Deal Me In

“I didn’t get away with saying that yesterday,” he said. “Why should I let you get away with it today?”

“You don’t need to know,” she evaded. “I did need to have answers about your motives. I’m the one taking a chance. I’m the outsider.”

“You’ve got to give me something, Molly.”

“I need a fresh start.” She stared intently at him, like she’d done when they first met in the diner. “All you need to know is that when this is over, I’ll leave. Like you explained yesterday, win or lose, I’ll be out of your life. I give you my word.”

Her word? What did Brady know about the word of a woman he’d just met? And yet he believed what she was saying. Unfortunately, believing did not mean he was ready to take on the responsibility of a newly unemployed waitress and her silent, overweight kid.

“What’s going on out here?” Marshall’s booming voice captured everyone’s attention. He strode out the front door, crossed the veranda and came down the steps. Stopping at the edge of the drive, he looked at the overstuffed vehicle that Brady had now identified as an older model Honda, bent to check out the boy inside and turned his focus to the three adults several yards away. He thrust his hands on his hips and said, “Damn, if you didn’t show up after all.”

“Hello, Mr. Carrick.”

He jutted a thumb at the car. “Is the kid yours?”

“He is.”

He shook his head. “Double damn.”

Molly glanced at the car. “Please, Mr. Carrick, can’t you men say anything without swearing?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Begging your pardon.” He focused on Brady. “I guess the bet’s in full swing now, isn’t it, son?”

Brady frowned. “We’re still working out the details. I wasn’t exactly prepared for their arrival.”

“You shoulda’ been. She told you she was coming.”

“Yes, but I thought she was just… Besides, I didn’t know she’d have a…” The boy was staring out the window, probably hearing every word.

“He’s just a tyke,” Marshall said. “I can’t see that he’ll be much trouble.”

Molly’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Mr. Carrick. That’s exactly what I tried to tell your son.”

The front door opened again, and Angela appeared in a long flowing dressing gown with ostrich feathers fluttering at the hem and the ends of the sleeves. “I heard a car,” she said. “Do we have company?”

“Mom, this is Molly,” Brady said as she floated down the steps. “I met her yesterday. She’s come to work with me on a special project.”

Angela blinked rapidly several times. “What kind of project?”

“Has to do with poker,” Brady said.

Angela put her index finger to her bottom lip and stared at Molly. “How interesting. I’m sure you’ll give me more details later, won’t you, Brady?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your last name, dear?”

Molly turned away from Brady and answered Angela’s question. His mother’s small mouth rounded with interest. “Are you related to the Davises from King William Street in San Antonio?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. My maiden name is Whelan and I come from a small town outside Dallas.”

“I’m sure that’s nice, too.” Angela stared over Molly’s shoulder at the Honda. “Who’s in the car?”

“That’s my son, Sam.”

“What an angelic face,” Angela said. Brady didn’t know how she’d come to that conclusion, since he couldn’t see anything but the boy’s mouth and plastic straw from where he stood.

Angela turned to Brady. “Where are these people staying, dear? And for how long?”

Brady fumbled for a response. “A few weeks, maybe,” he said, still uncertain as to whether or not that was true. “And I don’t know where they’ll stay. They just got here.”

Angela looked at Dobbs. “Have you hired a new stable foreman yet, Trevor?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Perfect. Molly and Sam can stay in the apartment over the tack room.” She looked at Brady and noted his less than enthusiastic reaction. “What’s wrong? The apartment was recently refurbished. It’s convenient if you’ll be working together.”

How could he tell his mother that her impulsive suggestion was just another example of the way her mind had been working lately. Since he’d come home from Vegas, Angela either approached situations with misplaced enthusiasm or bland indifference. He would have preferred indifference today. “I think we should let Molly decide,” he said.

Chastised, her pale lips pulled into a frown, Angela murmured, “Of course.”

They both looked at Molly. “I think it’s a very generous offer,” she said. “I’m sure Sam and I could be comfortable there.”

Angela smiled. “Good. It’s settled.” She gathered the excess folds of her robe around her slim waist. “I’m going in now. I need coffee. Is breakfast being served in the conservatory?”

Marshall took her arm. “I’m afraid you’ve missed breakfast, Angela. You’ll have to settle for a late lunch.”

As they went toward the front entrance, Brady heard his mother ask, “What time is it, Marsh? I can’t imagine it’s much past nine.”

His answer was muffled as he led her inside.

Brady scrubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and looked at Molly. “So, do you want to see the apartment?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“You can drive around to the front of the stables. I’ll meet you there.”

As he turned away from her, he heard Dobbs say, “Welcome aboard, Molly. I think you’ll like it here.”

It occurred to Brady that he hadn’t yet said anything remotely welcoming to Molly. And he was a long way from doing so. He had no idea what her angle was but he was certain that a woman who gave up everything to follow a crazy bet had to have one.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAM SAT ON THE LEATHER SOFA in the apartment above the tack room and channel-surfed the seemingly unending selection of television programs. “Wow, Mom,” he said. “This is the neatest TV. It’s huge.”

Molly came out of the bedroom where she’d been storing their clothes in twin knotty pine dressers. “It sure is,” she said, admiring the high-definition picture on the thirty-two inch flat-screen set. Her father’s TV got fifteen channels and operated with an antenna fashioned out of two crooked rabbit ears wrapped in aluminum foil.

Sam settled on a Western movie with cowboys galloping across a rugged prairie. Reaching for his Coke, he said, “This whole place is so cool.”