The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  “You’re being considerate now, Elias?”

  “It’s been seventeen years. I figured at least one of us should have matured by now.”

  “Maturity,” Ben said with an unexpected smile. “Now there’s a scary thought.”

  Elias didn’t smile back. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “You should sit back down.”

  Ben’s own smile faded. From the look on Cal’s face he had something to say, and Ben got the distinct impression it wasn’t something he was going to enjoy hearing.

  He stared the other man down, and then sat. “I have places to be, Elias.”

  “So do I, but this needs to be said. About two weeks ago I bumped into Sabrina, coming down the stairs from the hotel.”

  He went on to detail a late-night encounter with what he described as his sister departing from a tryst. Ben’s immediate instinct was anger. Either Cal was telling him this to piss him off, or he was making something up to get Ben’s attention off him and onto some nameless, faceless person whom Sabrina had supposedly taken as a secret lover. But he made the effort to put a lid on his simmering temper since it wasn’t serving him well, especially not in his dealings with Elias.

  Given the possibility that Cal wasn’t full of shit, Ben couldn’t overlook a possible lead. Secret lovers – if indeed his sister had one – were very frequently unsuitable lovers for one reason or another. And unsuitable lovers were even more frequently dangerous lovers, especially if their secret status wasn’t something they cared to have revealed.

  He grilled Cal for every detail the man could remember, which unfortunately didn’t amount to much. But it gave Ben another avenue. He would find out who’d been registered at the hotel on the night in question, and if they were still in the area.

  Ben found himself in the unenviable position of being indebted to Callum Elias twice in one day. “If you remember anything else, anything at all, call me.”

  Cal nodded. “Will do. And you should probably be expecting a call from Ainsley sometime soon. I told her about bumping into Sabrina that night.”

  Ben stared. “You told her that before I showed up at your house?”

  “No, I told her that when I dropped off her phone at her hotel. She left it on my kitchen counter.”

  Ben pulled his phone off his belt and glanced at it. He’d missed a call from a local number, and he had a new voice mail. He’d bet anything it was Ainsley.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be happy that she had likely called to tell him about Cal’s confession or pissed that she’d somehow gotten entangled with Elias on her first day in town. The man was like iron, and Ben’s female relatives were magnets. Honest to God, it was some kind of curse.

  Ben climbed to his feet again. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at my cousin.”

  “Did you also notice,” Cal laced his fingers together over his stomach “that she was looking back?”

  “You’re still an asshole.”

  “Undoubtedly.” He nodded. “Just so we’re both clear.”

  AINSLEY stared at the worn, narrow stairs that led to both the inn and the Cajun restaurant that Cal mentioned. So this was where he’d encountered Sabrina – allegedly, anyway. The door to the gallery stood open at the bottom of the stairs, but when she’d glanced inside she’d seen a woman at the counter rather than Cal. Good. She’d prefer not to see him right now. For one thing, she wanted to poke around without him knowing she was poking around, and for another, he would probably lecture her about the inadvisability of walking on her ankle and climbing up and down stairs.

  Unfortunately, he would have a point. She would have to put pressure on her ankle in order to climb, and the experiment of climbing and descending the few shallow steps at the front of the hotel let her know that the experience wouldn’t be comfortable. But she’d come over here with a purpose – to get something to eat, for one thing, and to try to procure some information, for another – so she was going to have to suck it up.

  As she was standing there, glaring at the stairs, the door to a neighboring shop opened.

  The man who emerged flashed a charming smile that instantly made his rather plain face infinitely more attractive. And then he winced in sympathy when he noticed her boot.

  “Ouch. That doesn’t look like a lot of fun.”

  “It isn’t. Especially when you’re hungry and the restaurant is up seventeen steps.”

  His smile deepened. “You counted?”

  “I’m afraid that I did.”

  “Well that’s an easy fix,” he told her. “There’s a bar and a patio seating area right through that doorway,” he pointed past the stairs. “Same restaurant. And you won’t have to climb seventeen steps.”

  “Oh.” Ainsley glanced toward the doorway and answered his smile with one of her own. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. In fact, I missed lunch earlier, so I’m heading that way myself. I’m Tanner. Cross. I own the Tasting Room.” He tilted his head toward the door behind him.

  Ainsley had been so intrigued by the gallery – or what she’d seen of it, anyway – when she’d first come in that she hadn’t paid the other business much attention. But now she saw that it was a wine tasting establishment connected to Crossings, one of the local wineries.

  “And the vineyard,” he admitted a little ruefully, following the direction of her gaze.

  “Lucky you.”

  “It’s a burden, but somehow I bear it.”

  “I’m amazed that your shoulders aren’t stooped. I’m Ainsley, by the way. Tidwell.” She stuck out her hand.

  “It’s a pleasure,” he said, shaking. “If it’s not entirely presumptuous, may I escort you to the hostess stand?”

  She smiled, thoroughly charmed by his polished manners. “That would be lovely.”

  He didn’t take her arm, but he did walk beside her, obviously waiting to see if she needed assistance. She didn’t, although her gait was still awkward.

