Page 7 of A Groom for Millie
“You in?” Robert asked. He wanted to get this game over with, collect his winnings, and go upstairs to sleep.
Bart opened his eyes. They were glassy as he looked at Robert, and he let out a loud belch. “I’m in,” he said, putting his glass down and reaching for the pile of dwindling coins in front of him.
“Count them,” Robert said. He knew that sometimes when there was a high bid, folks would short-change the pot by pushing in a pile of coins that didn’t quite reach the bid amount.
“You calling me a liar, boy?”
“I’m telling you to count the coins in front of you.”
Bart groaned and started counting the chips. “Eighty-five.” Robert nodded and reached for the pot. “Get your hands off that.”
“You can’t call it. I win by default.”
“Gimme a minute. Victor!” he yelled over to the bar.
A tall man who had been out in the sun one too many days strolled over with a beer in his hand. “What?” he asked, blowing the foam off the beer before taking a sip.
“Lend me fifteen dollars.” Bart held out his hand.
“I ain’t got fifteen dollars to lend you.”
“I know you do. I saw you with a wad of money.”
“That’s for my horse. I gotta give it to Mr. Mitchell at the livery. It’s a real pretty roan. I figured it would make a nice ride to that town where all the ladies are.”
Bart curled his fingers. “And I said I’ll give it back to you as soon as I win this hand.”
Victor put his beer on the felt table. He scratched the back of his neck with dirty fingers. “I dunno.”
Bart leaned over and pointed at Victor with one finger. “You remember what I said, boy. Now give it to me.” Robert arched his brow. That was interesting. Bart must have something over the young gun. Victor hesitated. “Give me the money,” Bart said through clenched teeth.
Victor nodded and reached in his pocket, pulling out a wad of bills and peeling off several before handing them to Bart. He shoved the rest in his pocket. “I’m going to finish my beer,” he said softly, picking up his glass and returning to the bar where his brothers were sipping their drinks.
Bart tossed the bills in the pile, along with the coins. “I call.”
Robert looked around the bar. A man was sweeping the floor in the corner. Several women were spread out through the establishment, chatting with customers. The women knew better than to approach his table. Women and alcohol.Both distractions.
Robert lifted his cards once more. He had them memorized, but it was more a show for the man across from him. He knew that Bart didn’t have any more money. Robert tossed another coin in the pot. “I’ll make it easy and do ten this time.”
“I ain’t got no more money,” Bart hissed.
“Then I guess you are done.” Robert placed his cards face down on the table and sat up straight. He turned to the dealer. “You gonna call?”
“The house is out,” he said, flipping over the cards on the table.
“I’ll give you my horse.” Bart rushed his words.
“What would I do with a horse? I already have one.” Robert took a sip of the drink in front of him. His sarsaparilla was turning warm. He made a point not to grimace.
“How about my gun,” Bart said, flipping a six-shooter from the holster around his waist. He handed the gun to Robert.
Robert took it and scoffed. Good thing that he was no killer. Anyone else might have used a fully loaded gun if it was handed to him. He flipped open the cylinder and dropped the bullets on the table. With a flick of his wrist, the cylinder spun once and clicked back in place. “Holster, too.”
“I need…” Bart began. Robert lifted his eyebrow at him. “Alright.” Bart moved back to stand and wobbled, grasping onto the table edge for leverage. Taking off his holster, he handed the leather strap to Robert.
Robert traced his fingers over the embossed leather. “U.S. Cavalry. You rode?” he asked. Bart nodded. “Toss in your horse and we can call.”
“That’s worth more than ten dollars.”
