Alls I can do is stare at my dwindling pile of chips, fearing our plan is bust. Rose were a faster shot than even Jesse. I don’t know how he did it, and even if everything unfolds like we got planned, I can’t see anyone else in this saloon wanting to take a shot at him after he just unloaded on that other fella so fast.
But I also can’t run. Not after that last hand. It’s Will’s turn to deal, and all those aces and kings and queens are in plain view on the table. This is our chance. We couldn’t’ve asked for better luck or timing.
Will gathers up the cards, and he’s so nonchalant ’bout it, you’d never guess he was counting ’em, stuffing the deck with purpose, setting up the deal.
The Apache girl comes back to refill drinks. It causes a nice distraction, making Will’s deal a bit easier. Still, Rose’s got his eyes sharp on the deck, and scared he’s gonna spot a plant, I start talking.
“What brings you to Phoenix, sir?”
He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What makes you think I’m from elsewhere?”
“It’s just I never seen you round here,” I says, hoping it’s a strong enough answer.
Rose eyes me a long moment, then says, “A job.”
“And yet yer gambling, not working.”
He sets his glass down hard. “Have we met before?” Rose cocks his head sideways, and I’m reminded of a coyote ’bout to pounce. “You look familiar.”
I swear my heart’s pounding loud enough for the other players to hear. Does he see Pa in my features? Are my eyes his?
“I been working in Phoenix most of my life,” I says, “so I doubt it.”
“Maybe in Prescott?” Rose takes Pa’s pistol from his holster and lays her down on the table so I can see her in all her glory. My eyes lock on it. I can’t stop staring. I swallow and force myself to look back at Rose. He’s gotta recognize me. Or suspect. He knows something he shouldn’t, or he wouldn’t’ve brought Pa’s gun into view.
“Prescott?” I says. “What’s in Prescott?”
“Nothing, I guess.” He tosses his blind in, nonchalant, and the man to his right follows suit. Will finishes the deal and I scoop up my cards.
I take a deep breath and force myself to focus.
Will’s done me good. I got two aces, two kings, and a three. If Will’s done the deal right through and through, Waylan’s got the other two bullets.
I itch my collarbone with my left hand—our signal—and Jesse moves away from the bar.
Everyone calls, and when the bet turns to me I raise a hefty sum. Will folds. Rose sees me, as does Hancock’s clerk and the man to my right.
I push my three toward Will, face-down. Waylan also trades a single card. I don’t care what the others do, so I don’t even bother making note.
Will deals out the trades. My three becomes a four.
Not that it matters . . . Jesse’s coming.
“All right, that’s quite enough of this,” he says, bearing down on the table.
“I got a good hand.”
“I don’t care if you got a royal flush,” Jesse argues. “Let’s go. A man shot and dead! Who knows what else to come. I let you play and all you’s done is lose my money.”
“I won one hand.”
“I don’t care. It’s my turn now.” He grabs me by the wrist of my card hand and hauls me to my feet. With a yank I’m facing him, our chests pressed together with nothing but the cards squished between us. His face is so close, I can smell the tobacco on his breath.
“Yer making a scene,” I says, yanking ’gainst his grip. In the fake struggle he slips a card from his sleeve and into my fanned five, swapping it with the one on the far edge—the four. Right where I promised I’d hold the card I didn’t want. Now I’s got a hand that’ll best Rose, but he’s still got one good enough that he thinks he can win. He ain’t gonna fold.
“There won’t be a scene if you just come like yer told,” Jesse snarls, tugging me harder.
“I ain’t going nowhere. I can win this.”
“Listen, I already paid for you and I’m sick of waiting. If you don’t come now, I swear to God I will—”
A weapon cocks.
Jesse steps away from me. We both look to Rose. He’s sitting there calm as ever, his elbow resting on the table with his pistol aimed at Jesse.
“She already bet and has to play out the hand. Let her go.”
Jesse drops my arm in disgust. I make a show of fixing my shawl and looking frazzled.
Rose motions toward the bar with his pistol. “Head back to the bar.”
“Yer gonna pay for this later,” Jesse says, pointing a finger at me. Then he sulks off.
Rose keeps his gun aimed at Jesse’s back. “Should I shoot him for you?”
“No!” I says, prolly too forcefully.
Rose just shrugs and holsters his weapon. “It’s yer funeral.”
I feel like smiling. He’s buying it. Every last bit of the act.
“All in.” Rose shoves his pile of chips forward. “In fact, I’m gonna sweeten the deal some more. This is worth the pot and then some.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulls something from the back of his pants, and tosses it onto the table. It lands with a thud, scattering some of the chips. My blood dries in my veins. The ribbing of Evelyn’s dress is suddenly too tight. ’Cus it’s the journal. Rose killed Pa for it, just like I suspected.
I can’t stop staring. The journal’s as worn and soft as I remember it. The cord wrapped round the middle, so tight, the leather puckers. The page edges worn and uneven. Pa’s initials carved into the front.
“A journal?” I says, praying I sound unimpressed. “Worth more than the pot? How so?”
“You just gotta take my word for it.”
“All right,” I says after pretending to consider it a moment. “All in.” I shove forward the little I got left.
Rose flips his cards. He has another full house. Two aces and three queens.
But I got me three aces, thanks to Jesse. I’m loaded and I’m winning back Pa’s journal and then I’m shooting this bastard right between the eyes.
“Now, sir,” I says in my sweetest voice. “How’s it you can have two aces”—I lay my cards down—“when I’s got three?”
Everyone at the table goes rigid.
The Apache, approaching with fresh drinks, stops so abruptly that the glasses slide off the edge of her tray. As they hit the floor, shattering and chiming, everyone at the table lurches upright, pulling weapons. The men at my right ain’t sure who cheated, but they know one of us is the reason they’re losing money. Will’s pretending to look just as mad. Rose’s gun hasn’t once trained away from me.
“Search her,” he orders, and two of his men come forward from the wall. I stand there, frozen, trying not to grimace as foreign hands slap up and down my bodice and legs. They spend a bit too long on my chest, but I bite my lip. They don’t find a thing ’cept the pistol strapped to my thigh, but it ain’t unheard of for painted ladies to carry a piece for protection. They’re only concerned ’bout cards.
“Maybe it’s you who cheated,” I says as my boots are pulled off and searched.
“I don’t need to cheat,” Rose scoffs.
“Then you won’t mind turning yer pockets out for us,” says the man to my right. He ain’t had a good game. He’s almost broke on account of losing several hands to Rose.
Sighing, Rose sets his pistol down and shakes out his coat, turns out his pockets.
“And yer boots,” Will says.
Rose tugs ’em off, turns ’em over.