His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,34
like the woman he knew intimately.
She really couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this town.
“Michaela. Why’d you pick Elliott?” She was mystified as to how the governor’s daughter could possibly have chosen to live here.
“The official version is that a pediatric practice was for sale and I liked the location.” Michaela smiled, glancing down at the lovely young woman adding bath salts to the swirling water. “The real story is that I fell in love with Dolly’s peanut butter pie at the Comfort.”
“Ah. So that’s why you married my crazy nephew,” Sissy Landon laughed.
Looking up, Taylor watched Sissy lead a woman over to one of the two empty chairs near them, place the cape around her, and towel off her hair.
Michaela put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Jackson. I don’t think his ego could handle it.”
“His ego isn’t what I’m worried about.” Sissy shook her head, laughter spilling out so effortlessly, looking so much like Lucky that Taylor’s breath caught at the ache blooming in her chest. “That boy is so gone over you, he’d die on the spot if he lost you.”
Michaela blushed, the pink starting in her cheeks and creeping down her neck into the top of her blouse. But the most remarkable thing was the way her eyes lit up at just the mention of her new husband’s name.
Uneasy with the thought of staying anywhere because of one person, Taylor turned her attention back to her feet and the water bubbling and swishing around in the tub. She was off-kilter, her emotions in turmoil like the water, and she didn’t like it one bit.
“Mary-Taylor, it’s good to see you again.” Sissy’s smile was genuine and Taylor couldn’t help but respond in kind, her mood lightening. “You staying in town long, sweetie?”
“No, ma’am. For a couple more weeks.”
“Well”—Sissy patted her client’s shoulder before handing her over to a stylist for service—“maybe we can convince you to stay.”
“You sound like Lucky,” Taylor said.
“Maybe you’ll believe one of us and come back home.” Lucky’s voice caught her off guard, and she turned to find him leaning against the wall.
Taylor’s heart did a little flip. He was staring at her, his expression focused but open, softened by the hint of a tender smile on his lips. He silently mouthed “I’m sorry,” his hand sliding out of a jeans pocket and extending toward her, palm open, in a plea for her to accept his apology. She wanted to stay mad, really she did, but Lucky was one of the few men she knew who put the toilet seat down and apologized first when you had a fight. It was her duty to encourage his behavior by accepting his peace offering. She nodded and his grin split his face. The corresponding warmth in her chest had her smiling back like a loon.
Sissy whirled around, her smile widening at the sight of her son. Lucky looked down on her, undisguised affection in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss the top her head. She grabbed his hair with both hands, lightly tugging him toward the empty chair until he collapsed in a long-legged lazy slouch.
“Sit. You need a haircut,” Sissy ordered.
“All right, Mom. No need to manhandle me.” Taylor watched as his mother spun him to face the mirror. Lucky caught her eye in the reflection and it occurred to her that he’d come looking for her.
“You look like a mongrel with this scraggly hair. At least Uncle Sam kept you trimmed up.” Sissy pursed her lips in disapproval as she spritzed his hair with water and started to snip off the ends with precision and confidence of a woman who’d been doing it for most of her life. She flicked a glance up at Taylor in the mirror as she worked. “So, my boy is trying to get you to come home as well?”
“Yes. He’s quite the convert since he returned to Elliott.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry for that.” Sissy gazed fondly at her son in the mirror, and Taylor saw the ghost of years of motherly worry in her eyes. “It’s good to have him around. Sometimes it just takes a few years away to make you realize how great home really is.”
Silence descended on the little group as two ladies began giving both her and Michaela their pedicures. Usually the one delivering the service, Taylor leaned backed into the massage chair, allowing it to lull her into a place where she was only on the receiving