A Texas Beauty, Smart and Strong

Chapter One

Misty Morgan was having one of the worst weeks of her life. She had a stalker. Dylan O’Malley was having one of the best weeks of his life, and then, he fell in love. For a gambler, love puts everything at risk. It was his last week in Las Vegas. The poker bankroll that he and his uncle, Matt, owned together had finally surpassed $4,800,000, after five years of ups and downs.

Dylan was coasting in a $25 and $50 blind, no-limit Texas Hold ‘em game, not so big by Bellagio standards. Then Misty Morgan walked up and changed Dylan’s life forevermore. Ain’t love grand? She had changed many a man’s life. She knew this older, heavy man in the poker game with a hopelessly out-dated, orange, jump suit on. “Well, hello, Misty. I thought you played downtown these days,” he said. That was the first time Dylan had heard him speak except to say call, raise, or fold. It was the first time he had smiled in an hour of poker.

Dylan immediately thought she looked like a movie star, like so many others before him. That beauty opened doors, but it created barriers and stereotypes galore. Misty’s thick, auburn hair was almost an exact match to Dylan’s. She always kept it just long enough to rest on her breasts, above the nipples. Misty always showed cleavage, and had the top two or three buttons undone. Her perfect hour-glass figure, narrow waist, and large breasts were a near match for movie star Selma Hayek.

Misty walked around behind Dylan and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve heard about you,” she said. “We are practically neighbors. I’m from Amarillo.” Dylan played poker out of Lubbock, Texas, 140 miles south of Amarillo. Close, by West Texas standards. “I’ll be back in a little while. I want to talk to you some about the poker in West Texas. We both know Rusty Bailey. I may get a job dealing for him near Lubbock.”

Dylan stood up to talk with her. He was 6’2” and 175 pounds of solid muscle, none of it from working. He’d lifted weights while in the Navy. Misty thought he looked like Texas actor Matthew McConaughey. The same sly grin, but not so thin. Dylan gave Misty the full tilt O’Malley charm and asked her to dinner that very night. “I’d rather look at you than play all the poker in the world!” he said. She noticed the rust colored, wool sports coat draped over the chair so that the Hart, Schaffner, and Marx label showed and the cobalt blue, silk handkerchief in the breast pocket that matched his shirt.

Misty could see her stalker, Tom Chapman, over Dylan’s shoulder and it chilled her whole gorgeous body. Chapman often had this foolish smile look but now he was glaring, thinking that his imaginary soul mate was talking to another man. Jealousy consumed him. Jealousy has to be God’s little joke. Since the first caveman hit his promiscuous lady love upside the head with his decorated club, jealousy has not once benefited the jealous person.

She asked Dylan about Rusty Bailey’s poker game and what kind of tips she’d get. He told her they’d be great, and a great place to work with world-class food. But it was the toughest poker game he played in in four states.

After he saw her walk out, Dylan cashed out, and looked all about for her. In his head, he began writing the first song about her he was to write:

She put her hand on my shoulder.

I’d never seen her before.

That touch and her beauty.

Opened love’s door.

Searched all over Las Vegas.

Looked for her everywhere.

She said she was headed for Texas.

So I headed there.

Dylan’s Svengali-wannabe uncle had given up his life-long devotion to the law of averages to entertain beliefs in the mystical, supernatural, karma that fueled their amazing two-year long lucky streak. Dylan wondered if meeting Misty might be part of this time in life when good fortune smiled on him as often as the sun came up. The O’Malleys were five generations of road gamblers, con artists, snake oil salesman, and musicians. Dylan and Matt were honest, square gamblers and proud of it! The O’Malleys who were square gamblers were the most successful down through time.

Big Ed O’Malley had arrived in Leadville, Colorado for the silver strike in 1880. He would sit on the bar in a chair with a double-barreled shot gun in his lap to make certain everything was on the square. Later, he was a boss gambler in Denver with five gambling houses. Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Bat Masterson had worked for Big Ed O’Malley at different times as faro dealers. Celebrities packed the joint.

As Misty Morgan left the Bellagio poker room, most of the people there paused to watch her go. Misty had thought she could go about freely on her last night in Las Vegas, but there was Captain Tom standing by the women’s room. He looked angry. Misty disappeared into the crowds. When Misty would go to a different Las Vegas poker room, Tom would often find her because he was doing a search.

Dylan cashed in and watched the game awhile. He had planned to hook up with Dr. Pauly, Iggy, and Otis at the Rio for some drinking and silly prop bets, like throwing limes at trash cans from a distance. He walked all around the poker room sipping a beer and looking for Misty. He felt kind of silly. Then he took a cab downtown and walked around the poker rooms, while he drank. He asked the brush in each poker room if they had seen Misty Morgan. All knew who she was, but said she had not been around that night.

Dylan O’Malley, super-controlled, super-cool, Texas road gambler, had fallen in love. It was as if he could still feel her hand on his shoulder. Actually feel the warmth. He still had a perfect picture in his mind of her standing over him. “She’s heard of me,” he said out loud. “What does that mean?” He clicked his heels and did a little dance down Fremont Street recalling an old Fred Astaire movie in his head and thinking the night and her lingering aura just required dance!

Misty Morgan had decided to walk through the Bellagio poker room, and the Venetian poker room, and be seen. Between all the attacks on her on the poker blogs, and her fear of Captain Ben Chapman, her ex-poker coach, and mentor, turned scary, psycho stalker, Misty’s life was, like her poker playing, running bad. Very bad. She had convinced herself she was hiding out successfully, but her box-car odds beauty made that a long shot.