His Southern Temptation

by Robin Covington

  His voice, normally moderate and polished, was loud and harsh. Alerted to the drama unfolding before them, the crowd in the diner ceased all conversation, glued to the Elliot version of shitty reality TV.

  Lucky tried again, desperate to find the right words to get Teague to calm down and let him explain. Just beyond their little circle, he saw Taylor approaching, her face a mask of confusion and concern. He held up a hand, giving the signal for “all stop,” but she ignored him, clearly intent on being part of this drama.

  “Yes, but you’ve got to let me—”

  Teague cut him off with a snarl and a slash of his fist that came dangerously close to Lucky’s face.

  “Explain? Are you going to try to explain sleeping with my baby sister? She’s off-limits! I let you stay at the house and you can’t keep your dick in your pants for a week?”

  Lucky flinched. He was rattled by the confrontation coming so soon and in this place. His poker face slipped and he revealed more than he ever intended.

  “How long?” Teague asked.

  The heat in Teague’s eyes cooled, reflecting his progression from hothead to the icy rage of someone who would not forgive easily. Fuck.

  “How long?”

  Lucky glanced at Taylor, eyes wide and hand shaking where it covered her mouth. He answered without taking his eyes off her face. “Years.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Teague spat out.

  Lucky didn’t duck from the punch he knew was coming, and the full impact sent him reeling back into the lunch counter. Pain blossomed in his jaw and back, both injuries shooting sparks of pain through his system and blurring his vision. He didn’t see the second hit coming, but the resulting agony in his stomach made him gag and cough.

  Lucky shook his head, the buzzing in his ears dimming the shouts from the sheriff, Beck, Jack, and Taylor. He braced for another punch, but it never came. Grasping the edge of the counter, he managed to stay on his feet and see Jack and Sheriff Burke dragging a struggling, cussing Teague out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  Taylor appeared at his side, tears hanging on the edge of her lashes. She grabbed something from the counter and began dabbing at his lip all the while mumbling “I’m sorry” under her breath. He lifted his hand, cupping her face and forcing her to look at him.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He was interrupted from saying anything more by a woman stepping into his line of sight just over Taylor’s right shoulder. Shocked, obviously suffering from hallucinations, he grunted out a sound of astonishment. Taylor followed his stare, her back stiffening with recognition and surprise.

  “Mother?” Taylor croaked.

  “Holy shit. Could this day get any worse?” Lucky groaned.

  “Mary-Taylor, can you explain why your brother is being held by the sheriff on the sidewalk like a common criminal?”

  “Umm.” Taylor faltered, looking back at Lucky for help.

  He had nothing.

  This was a fucking disaster, and he wasn’t up to explaining anything to the woman who was now killing him in a million different ways with her eyes. From her bouffant styled helmet hairdo to the soles of her ugly and overpriced shoes, Marian Elliott radiated revulsion at his audacity to even breathe the same air as her daughter.

  His attention was torn from the very non-Rockwell family scene playing out right in front of his eyes by Beck bursting through the door of the Comfort.

  “Lucky! Your truck’s on fire!” he shouted.

  Moving as fast as he could with an aching jaw and bruised ribs, he hit the sidewalk just in time to see the deputy drag Bodean Taggert and his gasoline can away from the place where his brand-new pickup truck was burning like a bonfire at the Landon lake house.

  The howling of the approaching fire trucks and the smell of burning leather and plastic rolled down Main Street, bringing even more bystanders to the scene. Teague glared from where Sheriff Burke had him pinned against the squad car, while the local fuzz looked miserable. Lucky’s parents and all the guests of the brunch stood around either dazed or excited by the recent turn of events. Mrs. Elliott was like a statue as she watched the proceedings through the large plate-glass windows of the Southern Comfort.

