Double In (2 page)

“Keep watching. You’ll see it.” Porter stepped aside and let
Reid throw a few practice shots. He moved back to the table, downed the
remaining swigs of his beer and motioned with the bottle for another to Allie
as she hurried past.

“I’m ready if you are.” Reid joined him, emptied his own
beer and set the bottle back on the table. “Did you order us another round?”

“Got myself one. Allie will know to bring you one, too.”

“Good. Let’s get this game started.”

“You’ve got home bar advantage,” Ross Chadwick said. “You
want us to show you one or you want to start?”

“Show us one.” Porter made the decision for them, hooking
his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans as Ross and Randy discussed who’d take
the shot.

One dart by one member of each team, aimed at the bulls eye.
The player with the dart that landed the closest to the center of the red would
start the game. Ross stepped to the toe line and aimed. His dart landed just
inside the wire surrounding the bulls eye.

“Nice shot.” Porter nodded at Ross then shot Reid a look.
“You corking or am I?” Corking was another common term for that first dart.
When Reid gestured toward the board with a dramatic flourish of his arm, Porter
chuckled under his breath and took his place on the toe line. This time he did
it when it counted, sinking his first and only dart just off center of the red
eye. It was close enough. “Shoot well, gentlemen.” He bumped knuckles with
Ross, then Randy, and finally Reid. It was a tradition of sorts at the start of
each match.

Allie arrived with his beer. He took the bottle from her
with a smile and started to bring it to his mouth as he turned. He paused
before the bottle touched his lips, his gaze locking with Marsha’s behind the
bar. She held his gaze for a long instant before she jolted as if snapped back
from deep thoughts. She sprang into action, moving down the bar to serve her
customers, and the moment ended.

But she’d been watching him. For a few heartbeats, he’d had
her attention, held it, and he hadn’t felt any of the dislike or rage sizzling
in the air. He’d felt the Marsha he remembered, friendly, easy, desirable.

He’d feel it again before the end of the night, he told
himself as he set the bottle down without finishing the sip. And when he did
he’d make damn sure it counted.

* * * * *

“Need a bucket of Miller Lite, a Yuengling and an Amber Bock
draught.”

Marsha barely heard Allie’s order over her pulse pounding in
her ears. He’d caught her watching him. Damn it. She’d hoped he’d be distracted
by the game, too focused on darts to pay her any mind. She’d only glanced his
direction at first.

And got caught in the way his navy T-shirt hugged the broad
expanse of his back when he lifted his right arm to aim his dart, in the way
his muscles flexed as he followed the motion through and released.

She’d gone into a trance watching him strut to the
dartboard, his worn jeans resting low on his hips and clinging to his
delectable ass like a second skin. She’d started to sweat when Reid joined
Porter to watch as the other team went for the cork. Separately, the Bishop
brothers’ hotness made any red-blooded female weak in the knees, but together,
they made women positively faint.

It simply wasn’t fair that sheer male perfection had been
created twice. It was worse knowing that those handsome exteriors disguised
such conniving, swindling souls beneath.

“Don’t you think it’s about time to let bygones be bygones?”

Marsha set Allie’s order on the bar, her attention snapping
to the waitress’s face at her question. “Not even close.”

“Come on, Marsha. It’s been a year, for Pete’s sake. Poor
Martin is probably crying in his grave after seeing what’s happened to the
three of you.”

Marsha didn’t want to think about that. She’d only been
blessed enough to know Martin Bishop for a little over two years before he’d
been diagnosed with cancer. Less than six months later, the man had passed
away. She’d gone to work for him mere days after rolling into town. What she’d
intended to be a temporary job until she got the feel of the area and found
something better had turned into a permanent position she’d surprisingly not
wanted to leave. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought Martin
would leave the bar to her in his will.

And that’s when all hell had broken loose.

“Martin made his wishes clear. They are the ones who didn’t
want to abide by them.”

