Lucky (12 page)

“I’m not judging you,” Lucky said, and got out of bed, needing to put distance between them. “I simply don’t intend to fall in love with a gambler.”

Nick’s heart began to pound as he searched for words that would find a way through her fear. “And maybe you’re wrong. Maybe we could just agree to disagree and still have a relationship and see where it would go.”

“I don’t want to be just anybody’s girl, remember? I want to be somebody’s special girl. One man. One love. Forever.”

“Hell, honey, you don’t want much, do you?” Hurt put unintended anger in his voice.

The bed was a physical barrier between them. But it was the words that put the real distance back into their lives.

“Yes I do, Nick. I want a lot. I want to have—and I want to give—everything to the man I love.”

Let it be me.

She saw it on his face. But because he didn’t say it, she didn’t have to find the strength to turn him down.

“I don’t know why you hate this way of life so much, and you’re obviously not ready to tell me. However, I think it’s damned unfair of you to judge every man by the actions of one.”

He walked out of her bedroom without giving her time for rebuttal. And even if he had, she would have been hard-pressed to come up with one. There was too much truth in his accusations.

“Where are you going?” she asked as she followed him to the door, suddenly unsure of what she’d done.

“Home to change. Home to check on my father. Home
to see if the police have turned up any new leads on the man who wants us dead. You name it, it’s on my agenda. My father always said there is no rest for a wicked man. And I’d venture to say there’s not a more wicked man in the world than a gambler like me.”

Lucky heard more than anger in his answer. She had actually hurt him with her constant rejections. Only a man who cared could be hurt by a woman like her. It was a frightening and powerful knowledge.

“Nick. I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Lucky. So the hell am I. Take care of yourself,” he added, unable to stay angry at her for long. “Come back to work when you feel up to it.”

She nodded and tried not to cry.

He was almost out the door. He would have made it, too, if he hadn’t turned to look. When he did, he remembered that she’d cried in her sleep and he hadn’t found out why. It was for that reason, and that reason only, that he retraced his steps for the good-bye kiss they both seemed to need.

Instinctively her lips turned up to meet the ones that were coming down. The floor moved. Or so Lucky thought. But it was only the touch of Nick’s mouth upon hers that had set her world spinning.

“Damn your beautiful, hard head,” Nick growled, inhaling sharply as he lifted his head to release their connection. “You’re wrong, Lucky Houston. You’re wrong about me. You’re wrong about us. One day you’ll be ready to admit it. When you do, you’ll come knocking.” His lips twisted sardonically. “And you know what? The most pathetic part is that I’ll probably be waiting.”

Fluffy LaMont pulled Lucky closer to the window for better light by which to see her young friend’s healing face. She had been horribly shocked by what had happened to her, but had reminded her more than once during the passing week that she’d suffered a better end to the event than most.

“Yes. You’re as good as new,” she said, tilting Lucky’s chin first one way, then the other, searching her flawless features for the remains of bruising. There was none.

“Outside, maybe. Inside I’m a mess,” Lucky muttered.

Fluffy frowned. She’d known all week that there was more than shock from the attack putting lines in Lucky’s face. “Don’t do that,” she warned, and traced her forefinger between Lucky’s eyebrows. “It makes wrinkles, you know.”

Lucky made a face. “Fluffy, my love, wrinkles are the least of my worries.”

“Hmph! You say that now when you have none. Wait until you’re my age. You’ll be eating your words, young lady.”

Lucky hugged her tight and then pulled at a curl dangling toward Fluffy’s left eyebrow. Her red hair had given way to the new look of the week: Hot Honey. The color was somewhere between blonde and platinum.

“If I make it that far, I hope I have as much fun as you seem to be having,” Lucky said, and poked the wayward curl in place.

Fluffy arched her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “You’re only old if you believe it, girl.”

Lucky slumped into a chair and stared at the floor. “I feel all…confused. Sometimes I feel ancient. Like I’ve
lived forever in this skin. And at other times, I feel like a baby, unsure of my next step. What’s wrong with me?”

Fluffy’s hands were gentle, but her words were sharp. “You need a man, girl. You had one. What the hell have you done with him? He cares about you or he wouldn’t have spent the night at your side after the attack. But he hasn’t been back.”

