A Gambler's Pleasure

By Michelle Beattie

Ten years after strolling out of Marietta without a backward glance, Mitch McCall wins a land deed in a game of poker that has him returning to his hometown, ready to collect his winnings. A few weeks later, he's surprised when he doesn't want to leave. Not only is he working a saloon and unknowingly putting down roots, he's also trying to convince the town's good girl that he's not the rake she believes he is. But love isn't a game and if the successful gambler wants to win, he'll have to bet it all.

Melissa lives her life to please her parents. Suffering from their son's abandonment, Melissa puts her own desires and dreams aside to save them more heartache. But a late night encounter with the completely unsuitable Mitch McCall changes everything. With one night becoming many, Mitch helps her uncover the woman she really is and dares her to chase her dreams. But when shocking news arrives about her brother, will Melissa retreat back into her peacemaker role or will she fight for the man she loves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947636743

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

Montana Territory

June 1884

Looking at the pair of threes he was holding and judging the gleam in the eye of the man across from him, Mitch McCall tossed his cards onto the table. I fold.

Robert Hill, owner of the post and telegraph office in Marietta, snickered as he laid his cards face down on the table and scooped the small pile of coins toward him.

For a man who makes his living gambling, I thought you’d be better, he taunted.

Mitch didn’t react to the jibe. He simply stretched out his legs, folded his hands over his stomach and relaxed as Steven Garvey, mayor and owner of the feed mill in town, grabbed the cards and began shuffling. They’d only been playing a half an hour and Mitch had already lost two hands. He was in no hurry to prove himself the way Robert was.

There were five of them sitting at the circular table in the middle of Silver’s Saloon. Steven sat to Mitch’s left, next to him was Robert. On the other side of Robert sat Justin Richardson, the local blacksmith. Rounding out the group was Bill Collins, who ran the stable in town. Mitch had been invited to join their weekly Friday night game when he’d first returned to town three weeks ago, after a ten-year absence, but the very day the game was to take place the owner of the saloon, and his soon to be sister-in-law, Silver Adams, was shot and nearly killed.

His gaze flicked past Robert to the curving staircase that led to Silver’s personal rooms upstairs. He could still see her lying at the bottom of the steps, bleeding. It was an experience he hoped to never repeat. She’d recovered, though his brother Shane wouldn’t quit fussing and worrying. Even now, Shane sat at the bar ensuring she didn’t overexert herself her first day back to work. Of course if Mitch had nearly lost the love of his life he’d be fussing like a mother hen as well.

Mitch’s lips quirked as he fixed his gaze on his brother’s back and the gun belt hanging on his hip. He doubted the sheriff of Marietta would appreciate being thought of as a mother hen. All the more reason to tease him about it later. For now, however, Mitch put everything else aside but the cards dealt to him.

After tossing in the required starting bet, Mitch picked up the cards one by one. Two queens, a king, a nine, an eight, and a three. He’d had better; he’d certainly had worse. Knowing his face gave away nothing, he examined those of the men around him.

Robert’s grip on his cards tightened. His eyes went a little brighter.

Someone’s happy with his cards.

A fact confirmed when Robert raised another dime.

Justin sighed, folded. Sometimes I don’t know why I play this stupid game, he muttered.

As Justin had a habit of folding every hand, other than the one where he’d won with three tens, Mitch had come to realize the man wasn’t one to bluff. Justin only bet when the odds were in his favor, which meant he sat out more than he played. Mitch chuckled to himself. The man was missing the beauty and strategy of poker.

Mitch’s gaze shifted to the right where Bill was drumming his thick fingers on the table. Though it was something the man did with every hand and though it was subtle, Mitch had noticed the speed in which he drummed decreased when Bill was confident of his cards. Judging by the quickening beat of his fingers, his cards didn’t amount to beans.

I’m out, too, he said. He tossed his cards and raised his empty glass, signaling to the waitress he wanted another whiskey.