  “I’m afraid I’m just learning how to walk in this thing. It’s not difficult in and of itself, but trying to avoid putting weight on that ankle complicates matters.”

  “Did you suffer a sprain?”

  “That’s a nice euphemism that makes it sound like I’m an innocent bystander, somehow, instead of an idiot who fell into the creek, but yes, it is indeed sprained. And I’m suffering.”

  But she smiled to show that it wasn’t all that bad. Just inconvenient.

  “Dare I inquire how you fell in the creek?”

  “That,” she admitted “is far too humiliating to share on such short acquaintance.” They’d arrived at the hostess stand, and the young woman behind it divided a welcoming look between them.

  “Hi, Mr. Cross. Table for two?”

  “I’m afraid I’m just the lowly escort,” he said before turning to Ainsley with raised brows. “I imagine you’re meeting someone.”

  She gazed at him for a moment and then made a quick decision. “Actually, I’m not. You’re welcome to join me, unless you’re meeting someone.”

  “I was planning to take up a single barstool. I’d be delighted to dine with you. Does the patio sound okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  The hostess led them outside.

  Ainsley wasn’t in the habit of dining with perfect strangers on less than ten minutes acquaintance, but she also wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tanner Cross owned a business in the same building as the gallery, which meant that he was likely acquainted with both Callum and Sabrina. She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of information she hoped to glean, but she had to start somewhere. Especially now that traipsing all over the wilderness yelling Sabrina’s name was out.

  And aside from that, he had an easy, congenial air about him.

  Ainsley shook her head as she sat down, pulling the neighboring chair over in order to prop up her foot. She still couldn’t believe her return to Dahlonega had gotten off to such an ignominious start. Hopefully things would improve from here.r />
  She knew better than to assume they couldn’t get worse. They could. Immensely. Sabrina was still missing, after all.

  Because anxiety for her cousin threatened to overwhelm her, Ainsley deliberately smiled at Tanner Cross.

  “I hope you’ll excuse my… appendage,” she said, gesturing toward her foot. “Keeping it elevated helps reduce the swelling. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “I vaguely recall that from when I sprained my ankle many years ago,” he smiled back. “And just between us,” he added conspiratorially “it was under far less dignified circumstances than simply falling in the creek. I fell down an old well. Luckily for me, it was mostly filled in, but I still had to suffer the embarrassment of first waiting to be found while I shouted myself hoarse, and then having the local fire department haul me out. The blow to my pride was far more bruising than the one to my ankle.”

  “You win,” Ainsley agreed. “Would it be rude to ask how you managed to fall in?”

  “My grandfather owned a parcel of land that had been his grandparents’ before that. Part of the original log cabin they’d lived in still stood, and of course it proved irresistible to a young boy. It became my playground – my strictly forbidden playground, I should add. But that just made it more irresistible. Anyway, I’d made a game of leaping from one side of the stone wall to the other. Needless to say, I eventually slipped. I was stuck in the well for over eight hours.”

  “Your parents must have been frantic.”

  “Actually, I was raised by my grandpa. And he was… well, let’s just say that my backside hurt worse than either my ankle or my pride after he’d expressed his displeasure. I stayed away from the old cabin after that.”

  Although there was humor in his tone, Ainsley felt a stab of pity for the child he’d been, but the arrival of their waitress prevented her from expressing it. Which was probably a good thing. Most people hated to be pitied, even retrospectively.

  “So what brings you to our fair city?” he said after they’d placed their order.

  “Actually,” Ainsley said “I came because my cousin is missing. You might know her, as she works in the gallery across from your store. Sabrina Paulson?”

  His brows crunched together. “Lots of blonde curly hair?” he said, gesturing with his hands to indicate a sort of cloud around his head, which was a fair description of Sabrina. “I recognize her enough to say hello in passing. I spend most of my time at the winery, you understand, and leave The Tasting Room to my manager. Missing? I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’ve been out of town for the past two weeks and only got back last night.”

  There went Ainsley’s hopes that he’d… what? Seen something suspicious? Knew who Sabrina was sleeping with, if indeed she was sleeping with anyone? Could offer her the lowdown on Callum Elias from an unbiased source?

  Maybe she should speak with his manager. Or the wait staff here. Or half the people in town, whom Ben had almost certainly spoken with already. She didn’t imagine her cousin had been sitting on his laurels for the past several days, not when his sister was missing.

  As if reading her thoughts, Tanner spoke.

  “Do the police… wait, this is Ben Paulson’s younger sister we’re talking about, right? I’m afraid I just put two and two together. I went to school with Ben, though we were never close. Still, this has to be terrible for him – and for your whole family. I remember Carly’s death like it was yesterday. The whole town was shaken to its core, especially when the police failed to…”

  Make an arrest, Ainsley silently added for him, when his cheeks turned a dull red. It made her suspect that he was recalling who Ainsley was, and her role in that story. The only reason no arrests were made – or at least one particular arrest – was because Ainsley had come forward. She’d been terrified and guilt-stricken, unable to identify or adequately describe the man she’d seen with Carly that night, only knowing that it wasn’t Grant.

  If the town had been shaken to its core, Ainsley’s family had been blasted apart. And she was the detonator.

