Fic: Hold 'em
“We could join the quilting circle,” Elizabeth Weir offered half-heartedly as she strolled down the main street of Atlantis, watching the Saturday sun bleed into the horizon with Janet Fraiser, Vala Mal Doran and Samantha Carter ambling lazily beside her.
Janet scoffed, kicking up dust and leaving a cloud in their wake. “Or, I could simply stick a needle in my eye.”
“Times like these I wish I’d been born a man,” Sam mumbled, earning raised eyebrows from her companions.
“What?” she scrambled to defend herself. “I was just thinking that a nice game of horseshoes or a roping contest would be entertaining.”
“Or a few shots of whiskey,” Janet chimed in. At the inquisitive looks that particular comment garnered from the ladies she expanded conversationally, “Purely for medicinal purposes, of course.”
The four women laughed.
“What about you, Elizabeth?” Sam nudged her with an elbow. “What would you do if you were a man?”
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth quirked up mischievously. “I’d play poker.”
“There’s a game goin’ on in the café right now,” Vala supplied, her eyes sparkling. “The men are boycotting Kavanagh so I let them use the room.”
“I recognize that look,” Janet rubbed her hands together excitedly, an extra bounce in her step. “Miss Mal Doran is fixin’ to make a scene.”
----
John Sheppard had spent a good deal of his life outside the boundaries begot by ever-expanding civilization. For the most part, this suited him just fine. He was content to be in the wilderness; on the trail of whoever happened to be his prey, with only the company of his horse, his sometimes partner and the sky. It had been a long time since he had settled into a home of any sort, and he had grown accustomed to his self-imposed isolation. But, he was hesitant to admit, having roots was a way of life to which, deep down, he longed to return. A man learned a good deal about himself when his life was comprised of so little - and Sheppard had learned that what he cared most deeply for were people. He sought to protect them, to take care of them, and at the end of the day he wanted to surround himself with them and the warmth of their friendship. The notion that he would actually settle down, though, was still nebulous and fuzzy; at the edge of the horizon he couldn’t quite yet grasp. There were things he had to do first.
But that didn’t mean that in the interim he couldn’t enjoy the benefits of civilization.
On this particular evening, Sheppard had been wrangled into a game of five card draw with a few of the local men of Atlantis - and he was beating them soundly.
To his left, Cameron Mitchell spread his cards on the table with a flourish and leaned back in triumph. “Two pair - jacks over eights,” he beamed.
A collective sigh from the table blanketed the air with the faint smell of whiskey. “That beats me,” Daniel Jackson conceded, turning his cards face down and throwing them onto the table.
Lorne discarded his hand with a shake of his head. “Me too, I’m afraid.”
“I’m out,” Paul Davis dropped his on the rest.
Wooden chairs squeaked as all eyes turned to the sole player remaining in the hand. “Sheppard?” Mitchell asked anxiously, his fingers tickling the pot in front of him, eyes full of nervous energy.
Part of him felt guilty for doing what he was about to do; but it wasn’t enough to hold him back. He shot Mitchell a mischievous look. “Kings over threes,” Sheppard said brightly, tossing his cards onto the table and leaning across to scoop up his winnings. “I’ll be taking that off your hands.”
Mitchell blew out a breath, distractedly running his fingers through his hair. He looked to his small collection of coins before pushing back from the table. “That does me in, I reckon.” He tipped his hat to his companions. “Thank you, gentlemen, for lightening my load.”
“Next time make it heavier and you won’t drop it so quickly,” Jack O’Neill suggested with a grin as Mitchell made his way in search of something to help drown his sorrows. “My deal?”
“Hold up just a minute. Looks to me that we have a spare seat,” Sheppard observed before turning to his partner who was seated at the next table. “You in?”
Ronon Dex simply grunted and turned back to his meal. Cards had never held much appeal for the man, and though he’d humored Sheppard on occasion, it seemed tonight he was content to be an observer. It was just as well - John had always hated taking money from Ronon.
“I’ll join you gentleman.”
