Gambler Don't Come Cheap

Chapter 25 – Plans Best Forgotten

Bret was in a better frame of mind than the previous night. His brother had regained consciousness, although something seemed strangely off about Bart. He'd stopped in the hotel room only briefly, but there'd been no ring on Millie's finger and no talk of marriage. That was odd in light of Bart's earlier declaration of commitment.

And with any luck at all, Bret could finish Seth Johnson off tonight. And then kill him. Because that was truly his intent. He'd had enough of people trying to destroy his brother, whether mentally or physically, and this time he wanted to put an end to it.

He was still carrying the spare derringer – he'd have to remember to return that to Bart. After playing poker the previous night against Seth he was glad to have the weapon. Tonight's game started off much as last night had – Bret won everything that came at him. Then very slowly something began happening, and Johnson started winning a hand here, a hand there. They fought back and forth all night, and when morning came Maverick had only cut Johnson down by about six or seven thousand dollars. Bret wasn't happy with himself; he'd played the cards all right, but not with the edge he had yesterday.

Once again he collected his guns and left without talking to anyone; he couldn't stand the self-satisfied look on Johnson's face. He'd managed to put off the inevitable for one more night, and Bret had no intention of allowing him to gloat over the 'victory.'

Bart's room was quiet; he was alone and asleep. Bret didn't wake him, just slipped in and back out and went to breakfast. Before going into the dining room he stepped outside, lit a cigar and watched the sun come up over the mountains. It was a beautiful morning but something was still bothering him. He didn't know exactly what it was; maybe he'd finally developed Bart's nose for trouble. He stood there for a few minutes, blowing out cigar smoke and watching it drift away down the street. He wondered if he and Bart would ever ride into another town together, or ride out in opposite directions, or accidentally turn up in the same place at the same time. First he'd lost his cousin, and now he was going to lose his brother. How much could a man take before it all became too much?

He finished the cigar at the same time he finished the peek into the future – his future, alone. He wasn't sure he liked what he saw. He remembered when he and Bart were children, and could think of nothing but riding off into the world together. Less than forty-eight hours ago his brother had told him that he would have to ride out of this town by himself. How long would it be before that came to pass? And would he do it at all? Or had he ridden out of the last town he'd ever leave?

That was a possibility he hadn't considered until now. What if he killed Seth Johnson and got hung for it? What good would that do? Then he wouldn't be around if his brother needed him. And if Bart and Millie really got married and started a family? No Uncle Bret to spoil nieces and nephews and teach them poker; or repeat Pappy's quotes to as they grew older. No Uncle Bret to grow old and gray with; the opposite of his dream. Maybe he should rethink the whole murder thing.

No, somebody needed to stop the ruthless man. Before he succeeded in snuffing out a Maverick life.

The cigar was done and so was his ruminating. Coffee sounded good. So did bacon and eggs, and then a thought crossed his mind – what if Bart hadn't eaten since he finally came back from the dead? Should he go upstairs and see if his brother was able to make it down for breakfast? Or even wanted to? He decided quickly, and turned back into the hotel just as Seth Johnson and his bodyguard were leaving.

"Mr. Johnson."

"Mr. Maverick."

He bounded back up the stairs two at a time and returned quickly to room 219. The room was beginning to lighten but his brother was still asleep. Once again he slipped quietly out and went back to his original plan – the one calling for breakfast.

One hour, two pieces of toast, three cups of coffee, four eggs and five pieces of bacon later he no longer felt hungry, but he was in desperate need of rest. Back up to room 219 and sleep on the settee. Maybe Bart would stay comatose long enough for Bret to get a couple of hours in before it was time to go back and play poker again. That was his hope as he drifted off - that and no more dreams.

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Bart woke slowly; it took him a minute to remember where he was and why he was there. From the brightness of the room he assumed it was mid-morning; and the snoring from the settee reassured him that he wasn't alone. It had to be his brother; he'd heard that exact sound for most of his life. Could he actually sit up by himself? Only one way to find out, and he was determined to give it a try. His ribcage hurt, especially on his right side, and he couldn't remember what he'd done to cause the pain. His entire back was sore, too, almost like someone had beaten him, but there was some vague memory of Bret explaining that soreness.

