His Southern Temptation - By Robin Covington Page 0,55

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