Locked and Loaded
"Lady Luck"

"Now, gents," Maggie said, backing away from the poker table, her valise in one hand and her little derringer in the other. "There ain't no need to get all het up. Every dadblasted one of you knows I ain't no cheat."

"Ain't right," Callum Carter mumbled, staring at the bore of her little pistol. "Gettin' beat by a woman."

Baring her teeth, Maggie let the barrel drift even more his way. "Oh, now," she said, "I was a 'lady' until about two hours ago. What happened to that?"

"Well, you beat us," the little feller in the bowler hat spat out. "That changes things considerable like."

"Don't see why." There. The door of the saloon hit her bustle, right on cue. Thank the good Lord. She might just get out of this after all.

"Just ain't right." That was another man, Davis something, and she'd thought him right handsome. Now he had the ugliest look on his face.

"I won fair and square, and if you set the sheriff on me like you're threatening, I'll make sure he knows how you hold aces, Callum. Or how Ed here deals from the bottom of the deck."

She felt the sun on her back and Maggie whirled, clearing the swinging doors and sprinting for her horse. She had to let the derringer slip up her sleeve so she could hold her blasted skirts out of her way. That was the damned trouble with being "Lady Luck," she figured.

All of those clothes got in the way of a good escape.

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