It was her turn again. She let the silence stretch, fingers poised over the five-dollar bill, feeling the weight of the moment. A beat too long. Then another. Across the table Nolan’s jaw tightened, his patience unraveling by the second. Only when the air was thick enough to cut did she slide the money forward, slowly and deliberately.
Clayton smirked, cocky as ever. “I’m in.” He slapped five dollars over her money with a little extra force, enough to make a point.
“I fold.” Nolan threw his cards on top of the pot.
I knew you had shit.
Now it was just her and Old Hickory.
Ruth burned another card and presented the fourth community card, the turn. It was a jack of clubs. She kept a straight face and didn’t move a muscle, knowing the odds of winning with two pairs were probable.
Clayton shook his head. “Didn’t need a jack.”
“You love Jack,” Nolan said. “It’s your favorite drink.” That got a big laugh around the table.
Jamie barely acknowledged them, eyes on her cards. “Raise.” She tossed her money into the pot without hesitation.
“You’re bluffing.” Clayton’s smirk was slow, knowing. “Call,” he said, matching her bet.
Ruth burned a card and flipped over the river: the king of spades.
The one Jamie needed.
She kept her expression neutral, but inside her pulse kicked up.
Gotcha.
Clayton scratched his beard, eyes flicking to her, assessing.
Jamie leaned back casually. “Raise.”
Clayton took his time, his movements considered. “Call.”
Poppy yelped and every head snapped toward her. Nolan shot to his feet and rushed to the whelping box, the others following close behind. The vet tugged on a fresh pair of gloves, his hands steady as anticipation crackled through the room. He bent over the nesting area, poised like a quarterback ready to take the snap—except this wasn’t a game. This was the moment they’d all been waiting for.
“The first puppy’s coming,” Nolan said as its head was crowning.
“I hope it’s Reba!” Ruth said, leaning over the box.
“Everyone back in their seats,” Nolan demanded.
Jamie stroked her dog’s head, hating how distressed she looked. This was all Clayton’s fault and she wouldn’t forget it.
“That means you too, Jamie,” the doctor said.
“Aren’t you going to help her?” Jamie asked, her voice panicked.
“She doesn’t need my help,” Nolan said. “Unless there’s a problem, dogs do better when they give birth alone.”
She didn’t want Poppy to think she’d been abandoned. Slipping off her hoodie she laid it in the pen, hoping her scent would offer some comfort—a familiar presence in her absence.
Nolan observed the delivery from a few feet away. “The first one’s out.”
The vet gave them the play-by-play like a sports commentator calling a game. He explained how Poppy tore the fluid-filled sac with her mouth, and Jamie marveled at how she instinctively knew what to do.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ruthasked.
“I don’t know yet.” Nolan reached inside his doctor’s bag and ripped open a package of cloths, rinsed them in the kitchen sink, and walked to the box. He picked up the puppy and turned it on its back, gently wiping it.
