick little laptop computer sitting on her desk when she returned, with a note telling her that it was hers to use during her stay, courtesy of The Comanche. Thrilled, Darcy stroked it, examined it, experimented with it, then settled down to transcribe her notes onto the screen.

She worked straight through dinner and into the evening until her eyes blurred and her fingers went numb. Hunger rumbled in her stomach. It was tempting to reach for the phone, to order something to be brought to the room. To stay hidden.

Instead she picked up her purse, squared her shoulders. She was going out, she decided. She’d have a meal, some wine if she wanted. Then, by God, she was going to gamble.

*   *   *

The tables were crowded and the air stung with smoke and perfume when she entered the casino. She wanted to watch, to study. Figure the odds, Mac had said. Learn the rules. She intended to do just that. She liked the world here, the hard-edged brightness of it, the thrill of risk.

She wandered through, loitering by a blackjack table long enough to see a man in shirtsleeves with a thin black cigar clamped between his teeth lose five thousand dollars without flinching.

Amazing.

She studied the spin of the wheel, the teasing bounce of the little silver ball at roulette. Saw stacks of chips come and go. Odd or even. Black or red.

Fascinating.

Behind it all was the never-ending beeps and whistles and clinks of the slots. Lights beckoned. Jackpot. She studied the technique of an elderly woman who leaned on a walker and mumbled to the spinning face of a machine. And gave a cheerleader’s shout when quarters cascaded into the metal dish.

“Fifty bucks,” the woman said, shooting Darcy a steely smile. “About time this sucker paid off.”

“Congratulations. It’s poker, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Been nickel-and-diming me for two hours. But it’s heating up now.” She gave the machine a friendly thump with her walker, then stabbed the red button again. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

It looked like fun, Darcy decided. Simple, uncomplicated, and an excellent place to start. She walked down the line until she came to an unoccupied machine, then slid onto the stool. After reading the instructions, she put a twenty in the slot and watched her credits light. She pushed the button, grinning as her hand was dealt.

In his office, Mac watched her on-screen. He could only shake his head. In the first place, she was playing like a chump, one credit at a time. If she wanted to hit, she needed to play four, a buck a hand.
Now she was holding two kings instead of going for the straight flush.

It was pitifully obvious she’d never played poker before in her life.

Well, he’d keep an eye on her, make certain she didn’t lose more than a few hundred.

He glanced over at the door when a knock sounded, then his smile spread with delight when his mother poked her head in. “Hello, handsome.”

“Hello, gorgeous.” He caught her around the waist in a fierce hug and pressed his lips to her soft, burnished gold hair. “I didn’t expect you for another day or two.”

“We finished up early.” She cupped his face in her hands and smiled at him. “And I wanted to see my boy.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’ll be right along. He got waylaid in the lobby so I deserted him.”

Mac laughed and kissed her again. She was so beautiful, with soft skin, exotic eyes a unique shade of lavender, and strong facial bones that guaranteed grace and beauty for a lifetime. “Serves him right. Come sit down. Let me get you a drink.”

“I would love a glass of wine. It’s been a long day.” With a sigh Serena sat in one of the leather chairs, stretched out long legs that rustled with silk. “I talked to Caine this morning. He tells me he’s getting the paperwork finished up for this woman who hit the big machine here. The press is full of Madam X,” she added.

With a short laugh, Mac poured a glass of his mother’s favored white wine. “I can’t think of a title that suits her less.”

“Really. What’s she like?”

“See for yourself.” He gestured to the screen. “The little blonde in the blue blouse at the poker slot.”

Serena shifted, sipping her wine as she studied the monitor. She lifted a brow as Darcy held a pair of eights and tossed away the best part of a flush. “Not much of a player, is she?”

“Green as they come.”

Serena’s gambler’s heart warmed when Darcy pulled another two eights. “Lucky little thing, though. And pretty. Is it true she was dead broke when she walked in here?”

“Just about down to her last dollar.”

“Well, good for her.” Serena lifted her glass to toast the screen. “I’m looking forward to meeting her. Oh good, someone’s going to give her a little help.”

“What?” Alerted, Mac looked back at the screen and saw a man slip onto the stool beside her. He saw the quick, flirtatious grin, the easy brush of a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. And Darcy’s wide-eyed, attentive smile. “Son of a bitch.”

Mac was halfway out the door before Serena could leap to her feet. “Mac?”

“I’ve got to get down there.”

“But why—”

As her son dashed off, Serena decided there was only one way to find out why. She set her wine aside and hurried after him.

People were so nice, so friendly, Darcy thought. And so helpful, she decided as she smiled at the attractive man in the Stetson who’d settled down beside her at the slots.