It wasn't easy to sit up in the bed, but it was done without too much moaning and groaning. Bret must really be out; there wasn't even a waiver in the noise from that side of the room. Enough of the sounds; he was starving and needed food. "Bret." No answer. "BRET." Still no answer. "BRETON JOSEPH!"

"Mmmmmm? Bart? Is that you? What time is it?"

"I don't know – you tell me."

"Give me a minute – here it is. Half past eleven. You hungry?"

A laugh emanated from the Maverick in the bed. "Starved."

Several groans from the settee followed. "Up. I'm up. Hey, so are you!" This last comment came after Bret looked over at the bed and saw Bart sitting up. "Okay – let's get you dressed."

"Hey – why does everything hurt so much? My ribs, my back – what the hell happened?"

Bret was surprised when he realized Bart didn't remember the beating from Raymond or the pounding he'd taken from his brother to restart his breathing. What else didn't he remember? "Uh, there's been a couple 'accidents.' I'll refresh your memory once we get downstairs. Meantime, let's get you dressed."

Bret managed to get himself up and over to the closet for clean clothes – thank goodness Bart took better care of his things these days, unlike when they were children and garments tended to pile up in the corner. Pants, vest, coat all came back to the bed with Bret. Clean shirt came out of the dresser. The pants went on without much problem; the shirt was still a struggle. When Bret got to the vest he was surprised to see the small box still in Bart's pocket. He pulled it out and held it up. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"What is it?" Bart asked, confused.

"Whadda ya mean, what is it? It's a ring."

"How do you know that? You haven't even opened it."

Bret set the vest down and opened the box. Sure enough, inside was the emerald and diamond ring that Arthur Ridgeway had given to Bart several days ago to use as an engagement ring for Millie. He picked up the ring and held it out for Bart to look at.

"Huh. Must belong to Millie. I've never seen it before."

Bret put the ring back in the box and set it down on the dresser. How could Bart not remember the ring? He was the one determined to ask Millie Ridgeway to marry him. Maybe he'd just forgotten and would recognize it once he'd eaten. He'd worry about that later. Right now food was the only thing on Bart's mind, and Bret was determined to feed his brother.

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Bart set his coffee cup down and looked at the older Maverick across the table. "No wonder my back and shoulders are sore. I'm surprised you didn't break something. What else have I forgotten in this fog that seems to have occupied my brain?"

His older brother was torn. Should he tell Bart about the ring and the intended proposal? And remind him of something he'd obviously forgotten? Had he forgotten his love for the girl, too? And what further trouble could the reminder bring? What if Bart was distressed by his loss of memory? Could that hinder his physical recovery? And then there was one more factor in the puzzle – Bret's belief that Bart couldn't be truly happy settling down and staying in one place, with one woman, for the rest of his life. What if he was right, and the marriage turned into a disaster? No, he thought, the best thing to do was wait – and see if Bart remembered on his own. If he didn't, well then, maybe it wasn't worth remembering.

"How far down did you run Seth's funds last night?"

"Huh? Oh, he's under twenty thousand. Makes me mad I couldn't finish him off. Then this would all be done."

"Where you headed next?"

Bret watched his brother carefully as he answered. "Not sure yet. South, maybe Mexico. I heard about something in Nuevo Laredo that might prove lucrative. You up for it?" It was a loaded question and Bret knew it. Bart's answer would depend on what he remembered.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Might be good to go south for a while. Sure haven't had much luck up here in the north. Maybe we can get Beau to go with us. Georgia ought to be about ready to pack him off for a while, don't you think?"

So there it was. Bart remembered Beau and Georgia, and probably Montana, but not his own marital intentions. Then and there Bret made the decision that would determine the direction the rest of Bart Maverick's life would take – and it didn't include Millie Ridgeway.