The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “Sounds good.” Kathleen waved him off with a smile before returning her attention to Sadie. “So how did it go today? Locks all changed, alarm installed?”

  Sadie shook her head. “The locks are changed – no thanks to you, I might add – but the alarm system’s a work in progress. The wiring in the house is pretty old and apparently needs to be updated to handle the additional demand.”

  “Ouch.”

  “You’re telling me.” Sadie snatched one of the cheese straws that Rogan had set on their table for an appetizer. “New wiring, new insulation, new paint. It’s probably going to end up costing an arm and two legs to get the place up to date. Luckily the roof is holding up.” She smiled ironically. “I got a real good look at it the other night.”

  Kathleen frowned, not quite ready to be cavalier about the harrowing situation Sadie’d found herself in with those intruders. But before she could delve into it further, a curvaceous brunette approached their table. Presumably this was Terri. Kathleen had seen her at the bar before, but they hadn’t actually met. She looked up to find dark brown eyes narrowing on her with feminine assessment.

  “Are you Rogan’s girlfriend?” Terri asked, obviously eschewing bushes and the need to beat around them.

  “Sister,” she corrected.

  “Oh. That’s cool.” Terri sat a glass of water in front of Sadie. “I’ve seen you around and I knew Rogan’s girlfriend had red hair and… anyway. Your brother’s hot.”

  “Um, thanks.” Kathleen lifted her brow at the waitress. “But as you said, he does have a girlfriend.”

  “I know.” She nodded her head, unfazed. “I was actually talking about Declan. Being hot, I mean. Although Rogan’s pretty hot, too. They look a lot alike, actually.”

  A beat passed in which Kathleen realized the woman hadn’t been joking. “That’s usually the way it works. Considering they’re, you know. Identical twins.”

  “Right.” Terri rolled her eyes. “I knew that. But anyway, let me tell you about the specials…”

  Luckily Terri seemed to have more skill at the art of waitressing than she did at critical thinking, and they rattled off their orders. Kathleen and Sadie were silent until she’d moved out of range. Only when she hit the door to the kitchen did Sadie turn toward Kathleen, eyes wide.

  “Don’t even say it.” Kathleen held up a hand. “The lights are on, but nobody’s home. I’m guessing Declan’s the one who hired her. Busty and brainless have always been his criteria.”

  DECLAN caught Kathleen shooting a disgusted glance his way and wondered what her beef was now. His sister was a damn nuisance, always trying to boss him around, cheer him up or otherwise stick her nose all up in his business.

  He worked hard, stayed out of jail and refrained from kicking puppies or scaring small children.

  What the hell else did she want?

  Then his brother, nearly as big a nuisance as Kathleen, arranged himself in Dec’s field of vision. He vibrated with indignation from his ponytail to his walking cast. There was a sermon imminent, if his body language was to be believed, but Dec was fresh out of religion.

  So he ignored him, grabbing some newly washed pilsners and lining them up in the cooler, prompting Rogan to get well within the boundaries of Dec’s personal space.

  “Something you wanted, Rogan, or were you simply attempting to relive our time in the womb?”

  Rogan waited until Dec turned around before stepping back just enough to remain challenging. “Any reason you can think of why Terri just pinched my ass in the kitchen?”

  Declan pretended to reflect for a moment, one finger pressed against his chin. “Maybe she mistook you for me. Imagine her disappointment.”

  With the ease of longstanding practice, Rogan ignored the jibe. “I’m not sure exactly what your deal is lately, aside from your natural tendency to be an asshole, but don’t foist your hang-ups onto me. Or your unwanted leavings, either.”

  As with any siblings – especially twins – who lived and worked together so closely, there was a certain amount of jockeying in the brothers’ relationship. Competition ran as deep as love through their identical veins, one constantly threatening to outstrip the other. And Declan knew exactly what buttons to push to tip the scales in his favor. “There was a time, if I remember it correctly Bro, when you enjoyed a woman’s hand on your ass. But I guess you’ve gotten a little more leery these past months, considering that grip Kim has on your balls.”