Like a single shot fired on a calm winter’s night, Elizabeth Weir’s voice pierced the air leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
Sheppard’s head was one of the many that swiveled as the batwing doors creaked open. Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floorboards as she crossed the room and approached the table. John couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The midwife, Carter’s daughter and the café owner were following closely behind her with their heads held high.
Lorne leaned over to Jackson and whispered with volume belying his tact, “Are women supposed to play cards?”
Jackson simply shrugged, mouth still agape.
Elizabeth arrived at the table, placed her hand confidently on the back of the now vacant chair and began to scoot it back.
She looked up suddenly, as if an afterthought. “Do you mind?” she inquired in her most innocent and ladylike voice, her eyes shifting methodically from one man to the next.
The silence was palpable but she didn’t appear to be flustered nor deterred. Instead, it only seemed to fuel her determination. Sheppard fought to contain a grin.
The men looked between each other, unsure how to answer. They seemed so shaken by her presence that they were unable to respond adequately. Finally, O’Neill spoke up. “Did you bring something to wager?” he drawled with a touch of humor.
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched. “Of course.”
“Then we don’t mind one bit.”
Belatedly, Jackson lunged to his feet and groped frantically for her chair. The rest of the men then managed to find their manners and their feet. Elizabeth smiled at the production as she settled into her seat, placing a small canvas bag on the table in front of her. Coins jingled as the contents came to rest.
Her light blue dress was edged with delicate white lace and, were it not for the ease of her posture and the gleam in her eye, she would have looked decidedly out of place. Instead, Sheppard mused, she appeared as though she was exactly where she belonged.
Cards were shuffled and hands were dealt. The table was uncharacteristically silent, its occupant’s eyes darting back and forth, adjusting to the unfamiliar situation.
Lorne cleared his throat uncomfortably as he examined the cards he’d been dealt. “Have you played poker before, Miss Weir?”
She nodded, eyeing her hand shrewdly. “I used to play with my father.” She threw in her ante. “Though, I admit I am a bit rusty.”
“Well, we’ll go easy on you,” Jackson smiled, throwing his hand into the middle. “I fold.”
O’Neill made an indistinguishable noise and leaned forward in his seat. “Why would we go easy on her?”
Lorne tilted his head in confusion. “She’s a lady,” he offered matter-of-factly, as if the answer was as plain as day.
This time Sheppard couldn’t contain his smile. “We don’t go easy on Jackson.”
The table erupted into laughter and Daniel leaned on his elbows, scratching his head absently. “I suppose I should have seen that coming.”
“S’pose you should’ve,” O’Neill agreed before upping the bid, causing Sheppard to fold. “The bet is two bits to you, Miss Weir.”
----
Now that she was here, Elizabeth tried not to panic at the realization that she had absolutely no idea what to do next. When Vala had talked - no, goaded - her into this, the thought had simply been to break the mold; to do something bold and have a bit of fun. Surrounded by five serious gentlemen and a handful of spectators, she found that her pulse had quickened considerably, and she wondered if she had done the right thing in coming. But the cards had already been dealt, as it were, so it was a moot point. She settled deeper into her chair and tried to think back to the days of her youth and the words of her father.
Even as a young girl she had been a serious adversary for her father. Unlike her more obtuse brothers, she had an uncanny ability to read his expressions and know the thoughts churning in the man’s head. To her, his tells were glaringly obvious. When he was bluffing, his right eyebrow twitched. When he had a good hand, he forced a stern expression.
Yes, she could read him like a book; the man’s thoughts were like words on a page. She, as her father had informed her on numerous occasions, was not as easily read. She had the poker face of a champion and could bluff as easily as breathing.
Shaking off her thoughts, she glanced around the table. She best get started.
“I’ll raise one bit,” she dropped a silver piece into the pot. Lorne sniffed, shifted and tossed in his money. Davis pursed his lips for a moment before relinquishing his cards.
O’Neill touched his nose. “I’ll see your bit and raise you two.”
This was going to be easier than she thought.
