The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  And that was the most benign reason for her cousin’s disappearance that she could conjure. Car trouble, getting lost – maybe falling, injuring her foot and sustaining a head injury of some sort that caused her to become even more confused.

  Even though she’d tried to distract herself with an audiobook – something light and funny – on the drive here, her thoughts kept drifting to all sorts of possible scenarios. Needless to say, most of them were far less innocent.

  It wasn’t like her to avoid confrontation or to steer away from unpleasant realities, which was why coming here was twofold. Not only did she want to do whatever she could to – hopefully – help find Sabrina and bring her home safely, but she also needed to finally deal with the events of that long ago summer morning.

  The events that had torn her family apart.

  The walk was a good bit farther than she remembered, but Ainsley welcomed the exercise after being cooped up in the car for five hours. Sitting still was another skillset in which she was sorely deficient. In addition to the two parts mule, her stepbrother had always claimed that the final aspect of her personality was whirlwind.

  Ainsley’s heart clinched as she thought of Grant, but she shoved that grief aside for now. She didn’t want the bitter taste of it to color her memories of that long ago summer. It seemed important that she remember everything as… unemotionally as possible.

  Ainsley was almost past it before she realized that she’d reached the spot. The deeper pool where she’d discovered Carly. She stopped, looking around.

  It was different, she realized. The big beech tree was gone. The beech – a mammoth specimen into whose bark she and all of her cousins had carved their initials, just like their parents before them – had formed a natural landmark. She and Sabrina had climbed its branches, sometimes picnicked in the shade of its massive canopy. And now it was gone. In its place was a wooden bench, a cleverly constructed piece that was as decorative as it was functional. Ainsley stepped closer, examining the image of a tree carved into the back panel. It looked like the beech. Her beech. And while she was no expert on woodgrains, Ainsley thought that perhaps the wood from which the bench had been constructed might possibly be the same.

  She felt an irrational spurt of anger. That was her family’s history, damn it. She wondered if the new owners had taken down the tree, or maybe the tubing company asked to have it removed, since it would have sat right in the middle of their path. Of course, they could have just curved the path around it.

  But then another thought struck her. She wondered if her aunt had insisted upon the beech’s removal. Ainsley shuddered as some of the details of her cousin’s murder came back to her. At first the adults had tried to keep the grislier details from her and Sabrina, but then when the whole thing blew up, it became impossible to avoid knowing exactly what had happened.

  Carly had been raped beneath that tree. Then she’d been strangled, her lifeless body discarded in the creek.

  Ainsley stared at the image of the tree, her anger fleeing. Instead, she just felt sad.

  Turning to look at the water, Ainsley brought from the back of her memory bank the details of that morning. She hadn’t forgotten any of them, but she had learned how to shut them away. She and Bree had been so happy, so excited to once again have what seemed to them an endless amount of time to spend together. To revel in each other’s company and the magic that was summer in the mountains. They’d been on the cusp of adolescence, but still children.

  Unfortunately, they’d both grown up way too quickly after that day. And now, Sabrina was missing. It seemed horribly unfair.

  “Where are you?” she murmured, glancing downstream toward the boulder that had always served as their finish line.

  The noise behind her – a snapping twig – caused Ainsley to turn around. Her heart kicked against her ribcage when she saw the man. Tall, broad-shouldered, messy brown hair and several days’ growth of beard covering a lean, rawboned face. Jeans, hiking boots and an earth-toned flannel hanging open over a worn gray T-shirt.

  But what really concerned her was the shotgun.

  She stared at it, and then raised her gaze to meet eyes of an indeterminate light shade. Those eyes raked over her, and then narrowed.

  He opened his mouth, and the voice that emerged sounded like gravel tumbling down a rocky slope.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  Surprise rendered her momentarily speechless, but she’d never suffered from that affliction for long.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, because it seemed prudent to be polite to the stranger with the gun. “I was under the impression that the path belonged to the tube rental company.”

  “Tubing season is over.”

  Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Yes, I’m aware,” Ainsley said slowly, trying to gauge if he was dangerous or simply unfriendly. She could hear the cars passing by on the main road, and considered that it would be easiest to dart past him and head up the embankment toward the road – and people – should she feel the need for a quick getaway. Her car was probably almost a mile down the path.

  He waited while she mulled that over, and then finally arched his brows. “Yet here you are.”

  The sarcasm in his tone finally loosened her tongue. “Here I am,” she agreed, adding a false note of brightness to her voice. “Inadvertently trespassing. Which I will rectify posthaste.” She gestured in the direction which she’d left her car. And then, because she simply couldn’t help herself. “If I may offer a word of legal advice, you might want to post signs indicating that this is private property to avoid such problems in the future. Trespassers will be shot outside of tubing season, that sort of thing. Although I hope you won’t feel the need to do so today.”

  He stared at her, and then glanced down at his shotgun. “You thought I was going to shoot you?”

  “It’s always best to exercise caution in these instances.”

  “You trespass on private property a lot?”

