The Honour-Bound Gambler. Lisa Plumley
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ignored the chattering men. He chased down Cade, the oversize coat trailing on the ground behind him, then tugged at his suit sleeve. “Hey, mister! I know I won and all, but…I don’t reckon you meant to leave this behind. I found it in your coat pocket.”
He held up a wad of greenbacks, fastened with an ivory clip, which Cade had won off a cotton merchant down South.
Cade had meant to leave that money with the ragamuffin. He didn’t have much use for his winnings—aside from their ability to stake his reputation, admit him into the elite high rollers’ circle and eventually get him invited into their next private faro tournament. If he was lucky, that’s where he’d find Whittier. Cade had already skimmed off a sufficient quantity of cash for his own incidentals. He had a fair bankroll set aside at his hotel. And there was always his benefactor, Simon Blackhouse, to rely on if he needed more funding, too.
But what concerned Cade now wasn’t his own well-being. Because behind the boy, out of sight of his stupefied gaze, all those onlookers stared at Cade’s carelessly lost money with hungry eyes. Surely they wouldn’t actually steal from a child?
Cade didn’t know. All he knew was that some things—not many, in his experience, but some—weren’t wagering material.
“You show me how to get to the Territorial Benevolent Association Grand Fair,” Cade said, “and you can keep it all.”
Wide-eyed, the boy nodded. Quick as a wink, he shoved the wad of cash down his pants for safekeeping. “For this much scratch I’ll take you there myself! But I ain’t stayin’. I done heard of kids bein’ lured in by Miss Benson and then they ain’t never seen again! I don’t want no reformer gettin’ ahold of me.”
Cade only shrugged. “I don’t care much for those do-gooder types myself.” He started walking, with the boy eagerly dogging his every booted step. Something about the urchin’s sudden devotion bothered him, but Cade shrugged that off, too. “Give me a bottle of mescal, a pretty girl, a fair hand and a chance to square off against Lady Luck, and I don’t need much else.”
The boy skipped ahead, belatedly taking the lead as he’d agreed to do. He pointed to their destination. “The fair’s up yonder at that ole’ brick house.” He eyed Cade. “You fixin’ to steal all the raffle money for the new library or somethin’?”
“Nope. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I’ve never had to, and I’m not starting now.” Speaking in all honesty, Cade leveled his gaze on the house. Morrow Creek residents came and went in all their meager territorial finery. Music and lights spilled from inside, foretelling exactly the frolic he expected. “I’m here for something even better than raffle money.”
The boy scoffed. “Nothing’s better than money.”
“At least one thing is,” Cade disagreed.
At that, the boy made a disgusted face. “What? Love?”
Cade laughed. “Nope. Not love.”
He wasn’t even sure what love was. He cared for Judah; that was true. Everyone else he kept at arm’s length for good reason.
“If it ain’t money, and it ain’t love, then what is it you’re after?” the child demanded to know.
“Answers,” Cade told him. “I want answers.”
Then, for the fourth time in as many months, he headed toward the celebration he hoped might change his life…all over again.
Standing at the edge of the boisterous Territorial Benevolent Association Grand Fair with her toes tapping and her arms full of discarded shawls, wraps and overcoats, Violet Benson felt like nothing so much as a human coat hanger—a coat hanger who wanted desperately to join in the fun.
All around her, the finest and largest house in all of Morrow Creek was packed to the gills with revelers. Her friends and neighbors were dancing, drinking and trying their luck at the evening’s games of chance, including the fancifully painted wheel of fortune donated by Jack Murphy. Now that the device wasn’t situated in his saloon, even the ladies felt free to place bets. Violet hadn’t yet done so herself, but she thought she might later if she ever divested herself of her burden.
“Oh! Violet! How nice to see you!” One of her longtime friends bustled over, all smiles. “Are you collecting wraps? Here—take mine.” She flung off her lace shawl, then added it to the pile in Violet’s arms. “You’re so kind. Thanks so much!”
“You’re welcome.” Rearranging the wraps, Violet glanced at her friend’s dance card. A number of gentlemen’s names adorned it already. “My, look at your card! Aren’t you popular tonight.”
“Yes!” Her friend beamed. “My card is almost full already, and I’ve only just arrived. But you must be in demand, too!”
In unison, their gazes dropped to the dance card at the very tips of Violet’s fingers. She hadn’t even claimed it by printing her own name in the designated space at the top yet. She’d been too busy fancifully perusing her card’s many blank partner spaces—imagining lots of suitors writing in their names with the small ribbon-attached pencil—when the first partygoer, another friend, had assigned her his overcoat for safekeeping.
Unfortunately her dance card remained conspicuously empty.
“Well—” her friend offered a cheering grin “—don’t worry. It’s early yet. Partners will be clamoring for you later on!”
Gamely, Violet grinned back. They both knew that wasn’t likely. As far as people in Morrow Creek were concerned, Violet—the minister’s plain-featured daughter—was better suited to doing good works than enjoying good times. Eventually, Violet reasoned, she would adjust herself completely to that fate.
In the meantime, she couldn’t quit tapping her toes. The latest song was a fully frolicsome one, and she loved dancing.
“Look! I see Adeline Wilson and Clayton Davis!” her friend exclaimed. “I must congratulate them on their engagement.”
Just like that, Violet was left alone again, stuck pinning up a wall with her shoulder blades and pining for a chance to dance. She watched as her very best friend, Adeline Wilson, gracefully accepted a fresh dose of congratulations, appearing typically beautiful and amiable all the while. Everything that Violet was not, Adeline was: pretty, dainty and sought-after.
But Violet possessed her own good qualities, she reminded herself staunchly. She was kindhearted, brave and intelligent. She was effective in her charity work. She was clever. She truly enjoyed doing good works. She had many close friends, as well.
So what if she had an empty dance card? That didn’t matter.
Except it did matter, Violet admitted to herself as she heaved a resigned sigh and went to put away all those bundled overcoats. In her heart of hearts, it mattered a great deal. Worthy pursuits were rewarding, that was true; but so was dancing!
There was nothing to be done about her empty dance card now, though. Nor was there any point in torturing herself with it any longer. Almost to the cloakroom, Violet tossed her dance card toward a nearby trash bin.
Likely there were several helpful tasks she ought to be doing anyway, and there’d be cleaning up to do later, too.
She should concentrate on practical matters, just as she always did…and leave the daydreaming to women like Adeline—women who stood a chance of having their fantasies come true.
At the conclusion of his initial assessment of the Territorial Benevolent Association Grand Fair, Cade noticed the woman who tossed away a dance card. With nimble movements, Cade snatched the card from midair. He was surprised to see it was empty. But empty or full, that didn’t matter for his purposes.
A man never knew when an accoutrement of belonging someplace, like a dance card, would come in handy. With a cursory glance at the primly dressed woman, Cade pocketed it. It might prove useful as