Page 3 of Hearts at War

I pulled out from the spot I was in to drive the couple of minutes toward the building Eric said he’d snagged an apartment for me. With the unit located on the second floor, above the bakery, I’d at least have a view of downtown. Maybe even the bonus of fresh-baked bread scents wafting in the windows.

It wouldn’t be much to enjoy. The nightlife around here was limited to whatever the regulars at the bar got up to, and most shops and boutiques closed frequently with this economy. But as I parked and brought my one bag of groceries with me, I realized that even my dismal thoughts wouldn’t happen.

“What the hell?” I walked closer to the door that would lead up the stairs to the second floor.

It hung open, the lock busted off.

“Hiya, Heather,” Eric said as he walked out from the entrance. A pained cringe made him look twice his age.

“Hey,” I greeted, too confused to make it seem like an actual acknowledgment of his presence. Much less a genuinely happy one. “What... what happened here?” I gestured at the busted door.

“It, uh.” He rubbed the back of his head, sending his thinning brown hair askew. “It, um, looks like someone broke into the apartment.”

My shoulders slumped. The last of my energy evaporated as I hung my arms down. “Fuck.”

So much for a fresh start back home.

Chapter 2

Roarke

Turning toward my left didn’t help.

Lila—or is it Jade? No. I think it’s Lila—giggled and moseyed around me. She slid over to stay in my field of vision, tracing her fingertips over my back as she moved.

This isn’t a game of hide and seek. I sighed heavily, wishing I could get a view of the scores on the bottom. There wasn’t a point. My 49ers were doing terrible this season, but like a glutton for punishment, I had to remain loyal and stay on top of how terribly they were playing.

“Roarke...” Lila drawled my name in what was likely supposed to be a sultry purr. It came out too whiny. Too needy. Too cajoling and demanding, which resulted in yet another reminder of my ex-wife. Toward the end of our ill-fated and shitty marriage, she’d used a sterner, grumpier version of that same nagging tone.

“Why are you ignoring me?” She pouted, sliding up against my side to wedge herself in my view. Between the stool I claimed at the bar and the vacant one next to me, she refused to understand the concept of personal space.

No, she understands it. She just wanted to share it with me. Intimately.

Been there, done that. Moving on.

“I’m trying to watch the game.”

A commercial cut in, depriving me of catching the score. She brightened, seeing the same screen playing on a TV over my shoulder. “It’s not on right now. Can’t you spare a couple of minutes and talk—”

“Talk?” I shot back, exasperated as I lifted my beer to my lips. “Cut the shit, Lila. You’re not interested in talking.”

Her pout morphed into a frown. “It’s Jade.”

Fuck. “Sorry.” I wasn’t careless about women’s names. I really wasn’t, but it’d been a while. Jade and I slept together three years ago, right after I moved to Burton for a job at the Grand River Ranch. I made it clear then that we were just scratching an itch, a one-night stand. The only problem with that was how she tried to make it a two-night stand, or more, ever since.

“Look, Jade. I’m not interested.”

“In talking?” She brightened and raised her brows, as if any reply from me could count as the attention she craved.

I rolled my eyes, grateful that I wouldn’t have to fend her off on my own any longer. Gavin, my friend and fellow coworker at the ranch, finally returned from the bathroom and reclaimed the stool next to me.

“Aw, come on, Jade. Not again.”

She huffed as she sat, slipping away from the spot between us. “What do you mean, not again?”

“You tried to get him to take you home last week. And the week before that. And before that.” Gavin shot me a smirk, crinkling the lines around his mouth. Just like me, he sported the visible signs of wear and tear on his face. All the years of ranching and working under the sun were catching up to us. He probably didn’t care about looking fresh-faced and youthful for his wife, who was practically his high school sweetheart and knew what he looked like before he got older. I didn’t give a shit either—even though I wasn’t tied to any woman. I had four more years until I hit forty, and I was satisfied with being an old bachelor.

Or a hermit.