The Moonlight Serenade

  The Moonlight Serenade

  by

  Ava Miles

  ~ Dare Valley~

  Abbie & Rhett

  © 2017 Ava Miles

  Sign up for Ava’s Newsletter

  Ava’s Website

  Ava’s Facebook

  Ava on Goodreads

  Ava’s Twitter

  Ava’s Instagram

  Abbie Maven is every bit a lady.

  Rhett Butler Blaylock doesn’t mingle much with ladies.

  Being a professional poker player, the only lady he spends time with is Lady Luck. Yet, despite their differences, he can’t fight the temptation of getting closer to Abbie. He imagines she smells as fresh as a hot July peach and tastes even more tantalizing.

  She makes him want to be a better man.

  Abbie can’t ignore her brother’s best friend—the man who makes her son laugh. They are as different as ocean and desert, and yet she can’t stop her heart from opening to him… Or her body. Someone had destroyed both a long time ago. Rhett makes her come alive again.

  They strike a bargain: a secret relationship on her terms. Behind closed doors, everything is perfect. But his poker persona as a bad boy undermines everything she’s raising her son to believe in. Abbie has to decide: are moonlight serenades enough?

  To all the people I encounter in my everyday life—from the coffee shops to the restaurants. Thank you for sharing the magic of the present moment with me as I write and giving me so much joy in the process.

  And to my divine entourage, who brings all the right people to me, exactly at the right time.

  Prologue

  Rhett Butler Blaylock thrived on the unexpected.

  The sweet little bundle of joy in his arms gazing up at him—his beautiful baby girl, Clara—was in the category of unexpected with a capital U.

  “Hey, now, sweetheart,” he said when she started to squirm and fuss in her yellow swaddling blanket. “You’re okay. Daddy’s got you.”

  As a professional poker player, he had more respect for Lady Luck than most two-legged creatures. She could ratchet up a man’s adrenaline faster than a roadrunner streaking across a highway, leaving him dripping with sweat and struggling to maintain his carefully constructed poker face. Rhett had seen men bet everything on a hand of cards. Sometimes they won a flush pot. Sometimes they lost everything, even their shirt.

  Rhett had always believed in thinking big. In giving Lady Luck plenty of wishes and dreams on which to deliver. Even so, he’d never expected the joy and wonder of being a father—not when his own daddy had exhibited so little of that emotion before he’d up and left.

  Though Rhett had first come to savor fatherhood with Abbie’s older son, Dustin was almost full-grown. Clara was such a little thing, completely dependent on Rhett and Abbie to protect her and introduce her to the world. That same responsibility had been enough to send Rhett’s daddy scampering away, but it humbled Rhett.

  Clara made every other victory in his life recede to white noise. Her little grunts when she was sleeping or her toothless grins as he talked to her saturated his life with joy like the primary colors in a modern painting. Not that Rhett liked modern art, but there was no denying it made a bold statement.

  Much like Rhett himself.

  “Your mama thought I was way too bold for my britches from the moment she met me,” he told Clara. As he spoke, he rocked them back and forth in the chair he’d bought for Clara’s nursery—a rocker worthy of Grandma Moses herself. “Actually I think it’s too big for my britches, but who cares? I figure you can turn a phrase how you like it. That’s what we Southerners do. Although between me and your mama, you listen to her about things like talking right. She cares about the proper way of doing things.”

  His daughter scrunched up her nose, a sure sign she was going to cry. “All right, missy. Your mama isn’t going to be home for a while yet, so don’t be pulling a face at me. What you need is for me to spin a good yarn. That’s a story in case you didn’t know, being as you’re so fresh out the chute.”

  He rocked in silence for a moment, considering how best to begin a story for the little sprite. Sure, some people didn’t think babies this tiny could understand what anyone was saying, but Rhett had learned never to underestimate anyone. Sure as shooting, it was a good way to lose a card game. He figured his daughter deserved his respect, so he talked to her like she was real people.