  Rogan’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed to cover the bloodlust that crept into them. This was about more than Kim, or Terri. It was a debt too long unsettled. A grudge too long held. And Dec felt himself instinctively bracing for the first blow, ridiculously craving the violence. It wasn’t the time or the place and was damn immature of him to provoke it, but his pent up frustration desperately needed an outlet.

  But his brother’s temper drained away before any fisticuffs ensued, sly amusement causing the blue pools of his eyes to ripple. “You know, Declan, I’ve been waiting months for you to bait me about Kim. My limp practically begs for some ball-and-chain jokes. Yet you’ve been uncharacteristically reticent, considering your fondness for mockery, which brings the question why now? Any specific reason you felt the need to let loose with that ammunition here, when it’s just the two of us, instead of waiting for a time when you could cause the maximum damage? Maybe you’re losing your touch? Getting soft? Or maybe you have, oh, about a hundred and ten pounds worth of frustration short-circuiting your brain?”

  Okay. So Rogan had his own tricks. A well-balanced scale always had a counterweight. “Whatever.”

  “The cop-out of comebacks. You disappoint me, you really do.”

  How the hell this situation had gotten turned around, Declan couldn’t say, but he didn’t like it. He was the one who stirred shit up and rubbed salt into wounds and basically annoyed the general populace. Rogan was the resident Boy Scout. But before he could fix this anomaly in the structure which governed their lives, his brother clapped him on the shoulder.

  “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a pretty little blonde over yonder whose dinner I believe I need to buy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SADIE brushed a cobweb out of her way as she pulled a cardboard box toward her. The single bare bulb – which her security contractors had kindly replaced – barely reached into this far corner of the attic. She squinted as she studied the hand-printed letters on the box.

  “More Christmas decorations. Wonderful.” Sadie loved Christmas as much as the next person, but honestly, seven big boxes of decorations for one little house seemed like a bit much. She’d already opened a box of ornaments, one filled with wooden Santas and one that contained a manger scene that had her swimming in a sea of nostalgia, but after the past two boxes filled with silverfish-filled wrapping paper, tangled lights and dusty artificial garland, Sadie’s holiday spirit was about all used up.

  Pushing that one aside without even bothering to examine the contents, Sadie shifted her attention to the other corner. A scarred chest of drawers, a broken chair and the godawfulest lamp she’d ever seen stood there. Sadie had absolutely no recollection of that lamp, and wondered if it had been left by one of her renters. Either that or she’d simply blocked it from her memory.

  Looking around, she spotted another box stacked on top of an empty bookcase, and stood, arching her back to work out the kinks. Then she walked over to the box to examine the neatly printed label.

  SADIE.

  “Well,” Sadie said, feeling another wave of nostalgia crash over her knowing her grandmother’s hands had lovingly boxed this up. “At least it’s not Christmas.”

  Pulling open the flaps, Sadie sorted through memories of her childhood. Most of her significant memorabilia – including photos of her parents, who’d died in a car crash before Sadie was a year old – had made the trip to Colorado, and back. But here were some things that neither her teenage self nor her aunt and uncle deemed that important to bring.

&nb
sp; Photos, knickknacks, school art projects that made her smile. She’d done a couple of these with her own students.

  Laying them aside, she discovered some scraps of fabric wrapped in one of those heavy plastic zippered cases in which comforters and blankets often come.

  She lifted it out, puzzled a moment over what these scraps of fabric had to do with her, then memory struck, and the unexpected force of it had Sadie plopping down onto her butt.

  “Oh,” she said aloud, as she eased the zipper back, pulled the folded quilt onto her lap. Then she traced the line of one of the interlocking rings made from squares of exquisite lace, ivory satin. And remembered the day Declan’s mother had presented it to her on Sadie’s thirteenth birthday. Sadie had been so embarrassed – and so touched – because Colleen Murphy had made similar wedding ring quilts for each of her daughters, fashioned from the remnants of her wedding gown. Seeing Sadie’s interest – and sensing she was missing that link with her own mother – Mrs. Murphy had made a quilt for Sadie, calling her her honorary daughter.

