while his mind envisioned plucking the pins from her hair so the brandy-colored strands could flow freely around her heart-shaped face.
“Do you believe her?”
Jake shrugged. “She showed me a note.”
“Penned by herself no doubt,” Stacy said, still sounding blasé.
However, her temper was rising. It was reflected in those blue eyes he’d become masterful at reading. She was a gambler, a thoroughbred player, taught well by probably the most experienced expert the world had ever known. What she didn’t know was that Jake knew his way around gaming, too. Faro had been his calling, and he’d done well with it, might still be making the rounds of top-end saloons and first-class railway carriages if not for that incident back in St. Louis. It had changed his life. Three years ago, with his pockets full of more than enough money to last this lifetime and probably the next, he’d left his last winnings on the table, and closed the door on gambling—and anything to do with it.
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