“I’m talking to the cards.”
Avery chuckled, eyes still closed, head still resting on her arm. “He has to. If you don’t have skill, you’ve got to have a little crazy.”
Delaney laughed. “Amen, sister.”
Trace could only guess by the body language and card placement at the table that only Avery and Zane remained in the hand, and a shitload of chips were piled at the center of the table.
“Come on, Delaney,” Avery murmured. “Pull a lady for me, if for no other reason than to watch Zane writhe in pain.”
“Why you gotta be like that?” Zane said.
“You’ve met your poker match, kid,” their father told Zane, then chuckled like the man Trace had once known. “And it’s a damn beautiful sight.”
Zane ignored George and told Delaney, “You’re killin’ me here. Just pull it.”
Delaney pulled a card and turned it faceup. Trace couldn’t see what it was, but by the way Zane dramatically pumped his fists overhead with a, “Yes,” it had obviously been a diamond.
“You are the luckiest little shit,” Avery said without an ounce of anger.
“Luck of the Irish,” Zane said.
Avery opened her eyes and lifted a grin to Zane. “Irish prick, maybe.”
The group busted up with laughter, and playing stopped for a moment. Trace realized he was smiling. Realized his chest felt light.
Ethan noticed Trace and lifted his chin in greeting. “Hey, you’re back. Pull up a chair—join the next round.”
Avery sat up, her dazed gaze searching for him. And when hers eyes slid to a stop on his, Trace felt a warm, gooey knot pull deep in his chest.
A tentative smile turned her lips, and her hair fell over her shoulder, reminding him of the way she’d looked at him during their first night together. “Hey. How was the trip? Did you get what you needed?”
He’d gotten rid of JT, and that was a serious relief to his mind, heart, and conscience. “I did.” And he needed to break this up and let everyone get on with his or her life, including Avery. “Dad, you ready to go?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Harlan told Trace, pushing back from the table and standing in a slow, stiff movement. “Your daddy’s stayin’ at the ranch house with me. Gonna plow with me in the morning. You and Zane deserve a night off. George and me got lots of old times to talk about.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Zane complained as the hand broke up. “It’s not over.”
Avery tossed her cards toward the deck, and Delaney slid them back in the cardboard box. “You win, Zane.”
“It’s no fun to win like that.”
“Too bad.”
“Jeez.” Zane dropped his cards on the table, his shoulders sagging. “Trace, your timing sucks.”
But with Avery walking toward him, blue eyes sparkling, he was thinking just the opposite.
“Hey,” he said, “thanks for doing this. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I didn’t hear the phone and didn’t see your call until I picked it up to call and check on Dad—”
“It’s fine. It all worked out fine.”
“Right,” he said. “I forgot you’re the goddess of fine.” But in Trace’s book fine meant settling. And Avery didn’t need to settle anymore.
As everyone collected their jackets and headed for the door offering their “good nights,” including his father, Trace told Harlan, “Call me for anything. Anytime tonight, okay?”
“You kids,” Harlan said with a chuckle. “You forget we raised you, not the other way around.” He slapped a hand to Trace’s shoulder. “Relax for a change.”
But Trace felt like a worried father when his own dad walked down the stairs in his pajamas and someone else’s shoes, with bandages peeking out around his ankles.