in his chair, eyed the pile of coins in the middle of the table and waited.
A haze of smoke hung low over the men who were contributing to his wallet, and Gage wished idly for a wandering breeze to ease the burning of his eyes. Whiskey, cigars and wild women accompanied the dealing of cards, it seemed, no matter where men assembled as poker was played. Tonight promised to be no different than last night or the endless string of midnights he’d spent at just such a table.
He touched his squat glass of whiskey, running his index finger around the rim as he waited for decisions to be made. The five men who circled the table were old hands at this—their faces like stone walls, without a glimmer of emotion visible. And his was the same, he thought idly, should an observer take note. He prided himself on a stoic expression, knew the value of denying himself a gleam of triumph or a frown of consternation.
“More whiskey, mister?” The woman who stood at his elbow looked at his half-empty glass, and her hand brushed his shoulder, catching his attention. He shook his head, an abrupt movement that discouraged her attentiveness to his glass. She moved on to the man directly across the table and Morgan’s gaze rested on the red gown she wore.
It clung in all the right places, and the figure beneath the shimmering satin was lush, her hips a bit too slender, perhaps, but the fullness of her bosom was enough to draw every eye in the place. His were no exception.
Allowing his dark gaze to slide upward to her face, he found a wary expression in the eyes that returned his scrutiny. Her mouth was unpainted, a rarity in a riverboat saloon such as this, but her cheeks wore a dusting of some rosy hue. Dark hair hung in a mass of ringlets across her shoulders, halfway to her waist, drawn back from high cheekbones and held in place by silver combs that were incongruous in this place. Real silver, he’d warrant, not cheap imitations that could be purchased for a few cents.
The lady must have an admirer, he decided, some generous man who was willing to pay her price. A three-dollar gold piece would no doubt buy her attentions for a night, perhaps two if she was low on her luck. He felt a twitch in his lower parts, where months of celibacy had obviously rendered him vulnerable to such a female as this one.
Hell, why not? She was obviously available and he was possessed of more money these days than he needed. Lady Luck had been good to him. At least when it came to playing poker. He felt stymied. His other endeavors were not paying forth any recent dividends, and that would not endear him to the men he worked for.
He shot another look at the red dress, then glanced down at the cards he held, and considered his options. “How many, Morgan?” The dealer held the rest of the deck in his hand, and Gage placed two cards on the table, nudging them toward the man who waited. With a snap of the cardboard, he was dealt two and he touched them with his fingertips, bringing them to rest before him.
The men on either side of him examined their hands in a negligent manner and Gage slid his own newcomers into his hand. The first was a trey and he glanced at it for a moment before he fanned the hand to expose the second. The ace of hearts sent a message of success to his mind, and he paused for only a moment before he tapped the five cards into a neat pile and held them in his palm.
“I’ll raise,” said the fourth player, pushing a three-dollar gold piece toward the pot.
Gage selected a matching coin from those in front of him and met the raise, then hesitated for just a moment. With an idle gesture, he added another glittering coin. Around the table the players watched, their eyes hooded, smoke rising to drift above their heads as they contemplated his move.
“I’m out,” said one, tossing his hand facedown before him.
“Too rich for me,” said another, pushing back from the table to stalk toward the bar. The third man shot Gage a measuring look and shook his head.
“It’s all yours, far as I’m concerned.”
With a casual sweep of his palm, Gage gathered the pot into a stack before him. A sound from across the table brought his head up quickly, and he rose from his chair. The soft cry of pain he’d heard was repeated as the woman in red struggled with one of the men so recently relieved of his money. Pale beneath the smudge of rouge she wore, her wrist held captive by a disappointed card player, she bit at her lower lip, her eyes darting from one to another of the men, as though she sought rescue.
“Come on, Lily.” The man whose big hand encircled her arm seemed intent on hauling her off as if she were the spoils of battle, and Gage knew a moment of profound disgust. That the card player was taking out his losses on the woman seemed to be a likely scenario. He paused in the act of claiming his winnings to speak a quiet protest. Watching a woman being treated as an object of scorn was beyond the pale, and he refused to look the other way in the interest of peace.
“I don’t think the lady is interested, fella.” His gaze never faltering from the two involved in a silent struggle, Gage filled a leather pouch with the money on the table, stuffed it abruptly in his pocket and pushed his chair away.
“Lily?” Gage spoke the name aloud, and dark eyes turned on him with a silent plea in their depths. “Are you interested in spending time with the gentleman?” Gage asked, allowing an edge of steel to touch the words. He’d never been one to seek out trouble, but when it came calling he didn’t doubt his ability to handle any situation that might arise.
The dark curls moved, catching the lamplight overhead as the woman shook her head, a definite denial of her interest in the man who held her in his grasp. It was all Gage needed to see, that one movement that signaled for his help.
He moved quickly, his long legs reaching her in three strides, and the hand he placed on her captor’s shoulder dug deeply into muscles that felt the pain of long fingers and abundant strength. Anger etched the face of the man whose attentions were unwanted, and his mouth spewed forth an insult Gage could not abide.
“You can have her,” the disgruntled man said, thrusting Lily’s wrist from his grasping fingers. “She’s nuthin’ but a whore, anyway. Not worth arguin’ over.”
The woman stepped back, her eyes fearful, and Gage took less than five seconds to deliver a pair of punches that sent the two-hundred-pound man to the floor. In the short silence that followed, two husky employees appeared, and the thoroughly incapacitated suitor was lifted and removed from sight. Around Gage the hum of voices rose again and he shot a look of inquiry at Lily.
She attempted a smile, but the quivering of her lips denied even that small expression of humor. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure how to handle that.”
“You’re new in here,” Gage said. “When did you come on board?”
Lily moistened her lips, an unconscious gesture Gage decided, since she didn’t seem to be interested in attracting him. In fact, he’d be willing to warrant she wasn’t interested in drawing any more attention to herself than necessary.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I’m new. Mr. Scott hired me this afternoon when y’all docked at Saint Louis.”
Gage took her elbow and steered her toward an open doorway, beyond which the Mississippi River lay, its current carrying the boat southward at a leisurely pace. She allowed his guiding hand, offering no protest as they stepped out on deck and moved to the rail. Slender fingers gripped the gleaming wood, and she bent her head, as if the weight of it were too heavy for her fragile neck to support.
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked. “Do you need to sit down?” And then he eased his arm around her waist as he heard footsteps behind
