A Wife for One Year. Brenda Harlen

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      Seeing Las Vegas through Kenna’s eyes was like seeing it for the first time all over again. She gaped at everything, from showgirls in glamorous costumes to working girls in almost nonexistent costumes; she paused to admire landmarks of famous hotels and the wares of unknown street artists; she sighed over a diamond bangle in the window display of Cartier but bought a rope-and-bead bracelet from a young boy’s folding table.

      She seemed as wary of the casinos as she was fascinated by them. When he fed a fifty-dollar bill into a slot machine and told her to pull the handle, she shook her head and tucked her hands behind her back, as if she was afraid to touch it.

      He thought he understood her reticence. She’d grown up in a home where money had always been in short supply, so to feed it into a machine for the thrill of watching the drums roll and the lights flash and possibly—although not likely—hearing the bells clang was completely foreign to her.

      “The key to gambling—whether it’s slot machines or roulette wheels or card tables—is to never bet more than you can afford to lose.”

      “But a lot of people forget that, don’t they?”

      “Some get caught up in the excitement of the game,” he acknowledged. “They forget that they’re putting their money down for entertainment rather than an investment, and they get frustrated by their losses, certain their luck will change with the next hand, spin of the wheel or pull of the handle.” He took her hand from behind her back, unfurled her fingers and wrapped them around the knob. “I promise I won’t let you get carried away.”

      She looked at him and nodded, her fear of the machine outweighed by her trust in him. That unfailing trust was the double-edged sword that had kept him from acting on his feelings for her for the past decade, because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her. He pushed those thoughts—and his wants—aside and, keeping his hand over hers, pulled down the lever.

      She held her breath as the reels spun, slowed and finally settled.

      “I got a lemon, cherries and a bunch of grapes—what does that mean?”

      “It means you lost.”

      “Oh.”

      “To win a single-coin bet on this machine, you need three matching symbols on the center line.”

      He prompted her to pull the lever again.

      “Two oranges and a banana.”

      This time, she started the machine spinning on her own.

      Cherries. Banana. Banana, cherries, grapes, orange, lemon.

      The machine spit out five coins.

      Her eyes lit up, and her obvious joy speared straight into his heart.

      “What happened?”

      “The fruit salad—” he pointed to the third icon “—is like a wild card that pays out every time.”

      “So I won.”

      “If you consider five coins winning,” he said. “Actually, most slot machines don’t even use coins anymore—they just keep track of credits and give you a receipt when you want to cash out.”

      “How much of your money am I losing every time I pull down this handle?” she asked him.

      “Twenty-five cents.”

      “Oh.” She smiled. “You can afford that.”

      He got a kick out of watching her watch the machine. The pulse in her throat would speed up as the drums spun around, her hands would clench into fists. He found himself mesmerized by that pulse point, tempted to touch his lips to it, to savor the warmth of her skin and taste her excitement. How would she respond if he did? Would her breath catch? Would her heart race? Would she realize she wanted him as much as he wanted her?

      The drums stopped spinning and the excited light in her eyes dimmed just a little when the symbols didn’t match.

      She got a couple more payouts of five coins, but grew increasingly disheartened as his initial fifty dollar investment whittled down to forty, then thirty.

      “You just keep pulling this handle until you run out of money?” she asked.

      “Only if you want,” he told her. “Some people believe certain machines are lucky, and if one they’re playing doesn’t pay out within a few spins, they move on.”

      “Maybe we should move on.”

      “Other people worry that, as soon as they walk away from a machine, it will pay out big on the first spin to the next player.”

      “Those are the ones who bet more than they can afford to lose,” she guessed.

      “Sometimes,” he agreed.

      She looked at the machine, considering.

      “Three more spins,” she decided.

      The first spin earned her five more coins, the second nothing.

      “Last one,” she said, and pulled the handle.

      Cherries. Cherries. Fruit salad.

      The lights on top of the machine started to flash and bells and whistles sounded as the machine didn’t just spit but spewed coins into the tray.

      “Ohmygod. I won.” She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, and her radiant smile wrapped around his heart.

      “You did,” he agreed.

      Her eyes grew wide as the coins kept coming. “How much did I win?”

      “$432.50.”

      “On a twenty-five-cent bet?”

      “On a twenty-five-cent bet,” he confirmed.

      “Wow.” That beautiful smile spread even wider. “Is this what they call beginner’s luck?”

      “Since the machine can’t know you’re a novice, I’d say it’s more like lady luck.”

      “So the machine knows I’m a woman?”

      He chuckled as he started to scoop the coins into a plastic bucket for her. “Touché.”

      When he was done, she stared at the coins that filled not just one bucket but three.

      “Do you want to try another machine?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “No, I just want to try the bed upstairs now.” Then, realizing that he might interpret her words as an invitation—and although he knew better, he really wished they were—she hastened to clarify. “I mean I’m tired and want to call it a night.”

      “You’re sure you don’t want to give baccarat, poker or pai gow a go?”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