----
“It certainly is sweltering in here,” Sam said, fanning herself with her collar. “What I wouldn’t give for a cool breeze.”
“Jack?” Lorne queried. “Jack, you in?” he tried again.
O’Neill shook from his trance. “Wha… Uh, fold.”
Sheppard looked on with thinly veiled amusement. O’Neill’s head was not in the cards, and his recent losing streak was proof. These women were proving to be a hefty distraction. Sheppard wondered if it was intentional or just in their nature.
“What are these called again? Dukes?” Vala whispered loudly in Jackson’s direction, leaning over his shoulder and pointing to the cards in his hand.
“Kings,” he responded absently before catching himself.
The sound of cards hitting the table resounded along with a chorus of ‘fold’s.
A grin tickled the corner of Sheppard’s lips. Wily, wily women.
----
Elizabeth could barely contain her laughter. The girls were certainly having a go of entertaining themselves. They would never go back to quilting circles after this.
She suspected their respective distraction techniques were not so much for her benefit as for their own. She didn’t really need Sam to pull the Deputy Mayor’s attention. If the man rubbed his nose any more he’d wear a hole right through the skin. And Daniel certainly posed no challenge or threat. Elizabeth could have deciphered the quality of his hand with or without Vala’s trickery. The schoolteacher was an incredibly honest and innocent man who didn’t quite fit the hardened mold and struggled when forced to project an air of nonchalance.
Picking up her new hand, Elizabeth examined the cards without altering her expression.
----
Davis stifled a yawn as Elizabeth flicked him his final card. Eight or a king, eight or a king, eight or a… The four of clubs stared up at him, putting an end to his hopes of a straight. He considered bluffing for about a second - the same amount of time it took him to remember the chuckles his last attempt had garnered from the table. Turning his cards over, he tilted his chair back and took stock of the dwindling pile of coins in front of him. He was about to feel sorry for himself until he cast a quick glance around at the other men’s stakes - all a shadow of what they had brought to the game.
“I suppose I’d better call it a night.” Davis stretched before standing and reaching for his jacket. “Would you fellas like me to take your money over to the bank and deposit it into Miss Weir’s account on my way home, or shall I just wait until tomorrow morning when she brings it in herself?”
“Have I been doing that well?” Elizabeth replied, feigning surprise.
“Well enough to turn me into a full time Faro player,” muttered O’Neill with a shake of his head. He looked to the men remaining at the table. “Everyone else leaving or shall we start playing now and show Miss Weir how it’s done?”
“I’ll stick around for a while,” Jackson said. “I have enough cash left to show her how to play for at least three more hands.”
----
“I fold,” said Elizabeth, moments after looking at her hand.
A myriad of relieved expressions found their way to the men’s faces.
“Too much winnin’ for ya’? Needed a break?” asked the Deputy Mayor.
“At least she has long sleeves on that dress,” interjected Jackson, “so I can be under the delusion that she’s hiding cards up them.”
“It’s not that I feel cheated so much as whipped,” Lorne complained good-naturedly. “But, if I’m gonna get beat, at least the company was well worth it.”
“How nice of you to say, Lorne,” Sheppard purred from across the table. “Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to darn your socks and hem your pants.”
A chorus of laughter erupted from the table and a splash of color crept into Lorne’s cheeks.
----
Sheppard’s eyes landed on his cards and then swept back up to Elizabeth. He had absolutely no idea whether or not she was bluffing. Perhaps the cunning and devious nature inherent in women was what had banned them from the poker table in the first place.
“It’s a shame I can’t raise,” Elizabeth drawled, a note of false despair in her tone. “You seem to be all out of money, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Don’t let that stop you,” he replied automatically, and with an assuredness that he wasn’t truly feeling; but something about this woman made him puff up like a rooster. She was right about his money. The significant pile he’d acquired earlier in the evening had been steadily crawling across the table and settling itself in front of Elizabeth. That fact didn’t stop him from baiting her, however. “I’ll find some way to meet your wager.”
