Dakota Territory, 1886
Sheriff Jake McCrery gave up gambling years ago; keeping the peace in Founder’s Creek Township is all the challenge he needs. Until Stacy Blackwell arrives in town and soon becomes a frequent visitor to the Sheriff’s office. Her crime? Diverting the Sheriff’s attention with her beauty, charm and the mischievous light in her eyes that ignites a fire in Jake that can’t be extinguished. He wants her as he’d never wanted anything in his life—enough to make one final gamble to win her heart….
The Sheriff’s Last Gamble
Lauri Robinson
MILLS & BOON
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Dear Reader,
Welcome to the Dakota Territory, where Stacy Blackwell is a true gambler at heart, as I suspect many of us are. I know I love taking a gamble every once in a while. Buying that lottery ticket, or playing a friendly game of cards, even dropping a dollar or two in a slot machine. Stacy and Jake learn love is life’s biggest gamble and put their hearts on the table. I hope you enjoy their fast-paced game of hitting it big as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you have a chance, stop by my blog, www.laurirobinson.blogspot, or find me on Facebook or Twitter (the links are on my blog). I’d love to hear about your gambles.
Happy reading,
Lauri Robinson
Dedication
To my dear husband, who has always backed my bets.
Contents
Chapter One
1886
Dakota Territory
“How long you gonna sit there staring at those cards, darling?”
The endearment was meant to irritate her, but Winston Ratcliff was a sharper, a player who gave the game a bad name, and therefore he’d been on Stacy Blackwell’s nerves long before he’d opened his mouth. Blocking out his sarcastic voice, she went right on studying her cards. The odds were in her favor.…
Know your odds, baby girl, but don’t count on them. Count on your gut, it’ll never steer you wrong. It knows more than your mind ever can. Those were Pappy’s words echoing in her mind, taught long ago on one of the many riverboats she’d grown up on, and often repeated—usually on a steamer chugging through muddy water.
A hefty pot sat in the center of the table: gold and silver coins, paper bills, a cheap watch dropped in by Chester Marks. None of which made her question her instincts. The sapphire-studded locket Winston had placed right smack in the middle of all that money, however, had her hesitating. The long chain had coiled into a cone atop the stones and now glistened in the light cast from the wall lanterns like a pile of gold in Founder’s Creek—if there ever could be gold in a creek that was dry half the year.
That necklace was hers, and she wanted it back. But the hard knot in her stomach said that, no matter what the odds, Winston had a better hand than her full house of aces over eights. Dagnabit! If he won this pot, he’d be able to play for hours without putting up the necklace again. She, too, could play for hours if not for Sheriff Jake McCrery. He was due back in town in less than an hour, and the first place he’d come looking for her was here, Ma Belle’s House of Worship. A completely different kind of worship than took place in the more respectable building with its towering steeple on the edge of town, but more regularly used in Founder’s Creek Township, Dakota Territory.
“Come on, girl, we ain’t got all day,” Chester said, setting his empty mug on the table with a thud.
Stacy flashed the farmer a glare that said exactly what she thought of him and his big toe gambling. Just because a man got an itch didn’t mean he should sit down at a table. It soured the game for those committed to gaming. Namely her.
“What’s it gonna be, darling? You in or not?” Winston asked, lighting up another one of his long cigars and puffing up a cloud of smoke before blowing a single ring to hover right over the necklace.
The glitter of the chain pulled at her. It was only thing she’d ever been able to hold on to. Proof she had a family—a parent, who in her own way, loved her. But she couldn’t let Winston know that. No one could ever know that. All the more reason she couldn’t let the good sheriff find her here.
Hiding her frustration, she shot a distasteful gaze straight across the table. “I’m not your darling, Ratcliff,” she said, with enough ire to dim the triumph in his beady eyes.
Setting her cards facedown on the table, she gathered her money, folding the bills before slipping them into the bottom of the satchel attached to her wrist. The coins went in next,