  “Why don’t I tell you about how your mama and me fell in love? Seems only right, seeing as how you’re here because of it. Of course, I can’t tell you everything, seeing as how some of the parts are private-like, between me and your mama. But I figure I can tell you a clean version from what I remember and what your mama has told me herself. I’m sure you won’t mind if I reflect on the rest quiet-like.”

  Clara squirmed until she wiggled until her hands out of the yellow blanket. Rhett laughed. His daughter was a lot like him that way. She didn’t want to be restricted, always punching those little fists in the air.

  “Your mama had no use for me as a man when we first met, Clara,” Rhett said, settling back in the rocking chair, wincing as he remembered how guarded Abbie had been around him. “Of course, I was wearing a lot of snakeskin and animal print back then to distract my opponents and attract media attention.”

  Mostly he’d been living large, if he were being honest. A cheetah print jacket with fringe wasn’t something most men could pull off, but at six foot six, Rhett could make the wildest of garments look downright intimidating. Besides, he had liked expressing his primal side with…well, hints of the wild kingdom, as he’d liked to call it.

  “I dress like a normal bubba now,” he drawled, eyeing his jeans, almost too plain for words. “That’s how much I love your mama, although I do still wear a cowboy hat a time or two.” His black Stetson Diamante remained one of his favorites.

  “Regardless of dressing and acting the part of a Cowboy on Crack, as I’ve been called, I didn’t fall off the turnip wagon yesterday. I can be a patient man.”

  Clara gurgled suddenly, and the sound was fetchingly similar to Abbie’s laughter. “Are you laughing at me? Heck, I can be patient. Luckily for your mama, I am. Your uncle was my friend, but the reason I came around so much was that I kept hoping she’d look at me like a woman looked at a man she found appealing. It took years, mind, and it didn’t even sway her that your brother adored me. Nope. Your mama may be all proper-like, but she sure as shooting knows her own mind. Like I know you will too, Clara.

  “Now, why don’t we start with the first day we met…”

  Chapter 1

  Rhett was in a sour mood that day after busting out in the finals at a major poker tournament. It was a small consolation that his friend Mac, better known as Maverick in the poker world, was the one who’d taken the prize money. Rhett crossed the room to congratulate him, only to stop short at the sight of the petite dark-haired woman standing next to Mac in a wine-colored women’s suit that covered up the charms the good Lord had given her. She was wearing panty hose beneath her knee-length skirt, and he could tell she sure as hell didn’t have a tattoo like most of the women he met on the circuit.

  This was Mac’s sister! He’d heard dozens of yarns about her from Mac, but they’d never met.

  Abbie Maven looked like a fish out of water amidst the scantily dressed hotties in the crowd, but Rhett was swept away by her beauty and sweetness. From her perfectly styled chin-length black hair to the tips of her elegant low-heeled cream-colored pumps, she was every bit a lady—so much so Rhett wouldn’t have been surprised to find her picture in a women’s magazine article. She was grinning at her brother—something he would learn was uncharacteristic of her—and her arm was tucked lovingly around an enthusias
tic young boy who looked just like Maverick. Mac’s nephew, and her son, Rhett realized.

  The bitter taste of defeat left his mouth, and he found himself hankering to get closer to her. He imagined she smelled as fresh as a hot July peach and tasted even more tantalizing.

  But because Mac was his friend, Rhett told himself she was off-limits.

  Sure as shooting, when she caught sight of him ambling toward them, the grin left her face. In fact, she turned downright pale, almost like she was going to faint—something he wouldn’t mind, since he planned on catching her.

  “You’re Rhett Butler Blaylock,” the young boy called out. “I’m Dustin, and this is my mom, Abigail Maven, but people call her Abbie. Except for me, of course. You play like a crazy man, just like Uncle Mac said. It’s so cool. When you went all in on that last hand…”

  Rhett focused his attention on the young boy as he continued to chatter, aware of his mama watching the scene. Dustin was a breath of fresh air, full of piss and vinegar, as Rhett’s mama would say.