Her poker face flickered, briefly revealing disbelief and confusion before restoring the calm veneer that had shrouded her all evening. “In that case,” she slid the rest of her coins to the center of the table, “I’m all in.” Keeping her cards flush to her chest she shot him a long, appraising look.
It was his move.
All right, he was out of money. But that didn’t mean he was out of valuables. Reaching for his hip, he drew his pistol and tossed it onto the table with a thunk. “This ought to be worth something.”
Elizabeth frowned and shook her head adamantly. “I don’t want your gun, Mr. Sheppard.”
He looked at her askance. This gun was one of the few things of value he possessed, and he wasn’t just being boastful by claiming it was worth something. It would certainly fetch a pretty penny. “But I have nothing else to offer that could meet your wager.”
She sat up straighter in her seat and brushed a wisp of hair off her face. “If I win this hand, you promise to stay in Atlantis for the next two weeks.”
The previously silent crowd drew an audible collective breath. He did his best to ignore them.
“Two weeks?”
“You won’t be permitted to run off in search of violence. You’ll stay in the town and try your hand at a more peaceful way of life.”
Elizabeth Weir certainly was one of a kind.
His restless nature offered a token protest, but something about this woman, something about the way she held herself so proud while trying to convince a wandering gunfighter that his very nature is was something to be altered gave him pause. “You have yourself a deal.” He gestured to her hand. “I call.”
For just a moment he thought he saw relief flicker across her face, and then she spread her cards on the table between them, grinning like a cat with a canary. “Full house - sevens over threes.”
Looking from her to the cards held loosely in his hands, an unfamiliar something tugged somewhere deep inside. With only a moment’s hesitation he placed his hand face down on the table and mustered a frown.
“Beats me.”
----
Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch, watching as John adjusted the cinch of his saddle. As her eyes drifted from him to his horse, her memories drew her to the day she had lost her own; the first day she had really spent with John. Fortunately his horse had made a timely escape and, it seemed, returned obediently to his master. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, she admitted to herself. The man had a certain magnetic quality to him that was difficult to deny.
Resting her hands on the hitching post, she inclined her head toward the gelding. “He came back to you,” she spoke, drawing John’s attention.
“Yeah, well,” the corner of his mouth quirked into a wry grin, “he doesn’t like to be lonely.”
“Well, he certainly looks sociable,” she observed with a smile, stepping around the rail and approaching the horse. “What’s his name?”
“Blue,” he said, meeting Elizabeth’s eyes before scratching affectionately behind the animal’s ears.
She squinted in the dim evening light, moving closer to place a gentle hand on the horse’s neck. “He doesn’t look blue to me - although I’m not certain I’m qualified to diagnose horse depression.”
John grinned indulgently. “Blue like the sky, funny girl.” He untied his bedroll and heaved his saddlebag over his shoulder. He nodded toward the street. “I suppose I should stable him,” he looked at her pointedly, “seeing as how I’ll be stayin’ here a while.”
She tried not to blush, but she certainly had laid her cards on the table back there. Her mother had often fretted that growing up with four brothers would have a negative effect on Elizabeth’s ability to be ladylike - and after this evening’s events she was afraid there was a mite of truth to that. Strength and independence were all well and good, but it was certainly unbecoming to be forward.
“You must be thinkin’ some mighty complicated thoughts, Miss Weir.”
She blinked back into focus and turned her gaze to the man before her, her tone drifting to something soft and serious. “You don’t really have to stay, Mr. Sheppard.” She looked out toward the horizon, only the faintest traces of sunlight still visible. “A person’s freedom is not something to gamble with.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.”
Fireflies flickered in the distance, and Elizabeth wondered absently if they felt things like shame or disappointment.
“But I did lose the hand,” he continued. “And, for that, I owe you something.” His eyes fell to the hotel and then wound their way down the street to her mercantile. “I wonder if we might be able to work something out.”
The sparkle in his eye and the tone of his voice gave his last statement an unsettling quality and her next words were hesitant. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well,” he untied his reins and began to lead his horse down the street, looking back at her over his shoulder, “I think I may be in town for a few weeks and I thought that perhaps you might need some help around your store.”