  Sadie felt awful for having forgotten.

  But then the pneumonia which had taken her grandmother came on so suddenly that Sadie’d still been in a fog of shock and grief when she’d been whisked off to Denver. She guessed she could be forgiven for leaving parts of herself behind.

  The muffled sound of her ringing cell phone reached her, and Sadie stood, cradling the quilt in her arms. Probably Kathleen, checking in. Sadie’d been up here longer than she’d realized.

  She left the rest of the stuff to be sorted out later and headed for the rickety stairs. Rather than simply replacing the springs, Doug had talked her into purchasing a whole new unit, which had yet to be installed. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, however, and she’d risked this visit to the attic. She figured if the current set could hold two fully grown men, her weight shouldn’t be that much of a problem.

  Backing down the ladder, Sadie laid the quilt over her shoulder so that she would have both hands free with which to hold on. She made it a little more than half way down when she felt two hands settle around her waist.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, so startled she nearly toppled off balance.

  “Steady there,” came a warm, familiar drawl. Sadie looked over her shoulder to see a chagrinned expression on her security contractor’s face. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, Ms. Mayhew,” he said as he quickly released his grip. Then the chagrin turned to something chiding. “I’d just hate to see you fall. These stairs ain’t what I’d call safe.”

  Heat crept into Sadie’s cheeks. She felt like a kid being gently scolded. “I know, I know.” She carefully continued down, turning toward Doug when her feet were safely on the floor. “I was just trying to stay out of your way while you were working downstairs, and well, I haven’t been up in the attic since I was a kid, so curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Well, that depends on whether or not you consider ninety-six boxes of Christmas decorations interesting.”

  “That many, huh?” He smiled.

  “Seems like it.”

  He peered up into the hole in the ceiling, rubbed his chin. “If you’re going to be going up and down, I’ll make sure that we put installing that new unit on the schedule for tomorrow. We can run out to the store, pick one up in the morning.”

  Sadie started to tell him not to bother, then changed her mind. “Actually, that’s perfect because I have a job interview in the morning and won’t be back until sometime after lunch. Why don’t we say about one? If that works with your schedule.”

  “Sounds fine by me.”

  “Super. And thanks. I know installing attic stairs isn’t in your usual job description.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes before the two men knocked off for the day.

  Feeling energized, Sadie decided to start painting her bedroom. Why not? She’d already picked up the paint – the restful blue of a lazy summer sky – a couple of days ago. Her hands were pretty much healed, and after her rocky start, things seemed to be moving along quite nicely.

  There’d been a bite on her resume, resulting in the job interview for the following day. No one else had broken into her house, or chased her through a raging thunderstorm.

  Always a bonus.

  She hadn’t laid eyes – or any other pertinent body parts – on Declan in over a week.

  As Sadie laid down drop cloths, taped off the moldings, she considered that the space, the time had allowed her to come to her senses. She knew enough about crisis situations to understand that the people involved tended to form a… bond. Sadie’d already been on shaky ground, emotionally speaking, given the fact that she’d thrown her life into upheaval. Leaving Rick. Quitting her job. Returning home.

  Add to that the terror she’d experienced that night – Sadie shivered as she unfolded the eight foot ladder. The remnants of that terror hadn’t fully gone away – and of course she had been bound to look for something solid to cling to.

  Granted, on the surface, it seemed crazy to see Declan as that something solid, but then they did have quite a bit of shared history. And while most of that history consisted of him annoying the hell out of her, she couldn’t pretend that it had all been bad. That he was all bad.

  She started rolling the paint onto the walls, and remembered how he’d looked, smelling that rose in his mother’s garden.

  No, not all bad.

