The Sheriff's Last Gamble

The only man Jake had ever met who could play checkers, every day, all day long, grinned brightly as he caught sight of Stacy.

“Sure thing, boss,” Herman said. “You want him settled in the livery?”

“That’s fine,” Jake replied, wishing the old coot were ten years younger and a whole lot faster. To be fair, Herman was a good man and made a fine deputy for the small amount of law work Founder’s Creek required.

Pausing near Stacy in his slow trek to the door, Herman said, “Make sure he doesn’t fiddle with my checkers. I’m about to win.”

The smile on her face could have brought down angels. May have, the way Herman’s face lit up.

“Don’t worry, Herman,” she said sweetly. “I’ll watch over your board.”

“Thanks, Miss Stacy,” the old man drawled, worship almost oozing from the words. “You sure are a darling.”

Jake wanted to squeeze his head at the tension growing between his ears. Even more so when Stacy patted Herman’s cheek.

“As are you, Mr. Watson.” She leaned closer then to whisper, “Miss Ruby has peach pie at the diner today.”

Herman gasped. “No?”

Stacy nodded.

“I’ll be gone a spell, boss,” his deputy said, roughing up his voice and hitching up his britches.

“That’s fine,” Jake answered. “Just don’t forget Shotgun.”

“I won’t,” Herman replied, now all but skipping out the door.

When the door shut with a soft thud that would have been insignificant in most cases, Jake had to draw a breath. The air in the room had taken on a life of its own, as it normally did when he found himself alone with Stacy. This little poker player was a very attractive woman and had a unique quality about her that drew men faster than the discovery of gold. Jake wasn’t immune to it, and that flustered him, yet when he was alone with her, like now, it wasn’t frustration that came to life inside him. He wanted her as he’d never wanted anything in his life.

She’d moved, now standing over Herman’s checkerboard, examining it thoroughly. When she repositioned a checker, Jake unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “What are you doing?”

A glow lit her face. “Making it so he does win.”

Jake couldn’t help but point out, “He’s playing against himself.”

“So?” With a little shrug she added, “He still wants to win.”

“He’s the only one playing, he wins no…” Jake cut himself off with a sigh, knowing it was useless by the smug little grin on her face. He sat then, on the corner of his desk, and watched as she roamed the room, swiping a hand across things and then looking at her fingertips as if she were a dust inspector.

As usual, a case of double vision formed. On one side he saw her just as she was—fully clothed in a light-green gown that highlighted every curve to perfection. On the other side, where his imagination came into play, he saw what was beneath the ruffles and lace. A body he’d give his right arm to explore and claim.

Snapping out of his fantasy took more than a head shake. Jake walked to the opposite side of the room, pretended to check the lock on the glass case holding several rifles and shotguns.

When his breathing returned to normal, even with the air in the room still pulsating of its own accord, he recalled his job. Though he had no belief in the statement, he said, “Emma Blackwell claims you threatened her.”

“Did she?” Gazing at her hand, Stacy fiddled with a ring, as if repositioning it just right on her slender finger. “When did I manage to do that? I’ve barely seen my dear half sister since I left her house, nearly three months ago now. Heaven knows, while in town she avoids even glancing my way.”

Moisture beaded his neck as she walked towards him. Jake swallowed, trying to bury the desire to kiss the pert grin off her lips. “Emma claims you sent a message to the ranch that said you want her to return a necklace or else you’ll see she’s hurt.”

“Hmm.” She’d stopped a few feet away and now rested a finger against one cheek. “A necklace you say?”

He gave an affirmative gesture, while his mind envisioned plucking the pins from her hair so the brandy-colored strands could flow freely around her heart-shaped face.

“Do you believe her?”

Jake shrugged. “She showed me a note.”

“Penned by herself no doubt,” Stacy said, still sounding blasé.

However, her temper was rising. It was reflected in those blue eyes he’d become masterful at reading. She was a gambler, a thoroughbred player, taught well by probably the most experienced expert the world had ever known. What she didn’t know was that Jake knew his way around gaming, too. Faro had been his calling, and he’d done well with it, might still be making the rounds of top-end saloons and first-class railway carriages if not for that incident back in St. Louis. It had changed his life. Three years ago, with his pockets full of more than enough money to last this lifetime and probably the next, he’d left his last winnings on the table, and closed the door on gambling—and anything to do with it.