it was just something I heard, okay? Just because I’m friends with Milly doesn’t mean my store is open to sabotage.”
“Are all Americans this dramatic?”
I narrowed my eyes on the smart-ass. “We both know I’m not the drama queen holding on to a thirty-year-old wound.”
A muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched. “You’ve said what you had to say. You can leave now.”
“Aye.” The older man next to me looked up from the pint he was clutching. His face was haggard with lines, and if I had to guess, I would say he was well into his eighties. “On you go. We don’t want your kind round here. A sympathizer.”
What? Really? My thoughts spilled out of my mouth because, man, the melodrama!
“Aye, really.” He ran his cloudy eyes down my body and back up again. “I’ve seen you, friendly with Viola Tait. Better watch, lass, or you’ll catch something from her kind.”
I swear I felt as if the world had fallen away from my feet.
Did he just say . . . did he just say what I think he said?
Sickening rage flooded up from the pit of my gut. “What did you say?” I asked, my voice hoarse with the strength of my reaction.
“I said—argh!” he cried out in fright as he found himself hauled up by the fist that had tightened in the fabric near the throat of his shirt.
Lucas’s face was dark with fury as he held the old man up from his stool and bent into his face to growl, “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my pub.” He shoved the old man back with such force, he stumbled off his stool, cursing so loudly, the whole place fell quiet.
He glared at Lucas. “It’s not your pub, you little shit!”
“It is while my dad isn’t here.” Lucas rounded the bar, coming out from behind it.
“Luke.” A man at the end of the bar grabbed hold of Lucas’s arm. “He’s just an ignorant old man. Leave it be.”
Lucas strained against him, his chest heaving, but he stopped moving toward the old bigot. He pointed a finger at him. “Racists aren’t welcome at The Alnster Inn. You set foot in here again, and I’ll physically throw you out, I don’t care what fucking age you are.”
“Your da will hear about this,” the old man blustered, looking around as if for support.
Tourists were affronted by the altercation while locals looked away. I chose to believe it was because they disagreed with him and not because they just didn’t want Lucas to assault them. Finding no help, the old man spun on his heel and stumbled out of the dark pub.
I’d never seen him before, but he was obviously a local.
And now he’d do best to stay out of my way.
For a moment I stood stunned, speechless, and it was only as discomfort registered in my hands that I realized I’d clenched them into fists so tight, my fingernails were biting into my skin.
I looked from the doorway, where the racist asshole had departed, to Lucas, who was staring at me. He hadn’t moved either.
He’d defended Viola.
Vehemently.
“I thought you weren’t friends.”
Understanding me perfectly, Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Friend or not, no one talks about her like that around me.”
Hmm. Yes, the man was hateful, and anyone who didn’t know Viola would have been disgusted.
But people who cared about her would be enraged.
Lucas Elliot was still trembling with the strength of his emotion.
Quickly making a decision that dealing with the book price rumor was the last thing on anyone’s mind now, I gave the young man a nod of respect, which he returned, and I departed.
As soon as the door of the inn closed behind me, I stared across the road at The Anchor.
I could still picture Lucas straining as he held that old guy by the throat, his anger so fierce, I knew he wanted to throttle the man.
An image of Viola’s pained expression as she watched Lucas stride through the village with that mystery blonde came to mind.
Could it be . . . ?
Were Lucas and Viola Alnster’s very own Beatrice and Benedick?
As I returned to the bookstore, I considered the possibilities. Watching them interact last Saturday had been so entertaining because the air between them fairly crackled with electricity.
Chemistry.
Did they care for each other beneath the barbs and insults? Only they couldn’t do anything about it because of the feud West kept burning between him and Milly.
Like the Montagues and Capulets.
“Except these are real people and it is not a play,” I