The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  He’d been suffocating, Clay thought. In work. In routine. In the sheer, unrelenting misery he saw all too often. And here, here was goodness.

  He wanted to drink it in.

  TATE saw the change in his eyes – that flash of heat signifying intention. She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, whether from nerves or anticipation she couldn’t say. And watched desire slip like a living thing from the steel band of his restraint.

  Oblivious to the press of the crowd around them, he brushed his thumb along the slope of her cheek.

  “Max?” His normally smooth voice tumbled roughly, like a pebble skipping down a rocky slope.

  “Yes, Mr. Clay?”

  “You may,” he suggested man to man, “want to turn around and look the other way.”

  “Why?” Max pulled his gaze from the lights, brows knit in a puzzled frown.

  “Because if it’s okay with you, I’m going to kiss your mama.”

  His lips on hers were undemanding, gentle as a summer rain. Tate felt herself begin the slide from reluctant interest to all-out attraction. If he’d pressured her, been the least bit aggressive, or hadn’t taken her son’s feelings into consideration, it would have been a heck of a lot easier for her to maintain some emotional distance.

  But he’d asked her son’s permission, for God’s sake. And then proceeded to kiss her as sweetly as if they were both virgins on their first date.

  It was that consideration that was her undoing.

  She stretched an arm around his neck and found herself kissing him back.

  “Excuse me,” a syrupy voice drawled before the kiss could get really interesting. “The line’s moving, and I think that y’all are next.”

  Embarrassment had her eyes popping open, her hands pushing against his chest. And turning, she apologized to the woman and three children waiting with varying degrees of patience behind them.

  “That’s okay,” the woman chuckled. “If my husband looked like yours, I’d be all over him, too.”

  Tate’s eyes went wide, but Clay’s laugh rang out as he wrapped an arm around her to draw her forward. “Come on, sugar. You can watch me and the kid while we’re on the ride, and I give you permission to be all over me later.”

  Shaking her head, Tate watched Clay get Max situated in the seatbelt.

  And was struck, not quite easily, by what an amazing man he truly was.

  How many men would voluntarily spend an entire day of their vacation entertaining the demanding five-year-old son of a woman they’d just met? A woman who’d made it clear that she had no intention of providing any diversionary physical entertainment?

  Of course, if she were being honest, she would have to admit that a couple minutes ago she’d been on the verge of forgetting that she didn’t engage in fleeting physical relationships with veritable strangers. Clay’s tender kiss had rekindled long dormant fires that hadn’t been lit since… well, she hesitated to actually recall how long. She’d been in such a sexual drought that she was like a little pile of dry kindling.

  And Clay Copeland was quite a potent spark.

  What would it hurt, she mused, to indulge herself with a little adult recreation? To allow whatever seemed to be igniting between her and Clay to develop naturally?

  The Ferris wheel groaned suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, and she smiled and waved as Clay and Max began their backward ascent.

  Clay winked, and then slid his arm around her son to help keep him from bouncing out of his seat with excitement. Max looked up at him with naked adoration.

  It was then that Tate came to the sinking realization that she couldn’t see Clay again.

  Even if she could handle a brief affair in a mature and reasonable fashion – which, given her short and unimpressive history with affairs of any sort, was highly unlikely – she couldn’t discount the effect such a relationship might have on Max. She’d always been very careful to keep her dating life, what there was of it, totally separate from her son. The look she’d just seen pass between Max and Clay reminded her of the wisdom of that decision.

  For five years she’d done her best to shield Max from the rejection children inevitably feel growing up in single parent households.

  Max was young still, but he’d already peppered her with questions about his absentee father. Where he was. Who he was.

  Wondering why the other children he knew had daddies when he didn’t.

  It was no fault of his own that his bastard of a father hadn’t been interested in making any significant contributions to his life other than donating his sperm.

  As the Ferris wheel slid backward again, the little boy in question leaned over, waving an arm in enthusiastic greeting. Clay said something in his ear which had him erupting in a fit of giggles, and Tate winced even as she waved back.

  No, she definitely shouldn’t see Clay again. And especially not in the company of her son. Clay would be leaving in a few days, and if she allowed anything to develop, Max would be confused and possibly hurt when Clay waltzed easily out of their lives.

  It would be best to thank Clay for a truly wonderful day, explain that she had nothing more than friendship to offer, and bid him farewell so that he could enjoy the remainder of his vacation.

  Whether alone, or in the company of a more accommodating woman.

  And it didn’t matter, couldn’t matter, which avenue he chose.

  Drawing a fortifying breath, Tate pushed at an errant lock of hair and turned her attention to some of the other bystanders waiting for the ride to begin.

  A happy set of plump grandparents waved enthusiastically to their grandsons, a father laden with camera equipment videotaped his wife and young daughter, and a pretty teen with dark eyes watched as a smaller girl climbed aboard and buckled herself in. From the child’s competence and the teen’s air of boredom they’d obviously gone through the routine before. A man in a ball cap strolled over and began chatting amicably with the teen.

  When the cars were filled, the sound of groaning metal gave way to a blast of rock music that signified the carnival’s shift into night.