*End*
Janet scoffed, kicking up dust and leaving a cloud in their wake. “Or, I could simply stick a needle in my eye.”
“Times like these I wish I’d been born a man,” Sam mumbled, earning raised eyebrows from her companions.
“What?” she scrambled to defend herself. “I was just thinking that a nice game of horseshoes or a roping contest would be entertaining.”
“Or a few shots of whiskey,” Janet chimed in. At the inquisitive looks that particular comment garnered from the ladies she expanded conversationally, “Purely for medicinal purposes, of course.”
The four women laughed.
“What about you, Elizabeth?” Sam nudged her with an elbow. “What would you do if you were a man?”
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth quirked up mischievously. “I’d play poker.”
“There’s a game goin’ on in the café right now,” Vala supplied, her eyes sparkling. “The men are boycotting Kavanagh so I let them use the room.”
“I recognize that look,” Janet rubbed her hands together excitedly, an extra bounce in her step. “Miss Mal Doran is fixin’ to make a scene.”
----
John Sheppard had spent a good deal of his life outside the boundaries begot by ever-expanding civilization. For the most part, this suited him just fine. He was content to be in the wilderness; on the trail of whoever happened to be his prey, with only the company of his horse, his sometimes partner and the sky. It had been a long time since he had settled into a home of any sort, and he had grown accustomed to his self-imposed isolation. But, he was hesitant to admit, having roots was a way of life to which, deep down, he longed to return. A man learned a good deal about himself when his life was comprised of so little - and Sheppard had learned that what he cared most deeply for were people. He sought to protect them, to take care of them, and at the end of the day he wanted to surround himself with them and the warmth of their friendship. The notion that he would actually settle down, though, was still nebulous and fuzzy; at the edge of the horizon he couldn’t quite yet grasp. There were things he had to do first.
But that didn’t mean that in the interim he couldn’t enjoy the benefits of civilization.
On this particular evening, Sheppard had been wrangled into a game of five card draw with a few of the local men of Atlantis - and he was beating them soundly.
To his left, Cameron Mitchell spread his cards on the table with a flourish and leaned back in triumph. “Two pair - jacks over eights,” he beamed.
A collective sigh from the table blanketed the air with the faint smell of whiskey. “That beats me,” Daniel Jackson conceded, turning his cards face down and throwing them onto the table.
Lorne discarded his hand with a shake of his head. “Me too, I’m afraid.”
“I’m out,” Paul Davis dropped his on the rest.
Wooden chairs squeaked as all eyes turned to the sole player remaining in the hand. “Sheppard?” Mitchell asked anxiously, his fingers tickling the pot in front of him, eyes full of nervous energy.
Part of him felt guilty for doing what he was about to do; but it wasn’t enough to hold him back. He shot Mitchell a mischievous look. “Kings over threes,” Sheppard said brightly, tossing his cards onto the table and leaning across to scoop up his winnings. “I’ll be taking that off your hands.”
Mitchell blew out a breath, distractedly running his fingers through his hair. He looked to his small collection of coins before pushing back from the table. “That does me in, I reckon.” He tipped his hat to his companions. “Thank you, gentlemen, for lightening my load.”
“Next time make it heavier and you won’t drop it so quickly,” Jack O’Neill suggested with a grin as Mitchell made his way in search of something to help drown his sorrows. “My deal?”
“Hold up just a minute. Looks to me that we have a spare seat,” Sheppard observed before turning to his partner who was seated at the next table. “You in?”
Ronon Dex simply grunted and turned back to his meal. Cards had never held much appeal for the man, and though he’d humored Sheppard on occasion, it seemed tonight he was content to be an observer. It was just as well - John had always hated taking money from Ronon.
“I’ll join you gentleman.”
Like a single shot fired on a calm winter’s night, Elizabeth Weir’s voice pierced the air leaving nothing but silence in its wake.