I’m in. Mitch matched Robert’s bet.

Steven’s eyes narrowed a fraction. His gaze went from his cards, to the scattered coins lying in front of him, back to his cards. He threw in a dime. Not a great hand, Mitch figured, but enough to warrant the small bet.

I’m in, too, he said.

Steven picked up the deck. There was only to be one draw to a maximum of two cards. Robert threw away two cards, which Steven replaced with two more. For a moment, the glimmer dimmed from Robert’s eyes. Well, well. Mitch tossed away two cards, slowly raised their replacements. A pair of nines. Pleased with his full house he watched Steven also switch out two cards. Steven’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly.

Being to the left of the dealer, it was Robert to bid first.

The postmaster leaned forward, by all appearances a cougar ready to pounce. Robert tossed in two bits, his gaze all but daring Mitch to do the same, which told Mitch all he needed to know. Taking his time, Mitch remained stretched out, sipped his bourbon. He was nobody’s prey. A fact Robert was about to learn the hard way. Though Mitch was tempted to raise the ante, he refrained. Instead, he calmly matched the bid.

Steven hesitated, chewing his cheek as he contemplated his decision. Ivy, one of Silver’s waitresses, had time to bring Bill another glass of whiskey in the time it took Steven to make a decision. Finally the mayor shook his head, added his cards to the discard pile.

All eyes turned to Robert.

Splaying his cards for all to see he said, Three sevens, jack high. Smug, he crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair as though it were impossible Mitch could better him.

Mitch had discovered early on that gloating often resulted in a poor loser waiting to knock him down on a dark, dusty street. He had a long scar on his arm from one such man who’d come at him with a knife and another close call with a six-shooter that still gave him the occasional nightmare. He’d learned from both experiences to stay humble and matter of fact. A man’s pride was a delicate thing and to Mitch’s mind there were two things one didn’t gloat about, taking a man’s woman and taking his money. Not that he’d ever taken another’s woman, but he’d seen his share of fisticuffs over the matter.

Although the pot wasn’t anything near as substantial as most of the games Mitch had played in along the Missouri River, and the amount Robert stood to lose would hardly leave him impoverished, Mitch nevertheless kept his tone even when he also laid down his cards.

Full house. Nines over queens.

Robert lurched forward, his gaze raking the cards as though to ensure Mitch hadn’t lied. Mitch didn’t say anything more. He gave Robert enough time to see for himself and calmly pushed the cards across the table, as it was Robert’s deal next. Then just as quietly Mitch scooped the pile of coins closer.

Silver, who never interrupted when the game was on, sidled over as a grumbling Robert gathered the cards. When Mitch had first found his way back to Marietta, he’d managed to arrive on the day of the annual church picnic. His timing couldn’t have been better as he’d folded into the gathering just as the bidding of the baskets was about to begin. Every year the unattached women prepared baskets of food that the bachelors bid on and each winning bachelor was rewarded not only with the food, but with the company of the woman who prepared it as they ate it together.

Silver’s had been the first basket being auctioned. Even from the distance he’d been standing, even with the crowd of people between him and the line of women waiting for their baskets to be sold, Mitch had noticed Silver’s beauty. Petite and curvy with long, curling blonde hair, she was impossible to miss. Not that the others weren’t pretty, as the willowy brunette who’d stood next to her had also caught his eye, but when nobody else but the reverend bid on Silver’s basket, he’d felt obliged to rectify the situation.

Of course that had started a bidding war between Mitch and Shane, who’d been too mule-headed to admit his feelings toward the woman at the time. Mitch had won her basket once Shane backed out and though he’d dallied with the idea of courting Silver, it turned out she only had eyes for his brother. There was no accounting for taste.

Although Mitch had to admit he’d never fallen for Silver and he didn’t begrudge her the happiness she’d found with Shane. Which was why his smile came easily when she stopped next to his chair and set a hand on his shoulder.

