Wild Cards and Iron Horses Read Online Free

Handleston. I’m a God-fearing woman who doesn’t like your sort. The Lord put us here to do work, not play with cards and take people’s money.”
    “I understand completely.” Jon smiled, sitting in the chair opposite her. “My father feels the same way.” Except for the working part, of course.
    “Good. I don’t mean to lose your business, but I don’t want to be misleading to you. I just want us to understand each other before we start. As long as you keep your affairs, business or otherwise, out of my household, we’ll be just fine.” She brushed imaginary dust from her lap before getting to her feet. “I run a respectable place, the best in Prosperity Ridge. Dinner is at six, breakfast at six and lunch at noon, no exceptions. If you miss it, you go hungry. I don’t have an open kitchen and there are plenty of places that will feed you if you don’t like my fare.” The robust older woman wagged her finger at him. “And no women. I’ll not have rumors about my establishment. There are plenty of other places that will…” The words trailed off as she searched for the right phrase, her cheeks turning a slight reddish hue.
    “I totally understand.” Jon stood and offered his left hand. “I’m sure the accommodations will be perfect. And I have no plans for female company either here or elsewhere.” The ten-dollar bill in his palm slid into her hand, a silent trade. One of her eyebrows rose slightly, then the paper vanished into an apron pocket.
    She smiled, her fingers pushing it farther down and out of sight. “That’ll be fine, then. Your room is number eight on the second floor at the end of the hallway.” She handed him a key, the edges well worn from use. “Three days, you said?”
    “Yes.” Three days to make or break a year’s worth of work. He shook his head again, dismissing the thought. Thinking like that was bad luck, to say the least. “Thank you.” Jon gave a slight bow to the innkeeper. He walked up the stairs, his mind turning to the delicate piece of metal still tucked inside his pocket.
    If this Sam could repair the spring, or at least do some sort of adjustments, maybe winning the competition was still within his grasp. The dwindling roll of dollars in his pocketbook reminded him of the importance of his cause. If he won the entire pot here, he would be able to sleep easy for the first time in months, maybe years. If he lost, well…it would be a setback he might not recover from.
    The room was like a hundred others he had visited in his trips cross-country. As usual, a single bed, the mattress paper-thin, and you could probably get a nasty paper cut from the starched dingy grey sheets covering it. The pillow might have held feathers once, but what was left couldn’t have covered a duckling.
    Still, there was no sign of bedbugs, or worse, gnaw bites on the wooden dresser legs or the night table. The small desk had seen better days, the cheap white paint peeling in spots and the mismatched chair a raw, unvarnished piece of rough wood. A small blue and white ceramic basin and matching pitcher completed the scene. A small gas lamp sat on the table, lit and turned up to a reasonable degree. The wallpaper design might have been flowers, once, but had faded into caricatures of themselves, washed out and drooping into the light green background. For a minute he peered through the soot-stained window above the desk and then turned towards the bed.
    Jon dropped the bag onto the mattress, noting the lack of bounce under the weight. He stripped the black gloves from his hands, folding them and placing them on the bed. The steel skeleton on his right hand shone in the dim light. He poured some of the lukewarm water into the basin and washed his face, using only his left hand. The water darkened considerably. Jon dried off his face and hands on the hand towel,checking the small metal bands and rods delicately embracing each finger on his right hand to make sure they were dry. The towel