The Last Dance You Saved (The Hatley Family #3)

Chapter One – Wonder Woman

Performed by Miley Cyrus

As I stepped up to the line , carefully weighted dart in hand, a wild scream from the back of the bar had me glancing over my shoulder to the two burly men chanting my name. Naked from the waist up, they thrust their arms in the air, causing their overflowing bellies with Tennessee Darlin’ written on them to jiggle. They had bandanas with the Tennessee flag on them tied around their heads, and their cheeks were ruddy from the alcohol they’d happily consumed.

I hid my disbelief by winking at them and then turned back to the dartboard exactly seven feet, nine and a quarter inches away. I hadn’t expected anyone to know me, let alone call my name during this tournament. It’d been a few years since I’d been on the professional dart circuit. The piddly little competitions I’d entered in the last six months were nothing. Locals having a bit of fun. Teenagers trying to dip a foot into the scene. While I’d pulled together some wins in those smaller events, I was still a long way from the old Sadie who’d taken the circuit by storm.

The Marquis Vegas Open was the first time in three years I’d entered an event that might put me back on the Professional Dart Association of America’s charts I’d first ranked on when I was sixteen. I’d moved up consistently while I’d been in college until I’d left the circuit due to the hell that had rained down on me. Hell I was still fighting through.

The smug look on the face of the man standing off to the side, waiting for me to blow it, brought me back from panicked thoughts that might have derailed me. For two days, I’d bitten my tongue and dealt with his ego while I’d let his expression fuel me. It was just like my older brothers when they thought they had me beat. He’d learn, just like they had, that when it came to darts, out of practice or not, I hit the mark when it counted.

My mind narrowed on the distance to the board, focusing on my arm and the dart balanced in my fingers. I rotated my shoulder and my wrist and then let it fly.

I knew as soon as it left my hand where it was going to land. I was already smiling as it arrowed into the required double bed with a soft whoosh. I didn’t need to hear the chalker’s, “Game shot,” to know I’d won, but relief flew through me when I did.

I hadn’t embarrassed myself. I’d proven I could do it again. A lightning bolt of adrenaline raced through my veins, bringing the same wild joy that came from leaping over a stream bareback on a galloping horse. For a handful of seconds, I reveled in it.

Success. Accomplishment. A rub in the face of my smug competitor and all the others who’d whispered I couldn’t come back.

But just as quickly as the lightning had appeared, it sped away, leaving nothing but the singe of ozone in the air and the loneliness of a gray sky. The triumph of the win that I used to live on for days, that wicked sense of glory, was missing.

Behind me, the naked-chested men broke into the lyrics to the Osborne Brothers’ “Rocky Top”—one of Tennessee’s many anthems—and I felt another quick flash of accomplishment. I dug out a piece of my old self enough to dance a little two-step in their direction, and it sent more cheers through the crowd. I curtseyed, and the two shirtless men hollered some more. It was an ego boost, for sure, but fleeting as their cheers came from seeing a shell perform rather than acknowledging the complicated mess that existed inside me.

My competitor stepped up, shook my hand, and said with a chagrinned look, “My manager said not to underestimate the Tennessee Darlin’ . He said he’d watched tapes of you from back in twenty-three and was certain you were the real deal. I guess he was right.”

“Could have gone either way with that last throw,” I told him truthfully.

“You knew just what you were doing. You stayed cool and collected the entire time. Accept the win. You deserve it.”

Another brief flicker of that old excitement tried to leap into existence but couldn’t quite take hold. As the competitors grabbed their bags and left, I fought a strange urge to cry. Why had the win felt so empty when before it had fueled me for days?

From a hallway leading to the back of the club, a brown-haired man emerged, striding toward me with a confidence that had heads turning. In an expensive suit, fancy shoes polished to a shine, and a lavender dress shirt opened to reveal a hint of tan skin, he exuded a smooth charm. In Las Vegas, it could have come off as smarmy, but instead, he looked like a cover model. An actor. Someone famous who was blessing us with his presence.

Watching him stride toward me, my knees did something they’d never done, even after downing three shots with Willy at my bar back in Willow Creek—they wobbled. Maybe it was the way the man’s focus was completely on me as he approached, or maybe it was simply the intensity of his warm chocolate gaze as he took me in. Either way, a buzz I was unaccustomed to ran down my spine as he stopped beside me.

His chiseled jawline was shadowed by a meticulously clipped beard, one layer past scruff, that emphasized the straight, strong lines of his face. The near perfection was marred only by a slight crook at the top of his nose where it must have been broken and never fixed, but that asymmetry only seemed to add to his sex appeal.

