Always a Marine 21 - Lest Old Marines Be Forgot by Heather Long Page A

patiently at the younger man across the table. Luke Dexter, a former captain, studied Tom, not his playing cards.
    Just like his father . Nostalgia stabbed him. Tom had known the Dexters for years, stood up with Luke’s father when he married his mother—and stood again when they’d buried her and Luke’s sister. And, one final time, when he’d been a pallbearer at the Colonel Dexter’s funeral—standing in for Luke when the captain hadn’t been able to attend.
    Years of practice kept his expression neutral. Whatever tell Luke searched for in his face—he wouldn’t find it. More experienced men than he had failed in the attempt.
    Tapping his cards once, Luke added another set of bills to the pot. “I’ll see your thirty, and raise you another twenty.”
    “You should hold onto your money, Marine. You have a pretty new wife to feed.” Tom didn’t hesitate to add another crisp twenty to the stack. The pot currently sat at around six hundred dollars. Three other men occupied the table with them, though they’d folded one by one—it was only a matter of time before Luke did as well.
    Their dealer flipped the last card for the game of Texas Hold’em; a queen of diamonds. Logan Cavanaugh let out a long, low whistle. Two queens showing meant a possible three of a kind or four of a kind for that matter, depending on who held the lucky ladies.
    Barely sparing a glance at the card, Tom kept his attention on Luke. The captain maintained his cool. He had a lot of his old man in him—a lot. But Luke didn’t have his patience. “Your bid,” Tom reminded him.
    “It’s kind of like watching an old West showdown,” Damon Sinclair, the resident chef and restaurant entrepreneur murmured to Cavanaugh. The two men had folded halfway through the hand.
    Westwood, their headshrinker, chuckled and tapped the table. “Ante up or fold, Luke.”
    Shifting, Luke pulled out his wallet and counted out four crisp fifty-dollar bills. He tossed them with an almost nonchalant air onto the stack. The men’s chatter cut off and every gaze in the room swung to him. Tom put his hand on the stack of bills next to him and shoved them all to the center.
    “All in.”
    Luke studied him.
    Tom waited.
    The younger man blinked. “Fuck it.” He shoved the rest of his cash to the center as well. “Call.”
    Smiling slowly, Tom flipped over the first card. Queen of Spades. Damon whistled. Moisture decorated Luke’s upper lip as he smiled ruefully.
    “I am so screwed.”
    Flipping the second card, the Queen of Hearts, Tom nodded. “Yes, young man—you are.”
    “Dammit.” Luke laughed and revealed his king and jack, which when matched with what lay out in the spread would have given him a straight.
    Whistles cut the air and the men cheered. “And now that we’re all broke, we can really get the drinking going.” Cavanaugh was up and heading for the bar.
    “No drinks for me.” Sinclair shook his head, grabbed his keys and mimed a salute at Tom. “I gotta go. It was good to meet you Lieutenant Colonel. But I’m off to kidnap Helena for the weekend.” The men had given him a hard time about his attorney girlfriend earlier, but the Cajun hadn’t seemed to mind.
    “She say yes yet?” Westwood stacked the cards before sorting the cash in the pot into piles by denomination. They’d been playing for charity.
    Sinclair shrugged into his coat. “Why, yes she did. That’s where we’re headed—Las Vegas.”
    Tom hid a smile as the other men froze then the war whoops began as one by one they rose, pounded Sinclair on the back and gave him handshakes.
    “Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Cavanaugh demanded.
    “Because she doesn’t have a ring on her finger yet, but before that clock strikes midnight, she damn well will.” Westwood and Cavanaugh walked Sinclair out, offering a wide range of advice and teasing comments. Luke rejoined Tom at the table and finished counting out the cash.
    “Four thousand, pretty nice donation,