Chapter 9
There's opportunity in poker... If Horace Greeley were alive today, his advice wouldn't be "Go West, young man, and grow up with the country." Instead, he'd point to that deck of cards on table and say, "Shuffle up and deal." (Lou Krieger)
Race was so absorbed in his cards that he didn't realize the table had gone quiet for quite a few minutes. When it finally clicked, he glanced up to the man across from him and followed the guy's dark gaze to the table to the left and slightly behind him.
His cigar nearly fell out of his mouth as he stared at the familiar and lovely form of Clara Renwick as she sat down at a table with three other men and then he nearly choked as they dealt her in. What the hell was she doing? He wondered, throwing his cards onto the table. "I fold." He told them, though he felt a stab of regret to see the loss of such a good hand.
Ignoring the exhales of relief, he'd been having a wonderful streak of luck the last two hours, he headed straight towards the red-haired woman. "Clara." He said, stopping behind her and peering over her shoulder, "Whatya doin' up?"
Her hand wasn't half bad with an eight, a nine, a ten and Jack of clubs but he doubted she'd get a Queen or seven of clubs to finish with a straight flush. "I woke up." She told him, not looking up from her hand. She selected the diamond, passed it facedown to the dealer who put it under the deck and handed her back one.
"And decided ta play a game of pokah?" He asked, watching in fascination as she picked up the card.
At once, a smug grin spread across her face as she slip the seven of clubs in next to the eight and he shook his head as the men around the table stared at her. One by one, they folded. Her face fell as she set her cards down, took the meager pot and finally replied, "Well, you and my brother seem so interested in the game I wanted to give it a go for myself. I understand the basics of it." She added the last sentence in defense as the dealer shuffled and began to deal once more.
He leaned down so his mouth was close to her ear, "Ya might be a good player, sweetheart, if only ya pokah face wasn't so terrible."
She shivered, and he tried not to notice it. Taking a step back, he watched as she put in for the next hand and picked up her cards. Again, she was dealt a decent one, a straight, but he leaned forward to see that she was so concerned with trying to keep a good poker face that anyone could see she was trying entirely too hard to hide the fact that she had a good hand.
Except, she was so sure in the simple straight that when one of the men called the bet and raised the stakes a little bit she immediately matched it. Race inwardly winced as she put more money into the hand than he would have. He raised an eyebrow when she finally stopped; perhaps realizing that her hand might not be the best at the table from the determined way the man was playing.
Clara reluctantly folded, ending the small showdown. Race and she leaned forward simultaneously to see the man put down two pairs, nines and fours.
"You lied!" Clara exclaimed, looking perplexed as she handed her cards to the dealer.
"It's called bluffin', darlin'." The man replied, grinning to show a few gaps in his teeth.
Sympathetic to her loss, Race put a hand on her shoulder, "Clara…"
She glanced up at him, biting her lip with a look of unease for just a moment before that stubbornness entered her green eyes and she squared her shoulders. "One more hand." She told him.
The youngest man at the table, perhaps in his late twenties, chuckled as he looked between them. Race raised an eyebrow at him, but ignored him as Clara picked up her cards. He shot her a sidelong glance and was relieved to see she was keeping her face in a soft, neutral expression. Probably the only thing that would give her away was the way her eyes sparkled just so, but he was almost positive he was the only one to recognize it. It wasn't as good as her straight flush, but it was much better than the straight she'd lost a lot of money on.
She threw in for the pot, slipped the one card that was of no use to her to the dealer in exchange for another useless card before she watched as the older gentleman folded and she was left with a middle aged man and the younger one. Race squeezed her shoulder gently, willing her to keep that neutral face and to not let them bluff her.
The man who chuckled earlier raised the stakes a little, his steel grey eyes seeming to laugh at Clara as she also put in. Clenching his free hand into a fist, Race narrowed his eyes on the guy but stood silently behind her as the third man folded and it came down to the two of them.
"Another good hand, aye, princess?" He taunted as he raised the pot a second time. Clara didn't reply, only matched his raise.
It continued for a few minutes and Racetrack hid a smirk as he saw a bead of sweat run down the man's forehead. He was getting nervous and it was showing. Finally, when it looked as if Clara was out of money to keep going she leaned down and pulled a roll of one's out of her boot. "Can you match it?" She asked, putting a one in the center.
The anxious grey eyes widened at the money in her hand and then he tossed his cards down, "I fold."
Giving a delighted, "Whoop!" Clara tossed down her four Queens, stood and turned to Racetrack, "Did you see that? I won!"
She threw her arms around his stomach and he laughed, "Might wanna grab ya winnings, sweetheaht." He told her, nodding at the table.
Releasing him, she turned to the table and began to collect her sizable pot in the middle of the table. Just as she was pulling her winnings closer, the gray-eyed man quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist, "Not so fast, princess."
