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“What the hell?” the other guy said with a bored shrug. “I’ll call.”
He too shoved his chips into the middle.
God, this isn’t funny.
Her stomach churned worse than it had the last time she went out on a fishing boat in rough seas. There was close to twenty thousand dollars on the table. More than enough to get Ethan out of trouble. Enough extra to keep her store afloat through a lot of hard months.
He hadn’t said anything about her taking a cut, but she was willing to bet if she came back with twice the amount he needed, he might give her a finder’s fee.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek and visualized her hand. Money wasn’t a big deal to these guys, she reminded herself. They could afford to play big and lose big, so it stood to reason they might bet high on less-than-stellar hands.
“How about it, darlin’?” the guy next to her asked.
“I’m in,” she muttered, shoving all her chips into the pile before she had a chance to reconsider. She had a good hand. A good enough hand to win. As long as she believed that, she was golden.
This was it.
She was going to win.
The other two men flipped their cards. As expected, Baldy Number Two had nothing, but Sam was too busy staring at her neighbor’s hand to see what the other man had come up with.
Two pairs.
Tens over sevens.
A small noise of alarm escaped her throat when she realized what it meant.
Sam had lost everything.
Chapter Seventeen
“Honey, are you all right in there, or am I going to have to get a security guard?” A woman with a husky voice knocked on Sam’s bathroom stall door.
Apparently she’d been crying loud enough it was becoming distracting to those in the other stalls.
“I-I-I’m f-fine,” Sam said, not sounding at all fine.
“Whoever he is, he ain’t worth it, sweetie.”
Sam opened the stall door and looked down at the woman who’d been speaking to her. Thanks to the ludicrous heels she was wearing, Sam was pushing six feet tall, making her tower over the petite blonde. The woman had black roots and leathery skin—a gift from a life lived between smoky bars and the desert—but she had kind eyes.
She pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Sam, who tried to wipe the inky-black trails of mascara off her cheeks.
“You okay?” the woman asked again.
“No.” Sam shook her head, and tears began to well up anew, her lower lip trembling as she tried to keep herself together. “I just screwed up. Big time.”
“Aw, baby. Ain’t nothing in this life ever get so screwed up Jesus can’t see his way to making it right.” She patted Sam on the cheek, and upon seeing the mascara stain on her fingers, handed her another tissue.
“Yeah? You think Jesus is going to bring me ten grand?”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a small cough. “I guess that all depends on how good you’ve been.” She forced a smile. “And on how high Jesus’s credit limit goes.”
Sam thought she’d been good. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she been good and played straight, obeying all the rules her whole life? Wasn’t she supposed to get some kind of karmic reward for her efforts?
She brushed back the tears with the heel of her hand, then remembered the tissue and used it to clean up the mess.
“It’ll all be okay, baby girl.” The woman gave her one last smile then walked out of the washroom, leaving Sam by herself once more.
