Doc - Mary Doria Russell [159]
Her voice was husky, foreign, amused. “Let’s see your cash,” she whispered. “For you? I cost a grand.”
Then, laughing, she swirled away, silk rustling, making him watch, infuriated, as she picked another man. “For you?” she cried breezily. “Five bucks!” And off she went, not even glancing over her soft, white shoulder as she led the dazzled Texan up quiet, carpeted stairs.
“What’s the matter?” she taunted Eli now. “Game too rich for you?”
It was, and he suspected that she knew it. Which is exactly why Elijah Grier said, “How about a side bet? I double my money, you’re mine for a night.”
“And what do I get if you lose?” she asked, delighted.
He’d left himself no path of retreat. “A grand,” he said.
No woman was worth so much, but night after night, he had imagined it. What would you get from her for a thousand dollars? What could you do to her, for a thousand dollars?
“Double that,” she dared.
“You’re on,” he said with the careless bravado that had earned him three combat commendations and two field promotions before he was twenty-three.
Kate sat back, sprawled on Bessie’s upholstery. Arms flung over the crest of a settee, breasts loose and lifted, she actually seemed impressed for a moment. Then, leaning toward him, she reached over to pat his thigh sympathetically and ran her hand slowly upward.
“Tell you what,” she offered, voice low. “I’ll go home with the winner. If that’s you?” She shrugged. “But if it’s not?” She tightened her grip on him until he stopped breathing. “You’ll owe me two grand.”
Getting Grier was easy. So was finding a couple of cattlemen to fill out the table. The invitation to Bob Wright required something different.
“Doc wants to play you,” Kate told him. “Five-card stud. No limit. Interested?”
Unbuttoning his shirt, Bob gave her one of his Aw, shucks looks. “Oh, I’m not much of a card player.”
She laughed appreciatively, and her knowing skepticism was rewarded by his sly smile when she came over to pull the shirt down off his shoulders.
“Anyways,” he said, “from what I hear, Doc Holliday’s too good for me.”
“Don’t be so sure!” She sounded sincere because she was. “Doc don’t get much real competition. It’s all drunks and fools. He’s tired of being sick, and he’s bored. He wants a real game. That army captain with the fancy horse? He’s in. Doc’s got some kinda beef with him.”
Bob frowned. “Eli Grier? He’s courting my daughter.”
Kate blinked, then smiled briefly. Later, Bob would remember that smile and the faint indulgent pity it signified.
“That’s the one,” she said. “I lined up a couple of other players, but Doc asked for you, special.”
Most men looked better dressed; Bob was the exception, better built than you’d guess when you saw him on the street. Sure of himself in bed, and with good reason. First time around, he tried to jew her fee down. Kate told him to go to hell. “Awright,” he offered, “double or nothing—if I can’t make you come.” To her surprise, he won the bet. He’d been one of her regulars ever since. He paid more often than not, but either way, Kate found it satisfying to see that mask of tame, inoffensive harmlessness drop like a magician’s silk scarf once the bedroom door was closed.
Doc had been too damn sick to be much use to her lately; tonight, Kate found it easy to let Bob get past the professional distance she normally maintained. Which is why, laughing and out of breath, she meant it when she told him, “Your wife is a lucky woman.” She almost regretted slipping the knife in, but Doc had insisted. “First you,” she said. “Now Grier …”
God, he’s good, she thought, watching. Silence was the only tell.
Eyes wide in merry astonishment, she purred, “Oh, Bob! You don’t really think Grier’s