They’d fought her. Well, okay, they’d stood behind their
little sister, Blair, while
she
fought Marsha with every connection she
possessed in town and every scheme her preppy mind could cook up. Marsha
wouldn’t have pushed the issue even though she knew she’d been more than merely
Martin’s employee. She’d been his friend. She’d grown to love the man in the
short time he’d been in her life, had started to view him as the father she’d
never had. But Blair was his daughter and Porter and Reid were his stepsons. If
anyone truly had the right to Martin’s Pub, it was Martin’s children.

Except none of them really wanted the bar. Porter and Reid
had a thriving construction business of their own, while Blair was a successful
real estate agent. Her sole purpose in fighting for ownership had been
jealousy. She’d never planned to keep the place open. She’d made it clear her
intentions to sell it and pocket the profits.

“Blair was the one who didn’t want to,” Allie pointed out
weakly. “Porter and Reid stood by her because she’s family, not because they
agreed with her.”

Part of Marsha wanted to believe that. Hell, if she were
honest with herself, part of her
did
believe it. Deep down, that same
part of her couldn’t fault them for sticking by family, no matter what said
family member did.

“Are you all right?” Marsha changed the subject. She
couldn’t think about this now and she’d noted something in Allie’s voice, in
her stance on the other side of the bar that she found worrisome.

Allie sighed and reached for the bucket of Miller Lite. “I’m
fine. Just feeling a bit woozy. Probably allergies. According to the noon
weather report, there’s a storm brewing out there. It might be a doozy and it’s
supposed to be here by the weekend.”

Great. That’s all she needed, a storm and a sick waitress on
a weekend when Bulls Eye Billiards saw its busiest hours.

“Who are these going to?” Marsha took the bucket in her own
hand, hooked a finger through the handle on the draught mug, and curled another
finger around the neck of the Yuengling bottle.

“I’ve got them, Marsha,” Allie protested.

“Nope, looks as if I do. You stick here at the bar and take
a break. You’ve been on your feet almost nonstop since we opened at four.”

“Fine.” Allie blew a breath up her face, making her
jet-black bangs flutter over her forehead. “Bucket goes to Tucker, draught
belongs to Mitch, and Randy gets the bottle.”

“Got it.” Marsha rounded the bar and headed for the dart
area.
So much for serving them and moving on.
Her current order might
not belong to Porter and Reid, but she’d have to pass right by them to deliver
it to the other guys.

She squared her shoulders, refusing to even glance in their
direction as she made her way toward the teams playing at the second dartboard.
She offloaded the bucket first, using her now-free hand to resituate the
draught and bottle so she could hand the draught to Mitch without spilling it
all over both of them.

Mitch beamed a smile at her that lit his chiseled face.
“Thank you, darlin’.”

“You’re welcome, hon.” She glanced at the scoreboard hanging
next to the dartboard. They’d moved on to Cricket, a game that required numbers
twenty through fifteen and the bulls eye to be hit three times each to claim
the win. From the marks on either side of the scoreboard, she saw Mitch and
Tucker were considerably ahead of the other team. She tipped her chin at the
dartboard. “Good shooting.”

Mitch downed half his mug in a large gulp and she made a
mental note to bring a refill around soon. “We’re hanging in there.”

Marsha laughed and sidestepped her way through the crowd of
players to board one. Randy was just finishing his turn when she made it to
him. She held out his bottle of beer, but didn’t step back fast enough.

“Well, hey there, sexy.” He took the bottle with one hand,
his other arm snaking around her to slap her on her ass before she had a chance
to realize his intentions.

Honey, darlin’, sweet thing, baby…the men who came into her
bar could call her all the terms of endearment they could cook up and she’d
fire one right back at them. However, touching was against the rules. What was
it about men that made them think they could put their hands on a woman just
because she was a bartender?

Okay, not every man thought that way. Just scuzzbucket,
slimeballs like Randy Nickel.

Marsha stiffened, flattened her hand on his meaty chest, and
pushed back. “Touch my ass again, Nickel, and you’re out of here.” He’d be off
the dart team, too, kicked out of the GVDA for improper conduct.

