Texas Hold Him (4 page)

Lottie forced a smile. “Oh, he didn’t hurt me.” He just left her at a loss for words more than any man she’d ever met.

Sally joined Lottie at the rail. “I knew Dyer wouldn’t hurt a woman, at least not physically. It’s just that he
seemed pretty mad, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t say anything to upset you.”

“You know Dyer well?” With any luck, Sally could give her some insight into this unusual man. All help would be appreciated.

Sally snorted. “Nobody knows Dyer well, but I’ve known him for a while now. What is it you want out of him? If you don’t mind
me asking.”

“I want him to teach me how to play poker.”

Sally shook her head, apparently shocked at Lottie’s statement. “You’re a brave lady, Lottie Mace.”

“I don’t know why it’s such an amazing thing for a lady to play poker. If all those men can do it, I’m sure I can.”

“I’m sure you can too. You just don’t seem like the kind of lady who would thumb her nose at genteel society and gamble on
a riverboat.”

Sally’s statement reinforced all the misgivings Lottie’d had from the very beginning of this undertaking. She knew very well
a decent woman didn’t play cards or even associate with riverboat gamblers, but she had little choice. “I know it’s a sin,
and I’ll probably go to Hell, but I need the money, and I guess I’m willing to take that chance.”

“Honey,” Sally said. “If you get involved with Dyer, you’ll already be in Hell.”

Lottie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that man carries his own brand of Hell with him.”

She started to ask Sally to explain, but decided Dyer’s personal problems shouldn’t affect her anyway. Lord knew she had enough
problems to last her, and all she needed from Dyer was poker lessons. Nothing more.

“From the look on your face, I have the feeling he’s refused to teach you,” Sally said.

“Actually, he brought up a good point. I don’t have any money yet to pay him.”

“How do you plan to earn it?”

Lottie motioned to the gaming room. “Serving the tables.”

“Not dressed like that,” Sally said, with a shake of her head.

Lottie smoothed her hands down her blue calico day dress. Granted it wasn’t fancy, but it fit her well enough, and it functioned
sufficiently for serving the tables. “Mr. Craft said I didn’t have to wear a short dress if I didn’t want to. What’s wrong
with mine? I thought it was very respectable.”

Sally laughed. “That’s the point, honey. How much money have you made so far?”

Lottie reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two bits. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Sally patted her fancy red hair and sashayed in a little circle on the deck, swishing her hips
to make the knee-length skirt of her scarlet dress sway about her body. “The men pay more to a woman they think might give
them a little fun later.”

“Oh, my.” Lottie could feel her face heating at the mere thought of what Sally suggested. “But I could never do that.”

“I’m not saying you’ve got to meet any of them later, but right now you look like their kid sister. You probably make most
of the men feel like they should be going to church instead of throwing around their money on cards and whiskey.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“Honey,” Sally turned her painted face to Lottie and raised her brow. “Do you want to earn money or not?”

Lottie thought of her father dying in a prison cell. His crippled body chilled and frail as the humiliation of his condition
tortured him in his last days. “I have to.”

“Then you need to let old Sally Summerfield help you out a tad.”

Lottie took a deep breath to force the butterflies out of her stomach before she stepped into the gaming room. She’d rubbed
a little of the rouge off her cheeks when Sally wasn’t looking, but she couldn’t determine how to remove some of the kohl
from around her eyes without making them look like a raccoon’s. So she’d left the dark eye makeup in place with the hopes
that it would draw attention to her eyes and away from her dress. If that’s what it could be called, though how anything that
short could be considered a dress was beyond her.

Sally was pleased with the results, claiming Lottie would be the prettiest girl on the boat and make plenty of money to pay
Dyer as a result. Were it not for that reminder of her reasons for doing this, she could never have left the room.

She brushed her hand down the front of her skirt, still not believing she was about to go into public with the lower part
of her legs covered in nothing but black silk stockings.

