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quiet. He looked over Lilly’s head at Nevada and stated calmly, “Miss Hamilton, Mr. Johnny Roulette has requested your company for supper.”
    Nevada’s heart was beating alarmingly fast. She clung to Stryker’s arm as he guided her through the crowd and when she spotted Johnny Roulette at a dice table, his back was to her. Stryker abruptly stopped, turned to Nevada, leaned down and said into her ear, “You’re safe as long as you’re on board the Gambler , Nevada. I’m always around, even when you’re not aware of my presence, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    “I’m not afraid,” said Nevada, wondering what this big fierce-looking man was going on about.
    The giant Stryker smiled at her. “I know. All the same, I’ll keep an eye on you.”
    Before she had time to respond he was again guiding her through the crowd of gamblers and in seconds she stood directly behind the tall, dark-haired Johnny Roulette.
    Stryker spoke his name. Johnny slowly turned around and Nevada stopped breathing. Close up, he was even more handsome than she had realized.
    “Miss Nevada Hamilton,” Stryker said, “meet John Roulette.”
    “Nevada, do you like dice?” Johnny Roulette asked with a grin, reaching for her hand, and Nevada felt her cold fingers being firmly gripped by his warm ones.
    Looking up into his dark, flashing eyes, she said honestly, “I’m not sure, Mr. Roulette. I’ve never shot dice.”
    Gently pulling her closer, Johnny said, “Then, sweetheart, it’s high time you gave it a try.” Putting a long arm around her narrow waist, Johnny shook hands with Stryker and said, “Thanks, Stryker. I’ll take good care of her.”
    “You do or you’ll answer to me,” said Stryker. Then he turned and walked away.
    “You’ll protect me from Stryker, won’t you, Nevada?” Johnny teased, leaning down so close his warm breath ruffled a curl near her right ear. He smelled of whiskey, but Nevada didn’t find it offensive. Quite the opposite; it was a pleasantly familiar scent she associated with another big, smiling man who used to kiss her good night and make her feel safe and loved.
    “The point,” Johnny Roulette was saying as he lifted her hand, turned it over, and deposited two black-dotted ivory dice in her soft palm, “is to throw a seven for me. Think you can do that, sweetheart?”
    “I’ll sure try,” said Nevada.
    “That’s good enough for me,” he said, leaning over and placing a tall stack of red chips on the green felt of the table’s front pass line. He grinned at Nevada, picked up his bourbon glass, and said, “We’re all waiting, darlin’. Just fling those dice to the other end of the table.”
    Nevada didn’t hesitate. If Johnny Roulette wanted a seven, she’d do her damnedest to give him one. Her tiny hand flew right out and she let go of the dice. The twin cubes struck the table’s wooden frame, clattered, spun dizzily, and finally rolled to a stop. One showed a three, the other a four. Nevada had thrown the seven.
    While the croupier paid off the bettors, Johnny, his grin wider than ever, said to Nevada, “That’s good, darlin’. Now, how about an eleven?”
    “Whatever you say, Johnny,” she answered confidently and wasted no time throwing one. Then she repeated. Then threw another seven. Then got six for a point and bucked it, tossing a six right back. And all the while her heart was drumming with excitement as the unsmiling croupier kept pushing chips across the table and Johnny Roulette, his hand possessively riding her waist, kept laughing and praising her and drinking his whiskey.
    A half hour later when Nevada finally sevened-out, Johnny Roulette threw back his dark head and laughed loudly as she exclaimed, “Damnation! Johnny, I’m sorry.”
    Enchanted, he hugged her to him and said, “Honey, you just made me ten thousand dollars.” He kissed the top of her dark head and added, “You’re my Lady Luck. I’ll never let you out of my