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And if he walked away, then all of this would be for nothing. He’d leave with no money and be right back where he’d begun.
Funny how the money didn’t mean as much to him any longer. What mattered is that he didn’t go back to where he’d been. He might never see Bridget again, but he wanted to show himself, if no one else, he was worthy of her.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Bridget asked him, quietly. It was an escape. He recognized it and wanted to thank her for the offer. Instead, he looked back at the table.
“I’m feeling lucky,” he said.
Aoife pulled out a deck of cards, and Cal’s mouth watered. She shuffled and dealt Cal and MacDonald two cards and herself two cards. Cal lifted the edge of his cards and studied the numbers. He had a six and a nine. He watched as MacDonald lowered the edges of his own cards. The man gave nothing away. Aoife’s face was impossible to read as well. Cal pretended to look at his cards, but his gaze went to the floor. Aoife’s leg jiggled, while MacDonald’s was still.
He tapped the table, indicating he would take another card. MacDonald declined, and Aoife took another card. Cal had been dealt a five. He had twenty. To take another card risked going over twenty-one. But could he beat MacDonald with twenty? Aoife looked at him, and he shook his head. She took another card then blew out a breath. She turned her cards over, showing twenty-three. Cal looked at MacDonald who raised a brow. Cal turned his cards over.
“Twenty,” MacDonald said. “Impressive. But I have a Natural.” He had an ace and a ten.
“Bit of luck,” Cal said, sitting back.
Sean MacDonald smiled. “You think so?”
“No doubt in me mind.”
“Then would you care to wager on it?”
Oh, Cal wanted to wager. His hand was already going to his pocket to see how much money he had on hand. Bridget’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“We don’t have much money. Perhaps we could wager something else.”
Cal stilled. She was a clever lass. There was no question.
“I like the way you think,” MacDonald said. “What should we wager?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said. “The pub isn’t open, and we’ll all be feeling the lack of company. If Mr. Kelly wins, you have us over for dinner. If you win, Sean MacDonald, we’ll have you over. I’ll cook you a meal my very self.”
It was brilliant. Cal wouldn’t have thought of it if he’d had a week. But this was the way to wheedle themselves into private conversations. It would be better if he won, for he wanted to see where MacDonald lived and a man was always more comfortable at his own home. But even if he lost, he’d have the leader of Innishfree in his home, a place private enough so that they could speak freely.
“Do you agree, Mr. Kelly?” she asked.
“Sure darlin’,” he said. “Any man would be lucky to have Sunday dinner cooked by your hand.”
She gave him a tight smile, and he wondered if she wasn’t better at bluffing than even he. She’d made him soup, but Sunday dinner would entail far more than that.
“And you, Sean MacDonald?” she asked.
He nodded. “Aoife, deal again but don’t deal yourself in. Best of five?”
“Three,” Cal said. He gestured to the pub. “I have to close up soon.” It sounded reasonable enough, but the truth was he wasn’t sure he could resist playing longer if he played five hands. He could just keep control if he only played three.
Or so he hoped.
Aoife dealt again, and this time Cal held a ten and an eight. His gaze flicked under the table. MacDonald’s foot tapped. MacDonald took another two cards.
Cal watched MacDonald’s foot, which had gone still. If Cal’s assessment was correct, the man had a good hand. Cal couldn’t win with eighteen. He tapped the table and Aoife dealt him another card.
He turned the three over and said, “Twenty-one.”
MacDonald had twenty.
A crowd had gathered around them by the last hand. Bridget had both hands on his shoulders, and he knew she was as nervous as he. The outcome didn’t matter. They won either way, but he still wanted to best MacDonald at cards. He wanted closer to MacDonald and winning was a way to earn the man’s respect. It would gain him entrance into MacDonald’s private chambers. He needed this win.
His hands were steady, but inside Cal’s heart thudded and his blood raced. He had the urge to reach for the glass of gin he usually had at his right hand when he played. Aoife shuffled the cards again, and the sound of the heavy paper sliding together seemed far louder than it should have. He didn’t hear the people whispering behind him. He didn’t hear the clink of glasses set on tables or even feel Bridget’s hands still on his shoulders. There was only Cal and Sean MacDonald. There was only the game.