  And Taylor. She stood beside him, her gaze moving from her brother, to the burning car, to her mother. Gobsmacked, her eyes were wide, complexion flushed from the combination of her emotions and the heat from the fire. He took her hand and took note of the disaster his life had become in the span of a cup of coffee:

  Best friend ready to kill him? Check.

  Future mother-in-law who hates him? Check.

  Asshole setting his truck on fire? Check.

  Girlfriend ready to run for the nearest airport? Check.

  His life had become a damn country song.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She really needed a drink. A big drink.

  Taylor kicked off her heels and stumbled into the empty kitchen of Elliott House in search of liquid courage. Flinging her purse on the countertop, she opened the pantry and stood on tiptoe to reach the top shelf where her father kept the really good stuff. Finding the bottle of whiskey, she fished a glass out of the cabinet and poured enough of it to obliterate the headache brewing at the base of her skull. Taking a big gulp, she shivered as it burned before settling as a warm glow in her stomach.

  Measured footsteps rang out against the hardwood floors in the hallway and announced the progress of her mother as she inspected the house. Taylor watched the doorway, bracing herself for the second round of today’s adventures in Crazytown. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d woken up in Lucky’s arms, happy and cautiously hopeful about the future. She contemplated giving him a call, but he was busy at the police station giving a statement and pressing charges against Bodean Taggert for burning up his truck.

  Taylor took another drink as her mother entered the kitchen. Her mother was thinner, her high cheekbones and fine features accented by a light tan and highlights in her hair. She didn’t look great, the lines around her eyes and mouth more pronounced, but Marian Elliott was surviving the divorce.

  “Is that your father’s best?” her mother asked as she slid onto the stool next to Taylor, crossing her legs at the ankles like the proper lady she was.

  “Yes.”

  “Pour me one too.”

  “What?” Her mother never drank anything stronger than a glass of wine or a mimosa. “Mother, are you sure?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mary-Taylor, just pour the drink. It’s been a long six months.”

  She retrieved another glass, poured a good amount of the amber liquid in it, and slid it across the granite countertop to the alien currently inhabiting her mother’s body. She watched as her mother drank down a healthy shot of the whiskey without even a grimace. Okay, it was definitely an alien.

  “You’ve done a fine job of packing up the house, Mary-Taylor. I appreciate your coming all the way from Hawaii to take care of it.”

  “No problem. I’m glad you’re here so you can double-check me on what you want to sell and what you want to keep.”

  “I’ve decided not to sell the house.”

  “What?” Taylor sat down hard on the barstool, the combination of the whiskey and an empty stomach reducing her brain to slush.

  “I told your father that I’ll buy him out. I’m staying in Elliott and I’m keeping the house.”

  “But, Mother, I need my share to set up my business. I was counting on that money.” A momentary pang tweaked her conscience, whispering that she was pretty selfish to think only about her own problems, but this was a huge game-changer. That money was the cornerstone for all her plans for the future here in Elliott. She counted to five, breathing out the panic mounting in her chest.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not letting your father’s midlife crisis run me out of my own home.” Her mother’s voice was firm and she took another drink as if to punctuate her answer. “I’d lend you some money, but I’m going to need it all to b
uy your father out.”

  “I understand.” Taylor grasped her mother’s shoulder, fully expecting her to stiffen under the contact. Marian Elliott wasn’t a cold woman, but physical affection wasn’t her comfort zone. She was surprised when her mother reached up and covered Taylor’s hand with her own before speaking.

  “Can you get a loan, use your savings?”

  “I tried, but I don’t have enough on my own. I have investors in Hawaii who will cover most of my part of the deal, but they only invest on the island. Since I’m staying here—”

  “You’re doing what?”

  “I’m staying here and going into business with Sissy Landon.”

  Taylor faltered, fully contemplating this new development. Without the investors, if she had a prayer of getting a bank to lend her money, she’d need more than what she had in her savings. And Sissy didn’t need another employee when she was taking the financial risk of expanding. She needed a full partner who would shoulder the business burden of taking on new lines of service. Taylor would have to make some calls and see what other options she had here in Elliott. Otherwise, this plan wouldn’t work.

