Texas Hold Him Read Free Page A

own. He was not now, nor would
     he ever be this woman’s possession. He winked at the little socialite, thinking her momma would have more than just vapors
     if she had any idea her precious Southern belle was such a hellcat in bed.
    “If you’ll excuse me, darlin’, I need to go inside and earn my keep.” With a tip of his hat, the way any proper Southern gentleman
     would do, he walked the short distance across the deck to the doors of the gaming room.
    He didn’t look back to see if . . . what’s her name . . . realized he’d just dismissed her. She probably didn’t. Those spoiled
     little rich girls never believed he was only interested in them for the short haul. Life had left him with more complications
     than he could impose on any gal, spoiled or not, and she was better off without him.
    The room glowed with the lights of the kerosene lanterns and the leftovers of the setting sun that poured through the open
     doors from the deck. A buzz of excitement already hummed through the air as an occasional voice talked and laughed above the
     general din of the crowd.
    Saloon girls in their gaudy low-cut gowns wove their way through the tables, delivering drinks and advertising their wares
     to any of the interested patrons. Their knee-length skirts revealed shapely silk-clad calves that often distracted the less
     focused gamblers, making Dyer’s job a little easier.
    He scanned the room for his first game. He wasn’t interested in the novices who came on board convinced they could earn their
     fortune in one night of gaming. They rarely had sufficient money to make it worth his time, but if they were unlucky enough
     to sit at his table, well . . . all’s fair in love and poker.
    Dyer lit a cheroot and clamped it between his teeth, the curl of his smoke adding to the cloud already drifting across the
     room. He grinned. This was his world, a place where a man could live for hours on whiskey and excitement, and could go from
     king to peasant in the flash of a card. Here, the only thing he had to lose was money, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass about
     that anyway.
    Dyer didn’t travel the rivers to find a fortune.
    His search was much more personal.
    His attention drifted to the area of the room where the high rollers usually played. Some of New Orleans’ finest sat in their
     fancy suits with their fat wallets, their cheeks already flushed from the heat in the room and perhaps a little too much whiskey.
    Dyer sauntered over to an empty chair at the table. “You gentlemen mind if I join you?”
    A heavy man with a perspiring brow and a smile that flashed around his cigar gestured toward the chair. “Of course not, sir,
     as long as you have enough to ante up.”
    Dyer tipped his hat and removed his wallet. He fanned his thumb across the bills and pulled out his ante to pitch to the table.
     A careful glimpse of enough money to pique their interest always got him access to the best games.
    “That be enough?” he asked, taking his place at the table.
    The men chuckled and welcomed him to the game.They quickly introduced themselves around the table, ending with Dyer, but he gave only his first name on the off chance some
     may have heard of him. He had only been in New Orleans three days, but he’d had an uncanny run of good luck here, and news
     traveled fast.
    “What’s the game?” He glanced around the table, quickly sizing up his opponents. No one he knew or would likely remember in
     the morning.
    “It’s a new game called Texas Hold’em,” the man named Charles answered. “Heard of it?”
    Puzzling his brow, Dyer pretended to think. “I’ve played it once or twice. I think I remember how.”
    “Basically,” Charles explained, “you’re dealt two cards that you can use in any combination with the five cards the dealer
     lays on the table to make the best hand.”
    “Yeah, I remember now.”
Remember?
Hell, he was a Texan.
    He picked up the cards dealt him. A pair of jacks. Damn. Not a