The Winning Hand

  somewhat less than the asking price. The sellers may accept it, or counter.”

  “Yes, I know. But why shouldn’t they get what they want?” She smiled and turned back to gaze out the window. “I’m going to.”

  It was so simple really, she discovered. A few forms to be filled out, papers to be signed, a check to be written. Earnest money, it was called. Darcy liked the sound of it. She was very earnest about the house.

  She listened as home loans were explained to her, fixed interest rates, balloon payments, mortgage insurance. Then decided to keep it simple and pay cash.

  When the settlement date was set, she breezed out to her rented car, thrilled by the knowledge that in thirty short days she would have a home.

  The minute she was back in her suite, she grabbed the phone. She knew she had to call Caine, ask him to represent her interests in the settlement or recommend a local real estate lawyer. She needed to choose an insurance company and take out a homeowner’s policy. She wanted to shop for furniture, to pick out dishes and linens.

  And oh, she’d forgotten to measure the windows for the plantation blinds she wanted.

  But first she wanted to share her news and excitement.

  “Is Mac—Mr. Blade available?” she asked when Mac’s assistant answered the phone. “It’s Darcy Wallace.”

  “Hello, Ms. Wallace. I’m sorry, Mr. Blade’s in a meeting. May I take a message?”

  “Oh … no, thank you. If you could just tell him I called.”

  She hung up, deflated as the image in her head of driving him out to the house and telling him it was hers faded. It would have to wait.

  She buried herself in work instead, pushing herself toward the end of the book. If her luck held and the agent she’d contacted wanted to see more, she intended to be ready.

  When two hours had passed and he hadn’t returned her call, she resisted the urge to pick up the phone again. She made herself coffee, then spent another hour tweaking an earlier chapter.

  When the phone rang, she pounced. “Hello.”

  “Darcy. Deb said you called earlier.”

  “Yes. I wondered if you could spare an hour. There’s something I want to show you.”

  There was a hesitation, a humming kind of silence that had her shifting in her chair.

  “I’m sorry. I’m tied up here.” In his office Mac sat at his desk and realized the first step away was the hardest. “I’m not going to have any time for you.”

  “Oh. You must be busy.”

  “I am. If anything’s wrong I can send the hotel manager or the concierge up.”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.” The cool formality of his voice made her shudder. “Nothing at all. It can wait. If you have time tomorrow …”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “All right.”

  “I have to go. Talk to you later.”

  She stared at the phone in her hand for several seconds before replacing it slowly on the hook. He’d seemed so distant, so different. Hadn’t that been mild irritation in his voice, an underlying impatience?

  No, she was imagining things. Finding her hands gripped tightly together, she swore at herself and separated them.

  He was just busy, she told herself. She’d interrupted his work. People hated to be interrupted. It was her own sense of disappointment—which was foolish—that was making her overreact to a very natural incident.

  He’d spent the whole of last evening with her, she remembered, had made wild, almost desperate love to her under the stars. No one could need a woman so much in the night then flick her off like a pesky gnat the next day.

  Of course they could, she admitted, and pressed her fingers to her eyes. It was naive, even stupid to pretend it couldn’t and didn’t happen.

  But not with Mac. He was too kind, too honest.

  And she loved him far, far too much.

  He was just busy, she insisted. She’d taken up huge amounts of his time over the past two weeks. Naturally he would need to catch up, to concentrate on business, to take some breathing room.

  She wasn’t going to sulk about it. Darcy straightened her shoulders, tucked the chair back in place. She would concentrate on work herself, and take advantage of what was going to be a long, solitary evening.

  She worked for another six hours, remembering to turn on the lights only when she realized she was working in the dark. She drained the pot of coffee and found herself stunned when she came to the end of her book.

  Finished. Beginning, middle and end. It was all there now, she thought giddily, all inside this clever little machine and copied onto a small slim disc.

  To celebrate she opened a bottle of champagne, though it was a bit of a struggle, and drank an entire glass. With reckless abandon she poured a second and took it to the desk with her to start refining the draft. She put in twelve hours and went through half a bottle of the wine, which she counteracted with more coffee. It was hardly a wonder that when she finally tumbled into bed she was chased by odd and jumbled dreams.