  “Dustin,” Abbie finally said softly. “Take a breath.”

  The boy stopped speaking instantly and took a huge one, loud enough to make Rhett chuckle. “Mom says I’m like a jukebox sometimes. It’s like someone put a quarter in me.”

  Rhett laughed a little louder, and Mac joined him. Abbie gave her son a look.

  “I’d say a whole dollar from that speech,” Rhett replied, tousling the boy’s hair playfully. “Personally I love me a good ol’ fashioned jukebox. They play the best tunes.”

  Since the woman before him made him jittery, Rhett took a breath to compose himself before turning toward her.

  “Ms. Maven, it’s good to finally meet you. Mac here speaks highly of you.”

  She continued to stare at him. “You as well.”

  While his heart was racing under his zebra-striped vest, she stuck her hand out like she was Robert E. Lee surrendering at Appomattox or something. For a moment, she caught him flat-footed. He wasn’t used to women wanting to shake his hand. Usually they had something else in mind.

  But his manners kicked in. He gave his charming, shit-eating grin as he engulfed her tiny hand, hoping her earlier humor would return. Instead, she cocked her eyebrow at him as though he were a camel wandering around in a winter blizzard. She sure seemed to think he was crazy. Well, she wasn’t half wrong. The thoughts he was having about her made him a candidate for the loony bin.

  “I take it the Maverick here didn’t prepare you for me,” he said in his drawl, which usually had women hanging on his every word.

  Her mouth gave the faintest hint of a smile. “His briefings about people are usually more spot on, but perhaps you defy description, Mr. Butler.”

  Mr. Butler? Wasn’t she cool as a cucumber and then some? “Rhett, ma’am, and I would like to think I do,” he said, leaning down some to take a good whiff of her perfume. It wasn’t the peach scent of his imaginings, but something a little muskier and more alluring. Lord, he’d be eating out of her hand but good in another minute.

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around, Mr. Butler,” Abbie said before he could make more of a jackass of himself. “Dustin, it’s time for bed.”

  The boy gave a playful wave, wished everyone goodnight, and followed his mother out of the hotel lobby that had accommodated the poker tournament.

  “It’s Rhett,” he called out, a fraction too late.

  The sweet perfection that was Abbie Maven had disappeared.

  Mac clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t take to people very easily. She’s a little shy.”

  She hadn’t seemed shy so much as disinterested. Rhett was surprised to discover he was the one who felt totally out of his depth. He didn’t mingle much with ladies, and as a professional poker player, he got more mileage and press from appearing to be a bad boy. That didn’t mean he didn’t treat women with respect. No siree. His mama had taught him from the time he was a sprout to say “ma’am” and open doors for the women folk. She was fond of saying, “We give birth to y’all, and the least you could do is talk to us proper and treat us right.”

  Rhett saw Abbie often at the major poker tournaments after that first meeting, especially as he and Mac became better friends. He spent more time with her son, Dustin, too. Mac had told him that Abbie was a single mama, although Mac lived with them to help out. But when he probed a bit more, he hit a wall.

  “Dustin’s father is totally out of the picture,” Mac said, his jaw tight. “I figure it’s Abbie’s business who knows the rest.”

  Rhett knew better than to ask again. His own daddy had left him and his mama, after all. His mama didn’t mind talking about it to anyone who cared to listen, but Abbie was different.

  Both he and Mac continued to be on the best of terms with Lady Luck, one or the other winning championship after championship, and Mac and Abbie collaborated to launch a successful line of upscale poker hotels. Rhett would visit them at their hotels over the years, staying as a guest in one of their premier suites.

  Abbie had thawed to him, maybe even warmed up, but she always acted a little uncomfortable about the idea of him staying over at one of the homes they rented to give their family, Mac included, a sense of normality and structure.

