"And eighty-six bucks for truck repairs?"

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "No, but I wouldn’t turn down a hug."

Cash engulfed Carla in a hug. Though she was five foot seven, the top of her head barely brushed Cash’s chin. He lifted her and swung her around. When he set her down again, she was almost on Luke’s feet. There was barely room for her to breathe. Luke was the same height as her brother, six foot three, and weighed within a pound or two of Cash’s one ninety-six. That was probably one of the reasons the two men got along so well – they were built on the same scale. Big.

Without warning, Luke’s long fingers tilted Car-la’s chin, forcing her to meet his eye.

"Are you really all grown-up now, sunshine?"

The old nickname and the searching intensity of Luke’s eyes took Carla’s breath away, making speech impossible.

"Hey, that reminds me," Cash said. "It’s been months since I’ve played killer poker."

"Not surprising," Luke retorted, releasing Carla with the speed of a man passing a hot potato on to its final destination. "It’s been months since you’ve found an out-of-state sucker who doesn’t know why Alexander McQueen is called ‘Cash.’"

"Lucky at cards, unlucky at love."

Luke snorted. "I’ll shuffle. Carla can deal. You open the champagne I brought."

"Champagne?" Carla asked, stunned.

She looked up into Luke’s eyes. He was still standing close to her, so close that she could sense the heat of his big body. She hadn’t sensed anyone’s presence so acutely in years.

Three years, to be exact.

Luke’s slow smile as he looked down at Carla made something stir and shimmer to life deep within her.

"Champagne," he confirmed, his voice deep. "You only turn twenty-one once. It should be special."

By the time the cards were shuffled, cut and dealt, Carla was sipping from a glass of golden champagne, which fizzed and sizzled softly over her lips and tongue. She hardly noticed the alcohol, for her blood was already sparkling from the memory of Luke’s fingers on her skin.

Are you really all grown-up now?

The implications of that question scattered Carla’s attention, making her lose at cards more rapidly than usual. Before Luke poured her a second glass of champagne, she had lost her original stake – six dollars. She handed over the last of her nickels without rancor, for it had been Cash rather than Luke who had won the lion’s share of the pots. Long ago, Carla had decided that Cash must have made a deal with the devil in exchange for luck at cards.

By the time Luke poured Carla a third glass of champagne, the pizza was reduced to grease spots on the paper plates, and it had become clear to everyone that Cash’s luck was running as high as ever. Luke was down to three dollars from his original six, and Carla had traded seven days’ worth of home-cooked meals for fifty cents each and promptly had lost every penny.

Normally Carla would have stopped drinking halfway through her second glass of champagne, but nothing about her twenty-first birthday was normal – especially the presence of Luke MacKenzie. The champagne was a dancing delight that smelled as yeasty as the bread she loved to bake. Cash and Luke were in fine form, trading insults and laughter equally. When Luke poured a third glass of champagne for Carla, she was into Cash for a summer’s worth of meals and Luke was down to seventy-five cents.

Carla rooted for Cash unabashedly, frankly enjoying seeing Luke on the losing end of something for a change. Luke took the "card lessons" in good humor, squeezing every bit of mileage from his shrinking pile of small change.

And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, Luke started winning. He rode the unexpected streak of luck aggressively, repeatedly betting everything he had and getting twice as much back from the pot. By the time the last drops from the magnum of champagne had been poured – by Carla into Luke’s glass, in a blatant attempt to fuzz his mind – Cash was down to his last nickel. He tossed it into the pot philosophically, calling Luke’s most recent raise.

Luke fanned out his cards to reveal a pair of sevens, nine high. Cash made a disgusted sound and threw in his hand without showing his cards.

"What?" Carla said in disbelief. She reached for Cash’s abandoned cards, only to have her fingers lightly slapped by her brother.

"Bad dog, drop!" he teased. "You know the rules. It costs good money to see those cards and you’re broke."

Carla withdrew her fingers and muttered, "I still don’t believe that you couldn’t crawl over a lousy pair of sevens."

"You forgot the nine," Luke said.

"It’s easy to forget something that small," Carla shot back. She sighed. "Well, I guess this just wasn’t your night, big brother. All you won was something you would have gotten anyway – a summer’s worth of dinners cooked by yours truly."

"Sounds like a damned good deal to me," Luke said.

There was a moment of silence, followed by another. The silence stretched. Luke arched his dark eyebrows at Cash in silent query. Cash smiled.

"You’ll have to throw in wages," Cash said.

"Same as I paid the last housekeeper. But she’ll have to keep house, too. For that I’d bet everything on the table. One hand. Winner take all."

"What do you say, sis?" Cash asked, turning toward Carla.

"Huh?"

"Luke has agreed to bet everything in the pot against your agreement to be the Rocking M’s cook and housekeeper."

"You’re out of school for the summer, right?" Luke asked.

She nodded, too off balance to tell him that she was out of school, period. She had crammed four years of studying in the three years since she had graduated from high school. It had been the perfect excuse not to spend summers on the Rocking M, as she had since she was fourteen.

"You can start next weekend and go until the end of August A hundred days, give or take a few," Luke said casually, but his eyes had the predatory intensity of a bird of prey. "Room, board and wages, same as for any hired hand."

Carla stared at Cash. He smiled encouragingly. She tried to think of all the reasons she would be a raving idiot for taking the bet Her blood sizzled softly, champagne and something more.

"Do you have your toes crossed for luck?" Carla demanded of her brother.

"Yep."

She took a deep breath. "Go for it."

Cash turned to Luke. "Five cards, no discard, no draw, nothing wild. Best hand wins."

"Deal," Luke said.

Suddenly it was so quiet that the sound of the cards being shuffled was like muffled thunder. The slap of cards on the table was distinct, rhythmic. There was the ritual exchange of words, the discreet fanning and survey of five cards. Luke’s expression was impossible to read as he laid his hand faceup on the table and said neutrally, "Ace high…and nothing else. Not a damned thing."

Cash swore and swiftly gathered all the cards together into an indistinguishable pile. "You’re shot with luck tonight, Luke. All I had was a jack."

For an instant there was silence. Then Luke began laughing. When he turned and saw Carla’s stunned face, his expression changed.

"When the isolation gets to you," Luke said carefully, "I'll let you welsh on the bet. No hard feelings and no regrets."

"What?"

"Women hate the Rocking M," Luke said simply. "I doubt that you’ll last three weeks, much less three months. College has made a city slicker out of you. Two weekends without bright lights and you’ll be whining and pining like all the other housekeepers and cooks did. You can make book on it."

Whining and pining.

The words echoed in Carla’s mind, leaving a bright, irrational anger in their wake.

"You’re on, cowboy," she said flatly. "What’s more, you’re going to eat every last one of your words. Raw."

"Doubt it"

"I don’t I’m going to be the one who feeds them to you."