  She saw herself in the tower of her new house, alone. All alone and crowded there by mountains of papers and an enormous computer. Through the window she could see dozens of scenes flip by, like a fast-forward through a movie. Parties and people, children playing, couples embracing. The noise—laughter and music—was muffled by the glass that surrounded her.

  When she pounded on it, no one heard her. No one saw her. No one cared.

  She was in the casino, sitting at the blackjack table. But she couldn’t add up her cards, couldn’t calculate the math. Didn’t know what to do.

  Hit or stand. Serena, elegant in a mannish tux, watched her impassively. Hit or stand, she repeated. You have to make the choice, then deal with it.

  She doesn’t know how to play. Mac stepped up beside her, gave her a brotherly pat on the head. You don’t know the rules, do you?

  But she did, she did. It was just that she couldn’t seem to add the cards. There was so much at stake. Didn’t they understand how much was at stake?

  Never bet more than you can afford to lose, Mac told her with a cool smile. The house always has the edge.

  Then she was alone again, stumbling along the arrow-straight road through the desert and the lights and colors of Vegas were trapped behind the rippling waves of heat, floating there. No matter how far she walked, she couldn’t get any closer.

  Dust rose in a cloud as Mac drove up, his hair streaming in the wind. You’re going in the wrong direction.

  But she wasn’t. She was going home.

  He reached out, touched her cheek in an absent, avuncular gesture that made her cringe. You don’t belong here.

  “Yes, I do.” Her own furious shout woke her. Sitting up in bed, she was stunned by the raw and genuine extent of her anger. She seethed with it, forced herself to take deep, calming breaths.

  The sun was bright on her face because she’d forgotten to draw the drapes the night before.

  “No more bedtime champagne for you, Darcy,” she muttered, rubbing her face as if to rub away the edges of the dreams.

  Noting it was already nine, she gave in to impulse and grabbed the phone. Serena answered on the second ring.

  “It’s Darcy. I hope I’m not calling too early.”

  “No. Justin and I are just having our first cup of coffee.”

  “Are you busy today?”

  “I don’t have to be. What did you have in mind?”

  Darcy stood back, nervously twisting her fingers as Serena walked through the first floor of the house.

  “I know this might seem sudden,” Darcy began. “It’s the only one I looked at. But I had a picture in my head of what I wanted, and this … this was even better than that.”

  “It’s …” Serena turned a last circle, then smiled. “Beautiful. It suits you so well. I think you’ve made a perfect choice.”

  “Really? Really?” Swamped with joy, Darcy steepled her hands at her mouth. “I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.”

&nbs
p; “There’s nothing crazy about wanting a home of your own, or investing in excellent property.”

  “Oh, I wanted to show someone so badly. I raced back yesterday as soon as I’d signed the contract. I wanted to show Mac, but he was busy, and well …”

  She moved her shoulders and stepped away before she could see Serena’s troubled frown. As far as Serena knew, her son hadn’t been any busier the day before than normal.

  “You told him you bought a house, but he didn’t have time to come out and take a look?”

  “No, I just told him there was something I wanted him to see. I guess it’s silly, but I wanted him to see it first. Please don’t tell him about it.”

  “No, I won’t. Darcy, why did you decide to buy a house here, in Vegas?”

  “That.” Her response was instant as she walked over to the doorway to gaze out at the desert. “It pulls at me. For some people it’s water, for some it’s mountains, or it’s big, bustling cities. For me it’s the desert. I had no idea until I got here, and then I knew.”

  Glowing with pleasure, she turned back. “And I love the Strip, the fantasy of it, the magic and the snap in the air that says anything can happen. Everything does happen. Everybody needs a place, don’t you think, that makes them believe they could accomplish something there? Even if it’s nothing more than being happy.”

  “Yes, I do think that, and I’m glad you found it.” Still she crossed the room, brushed a hand over Darcy’s hair. “But it has to do with Mac, too, doesn’t it?” When Darcy didn’t answer, Serena smiled softly. “Darling. I can see how you feel about him.”

  “I can’t help being in love with him.”

  “Of course, you can’t. Why should you? But is the house for him, Darcy?”