Race reacted instantly, his own hand flying out to catch the man's arm, "Let her go." He told the man. Gray met brown as they stared each other down and then, unwillingly, the stranger let Clara's wrist go. Race, however, did not let him go, "Apologize." He ordered.
The man sneered, "How do I know the lady didn't cheat?"
He tightened his grip on the man's wrist, "She is a lady. You askin' that is questionin' her honor."
Clara put a light hand on his arm, "Race, come on. Let's go."
Glaring, Race slowly let his hand go but he pressed on, "Now, apologize."
Standing, the man flicked his light brown hair out of his eyes, "No. Three good hands in a row for a rookie is suspicious." His gaze flicked over the red-head, "Especially for a woman."
"Are you implying that if I were a man, it wouldn't be suspicious?" Clara challenged, her face flushing. Race hid his smile; the man had unwittingly said the wrong thing. Clara was a headstrong woman and was firm in her belief of equality.
"Maybe, m'am." He said mockingly, "But, some men just have all the luck." His eyes flickered to Race, then back to her.
"But, a woman can't have luck." She deadpanned, "Or she's what? A witch." Clara sneered.
As much as Race was enjoying her stand up to the man, he knew things were going a little too far. And then the man said, "Yeah, or a bitch."
That made red hot anger course through Race as he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up from the table, pulling his arm back to throw a punch until he was stopped by two small hands wrapping around his forearm, "No, Race!" Clara exclaimed, and he was surprised by how fast she had moved after him. "Fighting is not the answer." She told him.
Slowly, he lowered his arm, "Ya right." He replied, but he didn't miss the sneer from the other man. As soon as Clara dropped her arms and stepped back with a look of relief, he pulled his arm back and punched the man, letting go of his collar to let him topple backwards onto the floor. Clara shrieked in surprise as Race watched the man go down with a satisfying thud, "Sorry, sweetheart." He told her as he turned back toward her and grabbed her upper arm to drag her out of the dining car, "That time fighting was the answer." He was only angry that he didn't force an apology out of the bastard.
He hauled her all the way to the compartment and was surprised when she didn't utter one word the entire time. As soon as he shut the door, he turned to face her wrath but was astonished as she burst into laughter. Her head was thrown back, her red hair cascading down her back as her peals of laughter filled the small room. Hesitantly, he let out a small chuckle but he didn't know what had brought on her sudden bout of mirth.
She took a deep breath as her laughter slowed into the occasional giggle and she walked towards him, putting her hands on his shoulder as she looked up at him under her lashes, her emerald eyes alive with merriment, "Oh, Race. Thank you."
"For what, sweetheart?" He asked, mesmerized by this woman who could be spitting mad one second and crowing with laughter the next. This stubborn, willful, kind and sweet female who could make him yearn to be a better man; one that she was capable of loving, but that only brought the bittersweet bite of reality with it. He could never be what she wanted; what she needed.
Her eyes continued to sparkle as she leaned forward on the tips of her toes, "For that excitement! That rush of exultation as I won the hand! I won at poker, Race! No wonder my brother and you play it. It was thrilling!" She laughed suddenly, "Oh, and when you punched that man!" Chortling, she dropped one of her hands to smother the laughter.
Race stared at her, caught between the glow of happiness he felt at making her happy and the sudden desire to kiss her. For an instant he held back but as she lowered her hand and gazed up at him, her mouth parted slightly and he couldn't fight it anymore, at least he didn't want to. Hesitantly, giving her time to pull back, he brought his head down to softly touch her lips with his own.
Her supple, sweet lips felt fantastic as she slid her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her waist so he could pull her close. He let her scent, her very being, envelope him and his senses as he kissed her. The years hadn't changed the light lavender scent that hung around her or the warm vanilla undertones, she was still soft and she melted against him as no other girl ever had. She even kissed him back, as uninhibited as she had been that night and with as much fire as she put into everything else she did.
Groaning, he unwillingly drew his mouth from hers so that he could get his bearings. The desire for her was still rushing through his ears but he had to keep in mind that this was Clara, Scott's sister, which meant she was off-limits no matter how much he wanted to slowly unwrap her as if she were his very own gift. Clenching his teeth at the direction of his thoughts, he gently put his hands on her shoulder and pushed her away, "Why don't you get some sleep?" He suggested, not meeting her eyes as he recalled what he'd advised earlier-seemingly another lifetime ago.
He didn't miss the hurt that flashed through her green eyes but he pushed away the urge to pull her closer. She nodded and without another word she curled up on the small, padded seat. He didn't know what was going through her mind and was sure that her silence couldn't be good, but he hoped that he hadn't ruined whatever it was that had happened between them. Raking his hand through his hair, he sat down on the opposite seat and gazed out the window for a long time, trying not to remember but at the same time trying not to forget.
Truly,
Joker is Poker with a J~
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Everything you DO recognize belong to their respective owners.