Sheppard’s head was one of the many that swiveled as the batwing doors creaked open. Her footsteps echoed on the wooden floorboards as she crossed the room and approached the table. John couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The midwife, Carter’s daughter and the café owner were following closely behind her with their heads held high.
Lorne leaned over to Jackson and whispered with volume belying his tact, “Are women supposed to play cards?”
Jackson simply shrugged, mouth still agape.
Elizabeth arrived at the table, placed her hand confidently on the back of the now vacant chair and began to scoot it back.
She looked up suddenly, as if an afterthought. “Do you mind?” she inquired in her most innocent and ladylike voice, her eyes shifting methodically from one man to the next.
The silence was palpable but she didn’t appear to be flustered nor deterred. Instead, it only seemed to fuel her determination. Sheppard fought to contain a grin.
The men looked between each other, unsure how to answer. They seemed so shaken by her presence that they were unable to respond adequately. Finally, O’Neill spoke up. “Did you bring something to wager?” he drawled with a touch of humor.
The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched. “Of course.”
“Then we don’t mind one bit.”
Belatedly, Jackson lunged to his feet and groped frantically for her chair. The rest of the men then managed to find their manners and their feet. Elizabeth smiled at the production as she settled into her seat, placing a small canvas bag on the table in front of her. Coins jingled as the contents came to rest.
Her light blue dress was edged with delicate white lace and, were it not for the ease of her posture and the gleam in her eye, she would have looked decidedly out of place. Instead, Sheppard mused, she appeared as though she was exactly where she belonged.
Cards were shuffled and hands were dealt. The table was uncharacteristically silent, its occupant’s eyes darting back and forth, adjusting to the unfamiliar situation.
Lorne cleared his throat uncomfortably as he examined the cards he’d been dealt. “Have you played poker before, Miss Weir?”
She nodded, eyeing her hand shrewdly. “I used to play with my father.” She threw in her ante. “Though, I admit I am a bit rusty.”
“Well, we’ll go easy on you,” Jackson smiled, throwing his hand into the middle. “I fold.”
O’Neill made an indistinguishable noise and leaned forward in his seat. “Why would we go easy on her?”
Lorne tilted his head in confusion. “She’s a lady,” he offered matter-of-factly, as if the answer was as plain as day.
This time Sheppard couldn’t contain his smile. “We don’t go easy on Jackson.”
The table erupted into laughter and Daniel leaned on his elbows, scratching his head absently. “I suppose I should have seen that coming.”
“S’pose you should’ve,” O’Neill agreed before upping the bid, causing Sheppard to fold. “The bet is two bits to you, Miss Weir.”
----
Now that she was here, Elizabeth tried not to panic at the realization that she had absolutely no idea what to do next. When Vala had talked - no, goaded - her into this, the thought had simply been to break the mold; to do something bold and have a bit of fun. Surrounded by five serious gentlemen and a handful of spectators, she found that her pulse had quickened considerably, and she wondered if she had done the right thing in coming. But the cards had already been dealt, as it were, so it was a moot point. She settled deeper into her chair and tried to think back to the days of her youth and the words of her father.
Even as a young girl she had been a serious adversary for her father. Unlike her more obtuse brothers, she had an uncanny ability to read his expressions and know the thoughts churning in the man’s head. To her, his tells were glaringly obvious. When he was bluffing, his right eyebrow twitched. When he had a good hand, he forced a stern expression.
Yes, she could read him like a book; the man’s thoughts were like words on a page. She, as her father had informed her on numerous occasions, was not as easily read. She had the poker face of a champion and could bluff as easily as breathing.
Shaking off her thoughts, she glanced around the table. She best get started.
“I’ll raise one bit,” she dropped a silver piece into the pot. Lorne sniffed, shifted and tossed in his money. Davis pursed his lips for a moment before relinquishing his cards.
O’Neill touched his nose. “I’ll see your bit and raise you two.”
This was going to be easier than she thought.
----
“It certainly is sweltering in here,” Sam said, fanning herself with her collar. “What I wouldn’t give for a cool breeze.”
“Jack?” Lorne queried. “Jack, you in?” he tried again.