  Tate found herself regretting that their excursion was drawing to a close.

  THE giant wheel circled, the cooler night air whispering against the accumulated heat at the back of Clay’s neck. He smiled, watching the wind whip the layers of Max’s hair into a froth of messy peaks. They reached the ride’s pinnacle, the gaudily illuminated carnival grounds spread beneath them. Max tilted his face up in wonder, and Clay marveled at how completely privileged he felt.

  “This must be what it feels like to be Superman,” Max observed, hovering right at that border between fun and fear.

  He clasped Clay’s hand and snuggled in close. Clay felt something inside him swell, flow naturally as a wave into shore. “You’re right.” He gave Max’s hand a squeeze. And felt pretty super himself. There was something… wonderful about having a young child look at you with such unaffected trust and affection.

  And he quietly thanked whatever cosmic force that had decided to put this particular child in his path.

  The day he’d spent with Max and Tate had done more for his shattered morale than any beach or booze or uncomplicated sex ever could have. It had restored his faith that there was goodness left in the world, and reminded him why he continued his disheartening fight. If his knowledge and skills could make the world a little safer for kids like Max, then every hour he put into that fight was worth it.

  The wheel began to circle back around, and Clay caught sight of Tate’s smiling face as she leaned over the metal railing. Something else began to swell in him, but it had little to do with altruism and a whole lot to do with physiology.

  He was pretty damn sure he’d never wanted a woman this much in his life.

  His eyes narrowed dangerously, easy smile turning feral as he watched her slide by.

  That one little kiss had been just enough to learn the taste of her, and he had every intention of sampling some more of the delectable Ms. Henn
essey by the end of the night.

  The ride finally ground to a halt, but he and Max remained suspended in the air. Their car had come to rest near the top of the circle, and as such made them some of the last to disembark. Max’s bright eyes bore the weight of sleepiness when Clay finally carried him down.

  “Did you see me, Mommy?” He tried to stifle a yawn against Clay’s neck. “Mr. Clay said that only the really cool people get to stop like that at the top.”

  “Did he now?” Tate thanked Clay with her eyes as he shifted the exhausted child into her arms.

  “Uh-huh.” Max blinked heavily, his lids reluctant to stay open. “Do you think we can come back again tomorrow?”

  “Sorry, kiddo.” Tate pressed a kiss to her son’s temple. “But this has been a one day only kind of thing.” They started to move off the ramp leading from the ride’s exit, but a little blonde girl had them blocked. Like Max, she looked tired and overextended. Tears coursed in currents through the dust on her cheeks. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”

  The child looked at Tate out of wary blue eyes. Chin wobbling, she shook her head no.

  Clay bent to the child’s level. “Are you lost?”

  Shaking her head rather quickly, she cautiously backed away. Sensing that she was intimidated by either his size or his gender, Clay straightened and motioned to Tate. The fact that she was a female – and moreover, a mother – might make the little girl feel more comfortable about confiding in a stranger.

  Shifting Max from his position on her hip, she stooped toward the disheveled child. “Do you need help finding your mommy and daddy?”

  Blonde curls tumbled as she shook her head again. But then the little girl lifted a chubby hand and pointed toward the crowd. “My mommy works over there.”

  Following the direction of the child’s extended finger, Clay saw a conglomeration of metal trailers and blinking lights. “Your mommy works here at the carnival?”

  “She makes funnel cakes.”

  He and Max had nearly made themselves sick gorging on funnel cakes earlier in the day, and Clay was pretty sure he remembered the trailer’s location. He squatted down again to join the others.

  “My name is Clay, and this is Tate and Max. If it’s alright with you, we’d like to help you get back to your mama.”

  At the child’s unhappy frown, Clay shifted so that he could get his fingers into his pocket. He pulled out his badge, flipped it open. “Do you know what this is?” he asked as the little girl studied the bright gold shield.

  She shook her head again. “This badge says that I’m a policeman.” Of sorts. “Did your mama explain to you that it’s okay to trust a policeman if you’re lost?”

  “But I’m not the one who’s lost.”

  At that, Clay frowned in confusion.

  “Is your sister lost?” Max piped up from his position between Clay and his mom.

  The little girl nodded and Clay turned his frown toward Max. “I saw them earlier,” Max explained with a shrug. “She pointed at my bear and told her sister she wanted one. Her sister said ‘get real’.”

  Impressed with Max’s powers of observation, Clay’s mouth moved in the hint of a smile before he returned his attention to the other child. “Where did you lose your sister?”

  “Here,” the little girl explained. “She always waits for me to do the Ferris wheel ‘cause she’s scared of heights. But when I got off this time she wasn’t here.”

  “How old is your sister?”

  “Thirteen,” the child supplied. “But she’ll be fourteen real soon. She wants an iPhone for her birthday, but Mommy told her she couldn’t have one.”

  Clay relaxed a little as he catalogued the information. A disgruntled teen being pressed into babysitting duty had most likely simply wandered away. She was probably hanging out by the picnic tables where he’d seen the other teenagers gathering. He started to suggest that he and Tate walk the child back to her mother, and let the other woman deal with her misplaced teen, but Tate’s next comment stopped him cold.

