can fix things. And he doesn’t even really know what’s wrong. I have twelve days until I have to be back and I’m taking them.”
He wanted to argue, but saw her point. Something had caused her to run from her own wedding. But it sounded like Charles didn’t care to talk it through. All he wanted was to fix things. That wasn’t very romantic. Or sensitive. Or even nice.
He hated having to drag her back to that, but all he had was her version of things. He knew what it was like to be the brokenhearted groom, totally confused—
And, once again, he was thinking about his own situation, which was entirely different and completely irrelevant. If he was going to take Morgan Monroe home, perhaps he would have to get her to talk about whatever it was that had hurt her and caused her to bolt, and stop thinking about Cicely. Then Morgan would feel better about returning to Lake Justice, and Mitch wouldn’t come home from his honeymoon to find his biggest client gone—and becoming their competition.
He leaned his elbow on the poker machine and studied her. When he’d first seen her, she’d seemed out of place. But really, in her jeans and T-shirt, with her long hair casual, she looked like the average slot player on a Monday afternoon.
He nodded at her machine. “You like poker?”
She peeked over at him, her blue eyes a pretty contrast to the tortoiseshell glasses. “To be honest, I’m just learning to play.”
“That would explain why you threw away the chance for a straight flush.”
“Odds are I’m not going to get it.”
He bobbed his head in a sort of agreement. “Yeah, but when the machine gives you four cards in a row in the same suit and you have two open ends, your odds go up.”
“Odds are odds.”
“What are you? An accountant?”
She glanced over at him. “Yes.”
He remembered the little stock seminar and felt like an idiot for not realizing that. He knew she was educated but he’d never thought a society girl would pick such a practical major. Her dad only talked about her charities. He’d made her sound like a sort of helpless Southern belle though they lived in upstate New York.
“You’re like a CPA?”
“I am a CPA.”
Her machine gurgled the music of a lost game and she hit a few buttons to make her bets and start the next game. Cards appeared on the screen. She threw away two twos.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Two twos don’t pay out.”
“No. But three of a kind does. So does two pair. Starting off with two twos you have a good chance of getting another two or another pair and both of those hands pay.”
“Chump change.”
He laughed. “What?”
“I want to win. I don’t just want to keep playing.”
That was a weird strategy if ever he’d heard one. And he’d certainly heard his share in Monaco. “Who taught you that?”
“The guy who was sitting beside me on Sunday night.”
“He was a professional gambler?”
“No. He manages a couple fast-food restaurants.”
“And you thought this made him a genius poker player?”
She tossed her hands in the air. “Hell if I know.”
He scooted over to get closer to her. He’d take this opportunity to become her friend and eventually she’d spill the story. He could sympathize and in a few minutes they’d be in his rental, heading for the airport.
“Okay, look.” He pointed at the ranking of hands. “See this list here? This is what pays out and how many points.”
“I know that.”
“If you have a pattern that you use all the time, the machine will become accustomed to it and use that against you.”
Her pale blue eyes narrowed.
“If you only go for what seems like a sure thing, it will set you up so that you keep getting those opportunities, then never give you the cards you need to make the hands, so that you lose all your money.”
“Oh.” She thought about that a second. “I should shake it up? Not play the same way all the time.”
“Exactly. But on another trip.” Now that they were friends, or at least friendly, they could talk about her wedding in the car. “Right now, we need to get you home.”
She looked over at him. “We have to leave this very second? What’s a few more hands going to hurt? I just want to try out what you told me.”
He’d expected a bit of a protest. Maybe an argument. But getting her to think about her fiancé must have caused it to sink in that she had to take responsibility for what she’d done. She hadn’t even blinked when he mentioned leaving.
He caught her gaze and saw a muddle of emotions in her blue eyes. Sincerity? Regret? Or maybe fear? She wasn’t exactly returning to a celebration.
A twinge of guilt rippled through him for pushing her. The least he could do was teach her some strategies.
“Okay. A few hands.”
“And you’ll show me what to do?”
“Sure.”
He didn’t know how it happened, but a couple of hands turned into forty minutes of playing, which put them behind the eight ball. Though she’d seemed to have had a good time and was definitely a quick study, the fun had to end now.
“Okay. That’s it now. Time to go.”
She hit the button to cash out and got the little slip that told her she had thirty-eight dollars coming.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Thirty-eight dollars.” She caught his gaze. “Hardly seems worth it.”
“Most people who gamble enjoy the game.”
“Really? Because I’ve seen video poker games that are handheld. Our cook, Martha, has a ton of them. It’s how she fritters away time waiting for doctor appointments or bread to rise.”
He shrugged. “People enjoy the game.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t spend money playing. She owns her handheld machines and can enjoy anytime she wants.”
He sighed.
“If it’s all about playing a game, enjoying a game, why not just buy the game? Why involve betting?”