  Maybe she was afraid he’d walk around the house in a leopard-print thong or something. Usually he just walked around buck naked, but he’d observe normal conventions—like wearing clothes—for her. His mama hadn’t raised him in a barn.

  Despite their differences, he never stopped hoping to get closer to her. Even though he knew it was foolish as a bear trying to talk himself out of hibernating.

  His lucky break happened one sunny June afternoon after he’d won another big poker tournament in Mac’s Arizona hotel. He’d recently won the big granddaddy of them all, the World Series of Poker championship, and he was still flying high.

  Right now, he was hot poker shit.

  “Rhett!”

  Dustin was pushing his way toward him through a sea of poker fans and well-wishers. Full of the regular hormones of a fourteen-year-old, he was giving some of the poker hotties embarrassed smiles as he brushed against them accidentally.

  “Hell of a win, Rhett,” someone called out.

  “How in the world did you come back after losing over half your chips?” another person shouted.

  “Nerves of steel, boys,” he called out. “Dustin! What are you doing in this throng? It’s as thick as flies on flypaper in here.”

  “You played sick,” Dustin said, his green eyes sparkling with a hero worship that made Rhett feel like a heavyweight. “I’m so glad you won. Especially since Uncle Mac didn’t.”

  Maverick had come close this time. They didn’t like playing each other, but they’d agreed not to let anything harm their friendship.

  Mac appeared beside Dustin and extended his hand. “Congrats. You caught some hands even I would have thought impossible.”

  “Lady Luck is my best girl,” he said, searching for Abbie. “Where’s your mama?”

  “She doesn’t like the crowds,” Mac said. “She already headed up to our suite.”

  Rhett fought the frown. She’d braved the crush for her brother. He couldn’t help but feel a little put out. They’d come far enough along to be friends, hadn’t they? “Let’s find her and celebrate. I’ll join you in your suite in a sec. I need to thank my girls first.”

  Dustin and Mac nodded and disappeared in the crowd. Rhett turned to Raven and Vixen. They were dressed to the nines, like always, in teensy-weensy sequined dresses designed to attract attention. Only a handful of people in Rhett’s circle knew that Raven and Vixen, known affectionately in the media as his “poker babes,” were his secret poker scouts. They both had M.B.A.s from Harvard, the oldest university in these United States. Elizabeth Saunders aka Vixen and Jane Wilcox aka Raven had both needed new lives, and masquerading as his beautiful, ditzy companions had allowed them to hide in plain sight.

  “Y’all are the
best,” he told them, kissing each of them on the cheek.

  While they were far too professional to break character in public, Rhett saw the mischievous sparkle in their eyes. It never failed to amuse them how much people underestimated a pretty woman in a tight dress.

  “I’ll see y’all later,” he said and set about making his way through the crowd, fielding questions from the press and fans.

  He knew how to find the Maven family suite. They had one in each of the hotels they owned—a place where they could host friends and business partners or comfortably sleep after a special event at the hotel. He’d celebrated other victories there before, both for himself and Mac. A few zealous members of the press core and some determined fans were on his tail, but they wouldn’t get past the security Mac posted at the corridor to the family suite during every competition. The bulky men in the maroon jackets nodded to him and let him pass. Rhett was delighted when Dustin greeted him at the door, grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat.

  “You made it in record time! Mom thought we’d be waiting awhile.”

  Rhett stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The family suite was much like Abbie: elegant, classy, and inviting. Her yellow linen suit didn’t have a wrinkle on it, he’d bet, and it was the perfect Abbie attire. It said, “Welcome, but don’t come too close.”

  Abbie met his gaze and then looked away, like a bird landing briefly on a blueberry bush only to be startled away. “You played remarkably, Rhett,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure if “remarkably” was proper English. It didn’t sound right to his redneck ears. But he supposed it must be since Abbie had said it.

  “Let’s pop some champagne,” Mac said, walking over to a silver bucket where a bottle of Krug was chilling.