"You know the only way I make money here tonight is if you drink more than one glass of bourbon."

Well, then, I suppose I should do something about that. Mitch swallowed the last little bit of amber liquid he had left then passed her his empty glass. Why don’t you send it back with Ivy? Judging by the way my brother’s glaring at me, he doesn’t want you to overdo it.

Silver rolled her pretty taffy-colored eyes. If your brother had his way I’d be doing nothing more than sitting on that empty stool next to him. She smiled warmly. You don’t fool me, Mitch McCall. You’re worrying nearly as much as he is and you don’t need to. I’m fine.

Indeed, she seemed to be but the image of her lying pale and bleeding on the floor was a hard one to forget. Especially given his past.

I told these men I could only play until nine. But I can stop sooner if you need me to take over before then.

Ever since Silver had been shot, Mitch had been helping run her saloon. Along with Ivy and Bruce, the man who kept order and helped tend bar when busy, Mitch had kept the saloon running in Silver’s absence. With no other obligations, no rush to move on to the next town and game, he’d been happy to step in and help.

I’m fine to work until closing but to appease your brother I’ll stop at nine as agreed. She squeezed his shoulder. I’ll bring your drink over on the next shuffle. She meandered her way between the tables back toward the bar as Robert dealt out the next hand.

Most of those tables were full. As Mitch had come to learn, Friday and Saturday nights drew the biggest crowds at Silver’s. That Friday was no different. The room was near full, with at least two men sitting at every table. Glowing lights hung above them, giving the saloon a warm, welcoming feel. Conversation flowed and ebbed like waves rolling into shore. The tables and floors gleamed. The thick blue velvet curtains tied back at the windows gave the establishment some class. And yet, to Mitch’s mind, it was missing something. Not whores, for if a man was so inclined there was Grey’s saloon across the street, just… something. He’d had some thoughts on that but he’d kept them to himself. Not only wasn’t it his saloon to change, but once Silver was fully recovered and he’d settled some of the business that had brought him to Marietta, he’d be leaving again.

Games such as this one were a great diversion, but a man couldn’t make a living on the pittance he’d just won. Still, he was hardly destitute so he could spare more time in Marietta. And after a ten-year absence he was glad to be back among friends and able to spend time with Shane. He might not be staying forever, but he was enjoying his time nonetheless. And small winnings or not, Mitch intended to take his share.

By the time nine o’clock approached, Mitch figured he was ahead a few dollars. Robert had not only lost most of what he’d come with, he’d also stopped goading Mitch about his ability. Not that that had stopped the man from glaring.

Shuffling the cards Mitch said, This is my last hand. It’s almost nine and I need to take over from Silver.

Seems you ought to give us a chance to win our money back, Robert grumbled.

Mitch’s hands stilled. I gave you fair warning when we started, that win or lose I was going to stop at nine.

He did, Justin acknowledged with a nod.

Robert sneered. You’re just agreeing with him ’cause you haven’t lost more than two bits.

Nobody forced you to bet. Justin reminded him.

Not wanting to add any heat to Robert’s rising temper, Mitch resumed shuffling the cards. When he was done, he set the deck aside, picked up his cards. An ace, two jacks, a ten, and a three. He set them down and grabbed the deck once more. Then, as casual as he’d been when he was dealing, he turned to Steven.

Give me two. Steven tossed aside two cards and Mitch dealt him two more, catching the hungry look Steven gave the coins in the middle of the table.

I’ll take two, Robert said.

While his eyes gleamed, Mitch would bet his horse it wasn’t because the man was happy.

I’ll take one, Justin said.

One? From Justin that could only mean he was sitting on something as good as Mitch was, or better. While Mitch had certainly been enjoying himself thus far, the game and the players hadn’t challenged him as much as he preferred. He suspected this last hand was finally going to be different. Mitch passed Justin a new card.

Bill threw aside a couple. Give me two.

