Tough Luck Hero. Maisey Yates

she often was. And he also knew that he would have to calm her. As he always did.

      “Who did you text?” he asked.

      Lydia fidgeted. “Sadie Garrett.”

      “Dammit. Who else?” Sadie Garrett, owner of Copper Ridge’s most popular B and B, was like a small blond explosion. She did nothing quietly, and she tended to throw parties on a whim.

      Lydia winced. “A few of the ladies at the Chamber. Who are probably already making...banners and things.”

      Great. News would be spreading already. He wondered if it had gotten to his family yet.

      His mother, who was likely apoplectic over the abandonment of Natalie and the utter destruction of the wedding she had spent months working on.

      He let his thumb hover over the message from her, and then he touched it.

      Colton, please tell me you know where Natalie is. Please tell me there will be a wedding.

      Oh, shit. Finding out about his dad, the fact he’d fathered a child out of wedlock more than thirty years earlier, had shaken her already fragile foundation. This on top of it would be so difficult for her.

      He wasn’t the one who broke things. He repaired them. That’s what he’d always done. And he would fix this, too.

      Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.

      He sent the message, then put his phone back down. He took a quick scan of the room and saw his T-shirt wadded up in a corner several feet from where he had found his jeans. He had changed before going to Ace’s, that much was obvious, though, he couldn’t exactly remember that. There were large gaps in all of his memories from yesterday, then suddenly something would hit, blindingly bright and clear.

      He pulled his shirt on over his head, fighting against one such memory as he did. Standing at the head of the aisle, waiting for Natalie to appear in the flowered archway she had spent weeks worrying about, debating which blossoms would look the most effective, the most bridal. He’d stared at it, expecting her to appear any moment, even long after the bridal march had stopped playing. Because she had chosen each and every one of those flowers, so how could she fail to come and stand beneath that damn archway?

      He sighed heavily and pulled up his email, taking a look at the receipt for the tickets he’d bought for Lydia and himself. Dammit to hell, they were booked to stay in Vegas through next weekend. What the hell?

      Drunk Colton was an ass.

      “Coffee,” he said, shoving that memory to the back of his mind.

      “What?” She blinked rapidly.

      “We’re going out for coffee. And then we’re going to get our tickets changed and get back to Copper Ridge.”

      Lydia hesitated, her hands clasped in front of her, making her look vaguely mouse-like. “We’re going back already?”

      “Unless you want to stay and play the slots.”

      “Of course I don’t,” she said, smoothing her hair.

      “I think your hair is a lost cause.” He reached out and brushed a strand from her face. Too late, he realized that was a damned mistake.

      Lightning shot from where his fingertips brushed against her, straight down to his cock. His unrest around Lydia had always been a vague, unsettling thing. Like static just beneath his skin. But all at once it was like the veil had been torn away and he saw it for what it was.

      Attraction. Desire.

      Hell no.

      He pulled his hand away.

      She turned, looking into a mirror that hung on the far wall, her eyes round, her hand shaking as she brushed her hair away from her face. She was just as affected by this. By him. “I need...probably to be dipped in a vat of mousse.”

      “No time for that.” He needed to get out of this hotel room. Away from her.

      He was going to leave these strange feelings in Vegas and never look back. The marriage might not be something they could leave behind, but this insanity was staying in Nevada, where it belonged.

      She looked around. “I’m wearing last night’s dress.”

      “And that’s another thing we can take care of. Unless you want to wear it on the plane ride back.”

      She cringed. “No thank you.”

      “Then come on.”

      She made a low whining sound, but ultimately followed him out of the room. “Please slow down. The room is spinning and I’m wearing high heels.”

      He continued to stride down the hall, paying as little attention as possible to the tacky decor. Natalie would be appalled. She had planned for them to honeymoon in New York and spend some time in a posh hotel in Manhattan. He’d just been along for the ride, because he failed to see the appeal in the rush of a city that size.

      But then, he’d ended up in Vegas when drunk and left to his own devices, so he supposed he had no room to judge.

      “You’re so mean.” She stepped into the elevator with him.

      “I’m efficient,” he said, hitting the button that would take them to the lobby.

      “Is that the positive spin that assholes put on their inconsiderate behavior?”

      “Yes,” he said, not really feeling the need to defend himself. What would be the point? Lydia didn’t like him anyway. He had never liked her. He didn’t have to explain himself to her.

      She let out a long, slow sigh, no doubt designed to demonstrate just how deeply she disapproved of him. Finally, the doors to the elevator slid open and he walked out ahead of her. He could hear her clicking along behind him, her steps unsteady on the high-gloss marble in the lobby.

      He paused, turning to face her. “First coffee. Then we’ll do something about that.”

      “About what?”

      “That,” he said, indicating her attire.

      “You’re going to make me hobble to get coffee first?”

      “We can fix your head or your feet first. Choose.”

      She grumbled. “Coffee. Fix my head. Please fix my head.”

      There was a coffee shop down at the other end of the lobby, and fortunately, since it was getting to be the middle of the day, it wasn’t all that crowded. He quickly procured them two very strong Americanos.

      “Do you need sugar or anything?” he asked, pointing to the stand in the corner that held half-and-half, cinnamon and any other items you could possibly want to doctor up a coffee.

      “I just need you to stop talking. And some sunglasses.” She squinted, looking a little bit like a pathetic rodent that had been prematurely rooted out of her burrow.

      “One of those I can get you.”

      “I can buy my own sunglasses, thank you, Colton.”

      “It’s our honeymoon, dear. The least I can do is buy you a new outfit.”

      Color washed over her face. “It is not our honeymoon.”

      “Yes,” he said, “it is. Especially since you’re insisting that we stay married.”

      “It’s the only thing we can do.”

      “I guess I see your point,” he said, turning toward the gift shop that was located across from the café.

      He didn’t want to see her point, but he did. His mother was already on the verge of a breakdown, and he was going to be the primary topic of town gossip for months. Adding to it all with this weird marriage and a quick divorce seemed...well, it seemed like the path of most resistance.

      Lydia clicked after