Page 3 of Black Ice
She found the group amusing with their friendly banter and superb poker-table manners. The various strategies they each attempted to convince the others to fold were hysterical. They played for an hour straight before one man excused himself to take a phone call from his wife.
Between hands, they discussed local attractions and dinner options. She dutifully recommended a casino restaurant without bringing up the adverse weather conditions. It would’ve been nice to suggest a winter walk or a sledding adventure, but Cottonwood didn’t have those options yet. Not for the public anyway.
Other players came and went as seats opened up. The current game was tight as a drum and conversation declined as the betting increased. The intensity was palpable, though it was Evelyn’s job to keep up the impression that every player in the game had an equal chance.
She relaxed a bit more as the hours ticked by and the players changed. Sure, she preferred working outside in tennis shoes or hiking boots instead of heels, but on days like today, the casino had become her salvation.
In here, with no clocks, she could pretend she wasn’t running out of time for the business or for her personal goals. Her only task was to perpetuate the illusion that a life-changing jackpot was almost within reach. Beyond the tips, a shift at the casino also gave her a marvelous break from the constant news and weather warnings for the area. A customer might mention it in passing, but then someone would change the bet, or grimace, and the focus would shift back to the game.
There could be one snowflake or three feet of snow or even snowmageddon blowing outside. None of that mattered in the casino. People around town might complain about ‘casino morals’ but she’d learned that, for her, it was a slice of bliss. She dealt the cards, players won and lost, she dealt more cards, and the tips added up.
Did she want this forever? Not a chance. But right now, dealing at the Silver Aces was her best option. Maintenance expenses, equipment upkeep and property taxes didn’t go into hibernation after the last leaf walk in the fall.
“Call,” one of the men at her table declared with unmistakable excitement and only three cards turned up. There was a rumble of disappointment around the table followed by relatively sincere congratulations as the winner showed his hand.
Evelyn suppressed a smile as the winner gathered his chips. He took his time stacking the chips into his tray and then finally slid out of his seat, tossing a mock salute to the losing players.
Groans and complaints erupted from the remaining players. Everyone wanted a chance to change their luck.
“Know when to quit, that’s my motto,” the winner said. “There’s a song about that right?”
“More than one,” she replied.
With a wink, he slid a hundred-dollar chip her way as a tip.
“Thank you. It was a pleasure having you at the Silver Aces.” Evelyn delivered the standard response politely when inside she was doing a dance of joy.
When the remaining players were settled again, she pulled the freshly shuffled deck from the automatic shuffler and prepared to deal the next game. She didn’t need a clock to know her break was due after this game, her aching feet and back kept time for her. Tonight, she was looking forward to getting to the break room so she could check her phone. She wanted to make sure her dad was all right and, with luck, there would be an email from Tate with new post-storm options for tour times.
“Pardon me. Is it too late to slide in for this hand?”
She shot a quick glance at the poker room host and confirmed the customer was in the right place. Giving the man a nod to take the seat, she waited for him to post his minimum bet and then she dealt him in.
“Evelyn Cotton,” he said as the players checked their cards. “Wow. It’s really you.”
That voice filtered through her senses, a sweet memory and brand new at the same time. Her head snapped up and she was immediately caught in a bright, laser-blue gaze. Those familiar eyes seemed to freeze time, stopping it short and pitching her backward.
Wyatt Jameson.
This was the last place on earth she’d expect to see him. Of course she’d given up on ever seeing him again, period. What had she done so wrong that fate or luck or whatever dumped him at her table? Her gaze swept over the room. Surely there had been another dealer with an open seat.
Somehow, she forced her attention back to the game. Verifying bets on the first round were complete, she turned up three cards in the middle of the table. For the first time since she’d gone solo as a dealer in this room her stomach churned with something just shy of panic.
“How have you been?” he asked after placing his second-round bet.
“Fabulous.” The audacity of the man to walk in here and act as if they were old friends who’d simply lost touch.
She dealt the turn, adding the fourth card to the middle of the table. Reading her players, she gave a nod acknowledging one player raising the bet and another player folding. Wyatt added chips, staying in the game.
With an effort, she wrenched her gaze from his. She hadn’t seen those stunning eyes since the night they’d graduated high school. Eleven long, lonely years without a word from the guy who’d been her best friendandher boyfriend. During those last two years of high school, she’d given him her heart and her virginity, shared all of her dreams and the worst of her fears. She’d bared her soul to him, revealing all of that and her budding expectations for the two of them.
Dealing the river, she turned up the fifth card in the middle of the table and called for final bets.
As each player made a bet or folded, she called for the showdown, less surprised than she should’ve been when Wyatt won. While her mind whirled over what brought Wyatt back to Deadwood, she cleared the table of cards and chips and reset for the next game.
Growing up had not been easy for him. As his best friend, she’d caught glimpses of the rocky home life he’d endured on a daily basis. Still, in her heart there had been an understanding between them, and she’d been crushed when he’d walked away, with zero explanation.
Eleven years of silence. No letters or calls. He’d simply excised himself from both Deadwood and her in one shocking move. She’d been shattered more than heartbroken. He’d been the one person she’d counted on and confided in and she’d thought…
