The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “If you need me to go to bat for you, I will.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do some poking around of my own,” Josh told him. “You’ve got enough on your plate with the wedding.”

  The glow of happiness returned. “Rehearsal is Friday night,” Clay reminded him.

  “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  “You’re welcome to bring Samantha.”

  Josh snorted, and slid the photographs back across the table, tucking them into the envelope. “I’ll mention it, but I doubt she’ll be interested. It might be awkward since most of the wedding party’s seen her naked.”

  “She’ll have to get over it eventually. If you plan on keeping her around.”

  “Oh, I plan on it,” Josh confirmed. “I plan on a hell of a lot.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t make this wedding, I guess we’ll all have to wait to make it to yours.”

  Josh flashed the other man a grin. He really was awfully damn good.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SAM glanced over her shoulder as she climbed out of her car in the parking lot, where she’d been sitting for the past ten minutes. She hated this feeling – this unbearable tension that had been with her since early that morning. Was someone watching her? Had it really been a stalker who’d been in her apartment? The thought of some man spying on her, touching her underwear while he did God knew what and then peeing all over her stuff was enough to freak her out. She’d known a lot of difficulties at the hands of men – her abusive father, then Collin, who’d slithered into her life like the slimy snake he was, all charm and generosity until he had her where he wanted. Then he’d turned cruel just to keep her there.

  And then the other…

  The other that she still tried to forget. She knew it was important to remember, to face what had happened and accept that she was in no way complicit – didn’t she tell other women that every week? – but at times it was simply too painful, so she’d tuck it into a mental box. One she didn’t let the lid off of often.

  But this… this thing with her supposed stalker. As bad as all the other stuff had been, there was something about the unknown that was unnerving. And to be suspicious of every guy she met…

  Thank God Dane hadn’t been at work today. Luke, the bartender, told her Dane had gone out of town. Not that she believed he was responsible for what happened, but Josh had planted that seed of doubt. Hell, she’d even looked at Luke suspiciously, and he was another unlikely suspect. He paid no more attention to her as a potential sexual conquest than Josh’s friend had the other day.

  Josh’s friend.

  Yet another thing currently rattling her cage. As grateful as she was for his offer to help her, she knew she couldn’t stay with him much longer. Things would simply get too awkward when he realized she had inappropriate feelings, and she wanted to spare them both the discomfort. Maybe he’d get to the bottom of this thing, like he told her, and then she’d be able to find another place of her own.

  But she’d pick a nicer section of town.

  Glancing around the hospital parking lot, Sam drew in a shuddering breath. It was cooler this evening, and she wished she’d brought a jacket. She wished she owned a jacket. Pretty much everything she had was either in plastic bags at the police station or in tatters on her old apartment floor. The landlord had called today, pissed to hear about the destruction, and she just hadn’t had the energy to deal with him. She’d been awake for over twenty-four hours and she wanted nothing more than a pillow and a bed.

  Maybe she’d cut the visit a little short. Go back to Josh’s, make a Decent dinner for once, and then collapse.

  Rubbing her arms against the brisk air, Sam turned the key in her car’s lock.

  And as her back was to the lot she felt a sudden chill that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up, tiny little soldiers called to attention. She whipped around, casting her gaze far and wide, heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  He was watching her.

  She could feel it.

  Cursing the fact that she’d had to park at the back of the lot, Sam struggled for composure, sliding her hand to the bottom of her purse and wrapping trembling fingers around her cell phone. Without taking her eyes off the endless sea of cars, she fumbled the phone open and held it beside her.

  “Come on, you bastard. Show yourself and let’s get this over with.” The shadows remained still, the cars all silent, the only sound the mechanical hum of the flickering security lamp. Overhead, thin slivers of silvered moonlight peeked from behind the heavy skirt of the clouds which had refused to leave after yesterday’s storms. The horn of a passing vessel sounded from the harbor, but otherwise the night was quiet.

  No stalkers crawled out of hiding. Not even a cat anywhere to be seen. Farther away, toward the hospital entrance, she saw the flick of a cigarette lighter. A couple staff members were huddled outside in one of the designated smoking areas, inhaling nicotine while they moved about to keep warm. Several other workers walked out and Sam realized it was probably time for a shift change. The parking lot would be alive with activity soon, and there was no reason to stand here like a deer in the headlights. Pocketing the phone with a minimum of fuss, Sam eased away from her car and started walking.

