Fortune's Lady by Victoria Thompson

Author:Victoria Thompson [Thompson, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 19th_Century, Cowboy, Cowboy Romance, Cowboys, Fiction, General, Happily Ever After, HEA, Hero, Historical, Historical Fiction, Historical Romance, Historical Western Romance, Rogues, Romance, Western, Western Romance, Westerns
ISBN: 9780380758326
Google: YjXLn3gw6v8C
Amazon: 0380758326
Publisher: NYLA
Published: 1989-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

Jared shuffled the cards and placed them back into the dealing box for the next game while his lookout, the man paid to watch the customers and make sure they didn’t try anything sneaky, paid off the bets. Jared had never worked with a lookout at the Comique, but he found he needed one lately since his attention often strayed from the game.

He’d be fine as soon as Dora Hand’s performance was over, he reminded himself. It was her love songs that disturbed him, and she seemed compelled to sing “Oh, Susanna” at least once each evening. The first time Jared had thought it an unfortunate coincidence until he’d seen Dora watching for his reaction.

He’d be damned if he’d oblige her, but he couldn’t seem to control his mind as well as he controlled his expression. If Dora intended to distract him, she succeeded admirably.

“Get your money down, gentlemen,” he said. When the bets were in place he pulled the first card out of the box, the ‘soda,’ which counted for nothing. The next card would be a loser and the third a winner. He called the numbers out and waited while the lookout cleared the bets for the next round.

Dora was warbling a request to be carried back to Old Virginny in her New England accent, and Jared allowed himself a small smile at the irony. He drew the next two cards, called them out, and waited for his lookout to clear the bets again.

Of course, Virginia wasn’t too far from his own home. Odd how the memory of it no longer brought the usual painful longing. He supposed the anguish of losing Suzanna had made other losses insignificant and wondered dismally whether five years would have to pass before he could think of her without suffering the agonies of hell. In the week since he’d last spoken to her, the pain had only increased.

He pulled two more cards and called them out.

“Oh, hell!” one of the players said, gathering what remained of his chips and rising abruptly from the table. He was a good-looking young Texan whom Jared had seen hanging around the saloon a lot the past few nights. Rumor said he was the only son of one of the wealthiest ranchers in Texas, a Quaker by the name of Miflin Kennedy. The boy didn’t look much like a Quaker, though, or act like one either. Small and slight of build, his coloring showed his Mexican mother’s Latin heritage and the fiery temper that went along with it.

“Where you going, Spike?” one of his companions asked as Kennedy stalked away.

“I’m gonna listen to Miss Hand sing. Can’t lose no money doing that,” he replied, tossing Jared a black look over his shoulder.

Good riddance, thought Jared as he pulled the next two cards. The boy was trouble. Rich, spoiled boys always were, and Spike Kennedy was the worst of the lot.

“Sing ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas,’ ” Kennedy shouted when Dora finished her song.

Jared frowned. The kid was drunk.

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