The Honour-Bound Gambler. Lisa Plumley
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only fair that you’re compensated.”
She made a face. “You really believe in good-luck charms?”
“I can’t afford not to. Mine is a precarious business.”
“And you believe I am yours?” She sounded amused. And intrigued. And unexpectedly compassionate, too. Her very presence exuded kindheartedness and care and a certain special exuberance that intrigued him. “Your good-luck charm, I mean?”
“After I met you,” Cade said simply, “my luck changed.”
For a moment, Violet Benson gazed across the street that bordered the charity kitchen. Wagons and buggies passed by; the clomping of hooves raised drifts of dust. Those drifts reminded Cade of cigar smoke—and of losing sight of Percy Whittier.
He might be a fool, it occurred to Cade, to ally himself with the same woman who’d disastrously distracted him from his search for Whittier last night. He hoped he didn’t regret this.
“If you have enough money to pay me, why do you need luck?” Violet Benson asked astutely. “Why do you need to win at all?”
That was easy. “Because I don’t gamble to win money.”
“Then you’re not doing it properly.” She gave a pert smile.
Unable to resist as he should have done, Cade returned that smile. “I entered the gambling circuit to track down a man I’m searching for,” he explained. “It’s been several years now. I’ve come close. I’ve had clues and false leads and near misses. But I’ve never faced him across a gambling table. I’ve never caught up with him long enough to get what I want from him. To do that, I need to win. I need to get invited to all the best tables. I need to fit in among the men he runs with.”
“If you plan to kill him, I won’t help you.” Suddenly chilly where she’d once been warm, Violet Benson examined him. “I’ll help Sheriff Caffey track you down, in fact. I have a fair sense of what you look like, as does every other woman in town.”
This time, Cade smiled more artfully. “I’m flattered by your attention,” he said in a teasing tone. Deliberately, he flashed both dimples. “I have every intention of rewarding it, too, in ways I think we’d both enjoy…very, very much.”
“Right now,” Violet clarified drily, “I’m memorizing your features so I can help the deputy draw a wanted poster.”
Hmm. Charming female subjects was something Cade had learned to excel at. Perversely, he felt impressed that Violet Benson appeared too levelheaded to fall for his misdirection.
“I want answers from him, that’s all.” Cade leveled a square look at Violet. “I want to know why he ran out on his family back East. They loved him and needed him, and he—”
Unexpectedly, Cade heard his voice break. A powerful sense of bereavement and anger and solitude welled inside him.
He scarcely knew what to make of it. Irately, he reasoned that Violet Benson and her damnable compassion had caused it. For the second time that day, he wondered if he was making a terrible mistake by coming to her—by trusting her even this far.
“He must have had a good reason for leaving,” she said in a thoughtful tone, proving his caution was warranted. Naively, she added, “No man would ever abandon his family unless—”
“Percy Whittier did.” Hard-faced, Cade stared at her. He needed to hold on to his fury and hurt. It fueled him when he didn’t want to continue searching. He didn’t need Violet Benson’s natural empathy to awaken something soft inside him—something that was better left to wither and die, as it had been on its way to doing before he’d met her. “Percy Whittier left his family. There’s no reason in the world that excuses that.”
“I see.” Violet inhaled. “You seem very intent on finding this man. Are you a detective, then, hired by his family?”
“No.” Cade noticed his hands were shaking. He clenched them, hoping to make the shaking stop.
“A U.S. Marshal? A lawman of some sort?”
“No.” Hellfire. Why couldn’t he quit shaking? “Neither.”
“Hmm. You’re going to have to be a bit more forthcoming if you expect me to help you.” Through inquisitive eyes, Violet studied him. Lightly, she touched his fisted hand. Like magic, he stopped trembling. Awed, Cade stared as she stroked him, soothingly, the same way a parent might calm a frightened child or a caregiver might help a wounded man. “I might be plain and sensible and occasionally overlooked,” she said, “but I’m also—”
“Forbidden to talk about yourself that way,” Cade interrupted in his sternest tone. It aggrieved him that she kept on referring to herself as ugly and passed over. Surely the folks in this little creekside town weren’t so blind that they couldn’t see she had worth beyond bland prettiness. “I won’t have it. If we’re going to strike a bargain between us, you’ll have to quit reminding me of how ‘unattractive’ you are.”
“I know, I know.” Self-consciously, Violet Benson ducked her head. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand, a bit nervously now. “What God gave me is just fine. The Lord doesn’t make mistakes in creating us. My father’s told me those things many, many times.” She lifted her gaze to his face, her eyes flashing with a glimmer of defiance. “But that doesn’t mean, Mr. Foster, that you have license to call me unattractive!”
Stricken, Cade gazed at her. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve made peace with my looks,” Violet went on rather huffily, “but I still expect common decency from people. Even you! That was thoughtless and unkind. You must know that.”
He hadn’t known that. He’d only been repeating what she’d said herself. Maybe he’d been on this hunt for Whittier for too long. Maybe he was becoming unfit for society. Maybe, with every hand of cards and risky wager, he was losing…everything.
“I’m very sorry.” He was, too. Very rapidly, she was becoming more than a means to restoring his good luck. She was becoming…essential. Carefully, Cade raised his free hand to her slender jaw. He turned her face to his. “I like looking at you. I’ve never known anyone whose emotions were so evident.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a compliment.”
“It is a compliment. From a man who spends all day being as poker-faced as possible.” He smiled. “I find you…fascinating.”
“Truly?” Violet’s lips quirked. Her wide hazel eyes held a challenge. “Can you guess what emotion I’m feeling right now?”
“Suspicion.” Cade stroked her cheek, just once, then made himself let her go. He missed her softness almost immediately. “But you don’t have to be suspicious of me, Miss Benson.”
“Call me Violet. Then perhaps I won’t be.”
That brought a smile to his face. “I’d be honored to do so. And you should call me Cade. Please call me Cade.”
“All right. Cade.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Heaven knows, you might be the only man who ever invites such familiarity from me. I guess I might as well enjoy it!”
Again, Cade looked at her sternly. “I can make sure you enjoy it. I can make sure every man in Morrow Creek wants you.”
She arched her brow at his certainty, seeming more than a little bit doubtful. “You’re not a detective, a marshal or a lawman.” Her smile turned playful. “You’re a miracle worker!” He’d had enough. “The real tragedy in life isn’t failing to believe that hope exists, Violet. It’s convincing yourself that you don’t want any hope, even when it’s right in front of you.”
“Are you talking about me? Or about you?”
Cade snorted. “I’m talking about the