Betting on Hope (38 page)

Tanner glanced away. For a second he said nothing, and Hope had her answer.

Where was that elevator? Any time now would be good.

“I had to,” he said finally. He looked around to make sure Drake or Big Julie weren’t listening. “And—by the way—thank you for not saying anything. Listen—”

“No,
you
listen.” Hope held up a hand to stop him. “Go away, Tanner. Go back to the card game. Go get what you came for. Just—go away.”

“Hope, I meant what I said, we can figure something out. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Finally
the elevator, and not a minute too soon. Hope stepped into it and hit the button for the lobby.

“There is nothing to figure out,” she said as the doors closed. “Didn’t you hear me? The ranch is gone, Tanner. The game’s over. Don’t call me tomorrow. Don’t call me ever again.”

Chapter 27

The gray early morning light that filtered in around the edges of Hope’s curtains brought a new day but only fresh heaviness to her heart. She rolled away from the window, staring into the blackness of her room, not wanting to get up, not wanting to get out of bed at all.

She knew she should try to get up and appreciate the day. It would be one of the few mornings she had left at the ranch.

No one else knew yet. No one knew that she’d lost everything last night—the ranch, Faith’s business, their home. When she got back to the house, everyone had been asleep. She hadn’t wanted to wake them with bad news. It was too late to call Marty.

She didn’t remember getting home. The only thing she remembered was that when she got to the top of the long driveway and saw the full moon glowing silver in the indigo sky, casting a glittery sheen over the house and barn, she put her head down on the steering wheel and wept. How long she’d stayed out there, she had no idea.

Now it was dawn. Hope buried her head in the pillows, trying to bury her thoughts, as well. She’d have been better off if she hadn’t played poker at all. She should have just taken a week’s vacation and enjoyed her last moments at the only place she’d ever called home. Or packed and looked for an apartment. Instead, she had wasted a week playing cards. She earned a quarter million dollars, and then lost most of it in one evening. That had to be a record of some kind.

And worse, playing cards had proved how much like Derek she was. How callous she’d become about huge sums of money. She’d bet a half-million dollars on one hand, and she hadn’t thought twice about it, just like Derek.

And she’d lost.

Just like Derek.

And then there was Tanner. The man who’d stolen her heart and then the game.

Leaving her with nothing. Less than nothing.

Just like Derek.

She’d thought that she’d learned not to love handsome, charming, fun-loving men who cheated at cards and made you feel special only as long as it was convenient for them. But evidently, being scarred by heartbreak once was not enough.

She had to forget Tanner
fast
and move on. Before he could do anything more to her—anything worse.

Hope eased out of bed, her limbs aching and her throat thick and dry, and pulled on her jeans and boots, kicking the red halter dress to the back of the closet. That one was going to the thrift store before they moved. She never wanted to see that dress again.

The house was still silent. Normally Faith got up early to weed and water the vegetables, but since she’d sprained her wrist, she couldn’t do much. And now, of course, they could leave the vegetables in the ground to rot.

The horses were different. Hope had to take care of them until she found a buyer.
If
she found a buyer. Hope’s face twisted when she realized what would happen if she couldn’t find someone to take the animals—if she couldn’t even give them away. She had only two weeks to find them good homes. It wasn’t much time.

Hope moved through the quiet house, heading toward the kitchen to pick up an apple for herself and some carrots for the horses. When she got to the kitchen, though, she saw Faith was up. Remorse swept over her again.

“Hope?” Faith whispered. Her bright, eager eyes focused on her sister. “How did it go last night?”

Sorrow, regret, bitterness, and loss flooded through her, and Hope felt her expression crumple. Sobs rose from deep within her and caught in her throat.

“I—I lost, Faith. I lost the ranch. I’m so, so sorry.”

Faith’s face sagged as she stared at her sister. “You lost?”

Hope nodded as tears poured down her cheeks. She lifted her head and bit her lip.

“I was never going to win. Tanner told me. He cheated to make sure. The ranch stays with Big Julie.”

“Tanner
played?
And he
cheated?
Are you positive?” Faith dropped into a chair.

“Yes. I saw it. I’m positive.” Hope dashed the tears away, reaching for a tissue.

Faith looked lost. “What can we do now?”

“We don’t really have any options. I tried, I did my best. I’m just—so sorry I couldn’t save the ranch for us. I guess it was a bad idea for me to get everybody’s hopes up.”

“If Tanner cheated, there was nothing you could do. We know how that goes.” Faith tried a small smile, but her voice wavered.

Hope watched her helplessly, her own face wet with tears. She wanted to hug Faith, comfort her, but she felt so bruised and beaten herself, she had nothing left to give her sister.

I shouldn’t have let them think I could win,
Hope thought as she left the kitchen and stumbled out to the barn.
Now
two
card players have crushed this family.

Banjo tossed his head when he saw her, whinnying a hello.

“Hey, there, handsome,” Hope crooned, feeling a rush of love for her horse.
Banjo’s loyal
, she thought.
He doesn’t cheat at cards
.

She gave him the carrot, patting him, rubbing her hands over his chest and body, feeling his heavy muscles under the warm hide. Banjo turned his head, snuffling her pockets, nudging her gently.

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured to the horse. “Should we go for a run?”
Before it’s too late. Before we can never go out together again.

Banjo nickered, tossing his head.

Hope wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She pulled the heavy wool blanket and worn Western saddle onto the horse’s back, cinching the saddle snugly, then slipped on the bridle. When she led Banjo out of the barn into the cool dawn, he pranced in anticipation.