“Miss Hatley, congratulations,” he said. Highly kissable lips curved into a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but showed off white teeth and a single dimple that made my heart stampede.

He extended a large hand, and as soon as I placed my fingers in his palm, a rush of lightning spun through me again—far stronger than the brief hit of adrenaline I’d felt from the win. This flash was so vivid, so real, I could almost hear thunder rolling and see the summer storm crashing over the hills behind the ranch.

His gaze jerked down to our joined hands as if he’d felt it too, but when he looked back up, his expression was almost blank, as if he’d drawn a curtain down over his emotions.

“Thanks, and you are?” I asked, happy to find my voice was steady even though I was shaking inside. The turbulent pull he caused settled low and warm in my stomach. When was the last time I’d felt this kind of instant attraction for someone? Had I ever felt it this strongly?

His smile turned into a slow, rumbling chuckle, emerging from his broad chest in a way that made the tempest inside me swell another notch. “Rafe Marquess. I sponsored the tournament.”

Before I could respond, a blond woman in a red cocktail dress that clung to generous curves came hurrying over with a large trophy. She slid up next to Rafe, batted her eyes at him, and said, “Here’s the award for the press photo.”

“Thanks, Mindy.”

He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, his gaze remained locked on me, as if he was searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. He handed me the trophy and waved toward a handful of reporters who were waiting for this photo-op moment. Behind the press, the audience had dwindled, but the two men with my nickname on their bellies were still belting out the Osborne Brothers song on repeat.

As we faced the cameras, my shoulder brushed Rafe’s, and tingles slid up my arm and down into my chest. When I was tempted to do something completely embarrassing, like touch him more to see if I could get that buzz to turn into a full-blown flame, I turned my focus to the trophy. It was shaped like the Las Vegas sign and even had a neon strip lighting it up.

Once upon a time, trophies had meant something to me. Now, with the rush of the win having dissipated so quickly, I was left solely with the pleasure of knowing the twenty-five-thousand-dollar purse would be in my bank account by the end of the night.

I smiled as the cameras flashed and took a moment to answer a couple of questions sent my way. It took all of five minutes for the media to get what they wanted. As they finished up, my two fans made their way down to the last level of seats in the amphitheater-style bar. The two men waved me toward them with Sharpies and programs in hand.

When I looked up at Rafe, his lips were twisted upward again. Not quite a grin, but something close. “Your fans are waiting.”

“Who knew a has-been like me could still draw them in.”

Surprise drifted over his face before his hungry gaze traveled slowly over me once more, taking in the prim blue button-down top, dark dress pants, and black shoes I’d worn to meet competition regulations. Every place his eyes lingered, I felt as if he’d touched me, causing my body to all but vibrate with an unexpected need, and making me wonder what it would feel like if those eyes and hands were resting on my bare skin. I thought the fire might just burn me to ash.

Maybe that was exactly what I needed. To be burned down to nothing so I could reemerge like a phoenix. But then again, maybe I’d already had my chance to reemerge and missed it. Or maybe I was still ash waiting to be transformed.

Rafe’s voice lowered an octave, a sensual rhythm to it as he said, “I’d have to disagree. It would be practically impossible for someone as stunning as you to be a has-been, Ms. Hatley.”

When his stare locked with mine once again, I nearly drowned in those deep, chocolate pools. It took an enormous amount of effort to tease back. “Washed up at twenty-three.”

The hunger in his look disappeared behind that blank curtain again. “Twenty-three.” He shook his head as he said it, and I tried not to be annoyed that my age had somehow washed away his desire. His next words were cool and aloof. “Enjoy the fans. Try not to spend all your winnings at the casino’s tables.”

The words were spoken as if he was giving advice to a child. Embarrassment ran through me. It took far too long to come up with a response, so by the time I finally choked out, “Thanks for the advice, Dad,” he was already gone, heading into the depths of the darkened club.

Pop music replaced the quiet. A crew worked to disband the dartboards and tear up the carpet and mats to reveal a shiny black dance floor, likely to be crowded with swaying bodies in a few hours. The sleek, modern club was a complete contrast to my bar back home. Here, rows of chrome tables and tufted, black-leather seats wound up to where pastel-neon strips turned the alcohol bottles into hidden gems behind the bar. One entire wall of the club was glass, displaying the sun as it set over the Las Vegas Strip. Bright lights flashed from every casino lining the street as the world-renowned fountains sprayed upward.

