Chapter 27 – Fierce

He had to fight every instinct he had to lose the hand. This was the worst night he'd had playing poker with 'the group', as he'd come to call them, and Lady Luck kept giving him all the right cards at all the wrong times. It galled him to discard everything he'd normally keep, and keep everything he'd normally throw away, and every once in a while he still won a hand, in spite of his best intentions. Yet somehow he managed to dig the hole ever deeper, wider and longer, and by the end of the night he was well over thirty thousand dollars in debt.

They'd played in Sherman Caulfield's bunkhouse, and when the games were over it was sometime after four in the morning. Bret was exhausted, not having gotten a night's sleep in three days, and he sat at the hastily erected poker table with his head in his hands and moaned long after most everyone else was gone.

Dusty Jackson was still there, of course, and Butch Henry (the Caulfield foreman), and Jeb Coughlin was counting his funds and looking intently at the money to see if he could spot anything counterfeit before he left. Butch went outside for one last smoke before turning in and catching a couple hours sleep, and Jeb slapped Bret on the back. "Your bad luck just never seems to end, does it?" Bret looked up and grimaced, then lowered his head back into his hands. "Well, I'm headed out, boys. Next game still Friday, Dusty? Redicker gave the go-ahead for the bunkhouse, so we're all set. Better luck next time Maverick. Adios." Jeb grabbed his jacket and left, and only Bret and Dusty remained.

"Go on, say it," Bret groaned. "I'm a bad poker player. I've got no business in these games. How far in am I?"

"Almost thirty-four thousand dollars, Mr. Maverick. We need to talk about the money. It's gotten out of hand, and it's time for you to repay it."

"Alright. I can have twenty thousand dollars by Friday. It's gonna take me a little longer to get the rest. Next week, sometime."

Jackson shook his head. "No good. We need all of it before you play again. The backers want their money."

"The backers? You mean there's somebody else behind the house money?" Bret tried to make the question sound indignant. Dusty just laughed.

"You didn't think that cowboys and ranch foremen had that kind of money, did you? Of course we've got backers. And they want to see your money before you play again. You have a problem with that?" Jackson watched Bret carefully, and he saw the momentary flicker of panic in the gamblers eyes before it disappeared.

"I'll have it by Friday."

"Good. I'll tell the backers you'll have it here. That avoids a lot of problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"Let's just put it this way – they're not real happy when they don't get their money. You've got too much to lose not to pay up. That sweet lookin' bride – and your brother. Wouldn't want them to get drug into this, now would we?"

Bret allowed that flicker of panic to show itself again before putting it to rest. "There's no need for that; the money'll be here. You have my word as a gentleman."

Dusty gave an odd little chuckle. "I'm sure I do, Mr. Maverick. I'm sure I do."

Almost an hour later Bret rode up to the Busch barn and dismounted, leaving his horse tied outside for one of the stable hands to unsaddle. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew he'd probably have a lot of explaining to do to both Bart and Ginny before he finally got to go to sleep. He stumbled into the house and without thinking went to the guest room that he and Ginny had shared up until a few days ago. He already had his coat, vest, and string tie off before he looked over at the bed and realized Ginny was asleep and he was in the wrong room. "Damn," he muttered under his breath and picked his coat and vest up and dropped them over his arm.

"Bret?" Her voice murmured from the bed, and a hand reached up and found his. "Don't leave."

"Honey, let go. I'm dead tired and I can't stay here."

She pulled him down onto the bed. "Yes, you can. Come here to me."

"Ginny, honey, we're supposed to be fighting. And I've got to get some sleep. Let go of me."

"I don't want you to go." She pulled him close and wrapped herself in his arms, and he reached for her mouth with his and kissed her like he hadn't in days; neither of them was still asleep as they rolled across the bed and held onto each other for dear life. The sun was just about to rise in the sky when they finally gave in to the exhaustion they both felt and lay intertwined, flung across the bed as if it were a life raft adrift on the river, and each was the only thing that kept the other from drowning.

Hours later she woke, with her head tucked under his chin and their hands clasped together, and she felt more deliciously alive than she had since they'd arrived in St. Louis. She snuggled deep down into his embrace and stayed there, willing to let the rest of the world wait a while longer for them to wake completely.

It was late morning before she stirred again, and this time it was to the feel of kisses all over her face and neck. "I shouldn't be here," she heard whispered into her ear, but it only made her smile.

"I know," was her answer. "Don't leave," she added quickly, before he could pull away from her and get out of bed.

"Alright," came his reply, just as quickly. He pulled her close to him and found her lips with his, and they were once again entangled with each other when the knock finally came at the door.

"Ginny, are you in there?"

"Yes, Bart, I'm here," she called out to him.

"Have you seen Bret? He didn't come back last night." The voice was full of apprehension and concern; worried that something had already gone wrong.

"Yes, I saw him this morning. He's alright. Why don't you meet me in the dining room in an hour; I'll tell you what I know."

"Alright. In an hour." Footsteps could be heard walking away from the door; Ginny breathed easier.

Bret untangled himself and sat up in bed. "I have to leave."

The girl sat up next to him. "I know." She rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell him the truth."

He looked at her and a small smile creased his lips. "You didn't lie to him."

"No, but I didn't tell him you were here, either."

"Don't feel so guilty. He didn't ask."

Ginny got out of bed and put on her robe. "Are you going back to your room?"

"I will," Bret answered her. "I think I'll get cleaned up myself and meet the two of you there. Then we can talk about which way this thing is headed. Just in case . . ." He got out of bed and pulled her in close for one last kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me stay this morning. I needed . . . to be here with you. This has been harder than I expected it to be."

She reached up and touched his face. "Only in some ways." She pulled away and walked to the door. "Let me make sure there's no one in the hall." Ginny peeked out and looked up and down before opening the door wide for him. "All clear." Bret slipped out and went back to his room.

At the other end of the hall, Bart leaned back against his own door and smiled. He was pleased his brother was receiving some small measure of comfort from the Pinkerton agent. Ginny was the kind of woman that Bret needed to have around – someone strong and fearless, who could love a man back as fiercely as she was loved. They made a good match, and he was content to know that someone was providing solace.