Mitch watched the man’s fingers start a slow, steady drum. When the speed didn’t increase Mitch figured he too had a good hand. His heart gave a little kick. Now this was going to be interesting.

Mitch discarded two and slowly lifted the first of his replacements from the table. A seven. Well, that was of no use. The second was a much better fit. His third jack. It was possible one of them held a higher three of a kind, or even a four of a kind or a full house, but Mitch made his living playing the odds and currently he liked his. Besides, it wasn’t always the best hand that won.

Everyone looked to Steven. The man’s gaze didn’t so much dance between the money in the middle to his cards as much as in stayed on the center of the table. He tossed in his coin.

Two bits.

Next to Steven, a flush began to rise up Robert’s throat. It was clear to Mitch the man wasn’t holding anything of value, just as it was clear Robert wasn’t ready to concede. He matched the bid to stay in. Justin didn’t hesitate. He all but threw his two bits into the pot. Hmm, maybe he did hold the other three aces. Mitch figured with the man’s excitability when it came to cards if Justin actually held four of the same he’d be dancing in his chair.

Bill tossed in his bet and once the coin was added the drumming of his fingers continued.

Mitch mentally rubbed his hands together. Sometimes poker was more fun when he didn’t actually hold the best hand, but when he let others think he did.

I’ll see your two bits, Steven, Mitch said. And I’ll raise another. Mitch tossed in the silver coins and settled back in his chair.

The air about the table changed and if Mitch didn’t know better he’d say the temperature dropped a few degrees. Or maybe that was only because he felt the ice in Robert’s glare.

At the word raise, some of the men sitting nearby gave up their conversation and turned in their chairs to watch the game. Chairs scraped the wood as others who were too far away to see clearly stood and gathered closer. While the press of bodies brought with it the unsavory smell of sweat and tobacco, it didn’t increase the volume of noise in the saloon. If anything, it lowered it. Other than the rustling of clothes and the occasional clearing of someone’s throat, the saloon became quiet as a church. Even Shane and Silver meandered closer.

Steven fiddled with his remaining coins. He didn’t look near as confident as he had before Mitch upped the ante. Once again his eyes darted from the cards to the pot and back again. Mitch figured since Steven had won the last hand the man was considering his chances of doing it again. But the amount of time he took considering spoke to the value of his hand. He wasn’t as sure as he wanted to be. After long silent minutes passed, Steven finally tossed in the extra two bits.

Since that was all the money Robert had left, Mitch was curious to see what the man would do. He should fold in hopes his luck would change once Mitch left to man the bar but, judging by the fury darkening Robert’s gaze and the tightening of his jaw, Mitch figured the man’s pride was in too deep to simply fold now. And that, from Mitch’s experience, was where so many went wrong. Emotion had no place at the poker table. But Robert apparently had yet to learn that lesson as he anted up the last of his money.

When Mitch had first left Marietta, he’d been a greenhorn at cards and many times had made the mistake Robert just made. Not only playing with his emotions, but unwilling to walk away when his luck was down. Sometimes he just had to accept luck wasn’t on his side and no amount of foolish betting was going to change that. While it was hard to do, the best thing was to accept the losses and step away, hope the next night, the next town would change his fortune.

Unfortunately, Robert wasn’t the only man too stubborn and foolish to know when it was best to stop. The deed Mitch had tucked away in his room at the boardinghouse was proof of that. But that was a problem for another day. For now, he had more pleasurable things to occupy his mind.

Confirming the man was indeed sitting on what he at least considered a gold mine, Justin met the raise and countered with a raise of his own. With a dollar now needed to stay in the game Bill grumbled and folded. Justin’s eyes glowed brighter than the chandelier hanging over their table. Though Mitch held enough money that he could keep raising until he ran Justin out and forced him to fold, the man had a young family and that pot of money would help in providing for it. Not that Mitch believed Justin gambled his family’s livelihood. He wouldn’t be near as considerate if the man was fool enough to do that, but a hard-working man who played for fun was entitled, to Mitch’s mind, to win big once in a while.

