steered behind him, raising her voice to be heard over the sudden cheer that went up, starting somewhere in the back of the pub.
“Dart contest.”
“Ah. I’m guessing you take that pretty seriously then.”
“Of course. My daughter is the reigning champion, you know.” He shuffled them around the side of the bar and miraculously wrangled her a stool. But then, most everyone was standing and craning their necks to watch the dart contest. He gestured her to take the seat.
“I didn’t know that. That’s great. Oh, thanks, but I can stand.”
He waved her to sit. “You’re buying, I’ll stand.”
She laughed with him and began to relax a little. Maybe it was all the bubbling energy inside the small pub, or being bodily swallowed up in the easy camaraderie of the crowd, but her anxiety about getting the job done was easing a bit. She waved at Marta who was working behind the bar and signaled for two ales. Earlier today Marta had been working back in the kitchen, preparing some of the best beef stew Erin had ever tasted. But she didn’t see Brodie anywhere tonight, so perhaps Marta was pulling double duty.
Another cheer went up, and she shifted around on her stool to see what was going on now. The cheer was followed by hoots and catcalls. She turned back to Alastair, his smile rueful now.
“Och, but the lad should have known better than to tangle with my Kat. She doesn’t play to lose.” He shook his head. “Even when it might be in all of our best interests if she did.”
Marta slid two ales onto the bar in front of them and Erin picked hers up and took a sip. “Who? Brodie?” She thought it was rather sweet that Brodie’s wife came to the pub after work and played darts with him. Even more charming that the entire village enjoyed the apparently heated battle between the newlyweds.
Alastair shook his head. “Dylan.”
Erin almost sprayed her sip of ale. She surreptitiously wiped her chin with her sleeve and tried to adopt a casual mien. “Really? I thought I heard earlier today that he wasn’t much of a joiner when it came to village activities. In fact, the locals made it seem as if he never came down off the mountain.”
Alastair enjoyed a long sip of his ale, then nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. Why do you think this place is packed on a Tuesday night?”
She didn’t know what to make of that. Coincidence? “So, he suddenly decided to come down and play darts?”
Alastair shrugged. “Apparently. But he might never again if Kat doesn’t play nice.” He sighed again, but Erin wasn’t paying attention.
What were the chances Dylan had suddenly come to town the same day she’d shown up on his doorstep, talking about leasing his place? Had Brodie talked to him after all? She’d hoped to bend Brodie’s ear this evening, but with the crowd, she doubted she’d have the chance. Of course, with the Great Scot himself on the premises, she could just go directly to the source. First, she needed a plan. She pictured those enigmatic eyes of his, the set angle of his jaw as he’d turned her down flat and took another sip of ale. A little fortification couldn’t hurt, either.
Another whoop went up and Alastair excused himself. “I suppose I should go make sure she doesn’t single-handedly destroy the goodwill we’ve spent the past year or two establishing with the poor lad. Bad enough Letty and her gaggle spend all their estimable free time planning his future, complete with new wife and, if they have their way, probably a half dozen wee Chisholms to boot. Let his brothers take on the task of creating heirs, I told them, be happy he’s back home. Do they listen to me?” He motioned Marta to top off his ale, then hefted the glass and squeezed past Erin. “Knowing Kat, we’ll be lucky if he’s no’ packed up and heading back to Edinburgh by morning.” He patted her shoulder. “Back in a blink.”
Erin was still trying to absorb that latest tidbit of information. New wife? Meaning there had been an old one. She’d sort of suspected as much, given the meaningful looks shared between the locals when referring to Dylan, as if he’d come home under less than fortunate circumstances. She was still trying to figure out how to use that to her advantage when Brodie suddenly burst through the wall of people and bodily lifted her off the stool with a big hand on her arm.
“There ye are!” he boomed, his jovial smile in place as always. “Come, lass, we need help settlin’ a sporting question and you’re the only one who’s qualified to judge.”
Erin wasted a precious second or two juggling her glass of ale, trying not to dump it on herself or anyone else, and lost her window of opportunity to stop him. By the time she got her wits about her, she’d been tugged into the small, cleared area in the back of the pub where the dartboard was located. Think fast, think fast . She wasn’t prepared to see Dylan quite yet.
And then there he was, large as life. Larger, really. Great Scot indeed. In a room filled with people, he dominated the space easily. Big and broad at the shoulder, with all that hair and hard jawline. But it was more than his physical presence that commanded attention, it was that ever present enigmatic demeanor of his, still every bit as tightly held, she noted, even though he was supposedly surrounded by family and friends.
Or maybe he’d been smiling and relaxed until she’d been dragged into the picture. Hard to tell. But he didn’t seem thrilled to see her, that much was clear.
Then Brodie was tugging her forward again and their locked gaze was abruptly disconnected as he turned her to face the dartboard. “Okay, here’s the thing. My wife’s dart.” He motioned to a gorgeous, antique, hand-carved wooden dart flocked with what appeared to be real feathers. “My brother’s dart.” He motioned to the other dart, also handsomely made, if not as spectacularly as the first, wedged into the very same hole. “What say you?”
“I’m not sure I’m the one who should—”
“Nay, you’re the only one in the room who can be impartial.”
Erin noticed the room had fallen completely silent as everyone waited for her to make her pronouncement. She dared to scan the sea of faces crowding the dartboard area, but couldn’t read the lay of the land. She only had Alastair’s comment on the village wanting to court the goodwill of their apparently recalcitrant chief…and the knowledge that the other contestant was the wife of the man who owned the establishment. Lovely. The trick was going to be how not to piss off anyone and still have a chance in hell of getting what she wanted. What she had to have. And from the looks of things, she had about five seconds to figure it out.
She chanced a quick glance at Alastair, hoping maybe he could signal her somehow, but he had his head bent toward a fresh-faced, younger woman dressed in dungarees and a pub T-shirt—Kat Chisholm, she could only presume—and didn’t see Erin’s silent plea for a rescue. She’d have to suck it up and go for it.
Turning away from the crowd and very purposefully not looking at Dylan, she turned the brightest smile she could conjure at Brodie. “I don’t know the rules, but it looks like a tie to me. Can’t you have a do-over?”
The crowd erupted in raucous cheering and debate and Erin wasn’t sure, but it appeared that by trying to be as fair and impartial as possible, she’d pissed everyone off. How had she so thoroughly lost control of her only mission? Then Brodie was stalking to the dartboard and plucking out the darts, proclaiming, “You heard the lass, we’ll have a ‘do-over’.”
Then Kat was stepping forward and motioning to Erin. “Come