Lucky turned her head away, unwilling to let Fluffy see the truth of it all in her eyes.

Fluffy sighed. She’d suspected as much. A man like Nick Chenault didn’t willingly walk away from a woman like this one. She patted Lucky’s head, smoothing the loose strands of her braid back in place.

“Did you send him away?”

Lucky nodded but said nothing.

“Want to tell me why?”

“I can’t have a relationship with a man like him.”

“Like what? Employed? Rich? Tall, dark, and handsome? Are you mad, honey? The man looks like Tom Selleck.”

Lucky’s hands balled into fists in her lap. Fluffy’s arguments were getting to her in a big way. She knew damn well and good how gorgeous he was. And how rich. And how sexy. And how dangerous. “Tom Selleck has a mustache,” she finally said.

Fluffy rolled her eyes. “Details. Details. You’re ignoring the obvious.”

“He’s a gambler.”

“And you work in a casino!”

Then the truth came out. “I’m afraid to love him,”
Lucky said. “Johnny was a gambler and I loved him dearly. But he nearly destroyed us all.”

Fluffy frowned. “I don’t think you’re afraid of him, personally, my girl. I think you’re just afraid to love, period! You’re afraid of getting hurt.”

“So…you may be right. That still doesn’t mean I trust this man.”

“Honey. Thinking gets you nowhere. You have to act, do what’s natural.”

Lucky laughed through tears. “Where were you all my life?”

The catch in her voice made Fluffy sigh with regret as she pressed Lucky’s head against her breast. “No, darling. In fact it’s the opposite. Where have you been all of mine?”

Lucky shrugged and got to her feet. “I suppose I’ve put off the inevitable long enough. May I use your phone? I want to call Manny. To tell him I’ll be at work tomorrow.”

Fluffy waved her away. “Don’t ask! Do! For Pete’s sake, haven’t I taught you at least that much?”

As Lucky went to the phone, Fluffy sighed and took the chair that the girl had just vacated. She suddenly felt every one of her eighty-four birthdays. It was hard being an adult, especially if you’d been trying as long as Fluffy LaMont to get it right.

Manny put her on the day shift, and for that she was grateful. Getting back into the swing of work would be easier if she didn’t have to face everyone who’d witnessed her attack. But getting to work by 7:0
A. M.
required a dif
ficult adjustment in her body clock. Her eyes were open and her feet were moving, but her brain hadn’t kicked in gear.

Yet Lucky was to learn that she needn’t have worried.

It was a different breed of gambler who was willing to play blackjack before most people had eaten breakfast.

Her legs shook as she walked into the club. Although she knew Steve Lucas could not possibly be hiding anywhere, the thought still gave her pause. Manny, who was rarely at work this early, met her at the door with a smile. She knew he’d come just for her benefit, and for that, she could have hugged him. She settled for a welcoming wave instead.

“
Querida
, are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. “Thank you for changing my shift. It makes coming back easier.”

“Just so you know,” Manny added. “Steve Lucas made bail.”

When Lucky paled, he added, “Don’t worry. You will be safe here. Nick’s security men would not allow him back on the premises.”

Lucky shrugged. “I’m not afraid,” she said. “And I won’t be surprised like that again…by anyone.”

Manny was stunned by her strength. He would have expected any woman to still be in a constant state of fear and tears having to return to the scene of such an attack. Had he known what it had taken just to survive being one of Johnny Houston’s daughters, he wouldn’t have been so surprised.

“But thanks for the warning,” she added.

“It is nothing. Get changed and have a good day.” He
winked, then watched as Lucky walked past the slot machines on her way toward the dressing rooms beyond the main floor.

“Lucky! Welcome aboard!”

Lucky turned at the sound. It was Maizie in full array, her hips giving sway to the minuscule net petticoat beneath abbreviated black velvet outfit she was wearing. The neck was low, the skirt high, with a lot of skin in between. A typical cocktail waitress’s attire.

“Thanks,” she said. “It feels good to be back.”

Maizie frowned and shifted her empty tray to her hip as she slowly assessed Lucky’s state of mind.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you, girl?”