  “It could be,” she murmured. “But it’s for me first. It has to be. I need a home. I need a place. That’s what I’m doing here. I know I can’t expect him to feel about me the way I do about him. But I’m willing to gamble. If I lose, at least I’ll know I played the game. No more watching from behind the window,” she murmured.

  “My money’s on you.”

  Darcy’s grin flashed like sunlight. “I ought to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with Mac’s family, too.”

  “Oh, baby.” Serena wrapped her close, rubbing cheeks, and reminded herself she hadn’t raised any idiots. Mac would come to his senses soon. “Show me the rest of the house.”

  “Yes, and I was hoping you could go with me to look at furniture.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Darcy was glad to be busy, to have so many details juggling for space in her mind. Colors, fabrics, lamps. Should she convert the smallest bedroom into a library or would the downstairs den suit that purpose best?

  Did she want ficus trees flanking the doorway on the main level, or palms?

  Every decision was monumentally important to her, and a giddy delight.

  Though she yearned to share them all with Mac, they’d had no time alone together for two days.

  He was putting all his efforts into keeping his mind occupied and off her. Time, he’d decided, and space were what both of them needed to ease back far enough and analyze their relationship.

  He missed her miserably.

  Freedom was undoubtedly what she needed, he told himself. He paced his office, giving up on the idea of work. She hadn’t called him again, and from the information he’d discreetly drawn from the staff, she’d been spending nearly as much time out of the hotel as in it.

  Flexing those fairy wings, he imagined.

  He hadn’t let her do that, not really. He’d carried her along, deluding himself initially that he was helping her, then justifying the rest because he’d wanted her.

  And still wanted her.

  She’d come into his life lost and wounded and desperate for affection. He’d taken advantage of that. It hardly mattered what his motives were, the results were the same.

  He imagined she believed herself in love with him. The idea had crossed his mind more than once to take advantage of that as well. To keep her for himself. To see that she went on believing it as long as possible.

  After all, she had no experience. No man had touched her before he had touched her. She’d tumbled from a sheltered existence into a dazzling fantasy world. He could sweep her along in that world, keep her dazzled. And his.

  It would be easy. And unforgivable.

  He cared far too much to trap her, to clip those wings and watch the innocence tarnish. Her life was just beginning, he reminded himself. And his was already set.

  Then she burst into his office, her eyes huge, her cheeks wax pale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know you’re busy. I know I shouldn’t disturb you, but—but—”

  “What is it? Are you hurt?” He had his hands on her in one thumping heartbeat.

  “No, no.” She shook her head frantically, clutched at his shirt. “I’m okay. No, I’m not okay. I don’t know what I am. I sold my book. I sold my book. Sold it. Oh God, I’m dizzy.”

  “Sold it? Take slow breaths, come on, slow and deep. That’s it, I thought the book wasn’t finished.”

  “The other one. The one—last year. She said the new one, too. Both of them.” Giving up, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “I need a minute. I can’t think straight.” Then she jerked her head up again, laughing wildly. “It’s like sex. Maybe I should have a cigarette.”

  “Have a seat instead.”

  “No, I can’t sit down. I’d bounce right off the chair. They bought the book, no, the books. Two-book contract. Can you imagine? I beat the odds. Again.”

  “Who bought the book, Darcy? And how?”

  “Oh, okay.” She gulped in another breath. “A few days ago I got a call from an editor in New York. Eminence Publishing. She’d seen me on the news, and she asked me to send her some of my work.”

  “A few days ago?” The stab of disappointment was sharp and sudden. “You never mentioned it.”

  “I wanted to wait until I had an answer. Boy, have I got one now.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes as tears swam close. “I’m not going to cry, not yet. I picked an agent off my list. I knew the publisher only wanted to see my work because of the publicity, but there was a chance they’d like it. So I hired an agent.”

  “Over the phone.”

  “Yes.” The obvious disapproval in his tone made her sigh. “I know it was risky, but I didn’t want to wait. The agent called this morning and said they’d made an offer, a very decent offer. Then she advised me to turn it down.”

