His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,24
jaw and sent him flying backward into a crowd of drunks.
Lucky had been in many fights over the years, and this one was no different. Time slowed down and everything shone with perfect clarity. A bar full of drunk rednecks was a powder keg with a short fuse. Add to it the heightened testosterone due to half-naked females being nearby and the first beer bottle flying across the room was inevitable. Before he could blink, clumps of bodies traded blows, chairs went flying, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the piece of shit bouncer headed out of the side door.
Over the crowd, he could see Taylor still up on stage, the expression on her face strange, focused, but nowhere near the fear that should have been taking over her features. Crazy woman. When she should have been hauling butt toward the backstage area, she was busy watching the new floor show. He broke eye contact, following the path of her gaze, and instantly knew what had her so mesmerized—the bald guy was standing next to the open door and watching Taylor with avid interest. Lucky knew he was going to kick the guy’s ass for looking at her that way. That was a guarantee.
He was just as Taylor described him, and Lucky recognized his face. He knew this guy and racked his brain for context but came up with nothing. A loud yell erupted from the direction of the stage and Lucky turned to see the fight escalating and Taylor smack-dab in the middle of it. He looked back toward baldie just in time to see him slip outside. Damn. He’d have to wait.
Covering the last couple of feet to the stage, Lucky hoisted himself up onto the platform, grabbing Taylor by the shoulders and hauling her close against his body. The sound of an air horn blast startled him, causing him to stumble. The momentum sent them tumbling to the ground. Lucky rolled, taking the brunt of the fall on his side while Taylor lay sprawled on top of him and gasping for air.
The noise in the room quieted down slightly, shouts of “stay on the floor” and “don’t move” weaving into the groans erupting from bodies unused to taking punches. The cavalry had come, probably summoned by the bartender and his handy-dandy panic button. Lucky wondered if they could scoot backstage and out of the building before anyone noticed. The last thing he wanted was Taylor hauled off to the police station.
“You okay?” He asked, mentally assessing his own injuries while running practiced hands over her form to check her out.
“I’m fine. But I think I broke a heel.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Lighten up. I knew you’d take care of me,” Taylor said.
“If I’d been taking care of you I wouldn’t have let you talk me into this crazy plan. Now, let’s see if we can get you out of here before the cops notice. I think the path is clear to backstage.”
Shifting so he could help her off the floor, Lucky came face-to-face with a shoe. A government-issued, black polished shoe worn by most law enforcement officers. Tracing the line of the crease in the uniform pants, past the utility belt, gun holster, and shiny five-pointed badge, his journey ended with the face of a very pissed-off Sheriff Burke.
Oh, hell.
“Lucky Landon, why are you always on the floor groping this woman?”
“Would you believe we were looking for her contact lens?”
“Smart-ass.” The sheriff was not amused, and he emphasized his point by unhooking his handcuffs from his belt while they scrambled to their feet. “I’ve known you your whole life and I don’t know why I’m surprised to find you smack-dab in the middle of any trouble. You can explain it all to me down at the station.”
The click of the cold metal around his wrists told Lucky it was time to start talking himself out of this. He was good at it. They hadn’t nicknamed him “Lucky” for nothing.
“Sheriff, I don’t think this is necess—”
The Sheriff ignored him, turning to Taylor with a shake of his head. “Miss Elliott, I understand you have a lawyer in your family. If I were you, I’d use my one phone call to get him down to the station.”
Lucky groaned. It looked like his luck had finally run out.
Chapter Nine
“Lucky, if this is your idea of showing me the highlights of Elliott, your technique needs work.”
Taylor leaned against the bars of holding cell number two in the Elliott City