O’Neill shook from his trance. “Wha… Uh, fold.”
Sheppard looked on with thinly veiled amusement. O’Neill’s head was not in the cards, and his recent losing streak was proof. These women were proving to be a hefty distraction. Sheppard wondered if it was intentional or just in their nature.
“What are these called again? Dukes?” Vala whispered loudly in Jackson’s direction, leaning over his shoulder and pointing to the cards in his hand.
“Kings,” he responded absently before catching himself.
The sound of cards hitting the table resounded along with a chorus of ‘fold’s.
A grin tickled the corner of Sheppard’s lips. Wily, wily women.
----
Elizabeth could barely contain her laughter. The girls were certainly having a go of entertaining themselves. They would never go back to quilting circles after this.
She suspected their respective distraction techniques were not so much for her benefit as for their own. She didn’t really need Sam to pull the Deputy Mayor’s attention. If the man rubbed his nose any more he’d wear a hole right through the skin. And Daniel certainly posed no challenge or threat. Elizabeth could have deciphered the quality of his hand with or without Vala’s trickery. The schoolteacher was an incredibly honest and innocent man who didn’t quite fit the hardened mold and struggled when forced to project an air of nonchalance.
Picking up her new hand, Elizabeth examined the cards without altering her expression.
----
Davis stifled a yawn as Elizabeth flicked him his final card. Eight or a king, eight or a king, eight or a… The four of clubs stared up at him, putting an end to his hopes of a straight. He considered bluffing for about a second - the same amount of time it took him to remember the chuckles his last attempt had garnered from the table. Turning his cards over, he tilted his chair back and took stock of the dwindling pile of coins in front of him. He was about to feel sorry for himself until he cast a quick glance around at the other men’s stakes - all a shadow of what they had brought to the game.
“I suppose I’d better call it a night.” Davis stretched before standing and reaching for his jacket. “Would you fellas like me to take your money over to the bank and deposit it into Miss Weir’s account on my way home, or shall I just wait until tomorrow morning when she brings it in herself?”
“Have I been doing that well?” Elizabeth replied, feigning surprise.
“Well enough to turn me into a full time Faro player,” muttered O’Neill with a shake of his head. He looked to the men remaining at the table. “Everyone else leaving or shall we start playing now and show Miss Weir how it’s done?”
“I’ll stick around for a while,” Jackson said. “I have enough cash left to show her how to play for at least three more hands.”
----
“I fold,” said Elizabeth, moments after looking at her hand.
A myriad of relieved expressions found their way to the men’s faces.
“Too much winnin’ for ya’? Needed a break?” asked the Deputy Mayor.
“At least she has long sleeves on that dress,” interjected Jackson, “so I can be under the delusion that she’s hiding cards up them.”
“It’s not that I feel cheated so much as whipped,” Lorne complained good-naturedly. “But, if I’m gonna get beat, at least the company was well worth it.”
“How nice of you to say, Lorne,” Sheppard purred from across the table. “Next thing I know you’ll be asking me to darn your socks and hem your pants.”
A chorus of laughter erupted from the table and a splash of color crept into Lorne’s cheeks.
----
Sheppard’s eyes landed on his cards and then swept back up to Elizabeth. He had absolutely no idea whether or not she was bluffing. Perhaps the cunning and devious nature inherent in women was what had banned them from the poker table in the first place.
“It’s a shame I can’t raise,” Elizabeth drawled, a note of false despair in her tone. “You seem to be all out of money, Mr. Sheppard.”
“Don’t let that stop you,” he replied automatically, and with an assuredness that he wasn’t truly feeling; but something about this woman made him puff up like a rooster. She was right about his money. The significant pile he’d acquired earlier in the evening had been steadily crawling across the table and settling itself in front of Elizabeth. That fact didn’t stop him from baiting her, however. “I’ll find some way to meet your wager.”
Her poker face flickered, briefly revealing disbelief and confusion before restoring the calm veneer that had shrouded her all evening. “In that case,” she slid the rest of her coins to the center of the table, “I’m all in.” Keeping her cards flush to her chest she shot him a long, appraising look.
