Ace's Wild

With a growled curse, Ace yanked his shirt closed. “So what was so important that you had to come storming into my bedroom?”

“I did not storm.”

He sighed. “I’ll rephrase. What was so important you had to wake me from a good sleep and put us both in peril of a shotgun wedding?”

She wanted to stomp her foot. “Will you stop harping on a wedding?”

The muscles in his jaws bunched. His tone when he spoke was more even. “What was so damn important?”

“You were at a card game last night with the father of one of my students.”

“I was in a game last night with a lot of fathers of a lot of kids.”

“Terrance’s father is Brian Winter.”

“Ah, that one.”

“What does ah mean?”

“He drinks too much, has too many tales and bets more than he can afford.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want you to give him back what you won.”

He blinked. “You want me to do what?”

“I want you to give him back what you won.”

“Why in hell would I do that?”

“Because he lost more than he can afford to.”

“Not my problem.”

“He took out his frustration on his son. And without a home the Winters will have to leave...”

Ace’s expression didn’t change.

“Terrance is a good student with an inquisitive mind. He deserves a chance to grow up to be a man who can use that mind.”

“Nobody ever said life was fair.”

Now she wanted to growl. “Life might not be fair, but people can be.”

“And you think it’s fair to ask me to give back my winnings?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize this is how I make the majority of my living?”

“Yes, I realize you make money this way, a lot of it. Enough that you can afford to give him back his.”

Ace leaned back against the building and folded his arms across his chest. It was a position that spoke of confidence and power. Her knees went weak.

“What’s in it for me?”

“The knowledge that you bought a little boy some time.”

“You think because I give this money back, Brian won’t go back to that table again?”

“Giving the money back isn’t enough.”

“Not enough?”

She shook her head. “You can’t gamble with him anymore.”

Another of those slow blinks. “I can’t?”

“No.”

“Honey, I’m a grown man and so is he, and your nose, cute as it is, is sticking where it doesn’t belong.”

That was too much. Very calmly, very precisely she said, “This morning, Terrance, my student, came into my classroom with a black eye and a split lip asking for my help because he’s being put out of his home. That being the case, I’m here to appeal to whatever shred of decency that still exists in your body to give that horrible man back his money so that little boy will have a home tomorrow.”

Ace pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. In the late-afternoon light, she could see the paleness of his skin, the tightness of his expression. He was hungover.

He sighed. “That’s a hell of a lot of words to throw at a man before coffee.”

She looked at him. “I’ve got more.”

“Save them.”

“Then just say you’ll do it, and I’ll let you go get your cup of coffee.”

“That’s a fool’s mission.”

“You’re Hell’s Eight and a Texas Ranger. There has to be honor in you somewhere.”

“That’s a common myth.” Taking off his hat, he ran his hand through his hair again before asking, “He beat the boy?”

“He beats Terrance every time you take his money.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “I don’t take his money. He loses it.”

“That’s splitting hairs.”

“Not in my book.”

“Fine, I’ll rephrase. Every time he loses at your table, he takes it out on his son. His eight-year-old son,” she added for emphasis.