Brenda Harlen - A Wife for One Year

As he pushed a chip toward the center of the table, the overhead lights glinted off the gold band on his third finger, making him pause.

“You’ll sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks if you’re gambling with the down payment for your house,” the man sitting immediately to Daniel’s left warned.

“What?”

“I saw you hesitate after you glanced at the ring,” he explained.

Daniel knew a serious card player was always looking for clues about the other players at his table. Since he’d never taken the games too seriously, he didn’t pay much attention.

“Name’s Cal,” the gray-haired man said, offering a hand. “But my friends call me Archie.”

As he shook the man’s proffered hand, he found himself thinking that the stranger looked somewhat familiar.

“Daniel Garrett,” he said. “And we haven’t even started to look for a house.”

“Newlyweds,” Archie surmised.

He nodded, unwilling to admit exactly how new. “Are you married?”

The old man shook his head. “No wife, just two exes.”

Daniel signaled the dealer to “hit.” He added a four of hearts to the jack of clubs and seven of diamonds, giving him twenty-one.

“Not a lot of players hit on seventeen,” Archie noted. “I’m not sure whether that demonstrates confidence or recklessness.”

“I’m not much of a gambler, but I figure playing it safe isn’t really gambling, is it?”

“That’s one perspective,” the other man agreed. “And I guess if you don’t care too much about winning, you can afford to lose.”

Daniel only nodded and placed his next bet.

Archie played steadily, giving nothing of his thoughts or feelings away. He gestured his request for a hit or stay wordlessly, and alternately relinquished his bets or pulled in his winnings with equanimity.

Daniel slid another chip into betting position on the baize and wondered what Kenna would say if she knew the table he was sitting at had a hundred-dollar minimum. It was the same amount he’d won from his friends back in high school, after he’d bribed her with half to go out with him.

The dealer busted at twenty-two, paid out to the winners, then wished them all luck as she moved on to another table.

A new dealer came in and took up position, and Daniel considered calling it a night. He’d won more than he’d lost but, more important, he’d spent enough time at the table that his wife should be tucked into bed and sleeping by now.

A cocktail waitress sidled up to the table and set a glass of amber-colored liquid beside Archie. He nodded in acknowledgment and handed her a green chip.

“Thank you, Mr. Archer.”

And Daniel suddenly realized why the man had looked familiar. “Calvin Archer—as in Archer Glass?”

“That’s me,” he confirmed.

Daniel decided to ante up. “You used to sponsor the number four-fourteen car.”

“You’re a racing fan,” Archie noted, lifting his glass to his lips.

“I’m from North Carolina,” Daniel said, as if that explained everything.

“Then you know about the scandal that forced Archer Glass to cut its ties with JB Racing.”

Daniel nodded.

“I did what I had to do for the integrity of my company but, damn, I miss it.” He shook his head.

“It gets into your blood, doesn’t it?” Daniel said. “The sights, the sounds, even the smells. There’s nothing like the excitement of race day at the track.”

“You’re right about that.” Archie finished his scotch.

“So why hasn’t anyone managed to draw you back into that excitement?” Daniel asked. “Because I know teams have tried.”

“And how do you know that?” Archie countered.

“I’ve been doing some research, looking for a sponsor for Garrett/Slater Racing.”

“Who?”

Daniel smiled. “Let me buy you a drink and answer that question.”

* * *

Kenna didn’t fall asleep easily.

Although the bed was undeniably comfortable, it wasn’t her bed. And although she was alone, she knew that Daniel would be coming back to the room at some point. When he did, she thought she’d finally be able to sleep. But in the quiet darkness of the night, she was acutely aware of his every movement.

She heard the zip of his duffel bag being opened, then his muffled footsteps on the carpet, the click of the bathroom door and the pulsing of water in the shower. And that was when her naughty side took over, picturing him naked and wet, rubbing soap over his body, the lather sliding over his taut skin as the warm spray washed it away.

She’d seen him shirtless a number of times and had a pretty good idea of the basics. But since she’d never actually seen him naked, she gave her imagination free rein to fill in as required. And as her mind fleshed out those intriguing details, she finally drifted off....

The ring of his cell phone woke her up the next morning. Daniel snatched it up quickly, probably so that it wouldn’t wake her, then he slipped out into the hall to have his conversation.

Kenna took advantage of his momentary absence to gather a change of clothes and take them into the bathroom. She dragged a brush through her hair, cleaned her teeth and quickly applied her basic makeup: eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. Then she pulled on a pair of dark jeans and topped them with a pale pink T-shirt with lace overlay.

She was packing her toiletries into her bag when he came back into the room, pushing a room service cart.

“New job?”

He grinned. “I thought, if you were still asleep, you wouldn’t appreciate a waiter strolling into the room.”

“Good call.”

He lifted the lids on the plates. “We’ve got eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, pancakes, fruit, yogurt, muffins, fresh juice and coffee.”

“Oh.” She feigned disappointment. “No French toast?”

His gaze narrowed. “Put the eggs on the toast,” he suggested.

She smiled as she picked up a slice of bacon, bit into it. “So how much did you win?”

He poured two cups of coffee, pushed one across the table to her. “Sorry?”

“You were whistling when you came in last night, so I figured you must have won big.”

He winced as he scooped eggs onto his plate. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Actually, I probably lost about three hundred. But—” his smile came back in full force “—I might have a line on a sponsor.”

“Josh must be thrilled,” she said, because she knew he would have shared the news with his soon-to-be partner right away.

“Cautiously optimistic.” He added three sausage links and two pancakes to his plate. “We’ve had trouble finding a driver because we didn’t have a sponsor, but no one wants to sponsor a team that doesn’t have a committed driver.”

She spooned berries on top of her yogurt, then threw caution to the wind and snagged another slice of bacon. “So who is this sponsor?”

“Potential sponsor,” he clarified.

She rolled her eyes as she sat down across from him. “Who is this potential sponsor?”

“Archer Glass.”

“Randy Britton’s old sponsor?”

“I’m impressed.”

“Because I actually paid attention when you made me watch racing with you?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“So when will you know if this potential sponsor is going to become an actual sponsor?”

“Hopefully soon.” He got up to refill his coffee. “By the way, I had a message from Dr. Rakem this morning. He wants to do Becca’s surgery on Thursday.”

The abrupt shift in topic didn’t surprise her half as much as the statement. “This Thursday?”

He nodded. “He had a cancellation so he offered to fit Becca in.”

“But she hasn’t even had her pre-op appointment—”