  But she was still thankful things hadn’t gotten any farther than they did, because lord knew what a disaster that would have been.

  Sadie stepped back, admiring the fresh punch the blue paint added to the dingy walls, and considered painting some clouds on the ceiling. This particular ceiling was higher than those in the rest of the second floor, and the room boasted more windows. With the trees right outside, the soft blue on the walls, it would feel a little like living in a tree house. She’d often wished she could just move into her old tree house as a kid, but this way she could enjoy the benefits without the mosquitoes.

  Sadie climbed the ladder, sketched the clouds out in her mind. It felt good to have her artistic juices flowing again.

  Despite the fact that her life since coming back home had been anything but calm, she nevertheless felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in ages.

  A rightness, she thought, stretching sideways to reach the portion of wall over the closet door. A certain comfort and assurance that came from knowing she could finally just be herself.

  A tranquility, a sure-footedness…

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  That question barked so aggressively was enough to upset her balance. She wobbled on the second highest rung. Paint flew off her roller, sending a spray of blue across the ceiling. Sadie slapped her free hand against the wall, but not in time to stop her knees from connecting sharply with the metal ladder.

  She cried out at the cruel contact and lost her tenuous grip on the roller. It fell to the part of the floor that wasn’t covered, landing with a squishy plop. Reaching for the top of the ladder to steady herself, her wet hand slipped when a pair of strong hands closed around her waist for the second time that day. But this time she was plucked so ignobly from her precarious perch that she hissed in indignation.

  Sadie slapped her now-blue hand against the ladder-plucker’s chest, right over an impressive pectoral.

  Hot blue eyes matched hers flame for flame.

  “The same could be asked of you, Murphy.” With a great sense of relish she smeared her hand over his flannel shirt, and noticed that his heart was thumping. Hers was, too, but that was only to be expected, considering he’d just scared ten years off her life. “Thanks to you, there’s now paint all over the floor, not to mention your clothing. Hope this shirt wasn’t one of your favorites.”

  If her tone was sarcastic he didn’t seem to notice, and Sadie frowned because he hadn’t said another word. He was clutching her so tightly it had started to mess wit
h her circulation. Not to mention what being this close to him did to her errant hormones. Despite her recent mental pep talk, the memory of that searing kiss they’d shared burned across her brain.

  But Declan just stared vacantly at the ladder while sucking air in shallow puffs. The very weird, glazed look in his eyes seemed caught somewhere between shock and pain.

  Faintly alarmed, Sadie snapped her fingers in front of his face, which seemed to bring him back to his senses. Relatively speaking, of course.

  Setting her on her feet, he looked at her with menace. “You could have been killed,” he growled. “And I’m getting tired of riding to the rescue.”

  Sadie’s sharp retort withered on her tongue as she processed the ridiculousness of what he’d said. “Killed?” she finally inquired, disbelief ringing clear. “I was standing on a ladder, not swinging from the chandelier. And last time I checked, Sir Galahad, I hadn’t requested your knightly services. Speaking of which, it’s customary to knock before you go charging into other people’s homes.”

  “I saw you through the window,” he said, as if that explained anything at all. “And you gave me a key.”

  A fact which she currently regretted. “Well let’s pretend you’re a vampire, shall we, and can’t come in unless you’re invited.”

  Declan merely glowered. Then ignored the rules of normal human conduct by stalking to the ladder and folding it up.

  Sadie stalked right behind him and unfolded it.

  “I’m using that, Declan.”

  “No you’re not, Sadie Rose.”

  She goggled, trying to find some logic behind his actions, but as usual he made no sense. When he tried to take the ladder a minor scuffle ensued, producing the predictable outcome.

  “What is wrong with you, Murphy?” Sadie asked from beneath the iron band of his arm, where he’d trapped her with an absurd lack of effort. Frustrated beyond redemption, she regressed to tactics long out of use. Declan let out a virulent curse when her teeth sank into his biceps.

  “Damn it, woman, would you just be reasonable for one minute?”