The Marquis Club was tucked into the top, right tower of the newest Las Vegas casino. In the two years since it had opened, it had drawn the young, rich, and famous to its doors like kittens to milk. A dart tournament didn’t quite fit the vibe of the place, but the competition’s sponsor certainly had.

No arguing with the fact that Rafe was as smooth, charming, and sexy as the bar. My hormones were still skittering around inside me with unfulfilled longing from merely being in his presence. But that longing was layered with irritation, knowing he’d walked away simply because of my age.

He wasn’t the first person who couldn’t see past the number on my driver’s license. Hadn’t I encountered it repeatedly since taking over Uncle Phil’s place? The vendors who patted my arm. The fire marshal who explained things like I was two. Very few people could see past my exterior to what lay behind it. Even fewer knew that my near-death experience had left me feeling wrinkled and gray, even if the mirror didn’t show it.

I shook myself out of my reverie and made my way over to the burly brothers who’d waited patiently. They congratulated me, had me sign their stomachs in blue ink, and offered to buy me a beer. I thanked them with a large smile and said I had plans but maybe next time.

When they disappeared with hang-dog expressions, I experienced a momentary wave of homesickness. It was ridiculous to miss Tennessee when I’d only been gone three days. In a week, I’d be back. And with the money tucked into my account from this win and the little discovery I’d made while going through Uncle Phil’s things after he died, I might just be able to finagle the bank into giving me a loan for the project I’d been dreaming up.

I grabbed my bag from a nearby table before heading for the exit and the bank of elevators waiting just beyond. As the doors slid open and I stepped inside, I marveled at the antique birdcage-inspired design with the green screens behind the brass bars, displaying an exterior view of the hotel.

While The Fortress wasn’t the largest hotel and casino on The Strip, it was the trendiest and, in my opinion, the most elegant. Built to resemble the tidal island of Mont Saint-Michel in France, it had a five-star hotel tucked into the spirals and towers of the island’s abbey and a casino, stores, and restaurants hiding behind the facade of the village and seawalls.

As the door of my room slammed shut behind me, my phone buzzed, and when I swiped it open, I found a handful of messages in the group chat with my siblings. Over the last few years, the chat had grown to include not only my brothers and my sister but their spouses also. Ryder, Maddox, and Gemma had all found love at unexpected moments, and sometimes, their ludicrously happy faces made my heart ache for something I’d never anticipated wanting.

RY: Sassypants, do I have to catch a plane to Vegas in order to find out what happened? Or are you celebrating by losing yourself in a shirtless fan?

I rolled my eyes at Ryder’s dig. My fans had been fun and enthusiastic, but it wasn’t their shirtless chests that immediately flashed in my mind at his words. No, it was the annoyingly attractive Rafe Marquess. Why was it the touch of a man who’d so easily dismissed me that my body craved?

GEM: How many times do I have to say this to you? I don’t need to know about any of my siblings’ sex lives.

I smirked, tempted to torment Gemma just for the fun of it, but Maddox beat me to it.

MADS: I feel sorry for Rex, Gem-Mine. Does he even remember what sex IS after being tied to you for so long now?

GEM: Rex is completely satisfied! And damnit, you used to be on my side, Woody.

I snorted at Gemma tossing out the nickname Ryder had given our brother. Maddox hated it, even though, as both the sheriff of our small county and a life-long do-gooder, it fit.

RY: If Rex is truly satisfied, it should have removed that stick from your butt, Gem-Mine.

GEM: Keep it up, Dipshit, and I’ll make sure all the olallieberry pie is gone before you get here tomorrow morning.

The fact that my sister and her A-list-actor husband were at the ranch for a few days was just another reason I was missing being home. When I’d entered the dart competition, I hadn’t known they’d be stopping in Tennessee before heading home to LA after filming had wrapped on the movie Gemma had written.

But then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if I had known. I still would have come to Vegas. I’d needed to be here for more than the dart competition. My family just didn’t know it. I glanced over to my carry-on bag and the secrets it held. With the competition behind me, I could finally devote some more time to my research. I’d dot some more I’s and cross some more T’s, and then I’d tell them about the whole knotted mess.

GIA: Hey now, Gemma, that olallieberry pie was supposed to be for me and the baby.

I smiled as I typed my response. I couldn’t help taunting my sister-in-law after the way she’d abandoned me for just such a pie on our last girls’ night.

ME: Are you going to eat it or use it for foreplay again?

RY: Who says we can’t do both?

GEM: She’s alive! Tell us how you did, Sadie, before I lose my dinner over sex talk!

ME: I won!

MADS: *** money falling from the sky GIF *** Okay, moneybags, what are you doing with all that cash?

