Scout's Honor (5 page)

She thought about that too. No one had ever
described her face as honest before. Beautiful? Many times. Honest?
Never. She
was
honest, to a point,
which was why her chances were slim
against Dumonde. But how could Mitch Summers know it with such
certainty? What had he seen in a stranger’s face across a crowded
casino in San Francisco that had brought him to the islands—with no
money?

“It’s my third-best thing
,
judging character,” he assured her
.
“And its not just a house. It’s a ranch that Steve and I both own,
except he was supposed to sell me his acreage. Unfortunately the
house sits on the land that Steve lost to Dumonde.”

“Sue him,” she said bluntly.

“There weren’t any contracts. Code of the
West, family honor, and all that.” He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t
really blame him. Gambling is a sickness in some people, and Steve
is one of those people. But I think he’s learned his lesson this
time. Contacting you was his idea.”

“I never met your brother.”

“He heard about you and saw you play at Mr.
Wong’s a few times.”

Anna leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “You
need a keeper, Mitch Summers, or a guardian angel. The man cons you
out of the roof over your head and you still take his advice?”

“Not completely. That’s why I didn’t
approach you in Frisco. I wanted to check you out first. I’m not
much of a gambler, but lady, anybody could see the way you blow
their socks off—in any game.” He paused for a moment as he refilled
their glasses. “The job of guardian angel is open, if you’d like to
fill out an application.”

“Where did you get the money to bankroll
your traveling?”

“I took out a second mortgage on a few
acres, got plenty of papers from that deal.”

“At least your track record is improving.
What’s your plan?” She wanted to bite her tongue for asking. It was
begging for trouble.

“Percentages, that’s the key. I’ll give you
two
percent of the land you win,
with a buy-back contingency. And until I buy it back you’ll own
some of the finest fishing rights in the world.”

She couldn’t believe how crazy it was.
“Don’t tell me,” she said, shooting him a wry glance and lowering
her voice until the tone was serious. “You’re standing in Mr.
Wong’s and casually look around the room until you spot a woman
dressed in diamonds and silk. Suddenly your instincts take over.
You quickly judge her character and decide that there’s a woman
with fishing on her mind. Give me a break.” She threw up her hands
and laughed. This would go down as one of the most ridiculous and
memorable nights she’d ever had.

Mitch Summers surprised her again by joining
in with a deep laugh of his own. Moisture gathered in the corners
of her eyes as she let the absurdity take her over. Mascara smudged
the white linen napkin she used to wipe her cheeks. She knew she
must look a mess, but she couldn’t stop. Here they sat, laughing in
the dark, alone in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the
islands, with dawn only three hours away.

Mitch leaned forward and picked up her hand,
rolling it over in his own, his mouth still wrapped around that
crazy grin. “You’re right again, Anna, that’s exactly how it
happened. I’m just glad you turned out to be the same Anna Lange I
was looking for.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Mitch, but I
wouldn’t know a rod from a reel and have even less interest in
finding out.” She finished wiping her eyes and dropped the napkin
on the table, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

She liked the feel of his work-roughened
hand caressing hers. It was different from the smooth softness of
the other men she met. He was different. He was masculine without
being aggressive or threatening. He was so naïve she wanted to pat
him on the arm, tell him everything would be okay, kiss his cheek
and reassure him. She gazed at his face, lean and golden and
smiling in the moonlight. Maybe kiss him on the mouth, maybe tangle
her fingers in his sandy-brown hair, maybe run her hands along his
shoulders to feel the strength she knew was there. He was
different. He was sexy and she liked him. It wouldn’t be so bad
owning a piece of property outside of San Francisco. The city was
one of her regular stops.

“How much is two
percent if I win?” she asked.

“Twenty
acres.”

“In cash, boy scout.”

“About twenty thousand with the cabin on
it.”

“And how much property are you going to give
me to play with? If I decide to take you on.” She added the last
with a note of warning.

“A thousand
acres to match the
thousand
Dumonde has.”

“Just how much property do you own?” she
asked, impressed with the numbers he’d revealed so far.

