Page 1

Chapter One

REESE

Of all the ways to lose the family ranch! Five generations of blood, sweat, and tears gone with a snap of the fingers. Or, more accurately, the roll of the dice.

“Sorry, Mr. Gunner,” the dealer at the Heirloom Rose mutters as I bury my head in my hands. He claims another pile of chips.

I stare dejectedly at the casino’s carpet, an impossible swirl of purple, orange, and yellow. The place is devoid of windows and clocks. Everything about the decor and layout is designed to herd hapless guests back to the slots and tables, an infinite loop of risk. Sadly, my current losing streak is downright monumental.

A redheaded waitress walks by with what’s got to be her thousandth offer for a free drink on the house. The booze never quits flowing for dedicated players, especially those devoted to personal ruin.

“What’ll you have, cowboy?”

I frown. “Sorry, but I don’t need to amplify my problems by being drunk and broke at the same time.”

“You think too much,” she counters.

“Probably. Not that it’s helping me any tonight.”

“This morning,” she corrects, and I glance around the large, windowless casino floor, unable to ascertain the time.

Pulling out my phone, the screen reads fifteen past seven a.m. Damn, my crash and burn has taken all night.

“Sure, you don’t want that drink after all?”

“No, ma’am. I need liquid luck right now, not liquid courage.”

A woman walks past wearing a light tan leather jacket with long fringe running down the back. It’s the kind of western outfit folks in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, tend to make fun of. City slickers who’ve escaped to the Great Basin to live out their own glorified episodes ofBonanza.

I’m pretty sure the Cartwrights never got in this much trouble, though …

“Sir,” the dealer eyes me, concern washing over his face. He’s got to be near retirement age, short-statured with gray hair, a smattering of age spots on his cheeks and neck, and almond-shaped eyes that narrow as he asks, “Are you in or not?”

“In?” The question sounds ridiculous at this point as my fingers play with the dwindling stack of chips in front of me. But all I need is one big win. That’s all it would take to turn everything around. “I’m at the end of my worst losing streak ever. Don’t statistics, mathematics, trigonometry, whatever you want to call it, dictate that at some point, somehow, my luck should turn around?”

The redheaded cocktail waitress, taking other drink orders around the table, puts her hand on her hip, shaking her head. “You talk too much, too.”

“Thank you for the rundown of my faults. But at present, I’m more worried about the worst streak of luck that’s ever hit me.”

Her eyes narrow. “You sound and look like you’re local. But I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your deal?”

“I’m the owner of Gunner Ridge Ranch,” I answer, pointing over my shoulder as if gesturing towards it. Truth be told, I’d need a compass to find my way around this place. “Well,” I add dejectedly. “At least I was.”

Her forehead creases. “Then, why haven’t I seen you in here before?”

“Because I hate casinos, and I hate gambling even more. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

She chuckles. “This isn’t desperate. It’s stupid.”

If only she knew…

Between a drought that hasn’t broken in a decade, the worst string of cattle luck I’ve ever had, and a bank tired of putting up with my shenanigans, I’ve hit the bottom of the barrel. Not merely for myself but every Gunner who’s gone before me or who’s yet to follow. The following part is looking less and less likely. After all, what woman would marry a man at the bottom of his luck, let alone become the mother to his children?

The dealer eyes me morosely, pulling me back from my sad reflections. “The only thing that math dictates, sir, is the probability that the housewillwin …eventually. You should have walked away from this table hours ago.”

“No, I’m feeling it. This is it. My lucky break.”

The people congregating around the table with droopy eyes and yawning mouths chuckle. Apparently, they don’t have the same faith.