“We don’t have much time together anymore,” she told him as she mounted. “Let’s make every minute count.” She turned the horse down the road toward the mountains and gave him his head. Banjo broke into a canter and then, feeling frisky, stretched out to run.

The cool morning breeze stung her face, and Banjo’s hooves churned up dust and grit that brought tears to her eyes. Hope leaned low over the horse’s neck, urging him to run faster. Her hair streamed out, blending with Banjo’s mane, as the horse pounded down the track.

Running wouldn’t solve anything, she knew that. She couldn’t run away from her problems or her memories.

But for a little while, just a little while, as Banjo’s strong legs thundered over the ground and carried her higher into the mountains, she could forget that it wasn’t the wind or the grit that made her cry. And she could pretend that the male animal she loved most in the world was a horse, not a man.

After her ride, Hope rubbed down Banjo and cleaned all the horses’ stalls, turning them out to the pasture. Then she went into the house, dreading what she’d find there.

Since both Faith and Amber were out of commission for many household tasks because of their hurt hands, Suzanne was putting out cold cereal before she went to work at the diner, which opened later on Sunday. All heads turned to Hope when she entered the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, mom,” she said again, hating that she was the person who let them all down. “I really tried.”

“We know you did, honey.” Suzanne put the cereal and milk on the table and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Nobody blames you. You did the best you could.”

My best. Not nearly good enough.

“Now you can stay home at night with us,” Amber said, her bandaged hand propped on a pillow on the table.

Hope gave her niece a watery smile as Faith gave Hope a hug, too, and they clung to each other for a minute.

“Even you can’t fix everything,” Faith whispered. “We were wrong to put all the burden on you.”

“I thought I had a decent shot,” Hope said. “And I think I did until Tanner came along.”

“Will I get to keep Squeegee?” Amber asked anxiously.

“We’ll do our best, sweetie.” Hope let go of Faith and poured herself some coffee. “We’ll look for a place that allows dogs.”

“Squeegee’s a
good
dog.” Amber still looked worried. “Can Kenji and I still work on the cookbook?”

As Faith reassured her daughter, Hope thought about what she’d have to do this morning. Call the uncles. Try to find someone to take the horses. Find a new place to live. Every call taking away one more piece of the life she’d known. How could she do it? Just end her old life like that?

It happened. Suck it up.

The voice in her head was so loud that for a second Hope thought someone had spoken aloud. But then she realized—that voice was her old friend. The voice that was born the day her father never came home. The voice of determination.

You had to try
, the voice said now
. You failed. So what. There’s no shame in failure. Only in not trying.

She sniffed and reached for a tissue. She’d tried to save the ranch, and she’d failed. But she still had fifty thousand dollars from the week’s play that she hadn’t had to stake in Big Julie’s game. Maybe they could afford to buy a house. It wouldn’t be a ranch, but Amber could keep her dog. That at least would be something.

They all ate breakfast together and then Hope took a shower, put on clean jeans, and drove into the city. She wanted to say goodbye to the uncles. They’d all be leaving today, and she wanted to thank them again in person. Telling them on the phone about her loss—and Tanner’s betrayal—didn’t seem right. Marty would still be at the Golden Palace, probably playing one last hand and enjoying the four-ninety-five all-you-can-eat dim sum buffet. She found him at a cashier’s window, converting his chips to currency.

When she saw him, all her resolve and determination deserted her.

“Marty,” she said, and when he turned, his face bright and expectant, her face crumpled again. “I couldn’t do it.” Her voice caught on a sob. “I lost everything.”

Marty’s face fell. “Oh, no, Hope, honey, that’s too bad.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Don’t cry, Little Hope. It’s all right. It’s not the end of the world. Come on, let’s get a drink. It’ll buck you up.”

“It’s not even
noon!
” Hope said, sniffing, wiping her tears away. “I just ate Cheerios!”

“There’s nothing like a stiff belt with an old friend to get you over hard times,” Marty said firmly, leading her toward the VIP bar.

In ten minutes, Hope was sitting in a deep leather lounge chair, a huge snifter of very old brandy in her hand. She tasted it.
Very
smooth.

“Now tell me,” Marty said. “Who played?”

“Everybody you said,” Hope said, “and one you didn’t guess. Tanner.”

Marty choked on his brandy. “
Tanner
played?
He
was the unknown?”

Hope nodded, feeling a little better. Marty was right. A stiff belt with an indignant old friend
was
picking her up.

“And I asked him to let me win the ranch,” she said, taking another sip of the brandy. “And he said no.”

“He said
no?
”

Hope nodded again, leaning forward a little and lowering her voice. “But the worst thing was, Marty, he cheated.”

Marty leaned back, putting his brandy snifter down carefully on the mahogany table next to his chair.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said.

Hope beamed at him. “Marty, I love you for that, I really do,” she said, taking another sip of the brandy. “But I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

Marty looked at Hope with sadness. “You like him, don’t you, Little Hope. I was afraid of that.”

Hope swallowed, feeling the wattage of her smile dimming. “Well—he helped last week. And—” she took a deep breath, “I guess I did like him. Until, you know. Last night.”

Like him.
That
was an understatement. But whatever they’d had was over, and he was gone, out of her life, gone, gone, gone. Over and out.

“Hope, honey—” Marty swallowed helplessly and looked away. 

Hope shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “It’s okay, Marty,” she lied. “It’s nothing I won’t recover from. I know better than to get involved with someone like that. Someone like Derek.”