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For His Daughter
Ann Evans
Enjoy the dreams, explore the emotions, experience the relationships.Rebel millionaire… Rafe D’Angelo left town years ago, determined to make his fortune and never come back. But his plan changes when he discovers he has a five-year-old daughter in need of a home and a father’s love! Devoted daddy… Rafe has to learn how to be a parent. He can’t afford to be distracted at this difficult time for his baby girl.Still, he’s finding it harder and harder to ignore Dani Bridgeton – the woman from his past who may just be his future!
“I know you can do it, Daddy.”
With a heavy sigh, Rafe lifted his head and locked eyes with Dani. He clearly wanted rescuing.
Dani lifted her brows as if to say, Sorry, you’re on your own. Really, what harm would it do to look a little foolish if it made Frannie happy?
But she suspected Rafe wasn’t the kind of man to let himself be caught at a disadvantage. Not for anyone. Not even a five-year-old child who just happened to be his daughter.
And then the frown lines across his forehead disappeared. He nodded slowly, even as he muttered a curse under his breath. “All right,” he told them, “I’ll enter the contest. Bring on the pies.”
“Go, Daddy!” Frannie squealed. She bounced in place as if she had springs on the bottom of her sneakers.
Over his shoulder he gave them a look of such seriousness that he might have been a soldier going off to war. “If I end up being sick, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dani stared after him in disbelief. Maybe Rafe wasn’t completely hopeless as a father. Maybe he was learning after all.
For His Daughter
ANN EVANS
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the wonderful women of Toronto –
Kathleen, Zilla, Laura and Paula.
If I could bottle your understanding,
patience and expertise, I’d be a millionaire.
PROLOGUE
RAFE D’ANGELO KNEW THE GUY at table four was cheating. He just didn’t know how.
Yet.
Over the past two hours, play at that table in the blackjack pit had heated up significantly. The dealer, a long-time Native Sun employee, was someone Rafe trusted. The table shoe had gone through half a dozen fresh decks. Even the security guys in the Eye-in-the- Sky booth upstairs had reported nothing unusual.
And still this jerk was up two hundred grand.
As pit boss, one of Rafe’s jobs was to spot the cheats. He was good at it. But this guy didn’t fit any profile.
And he was winning, damn him.
Rafe didn’t like losing. Sure, it wasn’t his money, but when he was working he felt as if it were. For all the casino’s fake Native American heritage, Native Sun had been good to him. Sometimes, when he allowed himself to invent a future for himself, he thought he could work here forever.
He’d always moved around a lot but he’d held this job longer than most—almost a year—and people respected him. He had a decent place to live, a good income and enough women to keep his ego happy. At twenty-four, he was probably the youngest pit boss on the Vegas strip, but he knew most people thought he was older. Hell, inside he was older.
Not bad for a runaway from the backwater Colorado town of Broken Yoke.
The sound of feminine laughter made him turn to the left.
She was still there. DeeDee Whitefeather—now there was a stage name if ever there was one—was fawning over a loudmouthed suit at the number twelve craps table.
She was one of the best-looking mannequins who worked for the casino. She wasn’t dressed in her showgirl outfit, of course, since the theater was dark on Mondays, but she still stood out in a crowd. All that long dark hair and those pretty gray eyes.
She wore a miniskirt and a blouse that did amazing things to her breasts. When she bent close to her companion, you could see plenty of skin. Rafe watched her trail long fingernails through the man’s hair and whisper in his ear.
She’d shown up two months ago, passing herself off as part Apache to get the job. If there was one drop of genuine Apache blood in her veins, Rafe would have bet it was there by accident. Still, she held up her end of the G-rated Native American show the casino put on for the stroller-and-convention crowd five nights a week. Kept to herself. Never complained. Never seemed overly eager to find a sugar daddy like some of the other girls. So what was she doing, attaching herself to this guy with a pizza gut and bad hair plugs?
Of course, he was a high roller. Big incentive for a working girl to find something in him to like.
But still, Rafe was disappointed. Of all the women shopping it around the strip, DeeDee Whitefeather was the last one he would have expected that from.