She caught movement on both sides of her. She turned her
head right first and found Coby watching the show through narrowed eyes. Oh
yeah, if Randy pulled something like that again he’d be lucky if he ever got to
play on another dart team in the state.

She turned her head left next and her heart bumped even as
alarm bells of warning shrilled in her head. Porter and Reid closed the
distance between themselves, her and Randy in three long strides.

Randy, apparently the king of stupid fucks tonight, didn’t
back down. “Aw, come on, Marsha. You really think your sexy ass is strong
enough to throw me out of here?”

“We are,” Porter and Reid said in unison, their jaws tight
and eyes blazing with anger.

Marsha flicked her gaze between them, relieved to see very
few people in the bar had realized there was any sort of commotion going on.
Donnie saw, though. He’d apparently come out of the kitchen in time to catch
the byplay and looked ready to pounce. She met her bouncer’s gaze and gave her
head an almost imperceptible shake. She had this under control.

She hoped.

She extended her other hand, flattening it on Reid’s solid
chest, stopping his advance on her and Randy. Electricity sizzled up her arm at
the contact, raining fiery embers of acute desire through her system. Christ,
it felt good to touch him, too damn good. She’d touched him before, a slap on
the shoulder, a silly bop upside the head. Back when they’d been friends, when
they’d kidded around and had fun together, she’d touched him quite a bit; Porter,
too. She’d always felt that spark, that intense longing to feel more, but she’d
pushed it aside. They’d been friends. She never dared to cross the line, never
got the nerve to even insinuate she wanted to.

Her anger toward him and Porter coupled with the current
heated situation made it easy for her to push the longing aside now, too. She
stood only a few inches shorter than both men so she didn’t have to look up
much to meet his gaze.

“Back off,” she said sternly. “This is my bar.”
Whether
you like it or not.
She slid her gaze from Reid’s to Porter’s, making sure
they knew she was speaking to them both. “I’ll handle this.” She didn’t need
the trouble duo making it any worse than it already was.

She leveled her glare back on Randy. “I do not put up with
any man putting his hands on a woman without her consent in this bar. I give
one warning and you just got yours. Do it again and you will be barred. Got
that?”

“Jeez, no need to go into bitch mode,” Randy grumbled and
finally dropped his hand from her ass.

Bitch? Okay, she supposed she could add that to the list of
endearments she swallowed around this place. She was tempted to fire a similar
one right back at him, but bit her tongue. She’d defused the situation. No need
to get him all riled up again.

“Apologize to the lady.”

Damn it, Porter!
She whipped her head back around,
narrowing her eyes on Porter’s hard face. He had his nerve insisting anyone
apologize to her after the things he’d done.

“Why, you—” Randy cut himself off, obviously thinking better
of whatever he’d been about to say.

Marsha looked back at him, realizing Coby had moved in
closer and now stood staring at him expectantly with one brow raised and his
arms folded over his chest. No wonder the bastard had stopped in mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry, Marsha.” He actually said it, but naturally, he
couldn’t leave it at that. “A sexy ass like yours is just too tempting for a
man not to touch sometimes.”

“I suggest you learn to resist that temptation fast.” Marsha
kept her tone cool and level, but she let him know by the stern expression she
put on her face that she meant business.

Randy backed off and chugged down his beer. If he thought
he’d be getting another one tonight, he could think again. As far as she was
concerned, he was cut off for the remainder of the evening.

A hand covered hers and she realized she still had her hand
on Reid’s chest. She pulled it back, feeling only a nanosecond of resistance
from his hand on hers before he let her go.
Smart move.

“I don’t care what the two of you were thinking just now or
why you felt the need to come to my rescue. Thank you, but that’ll be the last
time.” She could’ve used them last year, would’ve welcomed the chivalry act
when she needed it. Not now.

“Reid, you’re up,” Ross Chadwick said, obviously attempting to
continue with the match they had going on.

She expected a retort from either of them, but neither said
a word. Reid held her gaze for a long, tension-charged heartbeat, nodded once,
and stepped around her. Porter did the same.

