Reese's Wild Wager. Barbara McCauley
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He needs to…stretch his legs a little.”
“Gabe just bought the Witherspoon house,” Sydney said matter-of-factly. “That’s five acres of farmland, surrounded by several more acres. Plenty of room for a dog to ‘stretch his legs.’ I’m sure Boomer would be extremely happy there. He can dig to his heart’s content.”
“I couldn’t do that to Boomer. He was already abandoned once when he was a pup. If I just gave him away like that, he wouldn’t understand. He’d think I deserted him.”
She stiffened, then took a step back from him and lifted cool blue eyes to his. “Like Bobby deserted me? Left me standing in my wedding dress to face a crowded church on my own, is that what you’re trying to say?”
Dammit, dammit. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “No, Syd, really, I—”
“Forget it, Sinclair. You think you can soften me up with that killer smile of yours and make me feel sorry for your dog, and I’ll just go away. Well, I’m not going away.” She folded her arms. “Life is just one big lark to you, isn’t it, including this bar you run.”
“Hey, now, this is a tavern, not a bar. There’s a big—”
“Maybe you think I’m being petty, or that a few chewed up flowers are irrelevant, but your lack of respect for my property is irresponsible and insensitive.”
“Hey, I’m as sensitive as the next guy,” Reese protested.
“If that next guy happens to be Bobby Williams,” Sydney said, and pointed her chin at him.
That did it. Reese clenched his jaw. He wasn’t anything like Bobby Williams. He’d had enough of Sydney’s insults for one night. He glanced at Boomer. This is the thanks I get for saving your sorry butt. He looked at the table where cards and chips were scattered.
Irresponsible, was he? Life was one big lark, huh?
Well, fine, then.
“Tell you what, Syd,” he said slowly, turning back to her. “What say we let a friendly card game settle this for us?”
Her head came up, and her brow came down. “What?”
“A card game. Go Fish, Crazy Eights. Maybe a couple hands of Old Maid?”
His jab struck home. She straightened; her eyes shot blue daggers at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“A game of chance to settle this once and for all. If you win, I’ll keep Boomer fenced in, and if I win…” What did he need? Something to not only shut Sydney up, but put her in her place. Think, Sinclair, what do you need?
He grinned suddenly. She’d never go for it. He knew she wouldn’t. He just wanted to see the expression on her face, wanted to see her back down from a challenge.
“…if I win,” he continued, “you have to come work at the tavern for a week. I’m short two servers right now. Wages included, of course, plus tips.”
Sydney’s jaw went slack; she was silent for all of fifteen seconds. “You expect us to settle this with a card game? That’s preposterous!”
He grinned at her. “That’s my middle name.”
“You’re serious. You’re really serious.”
“Yep.” She’d back out now, Reese thought with smug satisfaction. No way she’d go through with anything as foolhardy as this. And since he had her attention, he’d up the ante till she squeaked. “Under my direct supervision, of course. You have to do what I say.”
“What!”
“Don’t go looking so hopeful, Sydney,” Reese said, thoroughly enjoying the flush on her face. “I’m only referring to business here, though we could certainly discuss job perks and options, if you like.”
“Let me get this straight.” She blew a wisp of hair from her cheek. “If I win, you promise to take care of Boomer and keep him out of my flowers. If I lose, I have to work for you, here, for a week.”
“Just three hours a day. Someone as tidy and organized as you could surely work three hours into your schedule.”
Sydney’s laugh was dry and short. “Even coming from Reese Sinclair, this is the most absurd proposal I’ve ever heard.”
He knew she wouldn’t go for it, but it had been fun, anyway. Still, he couldn’t resist giving her pride one more tug. “If you’re afraid to lose…”
“Afraid?” Her eyes narrowed sharply, and she stepped closer to him. “I’m not afraid.”
“Okay.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Syd.”
“All right, Sinclair.” That chin of hers went up again. “What do you say we make it more interesting? If I lose, Boomer’s not only free as a bird, I’ll come work for you for two weeks. If I win, though, Boomer not only gets kept in…” she leaned in close “…you have to come work for me for two weeks after my restaurant opens.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Afraid you’ll lose?” she asked sweetly.
“You mean it.” He stared at her incredulously. “You’ll actually go through with it?”
“I’ll not only go through with it, I’ll honor my bet, win or lose. Will you, Sinclair?”
A muscle jumped in Reese’s jaw. “You’re on.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
They marched to the table and sat down opposite one another. Reese scooped up the scattered cards and started to shuffle them. It had been a long time since he’d played Go Fish or Crazy Eights. He hoped like hell he could remember.
“So what’s it gonna be, Syd?”
She sat straight in her chair, her hands laced primly on the table. “How ’bout five card stud, one-eyed jacks wild?”
Reese nearly dropped the deck of cards in his hand. “You want to play poker?”
“What did you think we’d play? Gin rummy?” She lifted one brow. “My father taught me to count with a deck of cards when I was two. When the other kids were playing Chutes and Ladders, I learned how to double down with an eleven in blackjack.” She smiled, held her cool eyes steady with his. “Now deal the cards, Sinclair. I’m about to kick your behind.”
One hour and ten hands later, to Sydney’s delight—and Reese’s annoyance—her stack of chips was twice the size of his. It was a glorious sight, Sydney thought. Each tall, neat column of red, white and blue signifying her victory.
And Reese’s defeat.
Of course, she hadn’t officially won yet, but it was just a matter of time—a short matter of time, based on the past three hands. At the rate he was losing, she should be able to put him out of his misery in the next hand or two.
She still couldn’t believe she’d let him goad her into this. At twenty-six, she liked to pride herself on being a mature woman, in control at all times, one who had a solid handle on her emotions. A woman who used logic and practicality to make decisions, not childish grammar-school antics of one-upmanship.
But he’d looked at her with such arrogance, such smug amusement, she’d simply accepted the challenge, as much to her surprise as his.
Glancing over the cards she held, she watched him study the hand she’d dealt him. Those incredible eyes of his were narrowed with concentration, and one shock of thick, dark hair tumbled over his furrowed forehead. Absently, he brushed his thumb back and forth over the strong line of his chiseled jaw; the quiet rasp of thumbnail against the shadow of his beard was the only sound in the office.
She’d never had the opportunity