Momma’s locket felt warm inside her bodice. She laid her hand against the fabric and muttered, “I’ll take care of him, Momma,”
before she straightened her shoulders and stepped into the room.

Lottie had fully expected the room to fall suddenly silent as all turned to look at her with their jaws dropped,
but the noise and gaming continued as though no one had even seen her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

All the other girls were dressed the same way, and she guessed it was silly of her to expect she’d stand out in the crowd.
She relaxed a little and took a place by the bar to watch Sally make her way around the room, laughing and talking with the
men who seemed more than pleased with her interest.

The movement of a hand brought Lottie’s attention to a table in the back of the room. She swallowed. The man had his back
to her, but there was no mistaking to whom the back belonged. She’d had it turned on her enough in the last two days to recognize
it instantly.

Sigh. She might as well get this over with.

She walked to his table and said, “What would you like, sir?”

The butterflies in her stomach did a tap dance when Dyer glanced up at her and winked. He was actually quite handsome when
he wasn’t snarling.

“Well, darlin’,” he drawled. “I’d like a whiskey—” Suddenly his smile dropped, followed soon thereafter by his jaw. “
Son of a bitch!
”

“Really, Mr. Straights, you need to work on your vocabulary—”

Before she could finish her sentence, he stood so quickly he knocked over his chair in the process.

“Outside, Miss Mace,” he said, starting toward the door before he noticed the cards he still held in his hand.

“Damn it,” he growled and threw them on the table. “I fold,” he yelled over his shoulder as he led her across the room to
the nearest door, not caring that all eyes in the place actually
were
on them now.

He pulled her out to the darkness of the deck, then
peeled off his jacket and draped it across the front of her gown, covering her low neckline and the extra bit of cleavage
it exposed. Then he looked down at her legs.

“Damn it,” he ground out again. “I don’t know which end to cover.”

He clutched her chin to examine her face, then grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with his pace.

“You’re going to wash that paint off your face and change back into your clothes.” Stopping suddenly, he frowned down at her.
“Where are they?”

She dug in her heels and pulled her hand free. She didn’t know who he thought he was, but she didn’t need or want a caretaker,
and his sudden concern for her well-being wasn’t appreciated.

“I’m not going anywhere. I have money to earn.” She handed him his jacket and spun around to return to the gaming room.

“Like hell.”

His statement hung in the night air, managing to raise every hair on the back of her neck as it did. She stopped in her tracks
and slowly turned back to face him.

He had some nerve. “You, Mr. Straights, are not my father. You have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do.” She took
a step toward him and poked him in the chest with her finger. “Since you have made it ever so clear that you have no intentions
of helping me out of my dilemma, you’ve left me no choice but to deal with my situation my own way.”

She turned to walk away, but only made it two steps before he spun her around and pulled her into his arms. The sudden impact
of his chest hitting hers brought a
gasp from her lips as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his hips into hers.

“You want money?” he asked, lowering his mouth. “I’ll give you money.”

His mouth slanted across hers before she had a second to think or react. She clutched the front of his shirt in an attempt
to shove him away, but the movement brought a low moan from him that caused her knees to weaken in response. He moved his
lips across hers, tasting and tugging at her mouth until her lips parted to allow him deeper access. He swept his tongue inside
before he pulled his head back to look down at her. His eyes were even darker than usual as he raked his gaze to her lips,
then down to her breasts where they strained against the neckline of her dress.

“Well now,” he purred. “Come with me to my cabin for the night, and I promise to pay you well in the morning.”

Lottie’s jaw dropped. He had just propositioned her like he would a common harlot. She shoved back from him, then soundly
socked him across the jaw before spinning away.

Dyer rubbed his face as he watched Miss Mace storm down the deck into the night. She packed quite a wallop, but that didn’t
surprise him any. Everything about that lady was out of the ordinary. Her right hook shouldn’t be any different.