And, unlike Robert, Mitch did know when to fold. His triplet of jacks likely wouldn’t beat whatever Justin held.

Shaking his head, Mitch set his cards face down. I’m out.

He was followed by Steven and of course Robert had nothing to match the bid so he was automatically out. And not happy. He scraped his chair back, could have singed Justin’s skin with the heat of the glare, shoved aside anyone in his way, and stomped out of the saloon.

Justin, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his glee. His grin spread wide over his face. His eyes were both wide with surprise and bright with victory. He wasted no time reaching for his winnings.

You’re under no obligation, as you know, but would you mind showing your cards? Mitch asked.

Those who had turned away to get back to their seats stopped, retraced their steps.

Justin shrugged. Not at all, he said.

Leaving his cache of coins for the moment, he flipped over his cards. Mitch whistled. The man held four tens.

Mitch’s instinct had been right and for that, and the fact that he liked Justin, he stood, stretched his arm out. Congratulations.

Justin pumped his hand. Thanks.

He shook Steven’s and Bill’s hands as well. Gentleman, it was a pleasure. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to relieve Silver of her duties.

He waited until everyone had reclaimed their seats and made room before walking toward the back of the saloon. Shane was still the only man holding a seat at the long cherrywood bar. On the wall behind it, a large mirror backed the glass shelves and the assortment of liquor bottles resting upon them. Standing between the bar and the shelves, pouring whiskey into a trio of glasses was his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

She raised her gaze from her task. Did he have you beat?

A wise gambler never reveals his hand.

He took the whiskey bottle from her fingers, replaced it on the shelf. When Ivy took the full tray to her customers, Mitch set his hands on Silver’s shoulders.

Your turn to sit, he said as he gently guided her out from behind the counter and over to the stool next to Shane’s.

When he was once again behind the bar, he grabbed the basin of dirty glasses from under the counter and carried them through the swinging doors into the kitchen. There he set them next to the dry sink where he’d wash them later. Taking the empty basin with him, he strolled back into the saloon.

Silver and Shane had their heads together and were deep in conversation. A quick glance confirmed the patrons were well looked after and Ivy wasn’t in need of any drinks to be poured. Content with busywork, Mitch straightened bottles, wiped the bar, polished glasses. He was contemplating sweeping the floor, though it didn’t really need it, when his skin prickled, alerting him he was being stared at. He lifted his gaze. Two sets of eyes, one taffy-colored and the other a matching gray to his own, watched him closely.

Mitch tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder, crossed his arms over his vest.

What? he asked. It’s hardly the first time you’ve seen me work here.

No, it isn’t, but, despite the past few weeks, I still can’t reconcile the almost domesticated man standing before me with the high stakes gambler I know you to be, Shane said.

I happen to think it suits you, Silver said. But don’t get too comfortable, she added with a warm smile, because one day soon I’ll be wanting my saloon back.

Shane rubbed her back. Not too soon, though.

With Shane’s domesticated comment irritating Mitch, he was all too happy to turn that irritation back onto his brother.

Speaking of reconciling notions, Mitch began, who’d ever imagine the uptight sheriff could be such a mother hen.

Shane’s hand stilled. His eyes narrowed. I’m hardly a mother hen.

Mitch rocked back on his heels, angled his gaze over to Silver. Her lips were pressed tightly together as though to hold back her humor. Mirth brightened her eyes.

I suppose you’re right, Mitch drawled, running his fingers over his jaw. Hovering and fussing over Silver not lifting anything heavy, not working past nine, and not staying up too late hardly qualifies. I imagine neither does checking in on her every few hours.

Shane scowled. She was shot and is still recovering. Ensuring she continues to heal and get stronger does not mean I’m fussing.

Of course not, Silver agreed, patting his hand. But it has been over three weeks and Doc says I’m fine.