It was his move.
All right, he was out of money. But that didn’t mean he was out of valuables. Reaching for his hip, he drew his pistol and tossed it onto the table with a thunk. “This ought to be worth something.”
Elizabeth frowned and shook her head adamantly. “I don’t want your gun, Mr. Sheppard.”
He looked at her askance. This gun was one of the few things of value he possessed, and he wasn’t just being boastful by claiming it was worth something. It would certainly fetch a pretty penny. “But I have nothing else to offer that could meet your wager.”
She sat up straighter in her seat and brushed a wisp of hair off her face. “If I win this hand, you promise to stay in Atlantis for the next two weeks.”
The previously silent crowd drew an audible collective breath. He did his best to ignore them.
“Two weeks?”
“You won’t be permitted to run off in search of violence. You’ll stay in the town and try your hand at a more peaceful way of life.”
Elizabeth Weir certainly was one of a kind.
His restless nature offered a token protest, but something about this woman, something about the way she held herself so proud while trying to convince a wandering gunfighter that his very nature is was something to be altered gave him pause. “You have yourself a deal.” He gestured to her hand. “I call.”
For just a moment he thought he saw relief flicker across her face, and then she spread her cards on the table between them, grinning like a cat with a canary. “Full house - sevens over threes.”
Looking from her to the cards held loosely in his hands, an unfamiliar something tugged somewhere deep inside. With only a moment’s hesitation he placed his hand face down on the table and mustered a frown.
“Beats me.”
----
Elizabeth stepped out onto the porch, watching as John adjusted the cinch of his saddle. As her eyes drifted from him to his horse, her memories drew her to the day she had lost her own; the first day she had really spent with John. Fortunately his horse had made a timely escape and, it seemed, returned obediently to his master. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, she admitted to herself. The man had a certain magnetic quality to him that was difficult to deny.
Resting her hands on the hitching post, she inclined her head toward the gelding. “He came back to you,” she spoke, drawing John’s attention.
“Yeah, well,” the corner of his mouth quirked into a wry grin, “he doesn’t like to be lonely.”
“Well, he certainly looks sociable,” she observed with a smile, stepping around the rail and approaching the horse. “What’s his name?”
“Blue,” he said, meeting Elizabeth’s eyes before scratching affectionately behind the animal’s ears.
She squinted in the dim evening light, moving closer to place a gentle hand on the horse’s neck. “He doesn’t look blue to me - although I’m not certain I’m qualified to diagnose horse depression.”
John grinned indulgently. “Blue like the sky, funny girl.” He untied his bedroll and heaved his saddlebag over his shoulder. He nodded toward the street. “I suppose I should stable him,” he looked at her pointedly, “seeing as how I’ll be stayin’ here a while.”
She tried not to blush, but she certainly had laid her cards on the table back there. Her mother had often fretted that growing up with four brothers would have a negative effect on Elizabeth’s ability to be ladylike - and after this evening’s events she was afraid there was a mite of truth to that. Strength and independence were all well and good, but it was certainly unbecoming to be forward.
“You must be thinkin’ some mighty complicated thoughts, Miss Weir.”
She blinked back into focus and turned her gaze to the man before her, her tone drifting to something soft and serious. “You don’t really have to stay, Mr. Sheppard.” She looked out toward the horizon, only the faintest traces of sunlight still visible. “A person’s freedom is not something to gamble with.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.”
Fireflies flickered in the distance, and Elizabeth wondered absently if they felt things like shame or disappointment.
“But I did lose the hand,” he continued. “And, for that, I owe you something.” His eyes fell to the hotel and then wound their way down the street to her mercantile. “I wonder if we might be able to work something out.”
The sparkle in his eye and the tone of his voice gave his last statement an unsettling quality and her next words were hesitant. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well,” he untied his reins and began to lead his horse down the street, looking back at her over his shoulder, “I think I may be in town for a few weeks and I thought that perhaps you might need some help around your store.”
*End*