replacements.
“Sonofabitch.” Ira threw his hand in the middle of the table, folding.
Masterson covertly peeped at his cards and laid them face down. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side.
Kaira continued toward the players.
Even the quiet got quieter.
Shorty laid an ace of spades face up. “Dealer takes four,” he said before replenishing his cards.
“Another wagon wheel to you, Masterson,” the dealer said.
It was now or never! Surely the game was coming to an end, since the gamblers were throwing away their cards. Right?
She steeled herself to make her voice casual. “Mr. Masterson, may I have a moment of your time?”
Now that she’d taken the first step, she felt better. Much better.
“Well, uh, Miss…” he stammered.
“Renaulde, K. C. Renaulde from Boston-Boston, Massachusetts.”
Slowly the man picked up his cards and tilted them up for her to see. “Well, Miss Renaulde, uh, ma’am, not to be rude, but with this hand do you think a wise player would give you a moment right now?” His voice held depth and authority.
“Sir, I honestly don’t know. I’ve not partaken of the game you’re playing, but I do enjoy a wicked game of crokinole.” With an air of pleasure, she beamed at him. She wasn’t sure if the look on his face was the beginning or the end of a smile. “I realize crokinole isn’t all that exciting, but one requires grace to position the wooden disks as close to the center as possible. I’m an excellent player.”
Though Masterson said nothing, his face spoke for him.
“Okay, so I presume you aren’t familiar with the game.”
“Well, no, ma’am, I’m not. It’s nice to meet you, uh, Miss Renaulde. Now, if I may get back to my game.”
“It’s urgent that I speak with you. I have a proposition.”
The comment seemed to pique his curiosity. His brow shot up. “Darlin’, I never shy away from a pretty lady with a proposition, but you’ll have to wait until I’m through playing, then I’ll be glad to hear you out. Very glad.” He spoke smoothly but insistently.
Kaira thanked him and returned to the bar. “I do believe that went well, Mr. Wally. Don’t you?” she stated with satisfaction.
The bartender nodded in agreement, and refilled her cup. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thank you.” She sipped the tea, trying not to lose focus on her mission.
Kaira fidgeted with the cup. She had come to Texas intending to prove to her grandfather that she didn’t have what it took to be in the rag business, but now she suddenly found herself wanting to succeed rather than fail.
Her first step was to get the interview with William Barclay Masterson.
She stole one more glance at the table of players. Another approach might work. With renewed confidence, she stepped from the stool and headed toward the gamblers.
“Mr. Masterson, will it make a difference that I am a member of the Boston Peabodys and my grandfather is running for senator?”
He turned in her direction. Laying down his cards, he pulled to an impressive height. “Gentleman, please excuse me.”
Gingerly, yet firmly, he took her elbow and escorted her back to the bar. He pulled out the chair for her. After she took her seat, he leaned down and in the voice only for her hearing, he said, “Miss Renaulde, I don’t care if you’re a member of the Peediddles of Pittsburg. When a man is gambling, it’s impolite to interrupt. So, if you can sit here and busy yourself with some refreshment, when I’m finished I’ll spend some time with you. Think you can manage that?” Not waiting for her response, he gave her a friendly wink and strolled back to the game.
Kaira watched him walk away before she took a deep breath. This newspaper scooping was a bit harder than she anticipated. Not letting him get the best of her, she stalked across the room. “I can do that, but may I ask you one itty-bitty question?”
“If it’ll make you happy and get you back to your tea quicker, ma’am, I’ll be pleased to answer your question.”
The look on his face told her he wasn’t interested in discussing business.
Her composure was under attack, but she’d come too far to turn back. While not wanting to aggravate the man she had to ask some trivial question. Something that wouldn’t upset him. “Fine. Thank you.” She shifted the caba on her wrist. “It may seem silly to you, but I’ve already said that I’m not familiar with the game you are playing, so…”
Masterson looked at his cards again, as though checking to make sure the faces hadn’t faded away. “Well, ma’am.” He put down the cards. “You’ve got my full attention.”
“What is so special about the four queens in your hand?”
Chapter 6
If silence had a voice, the Amarillo Belle was screaming at the top of its rafters. Quin’s fingers froze on the batwing doors as he watched bedlam inside the saloon dance to its own tune.
The piano player, dressed in a red shirt with a black garter decorating his right arm, suddenly attacked the ivories as through punishing an evil hombre. He broke into his own rendition of the popular minstrel. “Nobody knows the trouble I see. Nobody knows…”
In one wide sweep, the bartender strung out a dozen or more shot glasses along the bar and filled them in one continual stream with nary a drop of whiskey hitting the counter.
Scarlet satin and licorice lace swirled, as dancehall girls scattered like kitties confronted by a vicious hound.
Surely, Quin was going deaf. Had Kaira revealed Masterson’s winning hand? From what Quin had heard, the gambler would make short work of sweeping the floor with anyone interfering with his wagering.
Bat Masterson placed his cards face up, scooted his winnings to him, and placed his hands on the table, prepared to stand. A sudden chill veiled the movement.
Quin recognized a bobcat stalking a canary when he saw one. Feathers were about to fly, and he must protect Kaira. She needed a public flogging, but not by the famed gunslinger.
Like a bogged steer hip deep in mud, Quin stood rooted in place. On the third attempt, his legs moved forward. Picking up speed, he rushed the door, slamming the center with his chest. Both batwings parted and he crossed the sawdust floor before Masterson reached his full height.
In slow motion, Kaira turned in Quin’s direction, probably wondering why she hadn’t been told a tornado hit town. She blinked in bewilderment.
“Miss Renaulde!” Quin’s voice sounded unnatural even to him. “I need to see you outside,
“I’m sorry, Mr. Corbett, but-” A crimson flush raced like a fever across her cheeks.
“But nothing. Outside. NOW!”
“Excuse me?” She lifted her chin and threw back her shoulders in defiance, which emphasized her set of attributes to their fullest.
“I didn’t stutter.” Quin resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and exit the saloon. But he had never deliberately embarrassed a woman and didn’t plan to begin now. He gulped air. He could almost hear the hemp committee forming for Kaira’s public hanging.
Securing her arm with a firm grip, he drew her near. Close enough that the sweet smell of lily of the valley masked the stale scent of smoke, whiskey, and lust.
She shot him a look that could surely send him direct to his grave, and dug in her heels.
“Mr. Corbett, please.” She leaned lightly into him, tilting her face toward his.
Bat Masterson took a step forward. “It’s in your best interest to get your hands off Miss Renaulde…at once.”
