Page 12 of Love You Truly

Mary takes a swig of her beer. Then another. “Helps my focus,” she explains. She spends far less time than I did surveying the board before throwing her first dart. It hits the largest ring outside the bullseye.

“Bollocks.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s great.”

“Not great, but I’m just getting warmed up.” She squares her shoulders and takes aim again, squinting at the board. The dart flies straight and hits just to the right of the center. “There we go. Getting closer.”

I mark her score, which is already so much better than mine. If I don’t hit some big numbers or if Mary doesn’t cramp up in the next couple of minutes, this game is going to be over before it starts.

Mary looks at the floor, then stares at the target with such focus I’m surprised it doesn’t burst into flames. She takes another sip with her left hand and proceeds to hit the bullseye before she even swallows. “What are we playing to?” Her smile returns.

I’m going to get my ass handed to me in this game, but I’d rather be here than almost any place else.

“Does it matter?” I sound grumpy, but really, this is the happiest I’ve been all day. Here, in this grubby bar, I don’t have to be Mallory Rutherford, super social party girl who’s always looking for a new man. I don’t have to prance around in fancy shoes with red soles and taunt the vineyard owners all over town with the idea that I might have land to sell in order to stay relevant in this small community.

I can just be myself, a shy girl who gets excited about darts and would rather drink beer than wine sometimes. This place is my own little haven.

Or at least it was.

The door swings open.

“Speak of the devil.”

My heart sinks because there’s only one devil, and I’ve already dealt with him once today. I don’t want to speak of him or think about him. I especially don’t want to see him.

I feel his breath against the back of my neck before he says a word. It’s like a Saharan wind slapping my skin, and I bristle at his presence.

“Mal.” The way he says my name feels more like a command than a greeting. His voice lacks any warmth, and for the millionth time, I ask myself how I ever fell for him in the first place.

I debate just not turning around. I could pretend I didn’t hear him and continue throwing darts at the board. Or I could turn and throw darts at him. My fingers twitch at the idea of that.

“Babe…” My shoulders rise at the term of endearment.

Slowly, I turn around. “‘Babe?’ Really?”

He smiles. Hair slicked back, perfect teeth, a smile that looks like a puma who wants a meal. Felix shrugs and tilts his head to the side, fixing his dark eyes on me. They used to seem soulful. Now I know the man has no soul. He just wants what he wants, and in my case, he wants our family’s land.

“You are still a babe,” he says. “But if you want, I’ll call you something else.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Felix. I don’t want you to call me at all.”

Now his smile bends into the smirk of the devil that fits his face so much better. “You keep saying that…”

“Because I mean it. What did you do, follow me here?”

Felix fondles his chin in a way I found sexy for a brief insane moment, and when his eyes finish their sweep around the interior of the bar, they land on me. He tilts his head and furrows his brow. Doesn’t make him any less of a stalker.

“Maybe.”

I feel my blood pressure rise at the idea that he did, in fact, follow me. “Do I need to take out a restraining order, Felix?”

He holds up his hands and takes one step back, but the smirk on his face makes it clear he thinks this is all a joke.

Mary, who’s been watching our exchange, takes a couple of steps closer. She stands in front of Felix with one arm crossed over the other, a handful of darts in her extended hand. “We’re in the middle of a game, if you don’t mind. You should sod off.”

Felix laughs. “I don’t mind. Finish your game. I can wait.” Signaling at the bar, he mimes the size of a rocks glass. Ordering his usual bourbon, I assume.

“Restraining order sounds like a decent idea,” I tell Felix, grabbing one of the darts from Mary’s still-outstretched hand. I hold it in throwing position, and if he doesn’t move, it’s going to hit him squarely in the chest. He wisely sidesteps and lets me take aim at the board.

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