on a sob. “I lost everything.”
Marty’s face fell. “Oh, no, Hope, honey, that’s too bad.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Don’t cry, Little Hope. It’s all right. It’s not the end of the world. Come on, let’s get a drink. It’ll buck you up.”
“It’s not even noon!” Hope said, sniffing, wiping her tears away. “I just ate Cheerios!”
“There’s nothing like a stiff belt with an old friend to get you over hard times,” Marty said firmly, leading her toward the VIP bar.
In ten minutes, Hope was sitting in a deep leather lounge chair, a huge snifter of very old brandy in her hand. She tasted it. Very smooth.
“Now tell me,” Marty said. “Who played?”
“Everybody you said,” Hope said, “and one you didn’t guess. Tanner.”
Marty choked on his brandy. “Tanner played? He was the unknown?”
Hope nodded, feeling a little better. Marty was right. A stiff belt with an indignant old friend was picking her up.
“And I asked him to let me win the ranch,” she said, taking another sip of the brandy. “And he said no.”
“He said no?”
Hope nodded again, leaning forward a little and lowering her voice. “But the worst thing was, Marty, he cheated.”
Marty leaned back, putting his brandy snifter down carefully on the mahogany table next to his chair.
“I’m going to kill him,” he said.
Hope beamed at him. “Marty, I love you for that, I really do,” she said, taking another sip of the brandy. “But I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
Marty looked at Hope with sadness. “You like him, don’t you, Little Hope. I was afraid of that.”
Hope swallowed, feeling the wattage of her smile dimming. “Well—he helped last week. And—” she took a deep breath, “I guess I did like him. Until, you know. Last night.”
Like him. That was an understatement. But whatever they’d had was over, and he was gone, out of her life, gone, gone, gone. Over and out.
“Hope, honey—” Marty swallowed helplessly and looked away.
Hope shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “It’s okay, Marty,” she lied. “It’s nothing I won’t recover from. I know better than to get involved with someone like that. Someone like Derek.”
“That low-down, lying, stealing, son of a—” Marty caught Hope’s glance.
“Snake,” he finished. “You’re sure you don’t want me to kill him?”
Hope grinned weakly. “He’s got a kid,” she said, “so, no. The weird thing is, Marty—”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. Tanner cheated, I saw him. How he picked up the discards and culled the high cards and then did that riffle shuffle, when he palmed the cards—everything. But he wasn’t benefiting from the cheats. Or not by much. He was ahead of me in the chip count, but mostly Big Julie benefited.”
“Big Julie benefited? You’re sure?”
“I know what to look for, Marty. I know what I saw.”
Marty crossed his legs and took another sip of brandy.
“Big Julie was the chip leader.”
“Yes.” Hope wondered what Marty was thinking.
“Huh,” Marty said.
“What?” Hope asked, finishing her brandy.
“Nothing,” Marty said. “I don’t know. You’re right, it’s strange.”
After three brandies in the VIP lounge, Hope was feeling quite a bit better, and by the time Marty called the other uncles in to share a lunch of beer with potstickers, Mongolian beef, garlic spinach, and long-bean prawns, she was feeling almost optimistic.
“Next time you’ll take Tanner,” Marty said confidently, when the story of Hope’s loss and Tanner’s cheating had been told again to the shock and disgust of the rest of the uncles. “You’re plenty good enough.”
“Bing-bing-bing!” Sharp Eddie said, spearing his fifth potsticker.
“You had a hell of a week,” Isaiah Rush said. “One for the books.”
“Truly brave and brilliant play,” Weary Blastell said, pouring beer for everyone.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Pete Wisniewski said.
“Your tremendous aptitude for the more esoteric points of play are indicative of a truly strategic style,” Jim Thickpenny said. “Should you ever contemplate undertaking a career in professional gaming, we have more than creditable evidence that you will find optimal success.”
“Thanks, you guys,” Hope said, draining her glass and setting it down with a thump. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me all week, more than you know. Coming out here—everything.” She beamed fuzzily at the uncles.
“To Hope!” Weary said. All the uncles raised their glasses, while Hope, humbled and grateful, felt tears spring from her eyes.
“Come on, now,” Marty said, handing her a clean paper napkin. “Don’t get weepy. I’ll drive you home. You’re skunked.”
The uncles had made her feel a