Chapter Two

His aim was off. After the scene with Marsha and Randy, Reid
couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, much less whatever he attempted to go
for on the dartboard. He’d managed to pull off the win, but barely.

Damn it to hell! He’d wanted to throttle that bastard for
touching her. He’d wanted to tear him apart limb by limb.

She’d handled it, though, and handled it well. He wasn’t too
macho to admit that. She hadn’t hesitated to remind him and Porter that this
was her bar now, either, and they had no business stepping in. The anger in her
eyes as she stared at him hadn’t surprised him. The pain he doubted she even
knew she’d let show had. Her hatred for them wasn’t just based on fury. They’d
hurt her. She’d trusted them and they’d betrayed her. How in the hell would
they win back that trust?

“Final score for tonight is eleven to seven,” Coby told the
rest of the team as he handed over the signed score sheet to the other team’s
captain. “Good job, guys.”

“Guess that means you boys get another round on the house,”
Marsha announced as she came up behind Coby.

Reid had noticed she’d let Allie go early, taking over
serving the entire bar herself. She’d done it without missing a beat, too,
proving how she kept those amazing legs of hers in such fantastic shape.

The crowd in the bar had trickled down to nothing but the
remaining dart team members and a couple sitting at a table near the door. A
glance at that couple told Reid they were preparing to leave, too. Good.

“Can we carry it over to next week, Marsha?” Tucker asked.
“I’m through for tonight. You can cash out my tab whenever you get time.”

“Sure, we can do that.” Marsha nodded. “Everyone else want
to do that, too?”

“Porter and I will take ours now.” Reid didn’t miss the look
of resignation that moved through her angelic face. She wanted them gone. Too
bad for her, they had different plans.

“I’ll ring up the tabs,” she told the other guys. “And get
your beers,” she added, glancing at him before walking away.

“Grab one for yourself, too,” Porter called after her. “Put
it on my tab.”

“I can get my own beer,” she shot over her shoulder.
“Thanks.”

“Never knew that woman had such a cold streak in her,” Coby
commented when Marsha was out of earshot. “You two sure you want to be left in
this place alone with her? ‘Cause everyone else is headed out.”

“Yeah, we’re sure.” Reid wanted them out ten minutes ago. He
glanced at his wristwatch. It was barely midnight. State law allowed bars to
remain open until three a.m., but Marsha would close the doors as soon as the
last customer left.

He and Porter didn’t plan on being customers tonight.

They hung back, waiting and watching as Marsha cashed out
the rest of the guys. Tucker said something that made her laugh, the smile
transforming her face from angelic to downright gorgeous. Pain sliced through
Reid at the sight, remembering how she used to smile at him that way. He’d
never meant to fall for her, didn’t even know when it happened. He’d been
attracted to her from the get-go. What man in his right mind wouldn’t be? With
a stream of long dirty-blonde hair, potent green eyes, and a body built to fuel
every man’s fantasy, she was truly one of God’s greatest creations. Still, he
hadn’t thought to make a move on her, certainly never imagined he’d fall Titans
cap over Reeboks in love with her.

In the three years he’d known her, she’d morphed from a
stranger to a friend to the deepest desire of his soul…and then his enemy. He
aimed to change it back if it was the last thing he did.

“Here you go.” Marsha’s sultry voice yanked Reid from his
reverie. “If you two don’t mind, I’m going to finish cleaning so I can close
this place down as soon as you’re done.”

“We’ll help you,” Porter volunteered, taking the beers from
her and passing the bottle of Ultra to Reid.

“That won’t be necessary.” Ice still outlined her tone, and
her expression when she looked at them hadn’t melted a bit either.

She wouldn’t make it easy for them. Good thing they both
enjoyed a challenge.

“You could do it yourself.” Reid shrugged. “Or you can let
us help, get it done faster, and then throw a game or two of darts.”

“Haven’t you had enough darts for the night?”

“That was serious play.” Not that what he suddenly had in
mind wouldn’t be. In fact, he’d take a game against her far more seriously than
any match with the team. “This is for fun.”

