Red River Showdown by J. R. Roberts Page A

look!”
    Barry winced and gave a halfhearted shrug.
    â€œYou mind if I get up and take my stretch now?” Clint snarled.
    â€œNope,” Barry replied.
    â€œAlone?”
    â€œBe my guest.”
    Clint walked out of the room looking every bit as frustrated as he felt. It seemed that winning as much as he did had had its disadvantages after all. The players either wanted to get their money back or keep their eye on him to make sure he wasn’t cheating. Either way, they sure as hell didn’t want to let him go. After Clint’s display, however, the table was more than willing to give him some time to himself.
    The moment he stepped outside into the night air, Clint felt better. The cool breeze felt like a splash of water on his face, and the sounds of the river were a welcome relief from the noise that filled the inside of the Misty Morning ’s poker room.
    Since there wasn’t anyone else wandering the deck, Clint made a straight line for the door that led down into the section where the sleeping cabins were located. As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs, Clint could tell he wasn’t going to be alone in the hallway. A few voices drifted to his ears, and stopped at the sound of Clint’s first step.
    It was too late to think he might get in without being noticed.
    In fact, the longer the voices stayed quiet, the more uncomfortable Clint felt.
    When he heard the first steps heading toward the stairs, Clint felt completely exposed.
    The top of the stairs wasn’t lit, so Clint was standing in the middle of thick shadows. The door behind him was closed, and he kept it that way by holding one hand on the knob. Just before he caught sight of feet in the hallway at the base of the narrow staircase, Clint threw open the door and stomped outside.
    As soon as he was clear of the stairs, Clint eased up on his footing so his boots didn’t slam so hard against the deck. There was a door leading into the riverboat’s dining area and saloon, which was on the same level as the deck he was on. Clint entered the saloon and hurried toward the thickest cluster of people he could find.
    Behind him, Clint heard the saloon door open again. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. Instead, Clint kept a casual smile on his face as he brushed past several gamblers trying to talk to some very attractive ladies, and kept moving toward the door at the opposite end of the room. It was only a matter of seconds before Clint reached it, but he felt as if he’d run a mile to get there.
    Clint eased that door open just enough for him to slip through. Once outside, he ran around the corner to wind up at the door leading back down to the private cabins. There was a man wearing a gun belt standing with his back to Clint, looking around the first corner that Clint had turned to get to the saloon. Now that he’d gotten around and behind that man, Clint moved quickly and quietly to the smaller door leading to the first hallway.
    Walking down those same stairs this time around, Clint’s head was spinning. He’d basically run in a wide circle, but had gone through so many doors that they all seemed to blend together. This time, there were no voices in the hallway. Clint couldn’t see very far past the bottom of the steep stairs, so he headed down them prepared for anything.
    There was one man standing at the door marked by a number five. He was already looking toward the stairs with his hand on his holstered gun.
    Before the armed man could say anything, Clint anxiously asked, “Are you the one who might be able to help those other two?”
    â€œWhat other two?”
    â€œThe ones who just ran up those stairs. They told me to tell the other one to get up there and help them with—”
    Clint didn’t even need to finish his lie before the gunman bolted past him and charged up the stairs. Not wanting to waste a second of the time he’d bought for himself, Clint took