Raising the Stakes

“Ah. But you wish, huh?”

Dawn looked up. Her smile had faded; her eyes glittered with distress. “He hasn’t asked me. He’s just here on vacation. And—and even if he wanted to—if he wanted something more permanent, even if I thought about trying for a divorce, I couldn’t let it happen.”

“Because?”

“Because there are things about me… There are things…” Dawn reached for their check and pushed back her chair. “I couldn’t, that’s all. Leave it at that.”

“Back to Dawn the Mysterious,” Cassie said, and sighed. “No, that’s okay. I’m not trying to pry. Well, I am, but I know there’s no point.” She patted her lips with her napkin, tossed it on the table and reached for her purse. “Your turn for the check? I’ll leave the tip.”

The women walked out of the restaurant into the hot noonday sun. “I’m happy,” Dawn said quietly. “Really happy.”

“Yeah, but for how long? Whatever this thing is that you never want to discuss, it’s still there. And, look, I hate to make like a wet blanket but, well, what happens when Mr. Right decides it’s time to pack his suitcase and go back to New York?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Oh sure. You’ll be great. Four years, and you’ve never so much as looked twice at a guy and now you’re walking around with Cupid’s arrow stuck between your shoulder blades but you’ll be fine when this guy leaves.” Cassie looped her arm through Dawn’s. “You really think I believe that?”

“No.” Dawn’s smile was shaky. “I don’t. And I don’t believe it, either, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“And suppose he wants more than that? Suppose he says yes, this has been great but it’s not over? What if he wants you to go with him and be part of his life?”

Dawn took a steadying breath. “I’d have to tell him I can’t.”

“Oh, Dawn…”

“Don’t you have to be back on the floor in ten minutes?”

“Five,” Cassie said, glancing at her watch. She looked up and frowned. “By the way, I think you have an admirer.”

“Cass, honestly, I don’t want to talk about Gray any—”

“No. Not Mr. Right. Some other guy.” Cassie made a face. “Frankly I don’t think you’d want this one.”

“Don’t tell me.” Dawn sighed dramatically as they checked the lights, crossed the street and hurried toward the Song. “Another poor soul like that farmer last year who hung around the casino every night for a week and kept telling me I looked just like his wife when she was a girl?”

“This one looks more like something out of American Rifleman magazine.”

“American Rifleman magazine?”

“Yeah. He’s big. Rawboned, I guess you’d say, but you can see lots of muscle hiding under these god-awful clothes. Plaid shirts. Camouflage pants tucked into hunting boots… Dawn? What’s the matter?”

Dawn had come to a dead stop. “What does he look like? His face? What color is his hair? His eyes?” She gripped Cassie’s arm. “Cass? Tell me what he looks like.”

“I don’t know. I got so caught up in the funny outfit that… Okay. Let me think. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Long, bony face.”

“That’s it? Can’t you be more specific? What does `dark’ mean, Cass? Black? Brown? You have to tell me!”

“Okay. I’ll take a better look if he shows up again. He’s been hanging around the casino the past couple of nights.”

“Asking about me?”

“Well, not exactly. Well, yeah. Maybe. I mean, he says stuff like, `Where do they get all the pretty women to work in this place?’ and we say—”

“We?”

“The cocktail waitresses. We figured he was coming on to us and, yuck, we’re all willing to smile for a big tip, so we say, like, `Thank you, they found me in a Cracker Jack box,’ whatever, but then he always says yeah, but where did they find that woman I see talking to those big shots from time to time, and then he describes you to a tee, and wants to know all about you… Ouch! Dawn? You’re digging your nails into me!”

Dawn looked from Cassie’s face to where her hand had closed around her friend’s wrist. Slowly she loosened her grip.