“Two thousand
acres
.”

A cold, sinking feeling invaded her heart.
“You’re going to risk it all?” He was more of a gambler than she’d
given him credit for, and it bothered her.

“I want it all, Anna. It’s my home. I worked
hard for it, and I’m not about to let some two-bit hustler cheat me
out of it.” He wasn’t laughing anymore. His voice was deadly
serious, and she knew that under any other circumstances Jacques
Dumonde wouldn’t stand a chance against him. But they were talking
poker with a sleight-of-hand master, and Anna felt compelled to
change his mind.

“That kind of property around San Francisco
must be worth a fortune. Why don’t you mortgage off the rest of the
land and buy out Dumonde?”

Mitch released her and withdrew to his side
of the table. He swept a broad hand over his face and slumped back
in the chair, momentarily covering his eyes and rubbing his temples
as if the whole sorry mess gave him a headache.

“I tried that. Dumonde wants more than I can
raise. He’s got the expensive thousand
acres—river front. And the
ranch isn’t in California. It’s near Hot Sulphur Springs,
Colorado.”

“Hot Sulphur Springs? How . . . uh,
obscure.” Where did they come up with these names? The place
sounded as if it smelled bad. “Is that anywhere near Denver?”

“It’s about as far away from Denver as this
place is, only on the other end of the cosmopolitan spectrum. I
don’t think you’ve ever been there.” He smiled again, a wry grin
that told her he knew she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like
Hot Sulphur Springs.

She was glad to see his mood lighten. Maybe
it would help him listen to reason. “Keep the land you’ve got,
Mitch, and make do with a thousand
acres instead of two
thousand
. Don’t risk ending
up with no home at all.”

Her voice held a pleading quality that made
her wince. Why should she care? He was just another drifter in her
world. A poor guy who couldn’t afford the pace, a naïve soul who
had been conned by a person he thought he could trust. It happened
all the time in her world. Money could break a blood tie or a love
tie. Sad but true. She didn’t like it any better than he did, but
he’d have to learn the hard way by losing something important.
Whether it was a home or a husband didn’t matter. They both
hurt.

She turned her head to stare out over the
dark water, mulling over the rare possibility of doing a good deed
and weighing her chances against Dumonde. In truth, she couldn’t
have asked for a better setup; she had nothing to lose. And
besides, who was she to make Mitch’s decisions for him? He was a
big boy.

She cocked her head to catch him out of the
corner of her eye. Well, he wasn’t that big. His shoulders were
broad, but the body was lanky. No extra pounds there. The oversized
suit made him look smaller than he probably was, and she knew he
was just a shade taller than St. John
.

“When is the game?” she asked.

He smiled. “How about getting together
tomorrow night
?”

Their eyes locked across the table
,
and a
deep,
controlled breath escaped her. She was playing with fire no matter
which way she took his words.

“Give me two days,” she said, “then contact
me here at Runner’s Cay. I’ll need time to put together a scam.”
Her voice was cool and businesslike, belying the heat he so easily
and disturbingly generated with those eyes. No one would believe
she was attracted to this boy scout with the broken nose. If he was
her type, no wonder she’d been leading a solitary life. Boy scouts
were a rare commodity in the fast track.

“I
don’t expect you to cheat,” he said quietly.

Then he truly was out of his league.

“Listen, darlin’, I’m not going in there to
play a sucker’s game and lose. You can be Mr. Congeniality all you
want, but I have a reputation to protect.” She was glad the sultry
mood was broken. It put her back in charge. But she resented his
innocent statement for putting her in a bad light
. “You do want your ranch back in one
piece, don’t you?” she asked, forcing her point home, trying to get
through to him that
her way was the only way.

“Yes, I do, Anna,” he said, “and I would do
anything to get it back, but I don’t expect you to put yourself in
a tight spot just to help me.” He leaned forward and picked up her
hand, holding it lightly in his own. His touch had the nicest
effect on her, warm and exciting. He must like it, too, she
thought. This was about the third time he’d casually reached over
and played with her fingers. And for the third time she didn’t pull
away.

