Lauri Robinson by The Sheriff's Last Gamble Page A

to the rest of the men at the table. “Gentlemen,” she said, amazed at how inappropriate a simple word could be.
    On her way across the room, she dropped the coins from her hand on the little table where Faith sat resting her feet for a moment.
    “Thank you,” the girl whispered.
    Everything in life is a gamble and no one had the right to judge another for the way they chose to play. Leastwise, that’s what Pappy had taught her. Smiling and giving Faith a wink, Stacy strolled out the hinged half doors into the bright afternoon sun.
    Parasol overhead, she set a course for the church on the edge of town, her satchel heavy on her wrist. The pot, the one she’d won before Ratcliff had dangled her necklace over the table, had been a profitable one and Father O’Reilly would appreciate the funds.
    A short time later Stacy pushed open the door to exit the church, her purse empty but her heart full. A tingling sensation stirred inside her stomach, and making no effort to hide the grin forming on her lips she sauntered down the steps toward the big palomino standing in the street.
    It was the man astride the animal that held her attention. Tall, broad, and with hair as golden brown as the horse’s, Sheriff Jake McCrery had to be the most handsome man in these entire United States, based on her experience leastwise, which was considerable. Pappy had hauled her to most every state and all the territories in their twenty-three years of living together. The past three months in Founder’s Creek Township was the longest span of time she’d ever spent in one place.
    Stopping on the bottom step, she pushed open the parasol that matched the mint-green linen dress, tailored just for her without the prominent bustle some women found so stylish. All that extra material made sitting much too difficult.
    “Hello, Sheriff.”
    Jake McCrery swung one leg over the saddle horn and landed on the ground as smoothly as an eagle swoops into its nest.
    “Miss Blackwell.” He greeted her with a slight nod.
    With her insides tingling, and without a doubt he’d follow, Stacy started walking along the road. “Tell me, how is dear Uncle Edward today?”
    “Fine,” Jake answered. “He’d like you to visit soon.”
    “I’ll bet,” she said flatly. There was no sense getting riled over Edward Blackwell. She’d told him exactly what she thought of him three months ago, shortly after arriving. Her heart, not always in agreement with her mind, stung strongly enough to make her tighten her hold on her parasol.
    “Speaking of bets,” Jake said, “how much did you win today?”
    Stacy pretended to glance over her shoulder at the palomino at their heels; in reality she wanted Jake to see the smile on her face. “Now, Sheriff McCrery, this morning you specifically forbade me from gambling.”
    “That hasn’t stopped you before.”
    “Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head so the hair she’d spent an hour curling this morning fluttered around her shoulders. She’d learned years ago to style its mousy brown color to catch attention, therefore keeping people from watching her face too closely during an intense point in a game. Lately, though, thoughts of the handsome sheriff filled her head while curling the tresses—actually, while she did most everything. “We both know I never gamble while you’re in town.”
    “How much was it?”
    At times Jake seemed immune to her charms, and that had her wondering if she’d missed a lesson or two of Pappy’s teachings along the way—not that Pappy had taught her about men, but he’d taught her about life and the two went hand in hand.
    Shrugging, mainly to keep a sigh from slipping out, she answered. “A few hundred.”
    Jake caught her arm, and though the heat of his touch had her toes curling, fury flashed in his mahogany-brown eyes.
    “Gambling’s a dangerous game, Stacy. You’re going to get yourself shot.”
    His concern was genuine, and that warmed her heart, but not even Jake McCrery would