Lucky smiled. “Not as tough as I thought I was,” she said. “But I’m doing all right.”

“Thank God. When I heard what happened, it made me sick. I never liked that joker myself, you know.” And then she grinned. “I also heard that the boss broke Steve’s jaw with one punch. Sort of took your problem personally, didn’t he?”

The flush on Lucky’s cheeks told Maizie she’d scored on her hunch about Lucky’s feelings toward Nick Chenault.

“Way to go, girl! He’s been on the loose way too long as it is.”

“Hey…there’s nothing like that between us,” Lucky said.

“Yeah, right! And I’m Marla Trump, with a capital T. I just do this for kicks.” Then she rolled her eyes dramatically, and started down the narrow aisles between the slot machines. “Cocktails? Coffee? Cocktails, anyone?”

Lucky hurried to dress. Maizie had her thing and she had hers. And so the morning passed.

Nick felt empty. Everything he’d accepted as familiar now seemed false. He could hardly face going to work, knowing that the absence of one dark-haired female dealer was going to make his day long and empty.

And the pride he once felt in Club 52 was gone. One look at the crystal and velvet was all it took to remember his father’s claim that mob money started it all. The fact that the mob hadn’t known about the connection, or that Paul Chenault had anonymously paid it all back with interest, didn’t seem to matter. Nick’s world felt tainted, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Maybe Lucky Houston was right. Maybe a gambler’s world was a dark and wicked thing in which to exist. Yet living any other way was beyond his comprehension. This was all he knew.

Breakfast this morning with his father had been strained. The tension of living from day to day with a death threat hanging over one’s head didn’t bode well for chitchat. The table had not even been cleared before Nick announced he was leaving for work a good two hours ahead of his usual time.

And for all those reasons, his steps were slow and his heart was heavy as he entered Club 52. He nodded and smiled as he passed the players at the slot machines at the front of the grand entrance, taking note of the ones who looked as if they’d been here all night. He could tell the repeats from the newcomers by their gloves. Old-timers
knew from experience how filthy the coins could be, and often wore a tight-fitting white glove on their coin hand to protect themselves from the dirt on the money as they fed the machines.

The newcomers were all over the place. Fresh-faced, eyes shining, with all the excitement and wonder yet to be experienced. They ran from machine to machine, from table to table, always clutching handfuls of chips or small plastic tubs of coins, searching for the magic spot and the jackpot just waiting for their arrival.

Nick inhaled slowly, absorbing the world that was his, and started toward the stairs leading to his office. Right or wrong, Club 52 was his life.

Because he was deep in thought, he almost didn’t notice the new dealer on shift. In fact, it was her voice and not her face that caught his attention.

“Sir…please place your bet.”

He looked up just in time to see Lucky behind one of the twenty blackjack tables, dealing from the shoe to a single player who looked as if he’d spent the night on that very stool.

Shock spread through Nick, and he stopped only a few feet away. Then, without considering the consequences of his actions, he took a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and scooted onto the empty stool next to Lucky’s all-night player.

“Change, please.” Nick laid the bill outside the betting square and waited for her to hand him his chips.

Lucky’s hand stilled in the act of beginning a deal. The green expanse of the table in front of her narrowed until
all she could see were the long, slender fingers of the new player patiently drumming the felt with an absentminded tattoo as he waited for change.

It was only seconds, but it felt like hours, before she gathered the nerve to look up. His warm brown eyes looked back at her from across the table, much in the same way that he’d stared at her from across her bed nearly a week ago.

“I need change,” Nick repeated. “All reds…please.”

Lucky’s fingers shook a little as she quickly counted out four five-dollar chips.

Nick placed all of them on the table, betting the whole twenty dollars at once. It was a small but symbolic gesture that Lucky couldn’t miss. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man.

Her eyes widened, but she remained mute as she began to deal, hoping that the other man at the table didn’t know he was playing with the owner of Club 52.

The cards clicked as they came out of the shoe and then hit the felt with a firm slap before each player.

Nick couldn’t quit staring at her face. The last time he’d seen her she’d been bruised and battered, with a pain in her eyes that no amount of comforting had been able to remove. But now, all the outer injuries seemed to be gone. She was healed and back where she belonged.