Texas Hold 'Em (Smokin' ACES) - By Kay David Page 0,12

to leave.”

…

Rose was incredibly busy the following day, but her brain still had time to churn away at Santos’s appearance, his pleas, and the way his touch had felt. In between those troubling considerations, she dealt with a teenager’s joyride, an escaped cow, and a ten a.m. drunk at Ms. Mae’s, the only halfway decent bar in town. On the back burner, King was working to find Rose’s attackers, and she’d checked in with him almost hourly. He’d found nothing so far, and John Ramos had insisted he didn’t even know anyone named Juan Enrique, much less asked the man to instigate a jail breakout for him. He was lying, of course, but Santos had barely listened when she’d told him before he’d left last night that only Enrique sold the kind of meth King had found in his arroyo the night he’d arrested Ramos.

In the silence of the newly repaired SUV, she headed home that evening with a purple dusk falling, her thoughts returning to Santos and what he’d said.

The idea of her mother being involved with a criminal like Ortega was disturbing, but what had surprised Rose more was how she’d responded to Santos. Even though he looked completely different, he still had the same smoldering way about him. His voice deep, his face lean, his stare even more intense than it had been before—she hadn’t been able to stop her automatic deep-down-in-her-gut reaction when he’d grabbed her wrist, her body’s betrayal bitter. Maybe she had more of her mother in her than she’d known. His reckless appearance had ratcheted his already sexy appeal even higher.

She was almost to the front door when a quick motion down the street caught her eye. Her pulse taking a leap, her fingers closed over her pistol’s grip. Then a coyote trotted out from under her neighbor’s Mexican Poinciana bush. Three pups followed. Releasing her breath, she sent a quick look in either direction and continued up the steps, feeling foolish.

Once inside, she pulled her drapes then switched on the lamp, collapsing on her sofa to lift her eyes to a framed photo on the opposite wall. A neighbor had taken the picture on her first day of school. Her mother was standing beside her, clutching her hand, a proud smile on her face. At the time, she had known nothing about it, but Gloria had taken care of her daughter by whatever means she could, her crimes petty ones that Rose’s father had taught her when the two of them had still been teenagers—before either had finished high school, before Gloria had gotten pregnant, before he had fled town.

She would attempt to do better with some dead-end job, and then something would happen. Rose would get sick, or the car would break down. An unexpected bill might come in. One time her mother had just flat run out of money and food at the very same time, and she’d had to miss work so they could stand in line at the food bank. For whatever reason, the job would evaporate, and she’d go back to doing what she knew best.

Then Mike Slider had come along and offered what Gloria had thought might be refuge from their grinding existence. An awful man who knew nothing but beer and beating, he had hidden his true personality until after they’d married. He’d proceeded to make both Gloria’s and Rose’s lives a nightmare they couldn’t escape.

If anyone deserved to get what he had coming, even in her eyes, especially in her eyes, it had been Mike Slider. She and her mother had taken his abuse until it reached the point of no return.

Gloria had been sentenced to a Texas prison for three years following his death. A kind judge and an understanding jury had been her salvation. Her mom had read Rose’s emotions when she’d walked out of the courtroom and mouthed the words “I love you…” over her shoulder. Rose had sent them back with tears running down her cheeks. She could remember the devastation of that day as if it had happened last week. But Gloria had done her time and paid for the crime. In fact, she’d paid much, much more than anyone, including Santos, could ever appreciate.

Even though he didn’t know the secrets Rose shared with her mother, those very secrets perfectly represented the conflicting philosophy behind their breakup. His job was his job, and it meant everything to him. He simply didn’t care who got hurt, or why people did