“Do you still throw?” Porter asked her, tipping back his
bottle of beer for a long swig.

“Every chance I get. It’s a great stress reliever, keeps me
from throwing other stuff when I get a tad angry.”

Reid didn’t miss the insinuation in her statement. How many
times had she pictured his or Porter’s face painted over the bulls eye?
Probably far more than he wanted to know.

“How about a fun wager?” Reid suggested. At one time, they’d
gambled on dart games often. The bet had always been little things like washing
the rims on his Mustang if he won, or doing her closing cleanup if she won, or
waxing Porter’s beat-up Chevy truck if he won.

Marsha sighed. “I’m really not in the mood, Reid.”

“Really?” Reid lifted a brow, determined not to back down.
“I think you’ll like what I’ve got in mind. You win, we leave and you won’t
have to deal with us again until next Thursday night.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “And if you win?”

“We get to buy you a beer, we sit down and we talk for a
while. Just like old times. We forget about everything for an hour, pretend
none of the last year happened, and enjoy ourselves.”

Marsha stared at him, unable to believe she was actually
considering taking him up on that bet. Could she do it? Could she really sit
across a table or the bar from him and Porter and pretend the past never
happened for an hour?

She wanted to, so badly it physically hurt. A ribbon of pain
twisted around her heart, squeezed, and the back of her throat started to burn.
The mere idea of having one hour the way it used to be brought her close to
tears.

She swallowed and forced back those tears. No way in hell
would she let them see even a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. All her life,
she’d longed for a family. She’d had only her mother, a fantastic woman who’d
been taken from the world, taken from Marsha far too soon.

She’d come to Spring Valley because of her mother and the
stories she’d told Marsha of the place. She’d wanted to get away from the
Coast, wanted to make a fresh start of her own, and Spring Valley had come to
mind.

It had been the right call, too. She’d known it the moment
she’d hit the town limits. Then she’d met Martin, his daughter, and his boys,
and something deeper had clicked. Yes, she’d been attracted to Porter and Reid
on sight, but she’d never acted on that attraction. She hadn’t wanted to ruin a
good thing. All of them had made her feel like part of their family, even Blair
and her snooty attitude. Marsha had simply chalked it up to the way sisters
often squabbled. Then Martin died and her family dreams went to his grave right
along with him.

“All right, Reid. You’re on.” The words spilled from her
lips before she knew she had even made up her mind to accept his challenge. The
grin that unfolded on his handsome face made her heart skip. Oh boy, she’d missed
seeing him smile like that, missed the light that sparked in his hazel eyes
when something excited him.

He’d turned his cap around correctly after his last match
with the Southern Boys. It didn’t take him long to turn it backward again now
that the bet was on the table.

“Grab your darts. Porter and I have been playing all night.
We’ll clean the bar while you warm up.”

She started to argue, but thought better of it. She’d agreed
to everything thus far and, quite frankly, she was tired of being the ice bitch
tonight. They knew what needed to be done. She hadn’t changed much since they’d
been frequent presences in the bar. If they wanted to do the work, let them go
for it.

“Lock up and turn off the open sign. Keys are behind the bar
where they’ve always been. My darts are in my room. I’ll be back in a few
minutes.”

She’d turned the basement of the bar into an apartment. It
had cost her a good sum to have the room converted, plumbing installed for a
bathroom, and to purchase the furnishing she’d chosen, but it had been well
worth the money. She loved the convenience of living beneath where she worked,
especially seeing as she rarely closed the bar before midnight. It prevented
her from getting behind the wheel in the wee hours of the morning and afforded her
the option of partaking in a drink or two when she got off work without the
concern of a DUI.

She quickly took the stairs down to the basement, snagged
her darts and headed back up. Her step faltered when she reentered the bar, her
gaze landing on Porter and Reid in turn as they hustled around the place,
putting everything to rights. A blanket of comfort she hadn’t felt in far too
long closed around her. For a split second, it truly seemed as if the last year
had never happened.

But it did and you can’t forget that.

