Deal Me In

He shook his head. “Double damn.”

Molly glanced at the car. “Please, Mr. Carrick, can’t you men say anything without swearing?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Begging your pardon.” He focused on Brady. “I guess the bet’s in full swing now, isn’t it, son?”

Brady frowned. “We’re still working out the details. I wasn’t exactly prepared for their arrival.”

“You shoulda’ been. She told you she was coming.”

“Yes, but I thought she was just… Besides, I didn’t know she’d have a…” The boy was staring out the window, probably hearing every word.

“He’s just a tyke,” Marshall said. “I can’t see that he’ll be much trouble.”

Molly’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Mr. Carrick. That’s exactly what I tried to tell your son.”

The front door opened again, and Angela appeared in a long flowing dressing gown with ostrich feathers fluttering at the hem and the ends of the sleeves. “I heard a car,” she said. “Do we have company?”

“Mom, this is Molly,” Brady said as she floated down the steps. “I met her yesterday. She’s come to work with me on a special project.”

Angela blinked rapidly several times. “What kind of project?”

“Has to do with poker,” Brady said.

Angela put her index finger to her bottom lip and stared at Molly. “How interesting. I’m sure you’ll give me more details later, won’t you, Brady?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your last name, dear?”

Molly turned away from Brady and answered Angela’s question. His mother’s small mouth rounded with interest. “Are you related to the Davises from King William Street in San Antonio?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. My maiden name is Whelan and I come from a small town outside Dallas.”

“I’m sure that’s nice, too.” Angela stared over Molly’s shoulder at the Honda. “Who’s in the car?”

“That’s my son, Sam.”

“What an angelic face,” Angela said. Brady didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion, since he couldn’t see anything but the boy’s mouth and plastic straw from where he stood.

Angela turned to Brady. “Where are these people staying, dear? And for how long?”

Brady fumbled for a response. “A few weeks, maybe,” he said, still uncertain as to whether or not that was true. “And I don’t know where they’ll stay. They just got here.”

Angela looked at Dobbs. “Have you hired a new stable foreman yet, Trevor?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Molly and Sam can stay in the apartment over the tack room.” She looked at Brady and noted his less than enthusiastic reaction. “What’s wrong? The apartment was recently refurbished. It’s convenient if you’ll be working together.”

How could he tell his mother that her impulsive suggestion was just another example of the way her mind had been working lately. Since he’d come home from Vegas, Angela either approached situations with misplaced enthusiasm or bland indifference. He would have preferred indifference today. “I think we should let Molly decide,” he said.

Chastised, her pale lips pulled into a frown, Angela murmured, “Of course.”

They both looked at Molly. “I think it’s a very generous offer,” she said. “I’m sure Sam and I could be comfortable there.”

Angela smiled. “Good. It’s settled.” She gathered the excess folds of her robe around her slim waist. “I’m going in now. I need coffee. Is breakfast being served in the conservatory?”

Marshall took her arm. “I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, Angela. You’ll have to settle for a late lunch.”

As they went toward the front entrance, Brady heard his mother ask, “What time is it, Marsh? I can’t imagine it’s much past nine.”

His answer was muffled as he led her inside.

Brady scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and looked at Molly. “So, do you want to see the apartment?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You can drive around to the front of the stables. I’ll meet you there.”

As he turned away from her, he heard Dobbs say, “Welcome aboard, Molly. I think you’ll like it here.”

It occurred to Brady that he hadn’t yet said anything remotely welcoming to Molly. And he was a long way from doing so. He had no idea what her angle was but he was certain that a woman who gave up everything to follow a crazy bet had to have one.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAM SAT ON THE LEATHER SOFA in the apartment above the tack room and channel-surfed the seemingly unending selection of television programs. “Wow, Mom,” he said. “This is the neatest TV. It’s huge.”

Molly came out of the bedroom where she’d been storing their clothes in twin knotty pine dressers. “It sure is,” she said, admiring the high-definition picture on the thirty-two inch flat-screen set. Her father’s TV got fifteen channels and operated with an antenna fashioned out of two crooked rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil.

Sam settled on a Western movie with cowboys galloping across a rugged prairie. Reaching for his Coke, he said, “This whole place is so cool.”

“Be sure you put the glass back on the coaster,” Molly advised. “Otherwise you’ll leave a mark on the table.” She agreed with Sam’s evaluation of their living quarters, but was trying not to appear overly impressed. After all, they’d be leaving all this behind in a few weeks. She didn’t know why the Carricks no longer had a stable foreman, but it couldn’t have been because he had a complaint about his apartment.

The living room was furnished with a butter-soft sofa and two brown leather chairs flanking a solid cherry coffee table. A game table and matching barrel chairs sat against a burgundy-painted wall. The pictures above it were typical Texas: prints of longhorn steer, fields of cattle, the capitol building in Austin. Each was framed to match the geometric rugs on the light maple floor.

The kitchen, with its expansive windows and white shutters, was a dream. Molly examined the top-of-the-line brushed-steel appliances, the hand-painted ceramic counters and the heavy oak dinette on the burnt-sienna Mexican-tile floor, imagining her uncle Cliff’s reaction. He would have given a week’s profit to prepare one meal in this state-of-the-art environment.

But the most pleasant surprise was the bedroom. A king-sized bed with a rustic four-post frame dominated the center of the room. It was covered in a plush Navajo spread, which matched the drapes on the two windows. A walk-in closet had built-in shelves where Molly was able to store Sam’s toys. Molly especially loved the window that looked out on the suede green lawn. She could picture herself reading for hours here with the sunlight streaming in.

