Shotgun Vows

Her gaze rested on dark-haired, brown-eyed Ethan. She knew he was right around her own age, but he looked about seventeen. Even his sunburned face didn’t hide the fact that he’d hardly started shaving yet. She thought he was cute, but was vaguely disturbed that being in the same room with him didn’t produce any sort of physical response on her part. Not the way being around Dawson did. But that probably had something to do with how angry she’d been the first time she met him, and how he baited her every time he opened his mouth. Ethan seemed like a sweetie, and she just had to get to know him better.

“Hi, guys,” she said, greeting all the men.

“What are you doing here, Mattie?” Bobby Lee didn’t look too happy. The blond, blue-eyed cowboy’s frown was a big clue.

Her heart fell. That wasn’t exactly the greeting she’d been hoping for. “It’s poker night,” she said lamely.

“Yeah.” Ethan threw his cards down. “But we didn’t think you would—”

“Howdy, stranger.” Bobby Lee smiled slowly and stood up, walking toward her. “Been a long time.”

“Not that long,” she said, confused.

Then she shivered as she felt him behind her. She’d momentarily forgotten. Dawson. He was so close, and the heat of his body warmed her clear down to her toes. The scent of his cologne tied her stomach in knots. Her heart skipped a beat, kicking her confusion up a notch.

“Yeah, it has been a long time,” Dawson answered, reaching out to shake hands with him.

Ethan joined them, just inside the door. “Good to see you,” the young cowboy said.

“Goes for me, too. We haven’t seen much of you since Zane got married and you quit hanging out here with him.” Bobby Lee chimed in. “Dawson, you know Burch Pickett, right?”

“We’ve met,” he said.

The man nodded. “Howdy.”

“Ethan, pull up a chair for Dawson.”

“What about me?” Mattie asked, hands on her hips.

“Oh, Mattie,” Bobby Lee said. There was less warmth in his voice than when he’d greeted Dawson. “I figured you just brought Dawson down here to be neighborly. You’re really fixin’ t’ play cards, are you?”

“That was my plan.” She felt about as welcome as the plague.

Ethan pulled over another chair and put it next to the first. “Here you go, Mattie,” he said. “Take a load off, Dawson.”

They sat next to each other at the round table, at the center of which sat a bowl of popcorn and another of pretzels. Cards, coins and bills were scattered across the scratched wooden top.

While the men were moving around getting drinks and refilling snack bowls, she whispered to Dawson, “Do you know what the money is for?”

“Betting,” he said. “Makes it more interesting.”

She would have to take his word on that. She had a bigger problem. “I don’t have any money with me. Do you?”

He looked at her as if she had pink hair. “Of course I’ve got money.”

“Can you lend me some? Just until we get back to the house?”

“Okay.” He pulled out some folded bills and handed her a couple as he asked, “Do you know anything about poker?”

“Nope. But how hard can it be?” she asked, taking the money.

Ethan handed Dawson a beer and said, “You deal.”

“Where’s my beer?” Mattie asked, anxious to be a part of the whole thing, to experience everything.

“Are you old enough to drink?” Dawson asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “I’d ask for ID if I were you,” he said to Ethan.

“Number one, I’m twenty-one,” she said. “Number two, thanks to you, we’re on foot and not driving. So who cares if I have a beer?” It annoyed her no end that none of the cowboys moved until Dawson gave them a nod.

“Thanks,” she said, when Ethan set the beer can in front of her. She looked at Dawson. “Now you can deal.”

“All right, your ladyship.” He looked around at the chuckling men, then his gaze rested on her. She didn’t miss the challenge there. With supreme confidence he began shuffling the deck. “Mattie has never played before.” The remark produced a series of black looks and barely concealed annoyance. “So let’s start with something simple.”

That was the Dawson she’d come to know and not love. He didn’t have to do her any favors. She made a mental note to give him a piece of her mind later. “No need to go easy on me,” she said. “I’ll pick it up fast.”

He smiled, irritating her with the genuine cheerfulness in his look. “All right,” he said. “No special treatment.” He started to deal, letting the cards land facedown in front of each player. “How about seven card, no peek, roll your own, one-eyed jacks and kings with mustaches wild?” he asked.

Mattie stared at him. “Roll your own? Is this cigarettes or poker?”

“Poker. Do you want me to deal you out?”

“Not on your life,” she said, sipping her beer. Nasty stuff, she thought. But she would drink the whole can and ask for another before she would let one of them know how much she hated it. “I just have one question. What’s this about one-eyed jacks and kings with mustaches?”

Dawson stopped dealing, and quickly riffled through the deck, pulling out the cards in question. He showed her the difference. She nodded. “Thanks,” she said. “You can finish now.”

He buried the cards to everyone’s satisfaction and completed the job. Without a word, Ethan, who sat on Dawson’s right, flipped over his top card. It was a nine of clubs. Then he tossed a dollar into the center of the table. When everyone did the same, she put money in, too. Burch turned over four of his cards, and stopped when he showed a king—clean-shaven, Mattie noticed. He put three dollars on the table, and everyone else did, too. This could get expensive, she thought.