  As if that part were just sinking in, Darcy pressed a hand to her stomach. “I couldn’t believe it. I had a chance like this, what I’ve wanted all my life, and she said to say no.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what I asked her. She said …” Darcy closed her eyes, reliving the moment. “She said I had a strong talent, that I told a powerful story, and they were going to have to pay more for it. If they balked, she told me she would take the book to auction. She believed in me. So I took the chance. Ten minutes ago, they bought them both. Now I think I’ll sit down.”

  She all but slid into a chair.

  “I’m so happy for you, Darcy.” He crouched in front of her. “So proud of you.”

  “All my life I wanted this. No one ever believed in me.” She let the tears come now. “‘Be sensible, Darcy. Keep your feet on the ground.’ And I always was. I always did because I never thought I was good enough for more.”

  “You’re good enough for anything,” he murmured. “More than good enough.”

  She shook her head. “I always wanted to be. When I was in school, I worked so hard. Both my parents were teachers, and I knew how important it was to them. But no matter how much I put into it, I brought home B’s instead of A’s. They’d look at my report card, and there’d be this silent little sigh. They’d tell me I’d done well, but I could do better if I just worked harder. I couldn’t do better. Just couldn’t. It was the best I could do, but it was ne
ver good enough.”

  “They were wrong.”

  “They didn’t mean to be so critical. They just didn’t understand.” Wanting the anchor, she held tight to his hands. “I used to show them the stories I’d write, just once wanting them to be impressed, enthusiastic. It just wasn’t in them, so I stopped showing them. And I stopped looking for their approval, at least outwardly.”

  She sighed, wiped at her face with her fingers. “I never sent off the first book. Couldn’t find the courage to. I suppose inside I was always hoping, waiting for someone to tell me I was good enough. Now I’ve done it, and someone has.”

  “Here.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it into her hands.

  “I’m not sad.” She sniffled, mopped at her face. “There’s just so much going on inside me. So many things have been happening. I had to tell you.”

  “I’m glad you did. News like this can’t wait.” He framed her face in his hands, and after a brief internal struggle, pressed his lips to her forehead rather than her mouth. “We’ll have to celebrate.” He let his hands linger on her face a moment, then dropped them and rose. “We’ll get together for drinks and you can tell me your plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “You’ll want to fly into New York for a few days, I imagine. Meet your publisher, your agent.”

  “Yes, maybe next week.”

  So soon, he thought, and suffered as he looked down at her tear-streaked face and made the break. “You’ll be missed around here,” he said lightly. “I hope you’ll keep in touch, let us know where you settle.”

  “Settle. But … I’m coming back here.”

  “Here?” He lifted a brow, then smiled. “Darcy, as delighted as we’ve been to have you, you can’t keep living in a high roller’s suite.” He laughed a little and sat on the edge of his desk. “A high roller, you’re not. You’re more than welcome to stay until you finalize your travel plans.”

  He was running a business, she thought frantically. She’d been taking advantage of his generosity, occupying an expensive suite for two weeks. “I hadn’t thought. I’m sorry. I’ll book another room when I get back until—”

  “Darcy, there’s no reason for you to come back here.”

  “Of course there is.” Her heart began to flutter hard in her throat. “I live here.”

  “The Comanche’s not your home. It’s mine.” He wasn’t smiling now, and his eyes had gone cool and hard. It was the only way he could face the stunned hurt on her face. “It’s time for you to start your own life, and you can’t do that here. You’ve accomplished something really extraordinary. Now enjoy it.”

  “You don’t want me anymore. You’re not just kicking me out of your hotel. You’re kicking me out of your life.”

  “No one’s kicking you out of anything.”

  “No?” She managed a half laugh and balled the handkerchief in her fist. “How stupid do you think I am? You’ve been avoiding me for days. You’ve barely touched me since I came in the room. Now you’re giving me a little pat on the head and telling me to run along and have a nice life.”

  “I do want you to have a nice life,” he began.

  “As long as it’s somewhere else,” she retorted. “Well, that’s too bad, because I’m having my life here. I bought a house.”

  He’d prepared himself for a miserable scene, for tears, for recriminations. But he was stunned speechless. “What? You bought what?”

  “I bought a house.”

  “Have you lost your mind? A house? Here? What were you thinking of?”

  “Myself. It’s a new concept for me and I like it.”

  “You don’t buy a damn house the way you do a new dress.”