He couldn’t help admiring her spunk though. He picked up his jacket from the deck floor and pulled it on, stopping to brush
off the sleeves before making his way back to the gambling salon. He hoped his insult snapped Miss Mace to her senses and
made her realize she had no
more business aboard a riverboat than a whore did in Sunday school.

If you play with fire, you get burned
. He winced at that thought. He’d intended to scare her with his kiss, but instead she’d melted against him like butter. He
hadn’t expected that either, and like her right hook, both incidents left him more stunned than he cared to admit.

Lottie picked up the glass of whiskey from the bartender and headed back toward Dyer’s table. It had taken her several minutes
to regain her composure after their encounter on the deck, but the man had ordered a whiskey, and it was her job, after all,
to bring it to him.

Holding her head high, she walked back to his table and stopped beside his chair. “Here is the whiskey you ordered, Mr. Straights.”

He threw her a sideways glance, then lowered his hand to stroke the back of her silk-covered calf. “I appreciate it, princess.”

He winked and slid his hand up her leg to her thigh. He stopped just at the top of her garter, where he ran his finger around
the edge of its lace, challenging her with his eyes. None of the others at the table could see where his hand had slipped,
or maybe they didn’t find it unusual, but Lottie felt the steam come out of her ears.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile on her lips. “You have to be the most infuriating man I have ever met.”

He chuckled. “Thank you, darlin’. I always strive to be the best at what ever I do.”

She stood with the glass of whiskey in her hand, waiting for the perfect moment. Not too soon, so that he would miss the anticipation,
but not so late that he would
have the opportunity to escape. She saw it as soon as it flickered in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare—”

“Too late,” she interrupted, dumping the whiskey on his head, leaving the glass sitting upside down on top like a little sparkling
hat. She hurried from the room to the cheers and laughter of the men who had witnessed the baptism of Mr. Dyer Straights,
thinking it fitting that a man of his ilk should be christened with whiskey instead of holy water.

She didn’t slow down until she stood just outside the door to the cabin she shared with three of the other working girls.
It was still too warm to go inside, but she was close enough to dart in and lock the door should Dyer come looking for her.

Lottie stared out into the night, listened to the peeping of the tree frogs and wondered if she’d gone too far this time.
Her father had always said her temper would get her into trouble someday, and maybe this was the day. What had she been thinking?

A movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention as a man walked slowly toward her out of the darkness. She started
to slip into her cabin but stopped when he softly applauded.

“Well done, madam,” he said, continuing to walk until he stood close enough for her to see him clearly. “Dyer has had that
coming for some time now.”

He took off his hat and bowed deeply at the waist. “I’m Newt Crawford.” He straightened and chuckled. “I just had to meet
the lady who left Dyer at a loss for words.”

“Miss Lottie Mace.” She glanced over at the handsome gambler who seemed tickled to death with her antics.
She only wished she felt the same. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Nonsense. I’m glad Dyer found a lady like you to keep him in line.”

“Oh, I’m not Mr. Straights’s lady,” she corrected. “We only just met a couple of days ago.”

“Really?” Newt’s eyes twinkled even in the darkness, and the subtle wrinkles at the corners proved they were no strangers
to smiling. The gray at the temples of his dark hair gave him a distinguished look that went well with his expensive suit
and the sparkling diamond stickpin in his cravat.

“How do you know him?” she asked.

“I met him when he first came to the riverboats to gamble. He came aboard the
Robert E. Lee
with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove.”

“Did he win?” she asked.

Newt chuckled. “No, he lost miserably, and I probably should have let him leave, but I felt sorry for him, I guess. So I gave
him some lessons.”

“You taught Dyer to play poker?” It hadn’t dawned on her until that moment that someone had taught Dyer the game. She had
just assumed he was born with the knowledge or found it in the bottom of a bottle . . . of one kind or another.

“Let’s just say, I improved his game a tad,” Newt said.

“I’ve tried to get him to teach me, but he absolutely refuses. He doesn’t think a woman should play poker.” She frowned. “At
least that’s what he says, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.”