Thank you, darling, Mitch said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. You’ve just proven my point. His eyes flashed to Shane’s and he mouthed the words mother hen.

Kiss my ass, Shane muttered.

Laughter burst from Mitch’s chest. Nothing put him in a better mood than riling his brother.

But his humor vanished when a crash came from the front of the saloon. Mitch’s head snapped up as the saloon went quiet. Shane and Silver both spun on their stools. He couldn’t see what had happened but he didn’t care for the fact that not only couldn’t he see Ivy, but a handful of men were standing clustered, their backs to Mitch. He assumed Ivy was amid them somewhere. Despite the fact Bruce was already marching toward them, Mitch threw down the dishtowel.

I’ll go, he said when both Shane and Silver came to their feet. With his heart hammering beneath his silk shirt, Mitch strode forward. If one of them had knocked Ivy down or disrespected her in any way they wouldn’t be left to Bruce. Mitch would take care of them himself. He might not have Bruce’s muscle or Shane’s guns, but no man mistreated a woman in Mitch’s presence. He’d had little choice as a young boy, but he damn well had one now.

What’s going on here? Mitch demanded.

He’d arrived only seconds behind Bruce. The men had already backed away, making room for both Bruce and Mitch. One man remained stooped next to the waitress. He stood when Mitch spoke. Seeing Ivy on her knees picking up pieces of glass, Mitch dropped to a crouch.

Are you all right?

She bobbed her head. Color spread across her cheeks. I’m sorry. My foot caught on the leg of a chair. It was nobody’s fault but my own.

Accidents happen, Ivy, Mitch said, breathing a little easier. As long as you’re not hurt.

No, I’m fine. I’ll get this cleaned up.

He helped her gather the larger pieces of glass, setting them onto the tray. Once that was done, he took the tray while Ivy fetched the broom and dustpan and swept up the finer pieces.

Everything all right? Silver asked as he dumped the shards in the trash behind the bar.

Yeah, she just tripped.

Shane regarded him closely. That’s a pretty fierce look on your face for something as simple as a trip.

That was because, for a moment, as Mitch had marched toward the men circling Ivy he hadn’t been in Silver’s Saloon. He’d been a boy at home watching his pa leaning over his hunkering wife, fists flying. The sound of flesh smacking flesh still echoed in his head.

Setting the tray on the bar he answered, I thought maybe one of them had laid a hand on her. Mitch shoved aside the memories and the past, found the grin that had helped him cope as a young boy. I didn’t want to get blood on my silk vest if he had.

Not because he held romantic feelings for Ivy but because he wasn’t ever going to let a man get away with abusing a woman.

Shane held his gaze and Mitch knew his brother wasn’t completely fooled. Still Shane played along.

Blood on your vest. He guffawed. You have at least another half-dozen you can wear.

This time Mitch’s grin was real. A man can never be too well dressed.

Shane leaned back on his stool, sneered. Any better you’d be wearing a bustle and a corset.

Silver ducked her head but not before Mitch saw her smile. Shane’s teeth shone bright.

Mitch rolled his eyes, tossed the cloth at his brother and muttered, Kiss my ass.

*

An hour after he’d locked the saloon for the night, Mitch finally sat down with a glass of bourbon. The dishes had been washed and put away, the floors swept and wiped, and all the spittoons emptied. He’d drawn the thick velvet curtains and extinguished most of the lamps. Only the chandelier above his table remained lit. The rest of the saloon was nothing but shadows.

Silver had gone up to her rooms hours ago and other than the creak of Mitch’s chair as he settled deeper into it, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Even Grey’s saloon across the street, which was as much brothel as saloon, was quiet.

With the toe of his boot, Mitch hooked an adjacent chair and pulled it back from the table. Resting his feet on it, he reached for his drink. It wouldn’t be long now before Silver resumed her full duties. No matter how much Shane fussed, Mitch could see she was getting stronger every day just as