He swore under his breath. Rafe wasn’t supposed to be following her progress, he was supposed to bring the hammer down on the card mechanic at table four.
Mickey Norris, one of his protégés who was only a couple of years younger but about a thousand years behind Rafe in life experience, sidled up to him.
“No face book,” Mickey reported, referring to the file of pictures security kept on hand to help them spot cheaters. “Maybe he’s a hit-and-run artist.”
“Maybe,” Rafe said, unconvinced. “I think he’s got someone spotting for him. I just can’t figure out who.”
Mickey huffed out a sigh of disappointment. “You’re off your game tonight.” The young man scratched his chin. “Maybe you’re distracted, huh?” Mickey jerked his head toward the craps table where DeeDee was allowing Hair Plugs’s hand to roam freely over her tight rear end. “I notice you watching the action on table twelve. Pretty lady. I don’t blame you for—Hey! Don’t I know her? Isn’t that one of our own little Indian princesses?”
Rafe shrugged, struggling for a blank, disinterested look. “She’s about as much a real Indian as the wooden one outside the lobby gift shop.”
Mickey practically smacked his lips. Tonight he seemed dedicated to the business of pissing Rafe off. “Who cares? I’d like to spend time in her wigwam.”
“Go check for a back-spotter, Romeo,” Rafe told him.
Before long Rafe found his eyes turning back to DeeDee. Just his eyes, not his head. Hair Plugs was trying to catch the attention of one of the cash-cart girls.
Rafe couldn’t resist the opportunity. Quickly he slid up next to DeeDee on the other side. She blinked at him, looking surprised. She knew as well as he did that management discouraged the girls from going after players at the tables.
He leaned near, so that only she could hear him. “You think this is a smart idea, Pocahontas?” He jerked his chin to indicate her companion on the other side of her.
Her eyes went flinty hard. “Butt out, Oz. No one’s asking your opinion.”
Everyone in the casino knew him as Oz. It was a nickname one of the girls had given him, and it had stuck. Something to do with a talent he had in bed, he thought, but he’d never cared enough to find out exactly. God knew, he’d been called worse.
For a guy lucky enough to have snagged someone like DeeDee, her companion was busy flirting outrageously with both the cocktail waitress and the cash- cart girl. Rafe ran his hand down the length of DeeDee’s bare arm and pulled her aside.
“I didn’t realize you were partial to sweaty, big- mouthed asses with bad hair.”
She scowled at him. “I’m sure you can’t imagine why any woman would be interested in any man that isn’t you.”
“He looks like trouble, DeeDee. Be careful.”
“Jealous?”
“Hell, no. Just wondering how a bright girl like you can end up being just another dumb hairdo on heels.”
He saw something flash in her eyes that might have been discomfort, but it was gone in an instant.
She shrugged. “Maybe I just got tired of missing out on what some of the other girls have.”
He couldn’t resist a tight laugh. “If it’s a little fun in bed you’re after, I can try to squeeze you in.”
“Tell me something, Oz,” she said softly. “Is there anyone you admire as much as yourself?”
“No,” he admitted. He let her see his gaze travel over her. “Want to find out why?”
“No, thanks. Your reputation precedes you, and I’d rather eat ground glass.”
She was a tough one, all right. He tried a different angle. “You realize that working the guests is strictly against casino policy?”
“Suddenly you’re a rule follower?”
“I guess I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but he realized he meant it.
“Aww…what a sweetie,” she said in a voice that sounded like syrup sliding out of a pitcher. Then her brows lowered. “Now get lost. Go chase the card manipulators and leave me alone.” Hair Plugs’s hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned with a big smile. “Gil, honey! What took you so long? Should I be jealous?”
Rafe stepped away and left her to her conquest. There was something about the guy he didn’t like— some small meanness around the eyes—but what else could he do? He had bigger worries.
He spent another ten minutes watching the shark on table four continue to rake in chips. The guy seemed completely at ease. No nervous hand movements. No darting glances. Just steady, methodical betting that might eventually leave Native Sun bleeding green big time.
