Vance hadn't been entirely certain that Lillian would take his hand.  He hadn't offered it to the other women, not even the ever flirtatious Jenny, who for all he knew might have taken it and not given it up.  But when he felt her skin against his, Vance's smile only widened a bit more.  

[quote]"I will be there, at the ranch. I imagine I will see you when you come by, after your talk with my uncle."[/quote]

[i]Yes, my talk with your uncle[/i], Vance reminded himself.  Despite the benefit of Bobby's sacrifice, Vance thought he'd like to get a bit of a [i]boost[/i] before sunrise, perhaps taking one of the many [i]friendly[/i] girls working one of the many saloons upstairs for a [i]bite[/i]

[quote]"I hope to see you as well Mr. Hamilton."[/quote]

Vance studied Lillian as she bore her long black gloves, then turned to join her family at the wagon.  He let his gaze take a quick trip up and down her figure as she descended the steps and, aided by Benjamin, into the carriage.  Despite not being its primary purpose  [url=https://i.pinimg.com/236x/9a/dc/ef/9adcef8220f1ca7de467be4815bf4fd7--black-wedding-dresses-black-weddings.jpg]the mourning dress[/url] defined the hour glass shape of Lillian's torso, leading to Vance imagining both what that shape looked like [i]out[/i] of the dress and as well as what the lower half of it would look like out of the hoops and layers of cloth currently hiding it.

Vance waited as the carriage had disappeared into a crowd of pedestrians, riders, and other vehicles.  It was a couple of hours after sunset on a late January evening, yet despite the time of day and the deepening chill in the air, the streets of Willow Springs were still teeming with activity.  [i]Boom town[/i], Vance thought, reminding him about his reason for having come here.  The number of [i]donors[/i] and [i]expendables[/i] from which he could choose was endless and -- so long as the need for beef and copper persisted -- that number would only grow.

Eventually, Vance turned to reclaim his weapon at the hotel's front desk, then headed back out again and down the boardwalk toward the nearest saloon.  It was, of course, a short walk: the number of saloons in Willow Spring had exploded from 1 in 1875 to 15 now in 1880, and the services they offered -- gambling, [i]companionship[/i], opium, and more -- had exploded in all sorts and forms of variety, quantity, and quality.  Vance hesitated at the door, surveying the crowd within for a moment before entering.  It was your typical saloon: bar, tables, stairs to the second floor rooms; with the typical patrons including cowboys, miners, teamsters, ranchers, and even [i]respectables[/i]; and also with the typical staff, from [i]two[/i] bartenders, a piano player and his accompanying fiddle player, a dozen or more [i]girls[/i] -- with more upstairs [i]working[/i], of course -- and one very flamboyant woman of a more advanced age who [i]obviously[/i] was the Madam and, Vance would soon learn, was also the owner of this particular establishment.

Vance entered, catching the Madam's eye and earning himself a scrutinizing stare and then a wide smile.  She gestured him toward the bar, then returned her attention to the man whose arm was around her waist.  Vance entered the bar slowly, making his way to the bar to drop another one of his coins.  (He had more money on him than he'd shown Benjamin and the others, but he'd kept that a secret in the hopes of keeping the Stewart family patriarch talking about the job offer.)  

After downing one drink stiff, then nursing a second for quite a while, Vance finally meandered through the energetic crowd to the poker table.  It was located on a mezzanine level in the back of the saloon, and Vance had been studying it from afar almost from the moment he'd entered.  Until -- and [i]if[/i] -- Vance saw coins or dollar bills put into his palm by Benjamin, poker -- and theft -- were Vance's only way of paying his way in a town where the cost of living had been steadily rising with the influx of men and business.

"Take a seat, Mister?" the man sitting on the far side of the table asked as Vance reached the top step of the mezzanine.  "Twenty dollar buy in, four bit minimum, no upper limit."

Vance noticed that the speaking man -- he'd come to learn his name was Stephen -- had no chips before him.  Vance hadn't seen a house dealer at a poker table since New Orleans.  Out here in the West, players typically rotated the dealing.  It meant less cost for the house, but it also meant more accusations of cheating from players who thought they were seeing cards shuffled with inconsistency or coming off the bottom of the deck.  Sometimes, paying for a permanent dealer was less expensive than mopping up the blood and replacing the shattered glass that sometimes resulted from post-cheating gun fights.