  “Does your new business venture have anything to do with you”—her mother took a swig of her drink, stalling out on the next question as she searched for the best words—“seeing the Landon boy?”

  “Yes.” Taylor swallowed hard, taking a sip of her own whiskey to settle her nerves a bit. “We’re involved…together…and I’m staying to see where it goes.”

  “Has he proposed?”

  “No!” Sweet baby Jesus, she’d freaked out when he’d brought up the possibility of staying. If he’d proposed, she would have lost it. But her heart had done a backflip—the good kind and not the heart attack kind—when he’d said he loved her. She liked that part, a lot. “We aren’t there yet.”

  “So, you’re going to give up a good business opportunity in Hawaii that I presume you’ve cultivated over time and stay here to work in a local salon.” She poured herself two more fingers of whiskey and took a drink. “You have no plans for marriage.”

  Her mother paused, looking at Taylor for acknowledgment. Taylor nodded.

  “No place to live?”

  “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

  “And what will he do for a living? Return to the Marines?”

  “No. He’s going to buy Promised Land farm.”

  “Well, he never was afraid of hard labor so I’m sure he’ll do just fine.” Somehow her mother made it sound like a compliment and a slam all at once.

  “Mother, this has been a long time coming. Lucky and I are good together, and we just need time to figure it out.” She ignored the little voice in her head recounting all her fears and doubts. Lucky believed in them, and she believed in Lucky. That was all that mattered—right?

  “Taylor—”

  “Mother, I know what you’re going to say. Lucky isn’t right for me. He’s not good enough.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say, so shut up and listen.”

  Whoa. Taylor hit the back of the stool with the force of a physical shove. Shock rolled through her system and she was a little worried about whether the medication her mother had to be taking wouldn’t mix well with alcohol. Marian Elliott did not tolerate any kind of rude language in her house and saying “shut up” was the same as dropping the f-bomb.

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do or what man to date—you wouldn’t listen anyway.” Her mother gave her a look that dared her to disagree. “But I’m going to tell you to be careful about passing up your dreams for a man. Any man. I did it and look what it got me.”

  She gestured around the kitchen with the hand holding her glass and the liquid sloshed over the lip and onto the countertop. Her mother didn’t sound drunk, but the whiskey was definitely loosening her up.

  “Your father was charming and handsome, and he adored me when we first got married.” She pointed a manicured finger at Taylor and pushed against her shoulder to emphasize her point. Maybe her mother was sloshed after all. “I was a student at Vanderbilt. I studied English and had plans to be a writer. But he sweet-talked me into quitting after two years and getting married. He was going to be a big-shot lawyer with his fingers in politics and I was going to create a gracious home, have children, and make him look good. It wasn’t a sacrifice because we were in it together.”

  Taylor had heard parts of this story growing up, but not with this spin. She knew how his story ended. Her mother got the shaft. Not for the first time, anger made her teeth clench as she wondered just what the hell her father thought he was doing by pulling this stunt after thirty-five years of marriage.

  “I ignored the other women because he came home to me and we were a team. But now he’s run off with that girl. A twenty-five-year-old with perky breasts, and I’m left here with nothing. I have no career, you and your brother are grown, and all I know for sure is that I gave up my dreams and he broke his promise.”

  Her mother panted, her chest heaving with the big gulps of air she was sucking in and out with a jarring hiccup. Taylor’s heart ached, her own heart heavy with the grief etched in the tiny lines of her mother’s face.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry.” She reached out and smoothed a hand over her back, trying to calm her tremors with the power of touch.

  “Just don’t make the same mistake, Mary-Taylor. Have your man, but make sure you also keep your dreams, your own life. Then, when they leave, you’ll have something.”

  Her mother gave out a shuddery breath that bordered on a sob, and Taylor decided it was time to take her upstairs and get her to lie down for a while. It had been a crazy day after an unsettled six months, and she needed some time to pull herself together.

