lot better than that—and soon. She had to succeed at the thirty-dollar tables, because if she played day and night for the rest of the week at the twenty-dollar tables and won every hand, she still couldn’t earn two hundred thousand dollars in time to win the ranch back.
But she’d held her own at the thirty-dollar tables. She’d played hard and she’d done okay. Today she’d have to do better.
She had seven thousand dollars, and she needed only one hundred ninety-three thousand more.
Hope had dressed for the casino and was rinsing out her coffee cup at the kitchen sink when she looked up and spotted a strange car in the driveway and two men she didn’t know push open the barn’s heavy sliding door and step into its dim interior.
Why were strangers entering the barn? They couldn’t be up to any good. She thought of the Mafia and the horses and what a lot of dry hay in hot weather could do, and she dropped the cup, leaped for the screen door and sprinted over to the barn, fear and anger making her run faster than she ever had.
When she got to the barn, she slid in as quietly as she could and grabbed a pitchfork that hung by the door. She couldn’t see the men, but she could hear their voices. They were in the tack room.
Holding the pitchfork in front of her, she approached the small space where she stored riding gear, rags, saddle soaps, and leather. A young man had pushed aside some equipment and was thumping the panel on a cupboard; a middle-aged man was holding a tape measure against a wall.
“Who are you and what are you doing?” Hope demanded from the doorway.
The men jumped. The older man dropped his tape measure.
“Jesus, you scared me,” he said, reaching down to pick it up. “We’re appraisers. Didn’t somebody from Cantwell, Lederer, and Sharp call you? The law firm? That guy Sharp said he’d talked to you, and he’d get in touch.”
“Nobody called,” Hope said, her voice tight. “What’s this about?”
“We’re supposed to assess the buildings,” the man said. “For the sale.”
Hope’s anger surged. They sure didn’t waste any time.
“The place isn’t sold yet,” she said. “And until it is, you’ll have to leave.”
“There’s just been a misunderstanding,” the man said, taking out his phone. “You can put down the pitchfork. I’ll call—”
“No, you won’t,” Hope said, taking a firmer grip on the pitchfork. “The place isn’t sold, the deed isn’t transferred, and until it is, you have no business being on our property. I haven’t given permission, and I won’t. Now, you’ll have to leave.”
“But—” the man started.
“I have my own lawyers to call,” Hope said, bluffing. “You really want to get tied up like that?”
The man sighed.
“Come on, Jimmy, let’s go,” he said to the younger man. “Looks like we’ll have to come back later.”
Yeah, a lot later. If she had anything to say about it, they’d never be back.
Hope brandished the pitchfork at them as they preceded her out of the barn, feeling better as she did. Could she be arrested for assault if she poked them in the backside? Probably, more’s the pity.
She marched them over to their car and watched them get in and drive away. There, that was that. Although next week would be a long one if she had to play cards and drive away the greedy vultures trying to make a buck off her family’s misfortunes.
Tanner waited for Hope at the concierge desk, reading a brochure about Las Vegas points of interest while he passed the time. He was filling in for Marty, who had been unable to tear himself away from a lucrative no-limit game that had run unexpectedly long. Tanner was only too happy to oblige. If he’d known that his acquaintance with the Jersey players would have yielded the incredible payoff of getting closer to Hope, he’d have pushed sooner to get to know his east coast competition better.
Tanner glanced up and saw Hope approach—and had the breath knocked out of him again. She had that glow. That drop-dead radiance that made his heart stop. It wasn’t anything she wore. Clothes had nothing to do with how beautiful she was. It was like a golden aura that surrounded her.
“If you’re tired of playing poker, we could do the Big Shot,” he said as she neared, trying to sound normal. “Might be good for a cheap thrill.” He squinted at the brochure. “Or maybe not so cheap.