  “Not when it’s clearly posted.”

  One side of his mouth quirked, but Ainsley wouldn’t go so far as to call it a smile. Then he brought the shotgun up, startling Ainsley so that she took an instinctive step back.

  Unfortunately, she was closer to the bank than she’d realized. The ground – soft and slippery from the recent rain – gave beneath her feet so that she felt herself sliding backwards.

  With a splash, she fell into the icy water.

  She came up seconds later, sputtering. The water wasn’t terribly deep right at the edge – no more than a couple feet – but it was enough to soak her completely. Memories of that long ago morning flooded back, creating a sense of déjà vu that, coupled with her discomfort and anxiety and humiliation, caused all of the emotions she’d been keeping bottled over the past several days to erupt in an angry scream.

  When she pushed her sodden hair from her face she looked up to see the idiot with the shotgun watching her with unmistakable humor.

  Ainsley wasn’t accustomed to being clumsy. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling so discomposed. And she certainly wasn’t accustomed to holding her tongue when she was riled.

  “You jackass,” she seethed, not caring any longer about being polite. “What the hell were you thinking, pointing a gun at me like that?”

  “I didn’t point anything at you,” he countered. “I was actually going to show you that the gun wasn’t loaded,” he opened the chamber or barrel or whatever the hell you called it, calmly showing her that the gun wasn’t loaded “so that you didn’t freak out and run into traffic.” His mouth quirked again. “Or fall into the creek.”

  The fact that he’d surmised her intention to run past him toward the road probably should have alarmed her, but irritation got the upper hand. “You could have simply told me what you were doing rather than waving the gun around.”

  He opened his mouth, probably to contradict her again, but then he closed it, shaking his head. He leaned the unloaded shotgun against the bench before stepping forwa
rd to offer his hand.

  Ainsley stared at it with undisguised ill will.

  “Bet that water’s cold,” he murmured.

  “It’s invigorating.”

  His gaze drifted down to her chest and he raised his eyebrows. “I’ll say.”

  Ainsley didn’t even need to look to know her nipples were clearly visible through her long-sleeved T-shirt. The water wasn’t just cold, it was freezing. And of course she’d had the bad luck to wear white.

  She rolled her eyes, and then finally grasped his hand with her own.

  His palm was rough, his grip firm. He hauled her up as if she weighed no more than the weapon he’d been carrying, and Ainsley felt a thrill of something she couldn’t readily identify shoot through her.

  However, she had no trouble identifying the pain which shot through her ankle when she tried to put weight on it.

  “Ouch!”

  Although he’d let go of her as soon as she was back on dry land, he reached out again to steady her. If he hadn’t grabbed onto her arm, Ainsley was pretty sure she would have fallen right back into the creek.

  He looked down, and when he spoke it was from a close enough distance that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. “Twist your ankle?”

  Ainsley grimaced, and then nodded. “When I fell. I guess I didn’t notice it right away because the water was so cold.” So cold that she couldn’t stop herself from shivering.

  He frowned. “Can you walk?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll just sit down for a minute,” she nodded toward the bench “before I start back.”

  But when she tried to take a step, her leg buckled.

  Before she could say anything, he’d swept her up and deposited her unceremoniously on the bench. Then he squatted down and started unzipping her boot.

  Discomposed further by the careless show of strength – and by the familiarity he was showing – Ainsley stiffened. “Excuse me, but I don’t recall inviting you to remove articles of my clothing.”

  “I need to get a look at your ankle. And this is footwear, not clothing. Really impractical footwear,” he said with a shake of his head at her high-heeled boot. “If you’re going to go trespassing in the woods, you should probably wear something more appropriate.”

  Ainsley thought of Bree’s gladiator sandal, abandoned and bloody, and worry gripped her like a vise, making her more curt than she otherwise might have been. “I wasn’t planning on trespassing, in the woods or elsewhere.” She winced as he carefully pulled at the boot. “I just drove here from Savannah.”

  He paused, and then glanced up at her. Moss. His eyes were almost exactly the color of the moss that grew along the bank. Soft and green.

  Ainsley sucked in a breath and he apologized, assuming it was a hiss of pain.

  “So you just decided to stretch your legs?”

  Ainsley swallowed, crossing her arms against the chills that racked her, both physically and otherwise. “Something like that.”

  He stared at her a moment, his gaze penetrating. And then he returned his attention to her ankle. “Looks like you’ve got a bruise forming already.” He palpated the area with surprisingly gentle fingers. Long fingers. Long hands. “I imagine the swelling will set in shortly.”

  “Swelling?”

  “If I had to make a judgment call, I’d say you sprained it. Did you park your car in the lot for the river excursions?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Too far to walk then.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  His mouth did that almost smile thing again. “What you’ll be is laid up for a good long while if you try to walk all that way on a sprained ankle. Not to mention the hypothermia.”

  Ainsley started to protest, and then realized that her teeth were chattering too hard for her to do so.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He gently zipped her boot back up and then stood, leaning forward as if he was going to simply scoop her up again.

