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Perhaps it would not be so bad to be ladylike all of the time, instead of being called a tomboy forever.
Terrance slouched down low over a glass of whiskey at the bar, his eyes squinting as he peered through the haze of smoke toward the group of men standing around a table, waiting for Josh and Shane to begin their poker game. Terrance had decided to come and watch. A lot depended on the winner todayperhaps even Terrance's future. If Shane lost, Shane would leave and everything would get back to normal between the Stanton and Brennan families. Melanie would have no choice but to forget him. She would more than likely turn to Josh. For sure, she would come begging for her brother to return and run the farm!
Taking another quick gulp of whiskey, Terrance shuddered as it rolled down the back of his throat, burning it. He got a glimpse of Shane at the table as a man stepped aside. Hate grabbed Terrance at the pit of his stomach as he looked intensely at Shane who sat so smugly smoking a cigar and shuffling cards, his back straight, his blue eyes gleaming.
Terrance's thoughts went to the previous night, when Melanie had forced him to take her to point out Trapper Dan's house to her. There was no telling what she planned to do with the information, except perhaps tell Shane about him and take him there.
But Terrance had decided not to go and warn the trapper that he could expect trouble just yet. If Shane lost today, there would be no need to warn anyone. Shane would be gone. He would be out of everyone's lives. Even Trapper Dan's.
Setting his glass aside, Terrance inched toward the crowd of gawking men as Shane began dealing the cards. Smoothing his mustache with a finger, Terrance watched eagerly, not doubting who would be the winner. Shane had been raised with Indians, and Indians were not known for their skills with cards.
He smiled to himself as he looked at Josh, whose smile was broadening with each card he picked up.
Shane puffed on his cigar, eyeing Josh warily, then began picking up his own cards, one by one. First a two of spades, then a jack of hearts . . .
Before Shane picked up another card, he drummed his fingers on the tabletop and stared down at the cards that still lay face down. Five-card stud. Only three cards to go. So far he had nothing that even resembled a winning hand.
He reached for a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. Taking a sip, he continued looking at the cards. In his mind's eye he was remembering the many hours that he had sat beside the fire in Chief Standing Tall's wigwam playing with
these exact cards. They were the old chief's cards. If Shane looked hard enough he could see where the paint had been rubbed off at the corners by him and the chief through the many hours of their playing poker.
Setting the glass back down on the table, Shane glanced over his shoulder. He was not looking at the men who stood there, watching. Something else had caused his attention to be drawn from the task at hand. It was a presence of sorts, as though the old chief were there, his dark eyes twinkling.
Shane lifted the glass again. He nodded and smiled over his shoulder as he made a sort of mock salute with the glass, then swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.
''Shane, you've three more cards to pick up," Josh said, frowning. "What's the matter? Don't you know how to play?" He chuckled low and tipped his whiskey glass to his lips, emptying it in large gulps.
Shane looked across the table at his brother. He smiled slowly at him, then continued picking up the cards. One by one he placed them in his hand. He was careful not to show any sign of having drawn the three cards that gave him a winning hand.
His gaze moved from card to card. Three jacks, two twos. Josh could get better, but with five-card stud, it usually took several tries.
"Well, I'd say it's about time," Josh said.
"How many cards are you going to discard, Josh?" Shane asked, slapping his cards face down on the table before him.
Josh plucked two cards from his hand and shoved them into the middle of the table. "Two," he said, watching as Shane dealt him two more cards.
Shane lay the deck of cards aside again and watched Josh's expression as he fit his cards together in his hand again. Nothing. He could tell nothing about his brother's reaction. Josh was being careful.
Then Josh glanced at Shane. "How many do you discard?" he asked, folding his cards back together.
"None," Shane said nonchalantly.
"None?" Josh gasped, then he smiled sarcastically. "You took none because you don't even know what is worth keeping or throwing away."
"I wouldn't be so sure, Josh," a man across the way said. "Looks to me like he knows damn well what he's doin'."
"Yeah," several voices agreed.
"Anyhow, Shane, I've got openers," Josh said, scooting several coins out into the middle of the table.
Shane puffed hard on his cigar, squinting his eyes when the smoke spiraled up into them. He looked at Josh's cards held tightly in his hands, then up into his brother's eyes. It looked as though Josh thought he had a winner because he was looking damn smug.
Or was Josh looking so smug because he truly believed that Shane was stupid enough to challenge him to a game of cards without knowing how
to play himself? It was Josh who was the daft brother, it seemed.
"I'll c
