Fire and Rain Read Free

brother, six foot three, and weighed within a pound or two of Cash's one ninety-six. That was probably one of the reasons the two men got along so well – they were built on the same scale. Big.
     Without warning, Luke's long fingers tilted Carla's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
     "Are you really all grown-up now, sunshine?"
     The old nickname and the searching intensity of Luke's eyes took Carla's breath away, making speech impossible.
     "Hey, that reminds me," Cash said. "It's been months since I've played killer poker."
     "Not surprising," Luke retorted, releasing Carla with the speed of a man passing a hot potato on to its final destination. "It's been months since you've found an out-of-state sucker who doesn't know why Alexander McQueen is called 'Cash.'"
     "Lucky at cards, unlucky at love."
     Luke snorted. "I'll shuffle. Carla can deal. You open the champagne I brought."
     "Champagne?" Carla asked, stunned.
     She looked up into Luke's eyes. He was still standing close to her, so close that she could sense the heat of his big body. She hadn't sensed anyone's presence so acutely in years.
     Three years, to be exact.
     Luke's slow smile as he looked down at Carla made something stir and shimmer to life deep within her.
    "Champagne," he confirmed, his voice deep. "You only turn twenty-one once. It should be special."
     By the time the cards were shuffled, cut and dealt, Carla was sipping from a glass of golden champagne, which fizzed and sizzled softly over her lips and tongue. She hardly noticed the alcohol, for her blood was already sparkling from the memory of Luke's fingers on her skin.
     Are you really all grown-up now?
     The implications of that question scattered Carla's attention, making her lose at cards more rapidly than usual. Before Luke poured her a second glass of champagne, she had lost her original stake – six dollars. She handed over the last of her nickels. Without rancor, for it had been Cash rather than Luke who had won the lion's share of the pots. Long ago, Carla had decided that Cash must have made a deal with the devil in exchange for luck at cards.
     By the time Luke poured Carla a third glass of champagne, the pizza was reduced to grease spots on the paper plates, and it had become clear to everyone that Cash's luck was running as high as ever. Luke was down to three dollars from his original six, and Carla had traded seven days' worth of home-cooked meals for fifty cents each and promptly had lost every penny.
     Normally Carla would have stopped drinking halfway through her second glass of champagne, but nothing about her twenty-first birthday was normal – especially the presence of Luke MacKenzie. The champagne was a dancing delight that smelled as yeasty as the bread she loved to bake. Cash and Luke were in fine form, trading insults and laughter equally. When Luke poured a third glass of champagne for Carla, she was into Cash for a summer's worth of meals and Luke was down to seventy-five cents.
     Carla rooted for Cash unabashedly, frankly enjoying seeing Luke on the losing end of something for a change. Luke took the "card lessons" in good humor, squeezing every hit of mileage from his shrinking pile of small change.
     And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, Luke started winning. He rode the unexpected streak of luck aggressively, repeatedly betting everything he had and getting twice as much back from the pot. By the time the last drops from the magnum of champagne had been poured – by Carla into Luke's glass, in a blatant attempt to fuzz his mind – Cash was down to his last nickel. He tossed it into the pot philosophically, calling Luke's most recent raise.
     Luke fanned out his cards to reveal a pair of sevens, nine high. Cash made a disgusted sound and threw in his hand without showing his cards.
     "What?" Carla said in disbelief. She reached for Cash's abandoned cards, only to have her fingers lightly slapped by her brother.
     "Bad dog, drop!" he teased.