  Ainsley pressed her back against the bench. “You c-can’t carry me all that way.”

  “Well, I could. But it would be a hell of a lot easier to carry you across the creek and then help you walk to my house, where I can get you a towel and a hot drink before driving you back to your car. Depending on how bad the swelling gets, you might be able to drive yourself into town. I recommend you make a stop at the emergency room to get an x-ray, though, just to be safe.”

  “Your house?” She laughed her disbelief. “Do I look like a total idiot?”

  He raised his brows. “Right at this moment?”

  Ainsley felt heat flood into her cheeks, the only part of her that was warm. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I have no idea who you are. You could be Jack the Ripper for all I know.”

  “Callum Elias. Although now that you mention it, Cal the Ripper does have a certain ring.”

  “Funny.”

  “I don’t blame you for being cautious. If it makes you feel better, I’ll use my phone to call an ambulance to come pick you up.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “You do need an ER.”

  “For a twisted ankle?”

  “For a sprained ankle, the severity of which I can’t tell from a cursory examination, but given how quickly that bruise showed up I wouldn’t be surprised if they put you in a walking boot.”

  She stared at him, and then shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. And anyway, I can use my own…”

  On a sudden burst of panicked realization, Ainsley dragged her phone from her pocket. Needless to say, it didn’t turn on.

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but unless you have a waterproof case – and judging by your expression, I’m guessing you don’t – after the urgent care center you might need to find a wireless store and see if they can dry your phone out. Or I’ve heard that a bowl of rice works.”

  She stared at him incredulously. “Rice.”

  He shrugged. “Never had cause to try it myself.”

  “Because you’ve never fallen in the creek.”

  “Because I have a waterproof case. And I’ve never fallen in the creek. Look,” he said after another pause in the conversation “I understand your concern. I wouldn’t trust me either. Like I said, I can call someone to come pick you up. If not an ambulance, then an alternative of your choice. Do you have any friends or relatives in town?”

  Ainsley considered whether or not to mention her relation to Ben, and finally nodded. “Yes, but I’d rather not call them.” She wasn’t entirely sure her aunt would come to her rescue, and while Ben certainly would, he would also no doubt use this as an opportunity to expound upon all of the reasons why she shouldn’t have come. Ben was a big fan of lectures.

  She didn’t feel like hearing one right at the moment.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Callum said, scratching his stubbled cheek “but if you don’t feel comfortable calling your friends –”

  “Relatives,” Ainsley corrected. “Not friends. My c-cousin Ben is the county sheriff.”

  “You’re Ben Paulson’s cousin?”

  Ainsley looked up. “Yes. You know him?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated for a moment. “Cousin on which side of the family?”

  “Ben’s mom and my dad are sister and brother.” Ainsley narrowed her eyes. “Why does it matter?”

  “So you’re a Tidwell,” Callum said, ignoring her question.

  “Yes,” she repeated. “Ainsley. Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just that I recently bought your grandmother’s house.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “TEA or coffee?”

  When he received no answer, Cal turned away from the cabinet he’d just opened to look at his unexpected guest, who was seated at his kitchen table. Her hair – dark as sin – hung around her face in damp tangles. Her eyes, equally dark, held that sort of blankness that suggested she was lost in her memories, some of which weren’t that pleasant.
It was a look Cal recognized.

  He’d seen it way too often in his own mirror.

  “Ms. Tidwell?”

  She startled, the blank look leaving her eyes when she turned them his way. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “I asked if you wanted tea or coffee. You need something hot to counteract the chill, and I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”

  “Oh. Coffee. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble,” he said, taking down two mugs from the cabinet, along with a bag of grounds. He tossed the remains of that morning’s pot into the sink, and then set a fresh one on to brew. “I’d be making some anyway, since I’m almost as wet as you.”

  A faint wash of color crept into her otherwise pale cheeks, and he gathered she was reliving their awkward trek across the creek. Frankly, he was surprised that she’d gone along with his suggestion, but then he guessed she didn’t have much choice. They’d crossed at a point where the water was no more than ankle deep, but he’d been forced to carry her in a fireman’s hold so that he could maintain a grip on his shotgun. Water from her hair dripped down his back as moisture from her clothing soaked into his. At one point he momentarily lost his footing and reached up to reposition her so that they didn’t both fall in.

  For such a tall, slender woman, she had a surprisingly grabbable ass.

  On second thought, Cal should probably skip the coffee. He’d be better off with a cold shower. Or a dunking in the creek.

  He opened another cabinet and removed a bottle of anti-inflammatory tablets, placing them on the table in front of her along with the ice pack he snagged from the freezer.

  She glanced at him, suspicious. “What’s this?”

  “The drug I offer to all of my victims to make them more compliant. It’s ibuprofen,” he said when she glared at him. “It’ll help with the pain and hopefully keep the swelling down. As will the ice. Do you need help taking your boots off?”