A sense of panic hit me at the question. I had so many secrets I was keeping from my family these days when normally I was an open book. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told them about the ideas I’d first doodled on napkins and then started to assemble into an actual business plan. Maybe because I wanted to prove I could do it on my own after being handed the bar. Maybe because, in going down this path, I was shutting doors on my past instead of reopening them like my family wished I would.

The emptiness that had quickly replaced the small sense of victory at my win returned.

With fingers that shook, I typed my response to Maddox’s question.

ME: I have some plans for the land around the bar.

MCK: *** eye roll emoji *** Bar. Bar. Bar. That’s all I hear from you these days. At least spend a little of that dough on yourself. You’re in Vegas! Go shopping, buy yourself something nice, and see a show. Maybe do some of that dancing you love so much.

I hesitated. Maybe I should. Maybe it would kick the emptiness out of my soul for a few minutes before I turned to the more serious topics I planned to tackle this week.

ME: Maybe.

MCK: I saw a picture of the competition’s sponsor on the website. He looks like he’d have some nice dance moves.

Rafe’s dark-brown eyes flashed before me, sending a thrill down my spine once more.

RY: Who the hell are you talking about?

MADS: He looked like a slick asshole. This may be the one and only time I disagree with McK.

My smile grew at the protectiveness of my brothers. Even though Ryder had teased about sex at the beginning of the chat, it had only been to rile the others. He didn’t want to think about me, the baby of the family, actually having sex any more than Mads did.

ME: I need to change and get food before I pass out from starvation. Love you all.

GEM: Stay safe, Sassypants. No drinking from anything but a bottle that you open.

MADS: Maybe you shouldn’t go out alone.

GIA: Sadie is perfectly capable of kicking ass and taking names.

Gia’s faith in me swelled my heart. At my request, she’d graciously spent hours over the last year teaching me some of the offensive and defensive moves she’d learned as a former undercover agent for the NSA. Originally, it had simply been so I knew how to toss a rowdy customer from the bar without getting hurt, but it had ended up giving me back some of the confidence I’d lost.

Almost three years after being shot, I was still weak in places I despised. Still had curves and wobbles on my frame I’d never had before spending months in recovery. But I was tighter and firmer now than I’d been last year.

Tighter and firmer in more than just my body. I finally had a plan for my future sketched too. It sometimes felt as empty as the dart championship I’d won, but it was a goal. A direction to move in that would leave behind another Hatley legacy. That had to matter, didn’t it?

As I ditched the straitlaced shirt and pants I’d needed for the competition, I stared in the closet at the other outfits I’d brought with me. They were all work clothes—jeans and T-shirts and worn cowboy boots. Not a single dress.

My phone pinged again, and I pulled it out to see a private message from my oldest brother.

RY: You know how I feel about you wasting your time and money on the bar. When are you going to figure out what you want, Sassypants? Go after your dreams instead of spending your life keeping a dying bar alive.

It was an argument we’d had multiple times over the last year. When I didn’t respond, he added on.

RY: You were right when you called me out on not living, Sads. I had closed myself off. Thanks to you, I not only have my daughter but Gia in my life and a new baby on the way. I have a family I never thought I’d have again because you knew when to push. Consider this me pushing. I want you to find your way back to your dreams too.

ME: I’m here, aren’t I? I threw again. Won again.

RY: How’d it feel?

If I told him the truth—that it felt hollow, like I’d stepped into a mirage from the past and not quite been able to pull the full joy of it around me—he’d never ease up.

ME: Amazing. I knew before the last dart landed that I’d won.

RY: Go celebrate. But be safe. And regardless of how much we tease Gemma and Mads, I don’t want to hear about it when you end up in bed with some one-night jerk-off.

I smiled, suddenly resolved to do just what my family had suggested. I’d buy a dress, get a drink, find somewhere I could line dance, and enjoy the moment of being in the city that never slept. I doubted I’d bring someone back to my hotel room, but I’d let someone buy me a beer with a twist-off cap.

And maybe, somewhere along the way, I’d find the Sadie who’d once wanted to study international law, win the Triple Crown of Darts, and travel the world, righting wrongs. Maybe I’d turn back into that wild child who’d caused my siblings and parents to lose sleep rather than the one they counted on to help fill in for missing employees at the ranch and spent her nights pouring pints at a bar that had been in the family for over a century.

Maybe I’d figure out if the bar-owner, business-minded Sadie I’d become was really the new version of me, or if there was something else waiting around the corner I hadn’t quite discovered yet.