“Competition’s not for sissies,” Del told her. “Parker tried to ban cigars from the poker rounds. She’s been overruled. I hear Mal’s handling dinner.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that end of things under control. We’ll require a couple of time-outs to check on things.”

“Fair enough.”

Yes, he was, she thought, fair enough. Generous by nature, as Mal had said. He’d gone to considerable trouble here—for his own benefit, sure. The man loved to play. But also to make sure everyone had a good time.

She crooked her finger to gesture him over to a more private spot as Mac argued with Jack over the choices of video games.

“I’m not going to apologize for the content, but for the delivery.”

“All right.”

“I don’t want either of us to feel, ever, your wallet has to be open.”

Frustration flickered over his face. “I don’t. You don’t. It’s not—” “That’s what counts then.” She rose to her toes to touch her lips to his. “Let’s forget about it. You’re going to have enough to deal with when I kick your ass in this tournament.”

“Not a chance. The trophy for the First Annual Brown Beach Tourney is as good as mine.”

“There’s a trophy?”

“Of course there’s a trophy. Jack and Parker made it.”

She followed the direction of his finger. On top of the mantle stood what might have been a piece of driftwood or salvage with shells placed strategically to emulate a primitive bikini. Dried kelp covered the ‘head.’ They’d drawn on a face with a fierce and toothy grin.

She burst out laughing, and went over for a closer look.

Better, Del thought. She’d brushed off whatever pinched at her. But brushing it off didn’t mean it wasn’t lurking in the corners waiting to pinch again.

He’d had time to think about it, and believed he had an idea what some of it, at least, was about—and where it might’ve come from.

He also believed he knew how to find out.

He glanced over to where Emma manned the bar.

He just needed to bide his time, and use the right approach.

“Let the games begin,” Jack called out, and held up a hat. “Everyone picks a number for the first round.”

SHE REALLY DID SUCK AT FOOSBALL. SO GREAT WAS HER FAILURE even Carter beat her. Now that, she thought, was humiliating.

Still, she’d killed at pinball with a run of luck and skill that had put her slightly ahead of both Jack and Del in that field of play. Much to their chagrin.

And that was satisfying.

She felt she’d hold her own at poker. But currently Mal and Parker were ripping it at competitive DDR. She’d have to ace her run to have even a fighting chance for the trophy.