Designed for Love (Texas Nights) by Kelsey Browning Read Free Book Online

herself went as black and brittle as those damned taquitos. He wouldn’t be proud if he knew the state of her new life, so she pushed her lips into what she hoped would pass for an I’m-succeeding-beyond-all-expectations smile. She busied herself finding some melamine plates that would have to pass for trays and arranged the appetizers to best hide their doneness. The box in the corner produced several more bottles of wine, some gin, tonic, and imported vodka. She said to Jessup, “Why don’t you go out and get settled in the living room and I’ll serve.”
    “If you insist.” Still, he ambled toward the door, pausing to look back at least three times. Yes, he said he was proud of her, but he still wasn’t sure if he believed in her.
    Ashton blew out a sigh. Jessup had always been a smart man. And he’d been the parent hers never were. Damn right she wanted to make him proud. If it weren’t for him and Gigi, she would’ve ended up with the life all her former friends were living in Houston—sleeping in, shopping, lunching, napping, primping, partying. The lunch part of that equation still sounded pretty darn good, but these days she’d settle for a fast-food chicken-finger basket.
    When she carried the snacks into the living room, the blackjack table was set up, green felt and all.
    Gigi was shuffling cards and inserting them into a professional-looking card-dealer-thingie. Beside her elbow was a weathered leather case holding chips of white, black and red. “Okay, everyone, hand over your cash and I’ll trade you for chips.”
    Oh, crap. She hadn’t realized Gigi planned to actually gamble. Ashton had come more for the food and sympathy. But after talking with Gigi and Jessup, she didn’t want to admit the failures that would trigger their worry. Fine. Blackjack was as good a use for the emergency hundred in her wallet as anything else. If she lost tonight, she’d pack Napoleon a doggy bag of weenies. His gassy tummy might be hell to live with for the next few days, but at least he’d be fed.
    She dug around in her bag and pulled out a bill so flat and crisp it looked as though it had just rolled off the presses. When she slid it across the felt, Gigi lifted a brow under the old-fashioned dealer’s visor she’d found somewhere. “Buy-in is five.”
    Hundred?
Ashton’s tongue cemented to the top of her mouth. What would’ve once been mad money was what she lived on for almost a month. “I...ah...didn’t get a chance to stop by an ATM machine.”
    Gigi patted her hand and reached into her own pocket for a wad of bills folded once. “Don’t worry about it. After all, I know you’re good for it.”
    “You know what, why don’t I sit this one out? I can make sure everyone’s drink stays full and—”
    “Don’t be silly. We’re all friends here. If someone needs something, they can get off their ass and go get it themselves.” She waved a hand around the dimly lit room. “Hard to stand on ceremony in a shithole like this.”
    Ashton gestured to the—kudu?—trophy above the mantle. Its right ear had been chewed down to a nub and something red and lacy hung around its neck. “Are you sure you want to keep the cabin?”
    “This land is worth a chunk of change.” The senator leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigar. At least the smell would be fresh now. “Why wouldn’t she?”
    Maybe because her husband had done God only knew what in this cabin for years?
    Everyone was settled in a half circle around the table, and Gigi said, “Place your bets if you’re playing, people.”
    Ashton pushed a chip forward.
    Flick, flick, flick. Gigi passed out cards as if she’d been dealing in Vegas her whole life. “I already told Ashton I’m keeping the cabin. Like I give a shit what Gordon did here. If nothing else, I’ll have a place to stay while I’m checking on the Lily Lake construction.”
    The senator jostled Gigi’s arm and, if Ashton’s eyesight was accurate, copped a peek down her