  With soft words of encouragement, Taylor urged her to stand and guided her mother down the lemon-polish-scented hallway, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom. The sheets were clean and cool, and after helping her mother shed her jacket and shoes she slid her into bed.

  As she made her way down to her own room, the landing was dark and cool against the heat of the day. Bone-weary with exhaustion, she slowly unzipped her dress. Dropping it on the arm of a chair, she dove headfirst into her own bed, burrowing under the covers and shivering slightly at the sensation of fine cotton sliding against her skin.

  In the semidarkness of the room, she couldn’t shake what her mother had said. The truth of it resonated deep in her, sparking the embers of doubt she thought were largely extinguished. Her mother’s story wasn’t unique—even today some of Taylor’s friends had to re-create themselves after divorce. It wasn’t uncommon for one half of these seemingly solid couples to express shock at the implosion of their lives, never seeing it coming.

  Right now, she and Lucky were solid. But what about a year from now? Five? Ten? They’d never even spent more than a week in each other’s company until now, so how were they supposed to know if they could even stand each other long-term?

  And now the plans for a business venture here in Elliott were in jeopardy and she had no idea how to make it happen without the money from the house. Her meager savings would not cover the down payment required by a regular bank.

  Groaning into her pillow and tugging the covers even tighter around her head, Taylor tried to clear her mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I hope you have your gun, Eddie.”

  “Lucky, what’s with you and guns and killing?” Eddie Wilkes asked. He didn’t bother to get up from his desk chair, and Mr. Clean continued to lounge comfortably on the leather sofa. Clearly, he needed to up his intimidation game.

  “Well, I’ve had a shitty day and I want to shoot something.” Lucky leaned against the desk, making sure his holster peeked out from under his jacket. “You called and I just figured it was fate.”

  “Very funny guy. Still crying over your burned-up truck, I suppose?”

  “That’s just one small part of my particular brand of shitty.”

  And it was.
His mom was mad at him for fighting at the diner. Teague wasn’t speaking to him, and his future mother-in-law was now living in the room right next Taylor’s. Ugh. And Taylor was acting funny. He’d tried to make her spill last night, but she distracted him with a blow job and that was the end of that conversation.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asked, motioning toward the sofa. “Bruce can move over…”

  Jack interrupted the fun from where he stood in the doorway, his voice beyond exasperated. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can you just tell us why you called so we can tell you we don’t give a shit and leave?”

  “He’s in a bad mood too. I called when he was in bed with his wife.” Lucky smirked, his mood lifting just a little. “But he’s right. Why don’t we get this over with and leave.”

  “Sounds good. I just wanted to offer again to hire you to find Sarah Morgan for me. I can sweeten the pot, say, fifty thousand dollars when you bring her to me and get my money back.”

  “No. Hell no. We’re going.” Lucky turned, motioning for Jack to follow him out the door. This was a waste of time, no surprise, but it had to be done.

  “I wonder if your Taylor could use the fifty grand?” Eddie’s voice was pleasant, mild, but the layer of threat stopped both Lucky and Jack in mid-step.

  Lucky spun around. “What did you say?”

  “Ms. Elliott needs money, and I’ve offered to loan it to her.” Eddie clutched his heart in a way—as if he had one. It wasn’t convincing. “Well, not me exactly. My bank. And we’re happy to help her out.”

  Eddie hit a button on the remote on his desk and the curtains covering the ceiling-to-floor windows parted, revealing the bank floor below. Taylor was like a fucking magnet to him, and he immediately zeroed in on her. Seated at a desk. Talking to a banker guy. In Eddie Wilkes’s bank. His day just got shittier.

  Lucky pulled his gun and pointed it at Eddie. He didn’t think about it. Every part of him screamed to protect Taylor, and he was fucking going to get her out of here and away from the threat he’d brought into her life.