Annoyed, Rafe cut a glance in DeeDee’s direction to see how she was making out. Her date offered her a highball glass full of amber liquid that Rafe assumed was whiskey. Neat, he noticed. No ice.
DeeDee swallowed it down. He suspected she wasn’t really much of a drinker. In Vegas, you got to where you could spot the problem drinkers on sight, and she wasn’t the type.
But in another few minutes, Rafe’s suspicious nature went into overdrive.
Up until now, DeeDee had been friendly to her date—little touches here, a whispered laugh in the guy’s ear there—but suddenly she seemed completely out of control.
She was loose limbed enough to slide under the craps table, and her date had to keep her upright, fastened against him with a hammy hand against her rib cage. She rubbed against him. There was nothing coordinated about her actions. They weren’t natural. They weren’t normal.
Had Hair Plugs added something to her drink?
Just when Rafe thought the guy would lose his hold on DeeDee, another man approached to add his support. The men seemed to know one another. DeeDee’s head flopped back, and the two guys laughed over her, as though sharing the same stupid joke.
Mickey was suddenly at his side again. “No spotters, boss. What now?” He frowned, realizing that Rafe’s attention had wandered. “What’s the matter?”
Rafe turned his attention back to Mickey. Concentrate on what you get paid to do.
And then suddenly everything clicked. “Ah, hell,” he swore under his breath. “He’s counting cards.”
Mickey scowled. “Nah. He’s not even watching the shoe half the time.”
“He doesn’t have to watch the cards coming out of the shoe. He can see them in the whiskey glass by his left elbow. His buddy has been nursing that drink for over an hour. Our friend is reading the cards in the reflection of the glass.”
Mickey nodded. “Nice catch,” he said. Rafe was clearly his hero once more. “We gonna escort him out?”
With that mystery solved, Rafe looked back to see the two men moving DeeDee away from the craps table. She looked more and more like a puppet who’d had her strings cut, hanging limply between them and smiling vacantly.
They were headed toward the bank of elevators. Once they got upstairs, DeeDee was going to find herself flat on her back in one of their hotel rooms.
Go after her.
Shut up, he told his brain. I’m not getting paid to save the world.
“You ready?” Mickey said beside him.
He nodded, heading toward their cheater. “Let’s do it.”
“I love this part.”
Rafe couldn’t resist one final look back. Hair Plugs had DeeDee propped up against the wall by the elevator. Giggling, she reached out with a finger and played it down the guy’s cheek. Beside him, his friend laughed and kissed her. She frowned, as though suddenly realizing that she had herself two asses to deal with instead of one. The card mechanic on four wasn’t the only one in for a surprise tonight.
Rafe pulled up short, yanking Mickey back as well. “Mickey, go do the honors with our cheat, would you? Make sure he gets the spiel about us filing trespassing charges if he ever shows his face in here again.”
“Me?” Mickey’s eyes went huge. “All by myself?”
“You know the drill. Consider it on-the-job training.”
The elevator had arrived. DeeDee was getting manhandled onto it. Just another drunk who needed to be put to bed, people would think.
Mickey looked stunned. “Oldman ain’t gonna like that. Wait a minute! Where are you going?” he said in a low voice as Rafe took off in the direction of the elevators.
“Business,” Rafe called over one shoulder. I’m going to lose my job because one idiot female doesn’t know when she’s playing with fire.
But he didn’t stop.
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WERE TIMES IN LIFE that called for begging.
This was one of those times.
Danielle Bridgeton looked across her desk at the state editor of the Denver Daily Telegraph, the newspaper she worked for. She lowered her head, sighed dramatically and pasted on her best wounded-puppy look. “Please, Gary,” she said, softly pleading with him to understand. “Get me out of here. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”
Gary Newsome shook his head sadly. “You know, when I was young I used to dream about a beautiful woman saying that to me.”
Gary was fifty-something, bald and complained frequently of acid reflux. He was the most honest newspaperman Dani knew. He was also torturing her.
Dani steepled her fingers. A nun couldn’t have seemed more penitent. “Look at me, Gary. This is me, begging.”
