Free The Winning Hand by Nora Roberts Page A

odds. Too risky for a novice, Darcy from Kansas. First rule is never bet what you can’t afford to lose.”
    When he closed the door quietly behind him, she let out the breath she’d been holding. “Why do I have to lose?”

    She kept to herself the rest of the day, writing furiously in her notebook. The garage that had towed in her car called to tell her it was repaired. On impulse she asked the mechanic if he knew anyone who would buy it. She was finished with it, after all, and with everything else—save her notebooks—that she’d brought with her from Trader’s Corners.
    When the mechanic offered her a thousand dollars, she snapped it up without bargaining, and hurried out to sign over the paperwork.
    There was a slick little laptop computer sitting on her desk when she returned, with a note telling her that it was hers to use during her stay, courtesy of The Comanche. Thrilled, Darcy stroked it, examined it, experimented with it, then settled down to transcribe her notes onto the screen.
    She worked straight through dinner and into the evening until her eyes blurred and her fingers went numb. Hunger rumbled in her stomach. It was tempting to reach for the phone, to order something to be brought to the room. To stay hidden.
    Instead she picked up her purse, squared her shoulders. She was going out, she decided. She’d have a meal, some wine if she wanted. Then, by God, she was going to gamble.
    *   *   *
    The tables were crowded and the air stung with smoke and perfume when she entered the casino. She wanted to watch, to study. Figure the odds, Mac had said. Learn the rules. She intended to do just that. She liked the world here, the hard-edged brightness of it, the thrill of risk.
    She wandered through, loitering by a blackjack table long enough to see a man in shirtsleeves with a thin black cigar clamped between his teeth lose five thousand dollars without flinching.
    Amazing.
    She studied the spin of the wheel, the teasing bounce of the little silver ball at roulette. Saw stacks of chips come and go. Odd or even. Black or red.
    Fascinating.
    Behind it all was the never-ending beeps and whistles and clinks of the slots. Lights beckoned. Jackpot. She studied the technique of an elderly woman who leaned on a walker and mumbled to the spinning face of a machine. And gave a cheerleader’s shout when quarters cascaded into the metal dish.
    “Fifty bucks,” the woman said, shooting Darcy a steely smile. “About time this sucker paid off.”
    “Congratulations. It’s poker, isn’t it?”
    “That’s right. Been nickel-and-diming me for two hours. But it’s heating up now.” She gave the machine a friendly thump with her walker, then stabbed the red button again. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
    It looked like fun, Darcy decided. Simple, uncomplicated, and an excellent place to start. She walked down the line until she came to an unoccupied machine, then slid onto the stool. After reading the instructions, she put a twenty in the slot and watched her credits light. She pushed the button, grinning as her hand was dealt.
    In his office, Mac watched her on-screen. He could only shake his head. In the first place, she was playing like a chump, one credit at a time. If she wanted to hit, she needed to play four, a buck a hand.Now she was holding two kings instead of going for the straight flush.
    It was pitifully obvious she’d never played poker before in her life.
    Well, he’d keep an eye on her, make certain she didn’t lose more than a few hundred.
    He glanced over at the door when a knock sounded, then his smile spread with delight when his mother poked her head in. “Hello, handsome.”
    “Hello, gorgeous.” He caught her around the waist in a fierce hug and pressed his lips to her soft, burnished gold hair. “I didn’t expect you for another day or two.”
    “We finished up early.” She cupped his face in her hands and smiled at him. “And I wanted to see my boy.”
    “Where’s