  Feeling relieved and possibly a little foolish, she headed toward the bank of elevators which accessed her brother’s floor. Between the usual crap she had to deal with and the shock of seeing Josh, she was now jumping at every shadow.

  The car to her left dinged, indicating it had arrived on the lobby level, and Sam bumped into Karen Davis as she tried to board while the other woman exited.

  “I’m sorry.” Sam jumped, gave a little laugh. “I wasn’t paying any attention.” Which was a bad sign, in and of itself. She really needed to get her act together.

  “My fault,” Karen laughed, tiredly. “I just plowed out the doors like a Mack truck.”

  “What are you doing?” She’d noticed Karen’s jacket. “I thought you were working nights.”

  Sighing, Karen stabbed her fingers through her hair. She looked as exhausted as Sam felt. “There’s some stomach thing making the rounds and a whole truckload of people called in sick. So I ended up working last night and then covering the day shift as well. I’ve forgotten what my bed looks like.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sam commiserated. “Was there any change today? Any more indication that he’s waking up?”

  Karen’s tired eyes softened and she touched Sam’s arm. “If there had been, you know I would have called you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Sam. Last night’s… activity was an isolated occurrence. Probably just Donnie’s nervous system operating by rote.”

  “Probably.” Sam’s agreement was forced, and she could tell Karen didn’t buy it for a minute.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” the other woman said, waggling her fingers in a gesture of parting.

  Sam waved back, then stabbed the call button again in irritation. “Operating by rote, my ass.” Her brother was going to wake up.

  KAREN got sidetracked by a well-meaning colleague as she was trying to exit the building, spending another fifteen minutes conferring before she finally pushed out the door. A cool – make that downright cold – wind kicked up and she pulled the collar of her jacket around her neck, thinking about her conversation with Samantha.

  Donnie Martin just might pull out of it. Oh, she knew she shouldn’t think such things when there was really no empirical data to back it up, and she was very careful to keep from encouraging Sam. But secretly, in her heart of hearts, she thought that Donnie’s sister was right. Weird as it sounded, she too had sensed something sometimes when she’d been tending him. That he was aware of her touch, and was grateful. Sometimes maybe embarrassed. Sometimes even… aroused.

  “And you’ve been reading too many romance novels,” she told herself, laughing as she scurried to her car. Or maybe science fiction. The arousal was simply another of the body’s n
atural functions and certainly had nothing to do with her. But despite his condition and the amount of muscle mass he’d lost, an aroused Donnie Martin was still a… stimulating sight. “Oh yeah. That’s real professional.” Karen rolled her eyes and called herself a pervert. She’d been projecting her own hopes and her own personal attraction onto the good-looking but comatose man. The key words in that sentence being projecting and comatose. Not even blind hope could spring that eternal.

  After unlocking her door with the key, Karen hoisted herself into the Rodeo’s seat, then turned the engine, cranked the heat, and rubbed her icy fingers together. She felt a little more chilled than the weather warranted, and hoped she wasn’t coming down with the virus. The last thing she needed was to spend her night off feverish and puking. Her stomach pitched a little at the thought.

  “A hot bath,” she told herself. That was the ticket. “You just need a hot bath and a warm bed.”

  “Sounds good,” said a deep masculine voice a split second before the blade pressed against her throat. Karen’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror and the blood iced over in her veins. His smile was cruel – even colder than the blade of the scalpel – and terrifyingly familiar. “Since I’ve got nothing better to do tonight, I think I just might join you.”

  JOSH was relieved to see Sam’s car parked in one of the two spaces reserved for his condo. He swung the Blazer in next to it, then reached back to pull the bags of groceries from the backseat. The movement wrenched his shoulder – which was acting up tonight from the sudden cold – and he rotated it forward and backward as he climbed out and headed toward the lobby. Glancing toward the elevator, deciding it was too slow, he bounded up three flights of stairs.

  It had been a long time since a woman had been waiting for him.

  And this was the first time it was the woman he really wanted.

  Schooling his features to show mild fatigue – despite this second wind fueled by eagerness – Josh shifted the grocery bags to one side and opened the door.

  And walked into a small slice of heaven.

  “Hey,” he called out to Sam, who was busy in his kitchen. Something smelled great, but she looked even better. She was wearing a giant Roadhouse T-shirt over body-hugging jeans and a turtleneck sweater – an outfit she’d picked up that morning – and even through the steam rising off the sizzling skillet she looked good enough to eat.

