His Southern Temptation

chapter Fifteen


He was going to go blind.

Lucky stood in the doorway of the library at Elliott House, unable to move. The sight of Taylor in one of her body-hugging running outfits was always amazing, and his body responded to the sexy way her hips swiveled and pumped in time with the heavy beat pouring out of the sound system. But the addition of five of the fine churchgoing ladies of Elliott gyrating along with her was something he could have gone his whole life without seeing.

This was going to require therapy.

“Shake it, ladies. Move those hips.” Taylor moved among the women, guiding their movements with her hands and demonstrating sexy moves designed to get any man’s blood boiling. The sight of his fourth-grade teacher shaking her moneymaker…made his stomach do a high-dive into his toes.

The sound of the front door opening and closing tore his eyes from the train wreck in front of him. Teague stood on the threshold, his expression taking on a hard edge at the sight of Lucky. They hadn’t spoken since the night at the jail.

“What’s going on?” Teague asked, motioning toward the door.

Not waiting for an answer, he strode toward the doorway and took a good look at the scene before him. Lucky would have paid good money to have a photograph of the myriad emotions skittering across his friend’s face within the span of a few seconds: curiosity and shock edged with just a hint of nausea.

“Damn it, Lucky, you could have warned me!” Teague choked out, his body reeling backward. “What the hell is she doing in there?”

“I think she’s teaching them a stripper routine.” Laughing, Lucky shoved him back toward the kitchen, determined to put as much distance between them and the nightmare on Main Street unfolding in the library. “I think this calls for a drink. Beer?”

“Yeah.”

Lucky grabbed two beers out of the fridge, popping the caps and sliding one across the countertop toward Teague, who’d settled at the bar. The first gulp went down easy, the coolness of the liquid reaching a part of him that was parched after a day working at the farm in the heat.

He glanced at Teague, gauging his mood. He was relaxed on the stool, and when they caught each other’s gaze, they both snickered. Any tension between them left with the church ladies who were currently at the front door, departing with loud laughter.

“Man. I’m sorry about the other night,” Lucky said.

Teague took another swig of his beer and waved him off. “Forget it. I know how Taylor is. If she was determined to go there, no one could have stopped her. Any hint of the sweet, compliant little sister I grew up with disappeared when she slugged that a*shole at the altar.”

“I think it’s for the better.”

Teague paused for a moment, contemplating his answer. Finally he nodded, saluting Lucky with his bottle. “You’re right. I don’t worry about her half the world away. I know she can handle herself.”

“Leave her alone!” The cry, sharp and strangled, shot down the hallway and erupted in the kitchen like a grenade full of shrapnel. Right on its heels, accompanying screams and exclamations chased down the original blast and propelled Lucky toward the source with Teague in his wake. He didn’t hear Taylor’s voice, and that fact alone frightened Lucky to the point where panic was running right alongside him.

The massive mahogany door was flung open, the afternoon sunlight as bright as the rage pulsing in his veins. A man had his hands on Taylor and was attempting to drag her down the steps. She was putting up a good fight, but it was a losing battle since the man was easily double her size. Lucky planned on evening the odds in her favor.

He didn’t yell—the cacophony of frightened women would render it useless, and his training programmed him to sweep in silent and deadly. Once his right foot hit the threshold of the porch, Lucky launched himself at Taylor’s attacker, brutally removing her from his grasp and shoving her to the side. Lucky came down on the man with a vehemence he’d kept at bay since his days in the military ended.

It was over quickly.

The a*shole was used to dealing with people who quickly caved in to bullying only slightly more intimidating than what was delivered in the local high school. Shock eclipsed every other expression when Lucky grabbed him by the shirt and delivered two quick jabs to the face. The crunchy, liquidy sound of the guy’s nose yielding to the impact of his fist caused satisfaction to bloom like a rose in his chest. This is what he was trained to do. This time it was personal.

Lucky slammed Taylor’s attacker to the ground, leaning on his windpipe until his eyes bulged and the skin around the edges of his mouth turned purple. Just a little more pressure and the guy would go down like a slutty girl on prom night.

“Lucky! Stop!” Teague appeared in his peripheral vision, reaching out to grab him.

“Teague. Back. Off.”

“Lucky. Stop. You’re going to kill him.” Teague inched closer and Lucky took his eyes off the man-sized bug in his grip long enough to flash a warning at his friend. It worked, because Teague recoiled before he took his next breath.

“If I wanted to kill him I’d have snapped his neck by now. This is what I do. Don’t get in my way.” Lucky took a steadying breath and tried to ease back on the menace. He wasn’t so far gone to forget where he was and that he no longer had government immunity to secure a victory by any means necessary. Besides, he wouldn’t get any answers from this guy if he coated the front walk with his brain matter.

He returned his gaze to the intruder, relieving the pressure enough to allow him answer his questions. “I’m going to ask you this once and I swear to God if you lie to me I will feed your nuts to my dad’s dogs. You get me?”

The man nodded.

“So hurry up, dickhead. Tell me what I want to know.” Lucky leaned a little on his throat to remind him that his generosity was the only thing standing in between his next breath and a toe tag. “Who do you work for, motherf*cker?”

“Mr. Wilkes. Ed—ie Eddie Wilkes.” The man stammered as if by uttering the name he would summon the devil to this little meet and greet.

Fury flashed through Lucky’s system, singeing away slivers of his humanity and leaving behind the charred remains of the normal twinges of conscience that kept most people from committing the unthinkable. He wouldn’t kill him, but years of training were hard to shake.

“Lucky, let him up,” Sheriff Burke’s voice, low and even, broke just over his right shoulder.

Lucky cursed, tightening his hold on Taylor’s attacker, who clearly thought the cavalry had arrived.

“Sheriff. Make him let me go. He’s going to kill me.” The weasel whined like one of those stupid yappy dogs rich women put in their purses—totally appropriate since he was Eddie Wilkes’s bitch. What Lucky wouldn’t give for one more minute to smack him around for being such a loser. And then another few seconds to beat the crap out of him for daring to lay a finger on Taylor.

“Burke, I need you to give me a little more time,” Lucky spat out between clenched teeth, his jaw aching with rage.

“No.” The sheriff’s word was clear. “I can’t let you settle this the way to you want to, son. Let him up and we’ll do this the right way.”

Lucky cursed. He levered himself off the guy, stopping when he caught the triumphant smirk twisting the bastard’s lips. Lucky didn’t even hesitate before he slammed his fist down on the slug’s face, connected with the sweet spot, and knocked him out.

The sheriff cursed loudly and creatively as Lucky hoisted himself up to a fully upright position. He smiled as he turned to face Burke, allowing his self-satisfied grin free rein as he dusted the dirt off his jeans.

“He’s all yours, Sheriff.”