her papers and ink and headed to the door, stopping for a moment to add, “Thank
you.”
“You thank me now, but you’ll be cursing me by the time you lose everything you have.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
He shrugged. “Just reality, Miss Mace. Men like me make their fortunes off of people like you.”
“It wouldn’t do for you to beat me, Mr. Straights. If I don’t win, you don’t get your payment.”
She left the cabin before he had a chance to respond— not that he had anything in particular to say anyway. She had no more
chance of winning that tournament than a pig had of singing “Dixie.” Which brought him to another unfortunate realization:
he was teaching her poker for nothing except the mildly entertaining aspect of their lessons.
Entertaining?
Damn, if that wasn’t proof of his failing sanity, nothing was.
The good folk of Natchez came aboard as good folk were prone to do when a riverboat as grand as the
Magnolia Belle
came to town. Dyer watched from the third-floor or Texas deck, as it was called, as the women in their fancy bustled gowns
and the men in their fine suits and hats strolled up the gangplank to the first deck. Some would go to the restaurant for
their evening meal, but many would head straight to the gaming room on the second level.
He searched the faces of the men who came aboard, all the while cursing himself for being a fool. He didn’t even know the
name of the man he sought, only a brief description, but sooner or later his luck would change. It had to.
The crushed economy of the post war South had forced many to move from their homes, and the bustling cities on the Mississippi
continually brought new people to their ports. Eventually he would find someone who knew who the bastard was and where he
could be found. In the meantime, Dyer had other work to do.
The gaming salon filled quickly as evening settled on the Mississippi. Dyer picked his marks by the clothes they wore and
the way they carried themselves as they walked into the room. Cocky dandies attempting to impress young ladies were usually
the easiest to help fill his wallet, and there appeared to be several on the
Belle
this evening.
Dyer walked over to one of the tables, smiling his least intimidating smile. “May I join you gentlemen?”
A young man with more money than sense removed the cheroot from his mouth and grinned. “If you’re sure you have enough to
play at this table, suh.”
The lady standing behind him giggled and waved her fan prettily under her nose, a reaction that caused the young man’s cockiness
to raise a degree or two.
“I think I can manage,” Dyer said, making a mental note to thank the young woman when he was through fleecing her gentleman
friend. His desire to impress her would make Dyer’s job much easier.
An emerald dress caught his attention from the corner of the room and, try though he might, he couldn’t stop from glancing
in Lottie’s direction. She stood bythe bar, studying a piece of paper before folding it and stuffing it into her bodice. She had said she’d be ready for her
next lesson by morning. Evidently she aimed to make good on her promise.
Dyer shook his head and joined the men at the table. There was money to be made, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t focused.
“What’s the game, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Draw,” the dealer responded, shuffling the deck to begin the first round.
Dyer accepted his cards and lost himself in the next several hands, until the unmistakable scent of verbena caught his attention.
He didn’t need to look up to know to whom the scent belonged, and, unlike Lottie, there was no danger in
this
lady interrupting his game. She knew him well enough to wait her turn . . .
Chapter Six
Lottie set the tray of empty glasses on the counter and added up the amount of money she had earned so far. It was hard to
believe she already had seventeen dollars toward her entry for the
you.”
“You thank me now, but you’ll be cursing me by the time you lose everything you have.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
He shrugged. “Just reality, Miss Mace. Men like me make their fortunes off of people like you.”
“It wouldn’t do for you to beat me, Mr. Straights. If I don’t win, you don’t get your payment.”
She left the cabin before he had a chance to respond— not that he had anything in particular to say anyway. She had no more
chance of winning that tournament than a pig had of singing “Dixie.” Which brought him to another unfortunate realization:
he was teaching her poker for nothing except the mildly entertaining aspect of their lessons.
Entertaining?
Damn, if that wasn’t proof of his failing sanity, nothing was.
The good folk of Natchez came aboard as good folk were prone to do when a riverboat as grand as the
Magnolia Belle
came to town. Dyer watched from the third-floor or Texas deck, as it was called, as the women in their fancy bustled gowns
and the men in their fine suits and hats strolled up the gangplank to the first deck. Some would go to the restaurant for
their evening meal, but many would head straight to the gaming room on the second level.
He searched the faces of the men who came aboard, all the while cursing himself for being a fool. He didn’t even know the
name of the man he sought, only a brief description, but sooner or later his luck would change. It had to.
The crushed economy of the post war South had forced many to move from their homes, and the bustling cities on the Mississippi
continually brought new people to their ports. Eventually he would find someone who knew who the bastard was and where he
could be found. In the meantime, Dyer had other work to do.
The gaming salon filled quickly as evening settled on the Mississippi. Dyer picked his marks by the clothes they wore and
the way they carried themselves as they walked into the room. Cocky dandies attempting to impress young ladies were usually
the easiest to help fill his wallet, and there appeared to be several on the
Belle
this evening.
Dyer walked over to one of the tables, smiling his least intimidating smile. “May I join you gentlemen?”
A young man with more money than sense removed the cheroot from his mouth and grinned. “If you’re sure you have enough to
play at this table, suh.”
The lady standing behind him giggled and waved her fan prettily under her nose, a reaction that caused the young man’s cockiness
to raise a degree or two.
“I think I can manage,” Dyer said, making a mental note to thank the young woman when he was through fleecing her gentleman
friend. His desire to impress her would make Dyer’s job much easier.
An emerald dress caught his attention from the corner of the room and, try though he might, he couldn’t stop from glancing
in Lottie’s direction. She stood bythe bar, studying a piece of paper before folding it and stuffing it into her bodice. She had said she’d be ready for her
next lesson by morning. Evidently she aimed to make good on her promise.
Dyer shook his head and joined the men at the table. There was money to be made, and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t focused.
“What’s the game, gentlemen?” he asked.
“Draw,” the dealer responded, shuffling the deck to begin the first round.
Dyer accepted his cards and lost himself in the next several hands, until the unmistakable scent of verbena caught his attention.
He didn’t need to look up to know to whom the scent belonged, and, unlike Lottie, there was no danger in
this
lady interrupting his game. She knew him well enough to wait her turn . . .
Chapter Six
Lottie set the tray of empty glasses on the counter and added up the amount of money she had earned so far. It was hard to
believe she already had seventeen dollars toward her entry for the
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