She sat next to Sam on the sofa and pretended to watch the movie. “I can’t even imagine what the Carricks’ house must be like on the inside,” she said after a moment.

Sam looked up at her with wide brown eyes. “It can’t be any better than this one.”

She smiled. She couldn’t imagine Marshall Carrick or his son, Brady, designing the Victorian with gabled roofs, whimsical cupolas and stained-glass casement windows. She’d only been acquainted with Angela Carrick for a few brief moments, but she believed the willowy woman in ostrich feathers, with her wavy blond hair and those long thin fingers that seemed made to play a piano, was the mastermind behind the Carrick house. If that were so, why did the nervous woman seem out of place in an environment that must once have suited her so perfectly?

“Mama, I’m hungry.”

Deep in thought, Molly hadn’t realized that Sam had shut off the television. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Goodness. It’s nearly seven o’clock. You must be starved.” She went into the kitchen and examined the refrigerator where she’d put the few items she’d brought in a cooler from Prairie Bend. “We still have some sandwiches left. And chips and cookies. How does that sound?”

“I’m sick of sandwiches,” he said.

“Then we can go to the convenience store we passed when we drove out here. I can get a frozen pizza.”

“Okay.”

She grabbed her purse, bundled Sam into his jacket and headed for the door. Opening it, she nearly ran into a plump dark-haired Mexican woman on the threshold. She carried a platter covered with a checkered cloth, and whatever was under the napkin smelled spicy and hot and heavenly. Molly’s mouth watered. “Hi.”

“Hello,” the woman said. “Can I come in? I’m Serafina, Trevor Dobbs’s wife.”

Molly opened the door wider. “It’s nice to meet you, Serafina.”

“How do like this place?” Serafina asked as she took the platter to the kitchen.

“It’s lovely.”

“I’m having another bed brought up tomorrow,” she said. “It’s a folding one, but has a nice thick mattress. It will be good for the boy.”

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

She placed the platter on the table. Sam followed her as if she were the pied piper. “What’s under that napkin?” he asked.

Serafina smiled. “I thought you might be hungry, niño. I’ve brought you some supper.”

“How kind of you,” Molly said. “But we don’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Serafina assured her. “And it’s not much. During the week we eat simple food.” She removed the cloth, releasing deliciously scented steam, and pointed to the various offerings on the plate. “Some tacos, enchiladas, beans, corn. It should be enough for you and the boy.”

Molly didn’t need to ask, but she said, “What do you think, Sam? Does it look good?”

“It looks great.” He began rooting through drawers. “Where are the forks?” When he found them, he sat at the table and waited for Molly to bring him the last of the milk from the nearly empty refrigerator.

“Thank you so much, Serafina,” Molly said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I just saw your supplies in that ice box,” she said. “You come to the main house in the morning and get whatever you need.” She frowned at the refrigerator. “I will take you shopping tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

“If you need me, we live in the smaller house just to the west. You come get me.”

Molly walked her to the door. Serafina stopped before going out. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Brady told me to tell you he would be up later for your first lesson.” She shook her head. “Poker, is it?”

Not knowing what this woman knew of her arrangement with Brady or, if she did, whether or not she approved of it, Molly hesitated before answering, “Yes, it’s poker.”

Serafina waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I guess Brady knows poker. At least that’s what they all say—Trevor and those friends of his. But I told him you must be tired and he should let you settle in tonight.”

Serafina was frowning because she was concerned about Molly’s welfare? Having grown up with criticism as part of her everyday life, Molly laughed with relief. “It’s okay. I’m always up late. Tell him to come.”

Serafina started down the stairs. “Go. Eat. You’re too skinny. And tell Brady to leave when you tire of him. He could play poker all night.”

Molly shut the door and leaned against it. Just a few minutes ago, she’d been as hungry as Sam. Now, her appetite seemed to have fled.

“This is what you want, Molly,” she said, anticipating the satisfaction of soaking up every bit of knowledge Brady had to give her. A big payoff. And revenge. She was glad she’d come to River Bluff. Brady would teach her all the tricks he’d used to humiliate Kevin, only she’d be the winner this time. She imagined Brady’s face when she finally revealed her identity to him. In the back of her mind, she could almost see Kevin grinning.

MOLLY ONLY NIBBLED at the food Serafina brought. When she’d cleaned up the dishes, she showered, tamed her hair into a loose style that fell around her shoulders and slipped into comfortable running pants and a sweatshirt. A thermometer outside the door of the apartment read forty-two degrees, uncharacteristically cool for south central Texas, even in the winter.

She tucked Sam into bed at eight-thirty and sat on the sofa to find something entertaining on television. She was staring at a reality show when her halfhearted concentration was broken by a knock at the door. The knowledge that Brady was supposed to begin her lessons had never really left her mind and she jumped up from the sofa. Her hand on the knob, she gave herself a quick pep talk. “Calm down, Molly. This is a business arrangement, an opportunity for both of you to get what you want. Don’t blow it.”

She opened the door. Brady stood on her small landing, two bottles of beer dangling between his fingers. He wore jeans, sneakers and a flannel shirt under a black leather jacket. His damp hair glistened, and he smelled faintly of pine and something subtly spicy. “Is this a bad time?” he asked.

She stood back. “No. Come in.”

He strode to the middle of the room, set the beer on the coffee table and pulled out a deck of cards. “Accommodations okay?”

“Fine.”

“I figured we might as well get started.”

“Sure.”

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