The Law And Miss Hardisson. Lynna Banning

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      Chapter Three

      Irene unlocked the door to her office and set the coffee tray from the Maybud Hotel on the table just inside the entrance while she lit the single kerosene lamp. In the soft glow of light she whisked her desk clear of her appointment calendar and the stack of work in her hatbox, then retrieved the enamelware pot. Advancing to set the tray on her desk, a thought struck her.

      Her mother would spin in her grave at the prospect of entertaining a man late at night, unchaperoned, without a single thought to propriety! And Nora—she’d best not think about what Nora would say. Why, oh why had she suggested it?

      Because you are restless and lonely. She needed to do something, keep busy. And when he’d mentioned poker…

      She couldn’t abide knitting, or needlework of any kind for that matter. It gave her a terrible headache. But she did love games. Learning a new one would give her something to do, something to think about besides how much she missed Papa. In fact, she thought with an inward smile, were he acquainted with the circumstances, her father would surely advise her to seize the opportunity!

      She released a long sigh. Papa always was a very practical man.

      Clayton stepped through the open door, noiseless as a cat. “Good evening, Miss Hardisson.” He removed his wide-brimmed gray hat and hung it on the peg just inside the door.

      Irene sank onto her desk chair. Then she straightened her spine and sent a sideways glance at him as he folded his long body into the chair across from her. He held her gaze, amusement dancing in his eyes.

      Quelling the tiny flutter in her belly, she leaned toward him. “Would you,” she said in a voice not quite her own, “please explain the rules of the game?”

      Clayton leaned back against the oak chair frame and studied the young woman across from him. She’d brought a whole pot of hot coffee from the hotel dining room, and he appreciated that. But the rest of it didn’t make much sense.

      She looked too citified to be sitting here in an Oregon frontier law office, even one with whitewashed walls and lace curtains at the window. She spoke and moved like a lady—an educated lady at that—but as he explained the game of five-card draw poker, she looked more and more like a little girl reveling in wide-eyed fascination over a new toy. Her eyes sparkled as he described the suits, the various hands and their relative value, how to deal and bet and call.

      Most surprising of all, the lady lawyer who had all the answers this afternoon said not one word. She just listened with that intent look of concentration on her face, the cherries on her hat bobbing when she nodded. She never asked a question. She never asked him to repeat anything. Most of it must be over her head, and he was amused and not a little admiring of her focus on the complicated game.

      At the conclusion of his instructions, she smiled up at him. “Do let’s play a round!”

      “Play a hand,” he corrected.

      “Very well, a hand, then. May we?” She laced her fingers together under her chin and Clayton had to chuckle. She looked like a hungry urchin eyeing a pan of hot biscuits. This was more than interesting—it was unbelievable!

      He tried not to smile at her delight. “Deal the cards,” he ordered.

      She shuffled the deck awkwardly, presented them for cutting, and dealt out five cards each. “What shall we use for betting?”

      Clayton blinked. Ladies didn’t gamble. Somehow he figured she’d prefer to play without betting. On the other hand, nothing much would surprise him at this point. He was already nonplussed by a thing or two about this particular lady. With a jolt he realized he had forgotten he was playing for information about Brance Fortier. Bets it would be.

      “We could use matches,” she suggested.

      “Don’t have enough.”

      She raised her eyes to his. “What about dried beans?”

      “Don’t know many lawyers who keep a stash of dried beans around. You got some?”

      “Well, no. I’ve been taking my meals at the hotel until my stove is delivered.”

      “Not beans, then, it looks like.”

      “There must be something we could bet!”

      He liked the way she didn’t give up on an idea right away. She had a most unladylike amount of grit, and he liked that, too. In fact, he mused as he watched her eyes widen at the cards in her hand, he found himself downright content in her company. He hadn’t felt comfortable around a woman since…

      The warning bell went off in his head just as she looked up. Take one fine-looking female and stir in a healthy dose of interest and you’ve got trouble. Big trouble. The kind he swore never to risk again.

      He had to get this over with and get out of here. If her mind was so set on playing poker, he’d use that to his advantage.

      “This might seem a little unusual, ma’am, but once we had a Mexican foreman and an Indian wrangler on the ranch. They were usually on opposite sides in the skirmishes the Mexicans and the Comanches got into in Texas, so when they played cards, they bet ‘truths.”’

      “Truths? How do you mean?”

      “We called it Truth Poker.”

      Her eyes lit up. “You mean the winner could ask a question and the loser had to answer it?”

      “Yep. You can see why bets never got very high.”

      She leaned across the desk. “But it sounds like such fun! Perhaps we could do the same?”

      Clayton regarded her with satisfaction. “You serious?”

      “Of course I’m serious! Hardissons do not mince words when it comes to the truth—it’s an immutable constant in a world of turmoil and change. It is an obligation of honor to seek it out. Truth,” she reiterated, “is sacred!”

      She straightened her shoulders. He watched the soft green dress pull СКАЧАТЬ