“I raise ya two.” Holt threw in his chips and laid his cards face down.
Both Lark and Slate complied.
Holt fanned out his cards. Two pairs.
“Tough luck, Holt.” Ringwald blew another smoke ring and laid his cards out. A straight flush.
He shouldn’t have gotten that, not after winning the last round with a straight. The odds were too high. Lark spread her cards, three of a kind. A decent hand, but not good enough. Not against a cheat.
“Well, perhaps we should call it a night.” His grin flashing with its gold tooth, Ringwald raked in his winnings. “Bonnie Belle, change these chips to cash for me, please?”
“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t think I’m ready to quit.” Lark straightened her shoulders and met the gambler’s surprised gaze. “I’m just beginning to understand the finer points of this game. And isn’t it only polite to let the rest of us try to recoup?”
Ringwald chuckled without humor. “Bit late for a proper lady like yourself to be out, isn’t it?”
She turned to Jonah with pleading eyes, inwardly urging him to go along with her charade. “You don’t think Anders will come after me just yet, do you?”
Jonah hesitated. “Guess not.”
Ringwald grunted. “Fine.” He grabbed for the cards. “Let’s get to it, then.”
This time she needed to let Ringwald know she knew he was cheating. Not too obviously, though, or he’d be humiliated and thrown out of the saloon—and that wouldn’t end well for any of them. She could feel tremors beginning in the pit of her stomach.
She turned to Bonnie Belle. “Could I please have something to drink?”
“Of course. What can I get you? Perhaps a sarsaparilla?”
Lark glanced at her brother, who nodded.
“Don’t you worry, miss, it can’t hurt ya none,” Bonnie assured her. “Coming right up.”
“Thank you.” Lark glanced at Ringwald in time to catch a slight smirk just before he downed the glass by his hand. It seemed to her he’d had a number of drinks, since Bonnie Belle kept his glass full. Might that work in her favor?
“Can we get back to our game?”
Lark picked up the sarcasm that sugared the gambler’s words. He wasn’t flirting now. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry to cause a problem.” She fluttered her hands some as she settled herself back in the chair and sent him an apologetic glance. “Please, go ahead.” She wished she dared ask him to put out his cigar in the ashtray by his hand.
Ringwald dealt the cards, his movements faster now, as if he couldn’t wait to get the game over with.
The round went quickly this time, and Ringwald kept his bets low. No doubt wanting to protect his winnings. Soon they all spread their cards on the table. Holt won.
“Well, that’s more like it.” With a relieved grin, Holt gathered the modest pile of chips.
Ringwald would want to quit before losing any more. If she was going to make her move, it had to be now.
Lark bumped her glass of sarsaparilla with her elbow. The bubbly brown liquid sloshed over the table, ruining many of the still-scattered cards.
Ringwald swore, shoving his chair back out of the way of the spill. “What in tarnation?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lark pressed her hand to her mouth. “How clumsy of me. We’ll have to get new cards.” She lifted her gaze to Ringwald’s, narrowing her eyes below her fluttered lashes.
He stared at her. Red crept up his neck, though it might only be noticed by someone watching him carefully.
Good, he got her point. Or was that a good thing?
“Not to worry, Miss Nielsen.” His voice calmer, the gambler flicked a drop from his sleeve with exaggerated coolness and reached in his coat pocket. “I have another deck.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to risk your cards around a butterfingers like me again.” Lark fluttered her hands as the hostess cleaned up the mess. “Bonnie Belle, doesn’t the saloon have a deck we could use?”
The hostess hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get it, miss.”
Mr. Holt and Bernie exchanged glances. Jonah jiggled his foot. Mr. Ringwald withdrew his hand from his pocket, the red of his face turning deeper.
Everyone knew now. Lark avoided Jonah’s gaze, her heart beating fast while she kept the innocent look firm on her face. Had she made a mistake? But the gambler needed to be stopped somehow.
“Here you are, Slate.” Bonnie Belle laid a fresh deck in front of the gambler.
“Fine.” Ringwald snatched up the deck. “Let’s speed this up a mite. Haven’t got all night.” He shuffled, some cards slipping through his fingers in his haste, then dealt, the cards flying toward the players so hard that a couple landed on the floor.
Jonah bent to pick them up and used the chance to whisper to Lark. “You’ve made him mad.”
She knew that. But maybe he would slip up.
Ringwald started the betting so high that Lark swallowed.
“Your turn, Miss Nielsen.”
The knives in the gambler’s voice tightened Lark’s chest. She counted out the required number of chips and glanced at Jonah. Both he and Bernie shook their heads. She figured neither one had enough left to meet the bet. She slid her chips into the center and waited for Mr. Holt. Surely it wouldn’t be just her and this scoundrel.
Ringwald took a long draw on his cigar, puffing an eye-stinging cloud of smoke in her face. “Raise you five.”
Lark and Holt both complied.
“Think you can go five more?” Ringwald stared at Lark, his gaze daring her. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
She half shrugged and slid the required amount to the center. Her stomach clenched, but she made sure her face didn’t show it. She had a good hand, but everything rested on Ringwald being too thrown off by losing his deck to be careful. Her mind kept muttering, Please, God. Please, God. Never in her life had she prayed for such a thing as this.
“I raise ya two.” Holt threw in his chips and laid his cards face down.
Both Lark and Slate complied. The gambler threw his chips in the
