His Southern Temptation

chapter Eleven


“I heard you got arrested last night at the Jolly Gent.”

“Holy shit. Can’t you keep anything secret in this town?” Lucky asked his dad, Owen, as he paused in his caulking job on the barn roof. The sun was hot and oppressive where he stood on top of the roof, but his father’s continued silence really made Lucky sweat. They were finishing up the last of the repairs to the roof in their usual mode—lots of hard work, little conversation, and many things present but remaining ignored. “Who told you?”

“Your mama. She heard it from one her regular customers at the beauty shop.” He turned to throw rotted boards over the side, the crash when they hit ground drifting back up to them in the quiet of the farm. As he swung back around, Owen peered at him from under the brow of his ball cap. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Well, for the record, I didn’t get arrested. I was just taken in for questioning.” Obviously, he wasn’t used to being in Elliott again. He knew from a lifetime of prior experience that he should have called his mom and told her what happened before she opened Sissy’s Southern Style and learned of his exploits from her customers.

“I’m not the one you need to explain it to. Your mama was not pleased,” Owen said and returned to his job. “I heard the Elliot girl was arrest—” He paused, looking at Lucky, amusement teasing at his edge of his mouth. “I’m sorry—questioned—as well. You have anything to do with that?”

“Why do you assume I did?” Lucky asked, just to be ornery.

His dad humored him, continuing on as if his son wasn’t being a jackass. “Well, there was a time when that girl did nothing but look at you.”

Lucky shrugged, continuing his work and trying to play it cool. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about Taylor or any woman with his father. It was a little too close to the “sex talk” and the memory of that awkward, embarrassing, but blessedly short conversation still gave him the hives.

“And then there was a time when you started looking back,” his father added mildly.

Lucky paused at that one. He didn’t think anyone had noticed, least of all his father. “Ancient history.”

“History often repeats itself. You learn that as you get older,” his father said.

Time to change the subject. Getting pseudo-arrested was a safer topic.

“I was at the Jolly Gent because I’m working a job for Jack. A girl went missing from there and I was chasing down leads.”

“So you decided to take Jack up on his offer? I think that’s a good idea.” His father peered at him from under the brim of his ball cap, a quick nod emphasizing his agreement with the decision he thought his son had made regarding his future.

Lucky had been waiting for the perfect time to bring up his plans, dragging his feet and being a general chickenshit about the whole thing. It looked like now was the time. It wasn’t as though his dad could go anywhere.

“Dad, I want to buy the farm.”

Nothing.

“Did you hear me? I said I wan—”

“I heard you… I just thought I heard you wrong.” His dad, broad and strong, in fantastic shape for his age, looked up from where he was hammering down the replacement boards, his blue eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Why now? Never did interest you before.”

“People change.” Lucky braced himself for the debate.

“I thought you were pretty well-suited for what you were doing.” His dad turned back to the job at hand, the movement making his expression unreadable. His tone was clear, though—it said he wasn’t jumping on board the Lucky train any time soon. “Seemed to be exactly where you belonged. Trouble always seemed to find you.”

“So it only made sense for me to have a job that sent me to look for it?” Lucky finished the thought, not bothering to hide the bitter edge to his comment.

“Now, don’t read too much into my words. I didn’t mean you were a troublemaker, but it sure did follow you around. And you always knew how to fix it. I know you helped a lot of people in the service.”

“Don’t make me out to be a hero,” he said, voice rough as he pushed through the tightness in his chest caused by the pride in his father’s words.

“Lucky. I went to war and I know that every man who puts on a uniform isn’t a hero, but I also know even heroes make mistakes. I just don’t want you to make another one.”

The papers he signed when he’d left the government were so classified that even people who knew where Jimmy Hoffa was buried didn’t know about him. He’d fought on the side of the righteous, but the images of what he’d done still played in a sickening, loud as hell, continuous loop in his head. The noise had driven him home, to the place where the silence on the mountain was the only thing louder than the echoes of gunfire and people dying.

“Lucky.”

With a slight jump, he realized that he’d risen to a standing position on the steeply pitched roof. He squatted down quickly, lowering his center of gravity before he fell off the damn roof and broke his neck. When he looked, pulse pounding and a short of breath, his dad’s face was pale under his farmer’s tan.

“I think we should talk about this on the ground,” Owen said.

The few minutes it took for them to descend with their tools gave him time to compose his thoughts and shake off the bad memories. The gear stowed in the tool room, he followed his father into the 125-year-old farmhouse he’d been raised in and left as soon as the ink was dry on his college diploma. It was cooler inside, the air-conditioning humming, and the promise of cold sweet tea in the fridge rapidly cooled him down. As was custom, they headed to the kitchen where all-important family decisions were made.

