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an excerpt from QUEEN OF HEARTS by Phyllis Campbell
Louisiana, 1875
The stakes were high, and he’d planned on making them higher.
James Lawrence slid his palm across the
woman’s back and over the swell of her crooked bustle. “Now this is
what I call a great hand.” He patted her buttocks, which brought forth
her husky laugh. A tiny waist and large breasts tempted him to do more,
but he couldn’t let her distract him from the card game.
The copper‐headed woman let out a
throaty growl and leaned into him. Rose water she must have splashed on
this morning did little to cover the aroma of her unwashed body. He’d
become used to associating with people like her and in this particular
setting.
James winked at the painted lady. The
heavy black kohl around her eyes was probably meant to hide her
bloodshot gaze, but the liquor on her breath gave away her intoxicated
state. Across the poker table, a younger man coughed and drummed his
fingers near the coins beside him, making them clink together. “Mr.
Lawrence? Are you going to make a bet or not?”
James met the other man’s stare. By the
tight set of his jaw, the blond man’s annoyance was evident. Instead of
heeding the silent threat, James’ light‐hearted mood pushed him to goad
his opponent.
“Don’t be dense, boy.” Grinning, he
moved his attention to the single card in his hand then the two already
face up on the table. “Can’t pass on this offer.” He squeezed the
woman’s bottom again, eliciting another high‐pitched squeal. The blond
man’s narrowed stare pierced James.
James arched a brow. “Count me in.”
He pulled away from one of Delilah’s
painted ladies, leaned his elbows on the table, and studied his cards.
If he could convince fortune to be on his side, he’d be able to pull a
royal flush. So far, the cards that had been dealt face up on the table
were a king and ten. He held the jack of the same suit. He knew the
card lying face down on the table was the ace, and if he was dealt a
royal lady, he was in for a big win.
“James,” the strumpet purred. “Do you want me to refill your drink?”
Without looking her way, he nodded. “Tequila.”
The rustling of her skirt
announced her departure, and he settled back in his seat. From across
the table, the young buck kept his heated stare on James, still
drumming his fingers—a weakened trait James had recognized earlier on
in the game. Lying face up on the table, a set of queens stared his
opponent in the face. Neither one was the royal lady he needed.
Whose court will the pretty lady grace this evening? Mine or his?
James withdrew a cheroot from his vest pocket and clamped it between
his teeth. From another pocket, he withdrew a match. Using the rough
edge of the table, he struck the thin piece of wood, and the tip
flared. He put the match to the cheroot, took a deep draw then blew the
smoke out through his lips. White clouds floated around the poker
players, and the scent of tobacco hung in the air around him.
For two days he’d been in his
hometown, and thankfully, nobody noticed James Lawrence had returned.
Of course, he wasn’t the same reed‐thin young’un like he’d been. When
the war ended, he’d been the ripe age of between hay and grass, and the
past ten years had improved his physique. He recognized a few people in
the saloon, but he wasn’t going to reminisce.
On his left, a Spaniard decorated with long, puckered red scars on his
face and hands stared down at his cards, apparently unaware of the
animosity radiating from the blond man. Judging by the cards face up on
the table, the Spaniard looked to be in the process of gathering a
small straight.
The two men on James’ right were heavily into their cups and didn’t see
much of anything—unless it was blurred, he was certain. The cards in
front of them were nothing exciting. But it wasn’t those two that made
James cautious. The constant accusing glare from the blond man, the
hard set of his jaw, and the irritating way he continued to drum his
fingers raised hackles on the back of James’ neck.
What could his opponent be thinking? Planning?
The piano in the corner of the saloon plinked noisily off‐key, but the
laughter and chatter helped drown it out. The whore returned with his
drink and set it by his hand. “James, here’s your Tequila. I added a
touch of good luck in it for you.” She batted her eyes and grinned.
After he switched his gaze
back to the angry man on the other side of the table, James withdrew
his cheroot. He kissed his hundred‐dollar bill. For buyin’ back my
family’s plantation. “I’ll bid this pretty little paper bill right
here.” With a grin, he tossed the money to the middle of the table.
The Spaniard cleared his throat. “I’ll see your hundred and raise it
another hundred.” He stretched his neck—a trait the man used when
bluffing.
One at a time, the two old cronies threw down their cards and scooted away from the table.
The blond, high‐stake gambler tapped his
chin with his finger. He was either going for a full house or four of a
kind. James’ odds for getting what he hoped weren’t as promising.
The blond smiled, displaying a full, straight set of teeth. Judging by
his appearance, the kid’s parents must be wealthy. So what was the kid
doing gambling? James clamped his teeth onto the cheroot. Lord, he
hated men like that.
The kid tossed in his bet. “I’ll cover your bet and raise the pot a hundred more.”
Both James and the Spaniard met the bet. The last cards were dealt face
down. James had been gambling for almost ten years now and with that
came his ability to maintain a poker face. He could possibly have a
royal flush, and if the cocky boy didn’t have another Queen, James
could take the game.
If this card was the Queen of Hearts… He swallowed the lump of
anticipation with a touch of his tequila before reaching for the card.
Steadying his hand, he lifted the edge. His heart froze; his mind
numbed.
He took a deep breath and steadied his hand as he pushed a stack of
paper bills into the middle of the table. “I’ll raise you three‐hundred
dollars.”
The Spaniard cussed and threw his cards on the table.
A slight twitch pulled at the boy’s left eye. The kid was bluffing. He didn’t have either the full house or the four of a kind.
“Careful, Hank,” the Spaniard said to the young’un. “Make certain
before you bet. You don’t want your mother‐hen sister to come drag you
out of here again.”
The crowd who’d gathered chuckled. Hank kept a straight face and pushed
three hundred dollars to the middle of the table. “I don’t believe you
have a royal flush, Lawrence. I’m calling. Show your hand.”
James raised an eyebrow. “That’s a huge amount of money to be bettin’, son.”
The kid narrowed his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”
James matched the bet before he flipped the single card in his hand.
The Jack of Hearts landed next to the ten and King. He reached for the
next card, flipping over the Ace of Hearts. Gasps exploded around the
table. One of the drunken old men belched then laughed.
Hank’s face lost color. “There’s no way that last card is a Queen of Hearts.”
“Son, do you honestly think I believe you have all four Queens?”
His opponent’s eyes squinted. “But even a three of a kind will beat what you have—which I’m certain is nothing.”
James motioned his head toward the table. “Then show me the other Queen.”
“No. I called, so you have to show your cards first.”
Taking a deep breath, he reached for the last card. The room fell into silence—even the tinkering of the piano had stopped.
All eyes were on his hand. He slid his finger along the card’s edge then flipped it over. Loud gasps ricocheted off the wall.
“You son of a bitch.” Hank jumped out of his chair, and it toppled to
the floor. He pointed at the Queen of Hearts James had just turned
over. “You had that card up your sleeve!”
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