  “I’m sorry,” Tanner said again, more quietly this time. “This must be a difficult topic for you. I certainly didn’t mean to distress you further.”

  She managed a smile. It was coming back in general that had distressed her, far more than she was willing to admit. She’d thought she was prepared – after all, she handled high pressure courtroom cases on a regular basis, some of them with her client’s freedom or even their very life riding on the outcome. But there was a level of distance, of detachment there that allowed her to do her job. It was so much more difficult when it was personal.

  Which made her question once again whether Ben was the best person to be handling this case. And whether she’d been fooling herself when she’d thought that she would in any way be of help.

  “You haven’t,” she assured Tanner. “It’s just… difficult. Waiting for news. And feeling helpless. I’m pretty type A,” she admitted with a rueful smile “so patience and complacency are not my strong suits.”

  “In a situation like this,” he said “I guess there isn’t much to be done except to allow the police to do their job. At least you have a connection to the local police force here in town.” He looked pensive. “I wish I could think of something else to do to help, but I’m sure Ben is taking all the appropriate steps. Whatever those may be. I confess that I’m not too familiar with the investigative side of police work. Generally speaking, we don’t have a lot of violent crime in the area.”

  Which made the fact that two members of her family were victims or possible victims even more awful.

  Their food arrived, and even though the jambalaya looked delicious, Ainsley found that she had little appetite.

  “I’m sorry,” Tanner said when he noticed that she was picking at her food. “I hope my comments didn’t seem insensitive. You’ll be regretting having agreed to dine with me.”

  Ainsley opened her mouth to assure Tanner that wasn’t the case when a familiar bark startled her. She looked over to see Beaumont straining at his leash in the alley behind the patio, wagging his tail in recognition.

  And on the other end of the leash was Cal, illustrating his own recognition with a scowl.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAL glanced up when the bells on the door to the gallery jingled, and a raven-haired mule hobbled through. He’d wondered if she would show up here.

  But then he probably should have expected it, since Ainsley was apparently too damn stubborn to rest and keep her leg elevated. And it made sense that she’d want to see where Sabrina worked.

  Jocelyn, the potter who sold her wares through him, called out a greeting from her position at the front of the store, where she was rearranging her display. Cal was in one of the back rooms, though he had a direct line of sight to the door. Ainsley returned Jocelyn’s greeting, glancing around with interest as she did so.

  Then her eyes landed on him and their gazes locked. Just as it had the first time he’d seen her, his gut tightened. She hesitated, and then headed his way.

  He sat aside his chisel so that he didn’t gouge his own hand.

  “Hi,” he said, with all kinds of originality.

  “Hi, yourself.” She looked around the room, which was set up as a work area so that clients could see various artists and artisans in action. “Where’s Beaumont?”

  “In the office.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This isn’t exactly a china shop, but he’s definitely the proverbial bull. He’d break something for sure if I let him out.” And then, because he couldn’t stop himself. “Did you have a nice lunch?”

  She looked at him with suspicion. “It was delightful.”

  “I hope,” he continued “that you were able to learn something interesting. I’d hate to think that you wasted an hour or so in Tanner Cross’s company for nothing.”

  Suspicion gave way to irritation. “What makes you think I intended to learn something, interesting or otherwise? Perhaps I was just enjoying lunch with a man wh
o happens to be very pleasant, unlike other people I’ve encountered thus far.”

  “Ms. Becker would be hurt to hear you talking about her like that. Here.” Cal pulled an extra chair over. “Sit down before your ankle blows up like a balloon.”

  She looked like she wanted to argue, but good sense prevailed. “Thank you.”

  He turned the other chair around and raised his eyebrows until she plopped her foot on it. He then grabbed a third chair from the portrait artist’s area since he wasn’t in today. By the time he got back, Ainsley had discovered the block of wood he’d been carving.

  “Yours?” she said.

  “No, I just sit here with these tools to look decorative.”

  She studied the small hummingbird, and Cal felt awkward. He was tempted to snatch it out of her hand, but resisted the urge. Instead, he went around to the other side of the table and scraped the wood shavings into his hand before dumping them into the trash. He could feel Ainsley studying him, and she waited until he met her gaze to speak.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” He rolled his shoulders, slightly uncomfortable. “It’s, uh, a handle. For the wine cabinet.” He nodded toward the almost-finished piece beside him. A flowering tree spread out over both doors, the hummingbird he’d already completed attached to one side.

  Ainsley took her time examining it, and then smiled at him. “You really are an artist.”

  “I’m a carpenter,” he said “with a bit of flair. Although you knew I owned the gallery, so I don’t know why you say that as if it’s surprising.”

  “It’s not surprising, considering I googled the gallery before coming over here. Otherwise, I would likely have been far more taken aback. But I can admit that I didn’t expect you to be an artist. An artist,” she repeated “a combat medic, a football star, a babysitter of small, ridiculous dogs –”

  “First Ms. Becker and now Beau. You’re just full of insults today, aren’t you?”

  “– and a consummate smart ass. You’re a man of layers, Mr. Elias.”

  “Me and Shrek. Onions.”