“Lucky, this is a good offer.” Barely seated, his father thumped a finger on the envelope containing the bid from Summerfield corporation lying on the tabletop between them as they settled in with their drinks. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush. “What kind of money can you put on the table?”

“I can’t match their bid, but I can put down about thirty percent and the bank will lend me the rest.” He bit back a smile when his dad’s eyebrows shot up at the figure. It wasn’t chump change.

“Can I ask how you got that kind of money?”

He took a sip of the cold, sweet beverage and didn’t meet his dad’s eyes. It made it easier to avoid directly answering the question. “I got a very nice severance package when I left my last employer.”

“I didn’t think the government paid that well.”

“They do if they want something from you.” Everything had a price, including silence.

His father dropped his gaze, tapping the tabletop with blunt, rough fingers as he considered the offer. Lucky did the same thing when he was making a decision.

“Why do you want the farm?”

“What?”

“I think it’s a fair question, since you’re offering to buy the place when I really need to sell it.”

Lucky stared, the mask of control bred by the Marines coming to good use as his dad gave him the hairy eyeball across the table. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want his dad to think that playing the white knight was the only reason he made the offer.

“You know about the debt, right? Isn’t that why you’re offering?” Owen asked.

“It isn’t the only reason, but I’m glad to do it. I’m tired of living with a gun in my hand.” The bottom line was that he was just plain tired—period.

“Okay, that tells me what you don’t want to do. I asked why you wanted to do this.”

“I need it. I need something to get the ugly shit out of here.” He tapped his head on the right temple.

“I see.” His dad got up, the chair legs scraping against the hardwood floors and raking down his nerves like claws. Placing his glass in the sink, his father turned, leaning his big form against the edge of the countertop, arms crossed against his chest like a barrier. “Like I said. I’ve been to war, so I think I understand what you’re going through. You’ve done this before, come home to rest and get your head straight—it’s what home is for. You need a place where you can find your peace.”

Lucky braced himself—literally digging his heels into the floor —waiting for the “but” to follow.

“But that’s no reason to buy a farm and saddle yourself for a lifetime with something you always said you didn’t want.” His dad paused, struggling with his words. “All I ever heard when you were little was that you wanted to be a Marine. You achieved your goal, served admirably, and now you’re just plain worn out. After you rest, this life might not be what you need anymore.”

He had to stand up or go crazy. Lately, everything he wanted was something he couldn’t have—the farm, Taylor—it was so frustrating. Moving was the only thing that was going to keep him from yelling.

“If I were Tim you wouldn’t hesitate.”

His father didn’t react to the low blow except for a slight shift in his shoulders. The deep impact of the words etched in the tightness in his expression. If he was here to try to build bridges, this was not the way to do it. They’d never been close—not like his dad had been with his brother, Tim—and the strain after his death had pushed them further apart. This wasn’t helping, but damn he was sick of feeling like the runner-up son.

“You’re right. Your brother wanted to farm this land since the day he was born, but you didn’t. I wouldn’t be much of a father if I let you take on this farm because you feel like you need to bail your old man out.”

He was right. He’d never wanted this when he was little. But his first thought when he’d dropped his resignation papers on his commanding officer’s desk was to come home and never leave this place. Well, the second thought, anyway. His first one had been of hazel eyes and a woman he wanted more than his next breath.

“David.” He was surprised to see his dad so close and using his given name. He’d moved across the room when Lucky had been lost in thought and now he reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, the grip strong and the warmth seeping through his T-shirt. “I’m not saying no, but I want you to think about it. Make sure it’s what you need to have peace. I’ve got some time before I have to get back to the Summerfield people.”

His father started to leave, but paused, looking straight into Lucky’s eyes with his parting words. “You know, this life wouldn’t have been anything without your mama to share it with. Maybe what you’re looking for isn’t a place but a person.”

Lucky listened to his sure footsteps retreat across the floor, the whoosh of the front door and the clang of the screen prompting him to act. He wasn’t sure what just happened, but he thought it might have been the first real conversation he’d had with his father in fifteen years. It left him unsettled, a little pissed off, and raw. His dad said he needed to find his peace. He knew it was here and he understood his father’s hesitation. He just wasn’t sure how he could convince him.

Taylor. The person he wanted to talk to most wasn’t speaking to him because he’d been a jackass and treated her like a child. She’d found a new path, thrown off everything she thought she knew, and took off on faith. She was so sure of her future. Maybe she could help him find his own.