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have much of a northern accent and no one has to know where I'm from."
    The woman didn't look convinced, but St. Claire studied him for a moment, obviously considering his words. "He's probably right," St. Claire said finally. "He doesn't sound much like a Yankee and probably no one will ask. They'll be concentrating on cards."
    The woman shook her head and frowned. "Silas will ask."
    St. Claire threw his hands in the air. "Hell, Mallory, so the old bastard will ask. Let him."
    "I don't see what the issue is," Jake said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Why should it matter who's dealing?"
    Mallory gave him a frustrated look. "Because Silas hates Yankees, and Reginald is well aware of that fact. I'd prefer not to start off this tournament by unnecessarily antagonizing the best poker player in the state. And if you think these men are going to sit quietly and concentrate on the cards, then it just proves my point that you know nothing about the South."
    Jake shrugged, "So I'll have to talk a bit. Sports are an easy topic. I still don't see the problem."
    Mallory laughed. "Sports are easy, huh? Well, Mr. McMillan, if I were fishing in the big saltwater tournament next weekend and I were to ask you which reel you recommended, what would you suggest--the Quantum or the Mudbug?"
    Jake frowned. Who the hell cared? But from the look on the woman's face, she cared, and she thought Silas would care. "I guess the Mudbug," he said, figuring he had a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right one and the latter of the two seemed to match the description of the dirty bayou the casino floated upon.
    Mallory shook her head and sighed. "The correct choice was the Quantum. You just suggested I enter the tournament using a crawfish as a reel." She turned back to St. Claire. "Good Lord, Reginald. You've got to give me something better than this to work with. He probably doesn't even watch NASCAR."
    St. Claire jammed the cigar back in his mouth and studied Jake for a moment, the uncertainty in his eyes clear as day. Jake felt his insides clench. To hell with manners, he finally decided. He had nothing to lose at this point and everything to gain.
    Jake turned to face the woman. "Excuse me, miss, but isn't Mr. St. Claire paying
you
to distract the players? Or should I assume that the practically nonexistent skirt and the push-up bra is your normal dress?"
    Mallory locked eyes with Jake, her expression hard, the green eyes studying
him like a lab rat. And for a moment, Jake decided he had underestimated this woman, but in a matter of seconds, her expression cleared into a fake smile.
    "Of course that's what he's paying me for, Mr. McMillan," she said. "Whatever was I thinking?"
    St. Claire laughed, but she ignored him and continued to smile at Jake. "My name is Mallory Devereaux. It's a pleasure to meet you." She stuck one hand out and Jake lifted his own, wondering what she was up to now. But before he could get it across the table, St. Claire grabbed his arm and yanked it down.
    "You'll want to watch touching my niece," he said.
    His niece? "Of course," Jake said, trying to process this bit of information and decide how it affected his plans. "I didn't mean to offend anyone."
    St. Claire laughed. "You didn't offend me, boy. I'm just saving your ass. Mallory's a cooler. One touch of her hand and your playing would be reduced to that of a five-year-old." St. Claire shook his head and pointed a finger at Mallory. "You know better."
    Mallory shrugged and tried for an apologetic look, but Jake knew she had been deliberate. "Sorry, Uncle Reginald," she said. "It slipped my mind."
    St. Claire narrowed his eyes at her. "Well, don't let it slip again. Remember our agreement." With that, St. Claire turned and stalked off across the casino.
    Mallory cast one final cutting look at Jake. "For the record, Mr. McMillan, I don't even wear a bra."
     
    Mallory sat on her stool at the end of the poker table, wishing for the first time in her life