Playboy Bachelors: Remodelling the Bachelor

The idea of Kelli out with Gordon on one of his dates horrified her. “Well, at least he has some grain of sense,” she murmured to herself, then looked at her daughter. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why would you want to go with him?”

“Because he’s going to Phili—Mr. Zabelle’s house,” Kelli amended, knowing that her mother didn’t like her calling grown-ups by their first names.

Janice stared at her daughter. Okay, the two men seemed to get along at lunch, but Gordon just wasn’t in Philippe’s league. Philippe had things together while Gordon was a loosely wound ball of yarn, ready to come apart at the slightest push. “Why would he be going there?”

“To play poker,” Kelli volunteered brightly.

Janice’s mouth dropped open. Poker? Had he gotten caught up in a new obsession? Gordon didn’t do things by half measures. If he started seeing someone, he was planning marriage by the end of the first date. She’d seen him through a number of dependencies, including food and alcohol. He didn’t know how to do anything in moderation—except work, she thought cynically. These days, she was working like a dog not only to pay her own bills, but to help Gordon meet his bankruptcy payments as well. The faster that was paid off, the sooner he’d be able to get on his own two feet.

A cold shiver went down her spine. That wasn’t going to happen if he’d taken up gambling.

She rose to her feet, putting her hand out to her daughter. “C’mon, honey.”

Kelli scooted off the sofa, taking her mother’s hand. “Where are we going?”

“Well, you’re going to Mrs. Addison.” A grandmother three times over, the woman had made it known that she was willing to babysit in the evenings, especially if there was an emergency. This definitely qualified. “I’m going to Mr. Zabelle’s house to bring back Uncle Gordon before he finds another pit to fall into.”

It was obvious that Kelli didn’t quite understand what she was talking about, but she’d latched onto the one thing that was clear to her. Her mother was going to see Philippe. “Mr. Zabelle? Why can’t I go with you?”

Janice grabbed her purse out of the closet. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed for the front door with Kelli in tow. “Because Mama’s going to be using some grown-up words that you’re too young to hear.”

“I watch TV, Mama,” Kelli protested.

She locked the door behind her. “More grown-up than that,” Janice told her tersely.

Her tone was far from warm, but it wasn’t meant for Kelli. She was focused on Gordon, annoyed with him for blundering into yet another possible addiction. She wasn’t overly thrilled with Philippe either, even though the man had no way of knowing about her brother’s addictive personality.

But he would by the time the evening was through.

This was all she needed, Janice thought.

She struggled to keep her temper in-check. As she drove to Philippe’s, it was an effort to keep from pressing down on the accelerator and going over the speed limit.

For most of her adult life, she’d been bailing her brother out of one thing or another. His inability to recognize that he was being taken in by a series of women who only wanted what he could give them, had catapulted him into bankruptcy, which had led him into drinking and then overeating. She’d finally, finally gotten him to come around and be her assistant on these contracting jobs. And now he was sliding backward into something new.

She pressed her lips together, trying not to swear as she eased her foot off the gas. She was doing five miles over the speed limit.

Philippe was a bright man, couldn’t he see that Gordon had a weak, malleable personality?

Damn it, why did she have to be her brother’s keeper, anyway? She had enough to keep her busy.

Getting over that kiss, for instance.

The second she thought of it, of her involuntary reaction, Janice felt her skin tingling.

Get a grip, Janice. You’re supposed to be boiling mad, not a bowl of mush.

By the time she arrived at Philippe’s door, Janice was completely worked up. Instead of ringing the bell, she knocked. Pounded was more like it. The door had taken the place of her brother’s head.

Inside, Alain peered at his brother over a hand that would have gladdened the heart of a professional gambler.

Slim fingers folded the cards in his hand. Alain raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You expecting someone to come break down your door, Philippe?”

“Not tonight.” The pounding continued. He sighed, folded his cards and placed them facedown on the table. As he rose, he pointed to the hand. “Don’t anyone try to mess with that, I know what I have.”

“An unhealthy distrust of your relatives is what you have,” Georges commented. “Philippe’s blunt warning wasn’t meant for you,” he told Gordon. “He thinks we cheat. In reality, he’s not that hot a poker player.”

Gordon nodded, finding himself completely at ease in this company of men. It was a pleasant feeling, one he wasn’t accustomed to.

Philippe waved a hand at Georges. “I don’t cheat,” he declared as he opened the door. Turning, he was surprised and not a little pleased to see Janice standing there.

Her eyes were blazing. And there was something very stirring about the image she presented. “Did I forget something?”

“Yes,” she snapped, not waiting to be invited in. “Decency.”

He closed the door behind her. “No, I’m pretty sure I stocked up on that the last time I was at the store.” She wasn’t smiling. “What’s the matter?”

By now, she was no longer thinking rationally. God only knew how much Gordon could have lost. “How could you?” she demanded.

Philippe hadn’t a clue. “How could I what?”

She gritted her teeth. Without her experience of plucking Gordon out of precarious situations, she might have thought Philippe was innocent. “How could you invite my brother to your poker game?”

Philippe shoved his hands into his front pockets. Eventually this was going to make sense. He just had to be patient. “Pretty easily, actually. I said something like, ‘Gordon, want to come to a game I’m holding tonight?’ And he said yes.”

She struggled to keep her voice down. She didn’t want to embarrass her brother in front of other people, but she certainly didn’t want to have to bail him out any more than she was already doing.

“This isn’t funny, Zabelle,” she told him in a low, firm voice. “Gordon’s got an addictive personality. He doesn’t do anything in half measures.” She was rambling, she thought and reined herself in. “I can’t go into details, but this is really a very bad thing. You have to cut him off.”

Philippe still looked like the soul of innocence as he asked her, “You want me to cut off his colored toothpicks?”

About to shout “yes” she stopped and stared at him. “Colored toothpicks?”

He nodded, taking her arm. Thinking he was going to usher her out, she pulled it away. “That’s what we play for. Colored toothpicks.”

She wasn’t about to be distracted. There had to be more than that. “But they represent something, don’t they?”

Philippe nodded. “Well, yeah.”

To his credit, Zabelle didn’t even try to lie about it. Although that didn’t change the bottom line. “Gordon can’t afford it.”

Very complacently, Philippe placed his hands on her shoulders. That he was so calm only infuriated her further. “Janice, calm down. If he’s the big loser, he has to wash the big winner’s car or clean the big winner’s barbecue grill. Something along those lines.”

The fire went out of her eyes. “What? You don’t gamble for money?”

He shook his head. “We play for things, chores mostly. Playing relaxes us and it gives us a chance to get together.” He took a breath. Maybe she’d feel better if he explained a few things to her. Ordinarily, he didn’t like getting personal, but he made an exception. “My father was a professional gambler and he ‘professionally’ lost almost everything my mother worked for. I don’t even play the slot machines in Vegas. I don’t believe in real gambling, but this is just harmless fun, a way to knock off steam, get the adrenaline to kick in without any risk.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, feeling somewhat foolish now. “Really?”