holding back a laugh.
“That was graceful.”
Deuce winced. “Bartender?
Chapter Two
“Margarita, please.” Maggie nodded at the bartender. “The dealer over there said to give you this.” She pushed the slip of paper across the bar.
“Yep. That’s good. Donnie likes to make his guests happy.”
“His guests?” Maggie raised her eyebrows.
“He’s the owner. Donnie Cartwright. This place belongs to him, lock, stock and slot machines.” The man mixed things and worked magic with salt around the rim of a glass. “Says it’s his dream come true.”
“Ex-Marine?” Maggie glanced back at the large man with the short hair and military bearing.
“Lady, there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine.”
Maggie noticed the broad shoulders of the bartender, the ironic gaze he was giving her and a tattoo barely hidden by his sleeve.
She nodded in acknowledgement and raised her glass. “Semper Fi.”
Deuce slid onto the stool beside her with a muffled groan and she turned to look at him. “So what brings you here besides the urge to get neutered by a handicapped senior citizen?” Maggie sipped her drink.
“Beaver. I’m just a sucker for this place—anyplace that’s on a road named Beaver Canyon. I love Beaver. Been a fan of Beaver for most of my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for Beaver…I wouldn’t be here today.”
“Cute, real cute.” She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It was funny and the margarita was going down very smoothly.
“I’m just here to try my luck. What the hell, it’s a nice place. How about you?” Deuce asked the question casually.
“Pretty much the same.” She looked at his leg. “You’re wet.”
He followed her glance. “Yeah. I feel like a fire hydrant outside a dog show.” He shook his leg and a few drops splashed free. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry off.” She sipped some more and licked the salt from the rim of the glass, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “You live in this area?”
“Hell, no. Does anyone? It’s a long way out of anything resembling a town.” Deuce looked around the casino at the gamblers. “I doubt there’s too many locals playing. Gotta be tourists. Let’s take you, for example…”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not and say we did.”
A small trio struck up some music at the rear of the room, and a few couples moved to the tiny dance floor. Deuce smiled. “Okay. But I’ll bet you’re a good dancer.”
“Bet, huh?” Maggie smiled back. “What’s the bet?”
“Hmm. I’ll bet you another drink that if we dance you won’t step on my toes once.”
Maggie snorted. Some gambler. She could win that one with her eyes closed. “You’re on.”
He slid from his stool and held out his hand and Maggie hesitated for only a moment before putting hers into it. “Just to make it formal, I’m Maggie French.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Deuce Wiley.”
“You’re kidding.” She followed him to the small square of parquet flooring.
“Nope. Daddy played cards. Mom lost a bet. I’m stuck with the result.”
Maggie giggled. The little sound hid the rather breathless feeling that came over her as Deuce swept her into his arms.
Instead of holding her hand in the usual position, he tucked it into his palm and pulled it close to his chest, letting his other hand heat the small of her back. She felt surrounded, protected and strangely content. She let her own hand rest comfortably on his shoulder and snuggled in to enjoy the dance.
And win the bet while she was at it.
Maggie always won her bets or she didn’t take them.
They swayed to the music, and she let herself relax, closing her eyes, allowing her head to rest lightly against Deuce. He smelled good, all man and aftershave with a dash of “Eau de Cocktail” seeping in from his damp jeans.
Their thighs brushed as they moved, and he leaned forward, just touching her head with his lips. “Looks like I’m gonna owe you that
“That was graceful.”
Deuce winced. “Bartender?
Chapter Two
“Margarita, please.” Maggie nodded at the bartender. “The dealer over there said to give you this.” She pushed the slip of paper across the bar.
“Yep. That’s good. Donnie likes to make his guests happy.”
“His guests?” Maggie raised her eyebrows.
“He’s the owner. Donnie Cartwright. This place belongs to him, lock, stock and slot machines.” The man mixed things and worked magic with salt around the rim of a glass. “Says it’s his dream come true.”
“Ex-Marine?” Maggie glanced back at the large man with the short hair and military bearing.
“Lady, there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine.”
Maggie noticed the broad shoulders of the bartender, the ironic gaze he was giving her and a tattoo barely hidden by his sleeve.
She nodded in acknowledgement and raised her glass. “Semper Fi.”
Deuce slid onto the stool beside her with a muffled groan and she turned to look at him. “So what brings you here besides the urge to get neutered by a handicapped senior citizen?” Maggie sipped her drink.
“Beaver. I’m just a sucker for this place—anyplace that’s on a road named Beaver Canyon. I love Beaver. Been a fan of Beaver for most of my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for Beaver…I wouldn’t be here today.”
“Cute, real cute.” She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It was funny and the margarita was going down very smoothly.
“I’m just here to try my luck. What the hell, it’s a nice place. How about you?” Deuce asked the question casually.
“Pretty much the same.” She looked at his leg. “You’re wet.”
He followed her glance. “Yeah. I feel like a fire hydrant outside a dog show.” He shook his leg and a few drops splashed free. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry off.” She sipped some more and licked the salt from the rim of the glass, enjoying the bite on her tongue. “You live in this area?”
“Hell, no. Does anyone? It’s a long way out of anything resembling a town.” Deuce looked around the casino at the gamblers. “I doubt there’s too many locals playing. Gotta be tourists. Let’s take you, for example…”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not and say we did.”
A small trio struck up some music at the rear of the room, and a few couples moved to the tiny dance floor. Deuce smiled. “Okay. But I’ll bet you’re a good dancer.”
“Bet, huh?” Maggie smiled back. “What’s the bet?”
“Hmm. I’ll bet you another drink that if we dance you won’t step on my toes once.”
Maggie snorted. Some gambler. She could win that one with her eyes closed. “You’re on.”
He slid from his stool and held out his hand and Maggie hesitated for only a moment before putting hers into it. “Just to make it formal, I’m Maggie French.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Deuce Wiley.”
“You’re kidding.” She followed him to the small square of parquet flooring.
“Nope. Daddy played cards. Mom lost a bet. I’m stuck with the result.”
Maggie giggled. The little sound hid the rather breathless feeling that came over her as Deuce swept her into his arms.
Instead of holding her hand in the usual position, he tucked it into his palm and pulled it close to his chest, letting his other hand heat the small of her back. She felt surrounded, protected and strangely content. She let her own hand rest comfortably on his shoulder and snuggled in to enjoy the dance.
And win the bet while she was at it.
Maggie always won her bets or she didn’t take them.
They swayed to the music, and she let herself relax, closing her eyes, allowing her head to rest lightly against Deuce. He smelled good, all man and aftershave with a dash of “Eau de Cocktail” seeping in from his damp jeans.
Their thighs brushed as they moved, and he leaned forward, just touching her head with his lips. “Looks like I’m gonna owe you that
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