"That's a high end game," Vance responded even as he was pulling out a chair and some folded bills.  He tossed the money onto the table, sat, and asked if there were any house rules about which he needed to be aware.  Told no, Vance arranged the distributed chips before him, looked around to the other men, and said with a pleasant tone, "Good luck to all of you."

----------------

The game had been going less than an hour when Vance heard a caught sight of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye.  He contained his smirk and pretended not to notice the approaching man until after he spoke. 

[quote]"I see I got you interested in learning poker..."[/quote]

Vance smiled generously, responding as he gestured to his the pile of chips that had shrunk by half, "These men are doing a fine job already of learning me poker."

There was laughter about the table, as well as some comments about [i]bonehead[/i] bets Vance had made.

[quote]"First drink on me then?"[/quote]

Vance lifted his empty whiskey glass, chuckled, and corrected, "How'bout the second.  Join us."

A seat had opened just minutes earlier, and Johnathan took it now.  Vance watched his body language as he pulled out his buy in: there was a lot you could learn about a man simply by how easily or difficultly he separated himself from his gambling money ... as well as how much he tossed onto the table to begin his night of gambling.  During dinner, it had been made clear that the Stewarts were doing pretty well in their ranching.  But, did that mean Johnathan had multiple pockets full of gold coins, ready to be either wasted or invested -- depending upon the man's skill level -- on a game in which his wife, and possibly his entire family, wished he wasn't engaged?

Vance tossed another couple of bills onto the table to replenish his chip pile, waited for his next cards, and returned to play.  He chatted with Johnathan between and even during hands, and while it may have all seemed like polite banter, Vance was also reading the man, as he had the others.  There were six men at the table with the addition of the Stewart, the maximum number of players for a game of Draw with a three card max exchange; and Vance had either figured out each of the first fours' tells or had found himself able to use his [i]charisma[/i] ability to urge them in betting directions they shouldn't take.  He'd been losing mostly and winning only rarely, waiting for that one hand that would set him up with the cost of a week at the hotel room and three squares.

When that hand came, Vance found himself a bit disappointed to find that Johnathan still in it.  The man to Vance's left was too drunk to know that he'd been flashing his worthless bluff to the vampire; the man to [i]his[/i] left sincerely thought he had a winner, but Vance knew better from the man's tell; two more men were bluffing, not entirely well at that; and then there was Johnathan.  Vance had tried to inconspicuously shake him off with a slight back and forth of his head, but the Stewart had either not seen the gesture or had ignored it, confident in his hand.

"Full house," the ranching man said, laying his cards down after the two men before him had done the same.  He slapped his hands together in glee, laughed, and clarified, "[i]Eights over aces,[/i] boys.  [i]Read'em and weep![/i]"

But Johnathan's joy ended quickly as Vance slowly laid down his own bigger full house, saying softly, "Jacks over threes."

The man to Vance's left mucked his cards, as did the next and the next.  One by one, the others began rising to depart: each had bet nearly his entire stack in the hand, and it was obvious that this card game was over.

"Sorry, Johnathan," Vance said politely, gesturing for the dealer to cash him out.  He gave the rancher a moment to contemplate his loss, then quickly changed the subject with, "So, if it isn't out of line, could I ask you about your cousin ... Lillian.  Has she been in mourning long?"

What Vance meant, of course, was [i]Do you think she'll be in mourning much longer, but I'd really like an opportunity for some alone time with her.[/i]  It was so highly inappropriate for Vance -- or any man for that matter -- to be having the thoughts he was having about Lillian while she was still in mourning.  But he'd seen something in her and felt something about her that made him ... [i]eager.[/i]  Vance wasn't the type of man to let a lack of either vows and a thin gold band get in the way of separating a [i]respectable[/i] woman from her clothing.  He wasn't sure why he was this way: he glanced about himself to see at least a dozen women willing to go upstairs this instance to satisfy his manly needs for one of the coins the dealer was now pushing his way.  

So ... why Lillian?  Why [i]any[/i] woman who, societal norms said, [i]shouldn't[/i] be parting her thighs for a man who wasn't her husband.  Vance remembered something a friend had told him once a century earlier: [i]If it was easy, any man could do it.  Are you just any man?[/i]