  “I think I saw your sister talking to your daddy,” she told the little girl.

  “I don’t have a daddy.”

  As Tate winced over her inadvertent blunder, Clay’s instincts kicked into gear. “Why did you assume the man was her father?”

  “I don’t know.” Tate shrugged. “He looked… older. I guess I just assumed he was her father. I should know better.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  “Well, like I said, he was probably somewhere in his thirties, although I could be off because his face was partially hidden by the cap. He was big, though. Really bulky.” She used her hands to guesstimate shoulder width. “Like maybe he lifted a lot of weights.”

  Clay cursed under his breath, just loud enough for Tate to hear. “Do you remember how he was dressed?”

  Tate shrugged, clearly growing uneasy. She unconsciously pulled Max against her side. “To be honest, I didn’t really notice. I just remember that he was wearing a cap.”

  “Anything on the cap? Any words or emblems?”

  “Ah,” she struggled to remember. “There might have been an ‘A’, like for the Braves.”

  With that, Clay returned his attention to the child. “Do you think you could tell me your name?”

  The girl looked at the shield, which Clay had purposefully kept visible. Then she lifted her eyes toward his. “Amber.”

  “Okay, Amber.” His smile was gentle. “Does your mommy have any friends that wear a cap with a letter ‘A’ sewn onto it?” There was always the chance the man was someone they knew.

  Amber shook her head and frowned. “I don’t think so. Old Tom wears a hat, but his is made out of straw.”

  Clay gathered that she was referring to the man in charge of the ponies. Not wanting to alarm her, he kept a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Amber, Miss Tate and I are going to take you back to your mama. And then you have my word, as a policeman, that I will help you find your sister.”

  He stood and offered his hand to Max. “Max, if it’s okay with you, I think that Amber might be more comfortable if she held onto your mama’s hand. Do you mind walking with me?”

  Smiling up at Clay, Max tucked a hand into his. “I like walking with you.”

  The four of them made their way through the gathering throng until they arrived at the trailer peddling funnel cakes. The smell of fried dough and powdered sugar wafted out, and when the frizzy-haired blonde purveyor saw her younger daughter in the company of strangers, she frowned out the sliding window.

  “Amber, where’s Casey?”

  Amber let go of Tate and raced toward her mother, who opened the door and caught the child in her arms. “What happened?” she demanded, dividing another frown between Tate and Clay.

  “Ma’am, I don’t want to alarm you, but we found your daughter alone near the Ferris wheel, and she claims to have lost her sister. Is there any chance your other daughter came by here?”

  “No.” Her worn face twisted into an angry mask. “She knows I’d tear a strip off her hide for leaving her sister alone. You sure she wasn’t hanging around that ride and you just didn’t see her?” she asked her daughter.

  Amber shook her head and clung to her mother. “She wasn’t there, Mommy, I promise.”

  “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking, do you or your daughter happen to know any men who wear an Atlanta Braves hat? About six feet tall, dark hair and eyes, and very muscular – like a weightlifter?”

  The woman opened her mouth, obviously wanting to deny any such knowledge, but seemed to change her mind. “A man like that bought a funnel cake from me today. I remember because he was a real hottie. I like a man that looks like he can handle himself, you know what I mean?”

  She looked Clay up and down. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Miss Hennessey” – he nodded toward Tate – “saw a man matching that description talking to your daughter while Amber was on the ride.”

  “And what,
you think she went off somewhere with him?” She scoffed. “Casey knows better than to do something that stupid. She probably just went to the bathroom. Although I’m still going to lay into her for leaving her sister alone.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Clay said evenly. But he had a bad feeling, nonetheless. And after years of dealing with the worst kinds of offenders, he’d learned to trust his instincts. “Has she ever gone off like that before?”

  She hesitated, growing suspicious. “Are you a cop or something?”

  Clay pulled out his badge again, noting that this was the third time he’d done so on his vacation. “Special Agent Clay Copeland, FBI.” He could tell he was making the woman nervous. “And I’m not interested in trying to persecute you for anything, ma’am. I’m merely concerned for the safety of your daughter.” He handed her the identification so that she could study it, continuing in a friendly voice. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to offer to help you locate her.”

  The first crystals of fear began to form in her eyes. “You think that man had something to do with her wandering off?”

  Given the vibes he’d gotten from that man, he was afraid it was a possibility. “It would be premature to speculate at this point,” he informed her. Freaking the mother out totally wouldn’t do either of them a whole lot of good.

  And there was always the chance he was wrong.

  “Maybe you could just check the places you think she might have gone, and make both of us feel a whole lot better.”

  “You’re right.” Her smile came over-bright and false. “She’s probably just back at our camper, or maybe hanging around those no-good teenagers over by the woods.”

  Clay turned toward Tate, skimming the back of his fingers along her cheek. “I know you and Max are both tired, but would you mind terribly if we stuck around?”

  “Of course not.” She shivered slightly. “And just for the record, I think it’s awfully nice of you to want to help out.”

  Clay smiled, dropping a kiss on her brow before bending down to consult with Max. “I’m going to help Amber look for her sister, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind taking care of your mama while I’m gone?”