The Baby Gamble (Texas Hold'em)

But could she make one simple phone call?

She went to the office. Turned in her weekly agricultural column. Wrote up a piece on a Texas state senate political scandal—a vote-tallying discrepancy and the ensuing cover-up—that was going to have far-reaching effects across the state. And another on a family seeking immunity from immigration laws so that their grandmother could remain where she was and die with enough health care to keep her comfortable.

Annie stopped by her mother’s house. Picked up some information June had for her on the holiday bazaar coming the next month. Hedged when her mom asked her how she was doing.

And then there was nothing left but the remaining hours in a day that wouldn’t end soon enough, or might end far too soon.

Blake had given her his cell phone number.

He’d be at the office at least until five.

At four she picked up her phone. She didn’t want to call him at home, or when he was out. This was basically a business project. She had to call him at work.

Four-fifteen and she’d punched the number once, but hadn’t hit Send. Four-thirty and she hit Redial.

By five-thirty, with her phone left on the kitchen counter, she sat at her computer, trying to write. To get a head start on Thursday’s column. She couldn’t think of a single positive thing to say.

Giving up after almost an hour of nonproductive staring, she took her bike out for a spin around the block. Six times.

And at seven, she was back in the kitchen.

“Blake?” Of course it was him. Who else would answer his phone?

“Yes, Annie. Is it time?”

“Yes.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, you?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to make something?”

“No. I’m not particularly hungry.”

“Me, either.”

“Shall I just come over, then?”

She gulped. Tried to think. Couldn’t form a coherent thought. “Okay.”

“I’m on my way.”

Which gave her just a little over an hour to pack up and leave.

Or stay and know the exquisite pleasure of lying in Blake Smith’s arms once more in this lifetime.

Annie decided to pack.

SHE PULLED OUT a nightgown first. One of the silky ones she’d stuffed in the back of a drawer the day they’d come to tell her that Blake Smith was missing and presumed dead. She meant to reach for underwear—and socks, too. They were in the next drawer.

And then move to the closet for jeans and a sweater. Some shoes.When that seemed to be too much, she went to the bathroom instead. She’d need toiletries, wherever she was going.

And she’d gather them. Just as soon as she had a second to relax. Hot water always relaxed her.

Annie plugged the tub. Poured in some of the bubble bath she wanted to remember to take with her. Tested the water with her toe and then slowly stepped out of the jeans she’d had on all day. Her shirt followed. And her bra. And then, when the tub was half-full, she slid her panties down past her thighs, feeling exposed and vulnerable.