“All I’m asking for is a straight game,” he
said.

He was worried about her good name? She
couldn’t believe it. At least he didn’t seem to have any scruples
about the actual cheating part. The code of the West probably
okayed cheating a cheat.

“Dumonde never plays a straight game,” she
insisted again. “What do you do if I lose?”

“I start over,” he said, shrugging. “I did
it once. I can do it again. There’s plenty of property for sale in
the valley if you’ve got the price.”

“But you don’t have the price,” she reminded
him.

“No. But I’ve got a job and I don’t want you
to cheat.”

“Does this job pay
beaucoup
bucks?”

“No.”

She had to admire his determination and
confidence, no matter how misplaced they might be. She gave him one
last, long look before rising from the table. The satin folds slid
over her hips as she stood. Smiling down into those rich brown
eyes, she extended her hand. His handshake was dry warmth and solid
strength.

“Then we’d better do it my way, boy scout .
. . two days,” she said, and winked before disappearing in a rustle
of satin and a cloud of Magie Noire.

“No, absolutely not. I forbid it, Anna. Case
closed.” St. John looked up from the papers spread across the
breakfast table, but Anna couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored
sunglasses. She didn’t need to: she knew an icy glare when she felt
one.

She pulled apart another croissant and
licked the flaky pastry off her fingertips. The warm midday sun
felt good on her skin. Breakfast on a deck in Nassau had to be one
of earth’s finest delights, and St. John had one of the nicest
decks in the islands. It wrapped around two sides of the
three-story modern house. One side fronted the ocean and the other
was a haven of shadow underneath the palms growing toward the
shore. “I’m not asking for permission, St. John. I’m asking for
your help.”

“It’s a little late for me to be explaining
the facts of life, little sister, but it sounds like you need a
refresher course. I’m St. John Lange, remember? I own a casino. I
wouldn’t touch a scam with a ten-foot pole, and you shouldn’t
either.”

“Hah!” Anna gave a short laugh, unimpressed
by his protestations of clean living. “Let me see if I remember
this right. How about New Orleans, the Vieux Carre, Mardi Gras,
about five years ago? What did you call that game? Straight? I
don’t think so, big brother. Or that time in Vegas? Now, that was
an interesting twist on black line work if I ever saw one. And
then—”

“I get your point,” St. John conceded
. “But I’m an owner now. I
can’t get involved.”

“I’m not asking you to get involved. I just
need your help in getting some good paper.”

St. John’s glass of orange juice stopped
halfway to his mouth and his jaw went slack. “You cannot get away
with a marked deck, Anna.” He enunciated every word. “Dumonde will
eat you alive.”

“It’s a risk I’ll have to take,” she said,
brushing aside his concern. “It’s the best chance I’ve got against
him.” A coil of hair rolled out of the pile on top of her head. She
pulled out the pair of chopsticks trying to hold her hair up, and
stuck them in her mouth until she could get the shiny mass back
under control. Then she threaded the sticks haphazardly through her
chignon, all the while patiently waiting for St. John’s
response.

“If that’s your best shot,” he finally said,
“you’d better call your friend and back out of the deal.”

“I won’t do that.” Anna spread strawberry
jam on the croissant and took a bite. She knew St. John would come
up with something if she kept pushing him. He had never let her
down. She remembered how Mitch’s brother had let him down. No. She
wouldn’t back out on Mitch Summers. Besides, she’d already given
her word, and she never backed out on a promise
.

She doubted if Mitch Summers
had ever broken a promise
either. At least they had that in common.

St. John, took his time, fingers tapping on
the glass-topped table, his chin resting in his other hand. “Can
you pull a ‘cooler move’?”

“Not well enough to fool Dumonde, unless you
could arrange a dynamite blast for a distraction, or maybe have a
screaming naked woman run through the room at the exact moment I
switch the deck,” she said sarcastically.

He smiled. “Too obvious.”

“No kidding,” she said, laughing. “Come on,
St. John, there has to be a way.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t
even know this man.”