They were up to something, had to be. Why else would they be
here tonight? Sure, their team had played here, but they’d stayed after
everyone else left, even weaseled their way into a bet with her that might keep
them here longer.

“Got your darts?”

Marsha startled at Porter’s question, realizing he’d caught
her watching him and Reid for the second time this evening. She lifted her dart
case. “Got them right here.”

“Good. Throw a few practice shots.” Reid tossed the towel
he’d been using to wipe down tables on top of the bar. “I’m going to take out
this trash and I’ll be ready.”

Marsha nodded, inspecting the area as she walked behind the
bar and pulled a Select 55 from the cooler. She twisted the cap, tipped the
bottle back and took a long swig, closing her eyes at that first taste of
chilled beer.

“Still drinking the lo-cal stuff, I see,” Porter commented,
leaning an elbow on the bar.

“A girl’s got to cut back somewhere.” It was a line she’d
gotten from her mother. She’d always drunk diet drinks, saying she preferred to
save the calories for the good stuff like chocolate and potato chips.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I was waiting for it.
You’ve always said that. Still think it leaves you the option for a hit of the
hard stuff when you want it?”

Yeah, she’d said that, too. Select 55 contained less alcohol
than most beers. She could drink a six-pack and not get a buzz. When she wanted
to get a little tipsy, she’d go for a shot to complement her beer.

“How about a shot, Mars?”

Mars. Hearing his pet name for her after all this time
twisted her belly in a knot even as it spread unwanted warmth through her
system. She’d missed hearing him call her that. The way the name rolled from
his lips in that low baritone she doubted he even realized was seductive as
hell.

Then again, he probably did realize it. Porter was a player.
She couldn’t count the women she’d seen him with in the years she’d known him.
From what she’d heard through the town grapevine, that number had all but
doubled in the last year, too.

That had never stopped her from wanting to hear that voice,
husky and hot in her ear as he buried his face in her hair and his cock deep
inside her pussy.

“I’ll pass.” She didn’t need anything strong screwing with
her senses tonight. She already felt half intoxicated just being around him and
Reid again. Alcohol would only cloud her mind more, impair her ability to think
clearly, to remain on her guard.

She pulled her McCoy steel tips from her dart case, grabbed
the beer she’d set down, and made her way to the dartboards. She ignored the
creak of the back door opening and the sound of Reid’s sneakers squeaking on
the tiled kitchen floor as he came back into the bar. She put her beer down on
the nearest table, stepped to the toe line and forced her mind to focus on the
dartboard seven feet, nine and a quarter inches in front of her.

It amazed her how easily she was able to let it all go. The
knot in her stomach loosened and the stress of the night left her as her first
dart sailed through the air on a direct aim for the triple twenty. Each dart
pulled her into a different kind of trance, a world where only she and her
steel-tip objects existed. She even managed to forget she wasn’t alone…until
Reid spoke.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Marsha closed her eyes briefly as reality slammed into her
reverie. Though his voice wasn’t quite as deep as Porter’s, it held the power
to entice her just the same. She heard it in her dreams, speaking sensually as
his calloused hands roamed her naked flesh. She heard it, too, in her head,
defending Blair’s decision to protest Martin’s last will and testament.

She breathed deep and pushed all that aside. Stepping back,
she took a sip of her beer, and nodded. “I’m warm. Let’s go.”

“Show me one.”

“My bar. My option. You cork.” A slow, mischievous grin
stretched his lips and her pulse kicked into double time.

“All right,” he drawled, stepped to the toe line, and aimed.
His dart landed smack-dab in the center of the bull.

Damn it!
She’d thrown the option back at him, knowing
Porter was hell on bulls, while Reid generally missed by smidgens of an inch.
When playing outside the league, the winner of the cork called the game to be
played. Those smidgens would’ve given her the choice.

“Do you want me to pull it?”

So she could throw her dart without the distraction of his
being right where she needed hers to land? “Please.” If she could pull it off,
they’d have to throw again. Instead, she missed by a hair.

“You’ve gotten better,” Porter commented.