Bending, he smacked the nine, decisively burying it in the right corner pocket. Then he sank the eleven in the side and set himself up for the fifteen. It was two solids to one stripe; he finally had the advantage.
Glancing up, he saw her worrying her bottom lip. She leaned over and said something to Booker, who whispered something back.
Josh tried not to let it bother him. He certainly didn’t care about Booker—he just didn’t like the fact that he and Rebecca had become so close, didn’t like the implied trust because that kind of trust was so far from what he’d ever been able to achieve with her.
Frowning, he shot, but the distraction of their whispering took its toll. He missed, leaving himself wide open for Rebecca to take the lead.
She chalked her cue, gave Booker a small smile and dropped the seven into the side pocket.
“I told you,” Booker said to her, chuckling. “Now bank the four off here—” He motioned to one side of the table.
“No, the eight ball’s in the way,” she complained.
She went for the corner, instead, and missed.
“You should’ve done what I told you,” Booker said. “Next time—”
“Hey, am I playing her or you?” Josh snapped.
They both looked up in surprise. “You have a problem with Booker giving me his opinion?” she asked.
“No,” he said, instantly feeling a little foolish for the outburst.
She waved Booker back. “I can beat you on my own,” she said. “I don’t need anyone else.”
Josh knew he’d already said too much and didn’t respond. He shot the fifteen into the nearest corner and aimed for the final ball—the eight. In one stroke the game could be over. He sent the eight toward the side pocket, but accidentally smacked Rebecca’s four, putting it in, instead.
“Too bad,” Rebecca said, her voice laced with false sympathy as she prepared for the easy kill. “Say goodbye to your money.”
The eight went down, and the game was over. Everyone patted Rebecca on the back, murmuring about how good she’d gotten.
She smiled broadly. “You want to write me a check?” she asked.
“I can’t believe she beat you,” Mary said, obviously stunned.
Josh stared at the empty table and rubbed his chin. He couldn’t believe it, either. He wanted another chance.
“Double or nothing,” he said.
“Josh, that’s four hundred dollars!” Mary cried.
He ignored her. “What do you say, Rebecca?”
Rebecca’s eyes widened, but she seemed tempted. “There are people in line ahead of you.”
“That’s okay,” Perry volunteered. “I’m next. He can have my turn.”
This met with murmurs of general approval. Most folks had taken an interest in his and Rebecca’s running feud. And rarely did anyone in Dundee see a four-hundred-dollar bet, at least on a game of pool.
“Looks like we’re in the clear,” he told Rebecca. “You interested?”
“Four hundred dollars?” she said.
“Losing your nerve?”
She turned to Booker. “Go for it,” he said. “You can take him again.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE’D BEATEN HIM. She’d beaten Josh Hill. And it felt great. Those few hard-won victories always did. So why was she giving him another chance? Why was she risking four hundred dollars?
Because it wasn’t enough to beat him once, she realized. She wanted to beat him again and again until she knew she was better at something than he was. Until she could establish her own little niche and quit feeling that anything she could do, he could do better.
“You first this time,” she said, feeling generous.
His smile told her he took the gesture as it was intended—to let him know she had every confidence in the world of doubling her money.
This game went much like the previous one, with Rebecca maintaining a small lead. She was close to winning—they were down to just a few balls—when her father walked into the room. Rebecca was aware that the band had stopped playing some time ago and the caterers were talking to each other upstairs, obviously clearing away what was left of the food. She knew her mother and sisters would be expecting her to start cleaning up and had probably sent her father to get her.
“Does Mom need me?” she asked as he parted the group that had been watching the game and emerged at her elbow.
“When you’re through.”
“Tell her I’ll be right there,” she said, but he didn’t go. He rested his knuckles on the edge of the table and studied the game. “Who’s winning?”
Rebecca had been about to shoot, but now she hesitated. She didn’t want to play Josh in front of her father. She could play anyone else without a problem, but she remembered her father looking on too many times when Josh bested her at something. Doyle always smiled at the outcome, as though he’d expected it all along. Sometimes he’d even slap Josh on the back, as though he’d been rooting for him.
“She is,” Josh said.
Her father seemed a little surprised. “No kidding?”
Rebecca stretched her neck, chalked her cue stick again and studied the angles. She was far too tense to make an accurate shot. But everyone was waiting and watching her expectantly. She had to finish. Four hundred dollars depended on the outcome.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her palms on her slacks and positioned herself. Then she shot—and missed.
“How’d you miss that?” Doyle demanded. “That was a give-me if ever I’ve seen one.”
Rebecca didn’t know how she’d missed it. That shot was one she could make ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But she was suddenly so nervous.
She blinked, nodded and tucked her hair behind her ears, staring intently at the table.
Josh braced his cue stick and, leaning low, deftly managed to bury the six ball off a ricochet. Rebecca’s heart sank when the ball landed snugly in the pocket. She’d blown it. He had only the eight ball left. If she hadn’t choked on her last turn, she could’ve put him away. Instead, the opposite was about to happen.
“He’s got you,” Doyle said, sounding disgusted. “I’ve told you and told you that you need to keep your hand steady. You’re never going to win a game of pool if you play like that.”
She didn’t answer. It didn’t matter that she’d won the last game. That she’d won almost every game tonight. This was the game her father was watching, which meant this was the only game that mattered.