Crew took a sip of water.
“Looks like Crew’s getting a little hot under the collar,” Pope drawled, slicing him another look. “You nervous, buddy?”
Crew grunted. “If you call a full house cause for nerves.”
Chuckles rippled around the table.
“Or maybe you got sunburned from all that time you spent out back today.” Pope arched a brow at him. “With that beautiful woman.”
Crew refused to rise to the taunt about Fern. But mention of her made something tighten deep inside his chest.
“Willow hired her to create a community garden.”
The teasing stalled.
“A flower garden?” Bobby asked.
“Food and other things.”
One of the amputees Crew had in mind when he mentioned the garden needed to be more accessible looked up from his cards, brows pinched. “Yeah, for the rest of you to use.”
Crew shook his head. “There will be raised beds you can roll your chair right up to. And benches for others who can’t stand long.” He relayed all the ideas he and Fern discussed, even though he was thinking of the pink flush in Fern’s cheeksand the bright gleam of excitement in her eyes more than the modifications.
He also felt mighty bad about the disappointment on her pretty face when he told her that he probably wouldn’t be around long enough to see the garden be completed.
When he finished, Pope angled his jaw upward. “You seem invested. Is it the garden or the girl?”
If he got to stay, he’d start with the garden, then maybe switch to the girl.
The thought hit hard enough to make his nerves jump but he covered his reaction in time.
“I’m not in the market for getting to know a woman.” He stared at his cards. His hand was garbage—but then again, maybe he was bluffing about more than poker.
Pope pushed a pile of poker chips toward the pot in the center of the table, raising the bet. “Then you won’t mind if I volunteer to help her.”
Crew flattened him in his stare. “Sit this one out.”
A smile tipped the corners of Pope’s mouth, something they only saw at the gaming table. “Anyone else hear that? Sounds like interest.”
Truman tossed a pretzel at Crew. He dipped his head to the left and caught the snack in his mouth. Cheers erupted, the moment diffusing…but not disappearing.
The strange pressure in his chest grew heavier. Because if he let himself want this—this place, this life, or dream about someday having a beautiful woman of his own, with rosy cheeks and grass stains on her knees—leaving wouldn’t just be a transition.
It would be another loss. One he may never recover from.
Pope flipped his cards over.
Four of a kind.
The table went silent.
Pope raked in the chips, eyes locked on Crew. “Looks like you lose this round,” he said quietly. “Question is, what are you really betting on?”
Crew didn’t answer.
For the first time since he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure whether he was playing to win or killing time before he walked away.
* * * * *
