The View from Alameda Island - Robyn Carr Page 0,70

priest and an attentive suitor to put her in the best possible mood. “I’ve been very well, thank you, Father.”

He leaned toward her and whispered. “Tim is fine, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Yes, thanks. Tim.”

“Good. I want you to be at ease while I clean your clock at poker.”

“Is this some kind of grudge match?” she asked.

“It’s poker,” three male voices said at once.

“Oh boy,” she said. “I’m going to have to pay attention.”

They had their drinks and loaded up their plates with what Beau had referred to as poker food—nachos, a veggie platter with dip, lettuce wraps stuffed with chicken salad, vinegar chips. Lauren’s stuffed mushrooms and cheese ball fit right in. They sat at the table, visiting and eating, for about twenty minutes and then Beau explained the game to Lauren. “We play for chips,” he said. “The white are a penny, the blue are a nickel, red are twenty-five cents, purple are fifty cents, black are a dollar. We’ll front you for your first time and if you don’t want to bet...”

“Like if you have a gambling problem or something,” Drew said.

“No, I want in like everyone else,” she said. “Though I hope you’ll be patient with me. I’ve never been good at card games.”

“We’ll be very patient,” Beau said.

“Then can I just have a bunch of penny chips?”

“Okay, Lauren, to stay in the game you’re going to have to bet along with the rest of us. You’ll have to ‘see,’ which means to match a bet to stay in, or ‘call’ which forces them to show their hand. Every move costs chips. And they’ll do the same to you.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly. “So, what should I do? Twenty dollars?”

“That’s good,” Beau said. “And you only have to play as long as you’re comfortable. If you want to get out of the game and just eat, drink and watch, that’s okay. And if you need help, just ask me.”

“No way, pardner,” Drew said. “She asks me.”

Lauren dug in her purse. “Can’t believe he’s so scared of a girl who hasn’t played poker in at least twenty-five years...”

“You just take your time,” Beau said.

He counted out her chips while everyone put their money in the pot and took the appropriate chips. Then Beau dealt the cards and asked her if she wanted to open.

“Sure,” she said. “How much? A few pennies?”

Everyone groaned.

“Well jeez...”

“Look at your cards, see what you have, you can discard up to three and pick up new ones. I’ll open. I’m in for fifty and I’ll take two cards.”

Around the table they went, then went again. Lauren stayed in. When they were going around the third time and it was just Tim, Drew and Lauren, she very politely raised her hand. “I have a question,” she said.

“You don’t have to raise your hand,” Beau said. “What’s your question?”

“What’s a full house again?” she asked, showing her cards.

There were more groans as everyone folded their hands.

And so it went. It was not long before they refused to let her ask questions and told her to check her cheat sheet and follow her instincts. Before long, Darla gave her chips to Drew and retired to the sofa to read, a plate of snacks balanced on her flat belly. That left Lauren as the only woman at the table as she played each hand in an ultra-polite manner, asking permission, saying please and thank you, laughing softly as the men groaned while she scraped her chips toward her. After about two hours she was the big winner of the night. Tim threw the party, Drew was hurting from his losses and Beau was amused in spite of himself.

“That’s it, I’m out,” Tim said. “I’ve emptied the collection plate.”

“Me, too,” Beau said. “I’m out.”

“I should quit and take Darla home,” Drew said.

“A.. Don’t you want a chance to catch up?” Lauren asked.

“No!” they said in unison.

“Jeez,” she muttered, stacking her chips. Then she grinned and said, “Nice doing business with you.”

“It better not turn out you’re faking,” Tim said.

“Faking what?” she asked, grinning slyly. “Being a prodigy at poker?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...”

“How about some coffee before you make that long four-block drive home?” Beau asked. “There’s cake. Not homemade, but it is cake.”

“Does it have preservatives?” Lauren teased.

It was down to Beau, Lauren and Tim sitting around with coffee and pound cake. Tim slowly got over his pique about being the big loser, though Beau had a hard time letting it rest. He seemed to enjoy it more than Lauren