Next Bobby Lee started turning over cards. Since none of them had picked up all their cards, she figured out what “no peek” meant. Then it was her turn. She flipped over four cards before she turned over an ace. She leaned over to Dawson and whispered, “What do I do now?”

“Bet,” he answered.

“On what?” she asked.

“You have the highest card showing.”

“So I win?” She looked at him.

“Not until all the cards are turned over and we see who has the best hand.”

“What’s a hand?” She ignored the groans and sighs from the other men.

Dawson patiently explained. “In poker there are hands—a pair, two pair, three of a kind, full house, etcetera up to the highest, which is a royal flush.”

She looked down at the table again. “It seems sort of foolish to put money out not knowing if I can win.”

“That’s part of the fun,” he said. “But if you don’t want to bet, just say ‘check.’”

“Check,” she answered.

Dawson turned over all his cards and apparently had nothing, because he said, “I’m out.”

They went around the table again. Burch had two kings and two threes—“two pair,” someone said. When it was her turn, she flipped over all her cards and was excited when she saw three aces. All the men groaned.

She looked at Dawson. “Is this good?”

“Yeah. You win,” he said. “All the money is yours.”

“Really?” This was very exciting. No wonder they did it once a week. She scooped up the bills and coins from the center of the table and returned the money she’d borrowed from Dawson. “Who deals next?” she asked.

Ethan picked up the cards and dealt them. The game moved a bit faster, until Dawson had to explain to her again what constituted a hand and what beat what. There was so much groaning in the room, it sounded like a haunted house on Halloween. And when she won the second round, she felt guilty, and tried not to take the pot. But they insisted, albeit angrily. “Beginner’s luck,” one of them grumbled.

“Now who deals?” she asked.

Bobby Lee yawned. “It’s gettin’ pretty late.”

Mattie glanced at the clock. It was only nine-fifteen.

Burch stood up. “I gotta get goin’. See y’all later.” Faster than you could say “lickety-split,” he was gone.

Ethan yawned again and said, “I have to be up early.”

“Me, too,” Bobby Lee said.

Mattie was confused, a state of mind that was becoming increasingly familiar to her the more time she spent in the company of men who were not her brothers. From all she’d heard, these games went on until the wee hours. This seemed very early to break up. And she had just been getting the hang of it. Was Dawson right about the guys feeling that she was bad luck? Or were they miffed because she had all the good luck? Poor sports! She almost blurted that out, but decided against it.

“Guess we’d better go and let these guys get some shut-eye,” Dawson said. He curved his hand around her arm and pulled her to a standing position with him.

She noticed that Ethan didn’t waste any time opening the door. The chill wind blew in, but it wasn’t as cold as the room had been when she’d raked in the last pot. Still, she figured she could be gracious and not let on that she knew they were upset because she’d won. Having so many brothers had taught her a lot about male pride.

“You’re right. I have to get up early, too,” she said, making her way to the door. “I almost forgot. Aunt Lily asked me to supervise some schoolchildren who are coming to the ranch tomorrow. She suggested that I pick someone to help me with them. How about it, Ethan?” she asked, looking up at him. He was tall and lanky. Not unattractive, but not muscular like Dawson….

She wondered where that thought had come from. It was followed quickly by a fervent hope that this sudden hang-up she’d developed of comparing all men to Dawson Prescott was something she’d get over soon.

“Sure, Mattie,” Ethan said. “I’ll give you a hand. If Mrs. Fortune wants me to,” he answered.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll see you in the corral around nine-thirty.” She thought Dawson mumbled something. “What did you say?”

“I said, let’s go and let these guys get some sleep.” Dawson took her elbow none too gently and guided her off the porch.

They started walking toward the big house. Mattie was vaguely disturbed at the abrupt way the evening had ended. Since Dawson had witnessed everything, she decided to risk asking him. “Did it seem to you that the guys were bad sports?”

In the moonlight, she read the wry look he gave her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve been around long enough to see them drag to work after a late night of poker. They don’t let an early-morning wake-up call stop them—if they’re winning. Do you think they were upset because I had some beginner’s luck?”

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s the female thing.”

She stared at him. “Define ‘female thing.’”

“Bad luck to play cards with a girl.”

“Then why deal me in at all? Or why mention the game in front of me?”

He shrugged. “You’re the boss’s niece. They couldn’t very well tell you to go home.”

“I just wish they’d been honest.”

Their shoulders happened to brush at that moment and she felt him flinch—or abruptly pull away from the contact. She wasn’t sure which. Before she could puzzle it out, they arrived at her front door.

This was the first time a man had ever escorted her home. That thought produced a nervous sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach. But this was Dawson.

“If I’m bad luck, then you won’t want to help me with the kids tomorrow.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said. “An honorable man doesn’t go back on a promise.”

“Suit yourself,” she said and went inside.

She leaned against the door and thought again about how Dawson reminded her of dynamite. The more time she spent in his company, the closer the match got to her fuse.

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