Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(70)

Chapter Seventeen


“Where are we staying again?”


Dalton bit back a laugh. Rory hadn’t stopped talking since he’d picked her up. He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. “At the Bullock.”


“The one on Main Street?”


“The suite we’re staying in is in a renovated building behind it.”



“How far?”


“You’ve been to Deadwood. Everything is within walking distance.”


“I know. But the f*ck-me heels I’m wearing at your request—” she shot him an arch look, “—aren’t exactly winter sidewalk friendly.”


“Just hold on to me. I’ll keep you upright.” He grinned. “Unless I’m too busy keepin’ you horizontal.”


“I’m so looking forward to that,” she purred.


“Me too.”


Rory gave the questions a thirty-second rest before she started in again. “Is this a two-day poker tournament?”


“No. It’s two one-night poker tournaments. Two different venues. Neither of which are at the Bullock. Which works out for us because I don’t stay at the hotel where the events are held.”


“That seems odd and inconvenient. Have you always had that superstition?”


Dalton shook his head. “Mostly it started when I traveled by myself and didn’t want to pay the higher room cost. Didn’t bother me when I split the hotel bill with Tell. So I found cheaper rooms close to the venue, because I wasn’t actually in the room much. That’s when I had much better luck. Don’t know why that is, but I’ve done it that way for years.”


“What are your odds of winning?”


“Better than most. Tomorrow’s pot is bigger so we’ll see if I have to throw tonight’s game so I don’t have people tryin’ to knock me out in the first round tomorrow night.”


“The strategy part of card playing boggles my mind.”


Dalton laughed. “At least I’ve got you thinking there is strategy involved in Texas Hold’em and it ain’t all luck of the draw.”


Rory quit asking questions and gazed out the window.


The Black Hills were covered in snow so the drive up 385 to Deadwood was like a postcard. The setting sun reflected purple on the frosted trees and the sky. The roads were slick and the traffic was heavier than he expected.


This weekend marked the first time Dalton had brought a woman to a tournament. In years past he’d taken women back to his room when the games ended, but he’d never had a woman on the sidelines cheering him on. Winning or losing didn’t matter to Rory—she’d be waiting for him regardless.


Deadwood didn’t attract the big-league poker players, but the money was decent enough the mid-range players made it a destination. Those were the guys he worried about. The ones who considered Deadwood “their” town and banded together to defeat anyone new who dared to sit at the final table with them.


Rory waited in the truck while he retrieved the keys for their room. After he pulled up to the building he was glad for private parking. Deadwood appeared to be jam-packed. “Come on. Let’s see the room. I’ll come back for the luggage.”


He unlocked the door and she stopped just inside the doorway. “Dalton. This place is awesome.”


The suite of rooms wasn’t decorated old west style, but modern. A living room filled with low-backed furniture that faced a gas fireplace. An eating area with a counter and barstools.


Rory disappeared around the corner and he followed her. “Look at this bathroom.” It had a gigantic walk-in shower with a bench and two showerheads, and the room boasted an enormous sunken tub, surrounded by opaque glass bricks.


“Looks like we can have some fun in there, huh?” He took her hand. “Let’s see the bedroom.”


Rory squealed at seeing the king-sized four-poster bed and immediately jumped on it. “This has some give, which is lucky for us since you try to pound me into the mattress whenever possible.”


“Is that a complaint?”


“Not at all, high roller.” She kicked off her shoes and sighed.


Dalton wandered to the window and peeked out to see a view of the parking lot.


“What time do you have to check in for the tournament?” she asked.


“About forty-five minutes.” He’d reached that antsy stage where he needed to expel his nervous energy before he started playing. He turned and Rory stood right in front of him.


She ran her hands down the lapels of his wool vest. “You look sexy as sin. With your black hat, jeans, boots and white shirt, now alls you need is a pocket watch with a gold chain, a thin cigar clamped between your teeth and you look every inch the mysterious rogue card sharp from Wild West days.”


“Bit of a fanciful image from a woman who refuses to admit her romantic side.”


“You have been showing me the benefits of a little romance in my life, McKay.” Rory placed her hand on his cheek. “You okay?”


“Yep. Just ready to get goin’ to the tourney. Why?”