the legend of Cross Fox Ranch himself, Brady Carrick. Who was Molly Davis to spit in the eye of fate?
The name Brady Carrick had been playing like a sad movie in her head for a year and a half now. Every time she cried herself to sleep. Every time she carried another plate of runny eggs to a table in the diner. Every time she tried to tell her son why his daddy wasn’t coming home. So even without the substantial financial payoff he’d mentioned, reason number two for considering this would be incentive enough. She could ease some of that heartache Brady Carrick had inflicted on her and let him finance her way to a new beginning.
She’d never get her life back the way it was, but just maybe the guy who stood to inherit Cross Fox Ranch would pay for what he’d done to Kevin by helping his widow and son start over. If she won, she could buy a nice, cozy house for her and Sam far away from Prairie Bend and the rules set by Luther Whelan. She stacked the empty plates from the table and gave the men her most winning smile. No matter what happened, she had to think of the tip.
Brady slid out of his seat. “It was nice meeting you, Molly.”
The first signs of panic tingled down her spine. They were leaving. “Have a good trip back,” she said.
The three walked out of the restaurant, and Molly went over to the cash register. Struggling with a mountain of indecision, she absently passed the money over the counter. You’d better do something pretty darn quick, Molly Jean, she said to herself. When these men drive out of the parking lot, they’re taking your opportunity with them. You’ll probably never see Brady Carrick again or get the chance to make him pay.
She watched out the window as the men crossed the lot to a pickup truck with a horse trailer hitched to the back. Brady opened the driver’s side door and got in, and in that split second she made up her mind.
“I’m going on break, Uncle Cliff.”
He picked up the money. “Okay, but hurry back. I need you to fill the ketchup bottles.”
She headed to the door.
“Wait a minute, Molly,” her uncle called. “Your tip’s in here.”
She hurried back. The lunch tab had been just under twenty-two dollars, and Brady had given her thirty. She took the eight dollars change and stuffed it in her pocket.
“That’s a good tip,” Cliff said.
“Yeah.” Though she definitely needed the money, she grumbled to herself, “No wonder Dobbs called him Mr. Big Shot.”
LEANING OVER to look out the passenger door, Brady watched Molly come across the parking lot. A cool breeze whipped the ends of her ponytail around her face and shaped her skirt to the curvy outline of her legs. Brady couldn’t look away. For a moment he imagined her in the hill country around River Bluff standing on a rolling green crest, not here in a dusty diner parking lot.
“Look there,” Dobbs said. “Molly’s walking over.”
Brady patted his pockets. “We must have left something on the table. Did either of you forget something?”
Marshall shook his head. “Got my wallet and checkbook. Cell phone’s in the glove box.”
Brady set his elbow on the steering wheel. “Then what does she want?”
“Only one way to find out,” Dobbs said. “Hush up and listen.”
She stopped within a few feet of the open door, where Marshall and Dobbs stood. She leaned over to peer into the truck cab at Brady. “Something wrong?” he said.
“No. Just came out here to tell you I’ll do it.”
He knew darned well what she meant, but he needed to buy time to catch his breath. “Do what?”
“I’ll learn poker.”
Dobbs slapped his thigh. “Hot damn. That’s what I like. A woman with gumption.”
Brady gave him a warning glare, got out of the truck and walked around to her. “You can’t be serious.”
“You keep saying that. But I am.”
“Look, we were just kidding in there.”
“I wasn’t,” Dobbs said. “You weren’t serious about wanting to train Amber Mac?”
Brady narrowed his eyes. “You know I meant every word of that.”
“Then I can only assume you meant every word of the wager.”
Marshall smiled in a noncommittal sort of way. “I heard the bet. It was clear to me. But I’m going to leave this up to the three of you.”
Brady stared at Molly. She held his gaze with about as much determination as he’d ever seen. “I can’t let you do this,” he said. “First of all, I’ve never played poker with a…”
Her eyes sparked, just enough for him to know that what he was about to say had better stop before it left his mouth. Hell, he loved women, considered them different but equal, and he was comfortable with that view of the sexes. Especially the different part. But he didn’t know if he could enjoy his appreciation for feminine virtues over the green felt of a poker table.
She arched her eyebrows, took a step forward. “You don’t have a problem teaching poker to a woman, do you?”
He held up his hand and hoped she believed him when he said, “Of course not. But you’ve got to give this a lot of thought.”
“I have. And I’m not agreeing to this lightly. I’ve watched poker tournaments on TV. The game doesn’t look all that hard to me. I can learn it and I can sure use the money.”
It was as if a whole bale had just dropped down in front of him and he had to start grasping for every straw he could get his hands on. “But what about your job? You’d have to leave it to come to Cross Fox in River Bluff.”
She feigned a sorrowful look over her shoulder. “Leaving all this would be a real shame, wouldn’t it?”
“And what about family? There must be people who would worry about you.”
“I wouldn’t be leaving anybody that matters.” She pointed through the window. “See that man at the counter?”
Brady looked at the middle-aged guy behind the cash register. “Yeah.”
“That’s Cliff. He owns the diner and he’s my uncle. As long as there’s a waitress here to fill the ketchup bottles, he won’t miss me.”
Brady figured there had to be someone in her life who could raise hell if she took off, so he asked the most important question. “Are you married?”
“No.”
He thought of the cowboy she’d flirted with a while ago. “Have you got a brawny boyfriend with a high-voltage ego who’d come after you?”
“No.”
“How about other responsibilities?
