The Law And Miss Hardisson. Lynna Banning

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СКАЧАТЬ opened her eyes and spoke aloud to the windowpane. “And he is never coming back.”

      “Cut the cards, mister?”

      Clayton reached out his good arm and split the deck. He’d played seven hands, won the pot after the last one, and now his mind wandered away from the game while the dealer slapped cards down onto the scarred oak table.

      Sweat crawled down his back. He felt off balance. He’d unpinned the badge on his vest to forestall questions, had been invited to join the game with no inquiries. He wondered if the five men gathered around the table would be as friendly if they knew he was a Texas Ranger. If they knew he was after information, they might clam up.

      He didn’t belong here. If they knew he was half Cherokee, he wouldn’t even be allowed in. The sign in the hotel lobby said No Indians. He longed to get up and leave, but it was too early to break up the game. He hadn’t learned a damn thing about Fortier so far. Maybe he was sitting at the wrong campfire.

      Irene Hardisson knew more than she was telling, he could feel it in his gut. It was her he had to talk to.

      She sure hadn’t had much to say to him this afternoon!

      A grin threatened to crack his dry lips. Man, she had a temper. She was starched stiff as a corset stay!

      He shifted in his chair. Even after two whiskeys, his shoulder hurt and his ribs still ached. A soft bed with clean sheets beckoned upstairs—why not wait till morning to talk to the lady lawyer?

      Yeah, Clayton, mi amigo. Why not?

      Because she smelled good. And she looked soft and frilly and her dark hair shone like firelight licking coals, and…she smelled good. Like a woman.

      And because he was hungry for something he couldn’t even begin to name. Someone to talk to. Somewhere to belong.

      Just for tonight. Tomorrow he’d head out and try to pick up Fortier’s trail. It made him nervous to stay in one place too long. But tonight…tonight he wished—

      “Mr. Black?”

      In an instant, the entire table of men rose to their feet. Clayton’s cards slipped from his hand and scattered, most of them faceup. Without turning his head, he knew who it was. In a town like this, men stood up when a lady entered a room.

      He stood up, too, removing his hat as he did so, just like his momma had taught him.

      “Miss Hardisson.”

      “I have come to apologize,” she said in a low voice.

      With his left hand, he grasped her elbow and turned her toward the entrance. “You shouldn’t be in here, this is a—”

      “I know what it is. A card room.”

      “The lady is welcome to stay,” one of the men offered.

      “No, thank you,” came her crisp reply. “I came only to speak to Mr. Black about…a certain matter.”

      Clayton steered her through the doorway and into the hotel foyer, then turned her to face him. “About Brance Fortier?”

      The dark lashes descended, but not before he saw that her eyes looked odd. Uncertain.

      “Miss Hardisson,” he prompted. “About Fortier?”

      “About poker.” She blurted the words and shut her lips tight.

      “What?” he said, louder than he intended.

      “Poker,” she repeated. “I want you to teach me how to play poker.”

      Clayton released her arm and took a step backward. “Are you crazy? Ladies don’t play poker!”

      “Why not? I am skilled at hearts and baccarat. Why not poker?”

      He searched for a reply. “It’s…complicated.”

      “I am quite intelligent. I want to learn.”

      “Well, I’ll be—what the hell for?” His voice came out so loud the drowsing hotel clerk jerked awake. “What the hell for?” he said more softly.

      Her face changed. “I have my reasons.”

      Clayton frowned. In the space of a few seconds, her expression had gone from hopeful to determined and back to hopeful. It didn’t make any sense.

      They looked at each other in silence. “You want—need—something from me,” she said at last. “And I want something from you.”

      He knew she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but his heart leaped anyway. The word “want” on her tongue made his throat go dry.

      “And that is?”

      “Teach me.”

      Under his jeans, Clayton felt his groin tighten. “To play poker,” he said.

      “Yes.”

      “Why should I?”

      “Because,” she said, her voice even, her face studiedly calm, “I can make it worth your while.”

      His heartbeat stuttered. She was an innocent, so naive she didn’t know how suggestive her words were, especially to a starving man. He cleared his throat and worked to keep his voice steady. “Just what are you prepared to offer?”

      Irene cocked her head. “Information. About Brance Fortier.”

      He knew he was gaping at her. Twice he had to remind himself to close his mouth. Disappointment that her bargaining chip was limited to information warred with curiosity about what she knew.

      “It’s a deal.”

      “Very well. Shall we commence here, in the hotel?”

      “Too public, you bein’ a lady and all. You live in town, I reckon. How about your place?”

      “That would not be at all proper, I’m afraid. We would have no chaperon.”

      Chaperon! She talks about making it worth my while and then… Right. She’s offering information. Just information.

      “What about your law office?”

      She considered his suggestion, then nodded. “I’ll fetch a pot of coffee.”

      “I’ll bring a deck of cards.” And all the restraint I can muster. Damn, but she looked pretty when she smiled. Didn’t do it very often, but it was like the sun in summer when she did.

      She turned away and stepped daintily toward the hotel entrance, then pivoted toward him. “I’ve been waiting for this for years, Mr. Black. I know I’m going to enjoy it!”

      Clayton groaned and watched her ruffled backside sway down the hotel steps and up the street.

      Hell’s fireballs! He couldn’t have resisted following СКАЧАТЬ