  A thought not conducive to this whole friend in need plan of action.

  “Down boy,” he growled under his breath, then kicked the door shut and set the alarm. He was a little disturbed that Sam hadn’t already done it.

  “Hey yourself,” she called back, waggling a spatula and looking sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that I took over your kitchen, but I was starving and I figured you would be, too. I was going to keep yours warm for you… unless you’ve already eaten?”

  “Nope.” Although if he had, he would gladly do so again. “I guess I have good timing.”

  “I hope you like fried chicken.”

  “Am I southern?” he asked, sitting the bags on the counter. He sniffed appreciatively and let out a deep sigh. “You could deep-fry a tennis shoe and I’d eat it.”

  Sam laughed, obviously doubting that was the case. “It’s just that you, uh, are pretty hip with regards to a lot of things, so I thought maybe this kind of comfort food would be a little bit passé.”

  “Bite your tongue,” he teased, affecting his most outlandish drawl. He really was an atypical southern male in many respects, but that didn’t extend to traditional cuisine. Give him an oyster roast over caviar on toast points any day of the week. “We’re a culture that puts bacon in our green beans and a pound of butter on our grits, and honey, we’re damned proud of it.”

  “And I’m sure all the cardiologists thank us for keeping them in business.”

  “Everybody needs a purpose.”

  The smile they shared was warm, then started sizzling hotter than the chicken. Sam blinked, and Josh cleared his throat. “I picked up some stuff on the way home.” He moved toward the bags and started emptying them onto the counter. Either that, or lunge for her mouth. “Breakfast stuff and potato chips mostly. A couple of frozen dinners. I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook.”

  “I had to be,” Sam admitted as she scooped the breaded chicken breasts onto a waiting plate.

  “Your mother didn’t?” he asked, then realized it sounded sexist. “Or your father?”

  Sam’s back stiffened before she answered. “My mother cooked plenty. But my father never went near the kitchen. Claimed a woman’s place was either at the stove or essentially at his feet, and I much preferred cooking to subservience.”

  Josh’s hand, which had been putting a frozen pizza into the freezer, stilled before flexing into a fist. He’d suspected, oh he’d suspected all those years ago, but this was the first time he could remember Sam talking about her father.

  Thinking that maybe he’d wait until after dinner to probe that topic so as to not ruin his appetite again, he pulled a wine bottle from the cooler. “Would you like a glass of chardonnay with dinner?” he asked, reaching for two glasses and waving one of them in question.

  “Tempting, but no, thanks. I… to tell the truth, I haven’t had a drink in almost eight years. I sort of gave up alcohol at the same time I quit smoking.”

  Josh paused in the act of pouring his own glass, watching her load up their plates. “Is it a problem for you if I drink?”

  “What? Oh, no.” Sam shook her head and offered a smile. “I work in a bar, remember? I’m around the stuff every day. I just… decided that it was better to face my problems rather than trying to drown them in a bottle.” The smile faded and Josh’s heart tore. “I know…” she took a deep breath, “it seemed like I had a problem back when you and I met, and honestly, I was probably on the verge of addiction. But the day I woke up, reached for a drink instead of coffee, I realized it had become more than a crutch. I have that tendency, personality-wise, so I have to really watch myself. Alcohol, cigarettes… lately it’s been chocolate, though at least that one won’t kill me. The nicotine habit was a bitch to kick. That was an addiction. I think I spent entire paychecks on that stupid gum, but I eventually stopped craving it and now I can’t even stand the smell of smoke. Which sucks for me, because hey, I work in a bar.”

  Josh couldn’t move, because he was so stunned by the easy flow of conversation. Sam had been… secretive before, closed off and not easy to approach. Ashamed of her various failings. She was usually drunk when she leaked little pieces of information, because it was the only time she lost her emotional inhibition. It was how he’d learned the extent of Collin’s cruelty and the fact that she couldn’t really read – that she’d dropped out of school at age seventeen because she thought she was stupid. Among other reasons, Josh suspected, but that was the only one she gave. She’d gotten involved with Collin soon after that, and he no doubt contributed to that assessment. And he also managed to keep her away from her brother – Donnie’d landed himself in jail when he’d beaten Collin to a pulp – so Samantha had suffered alone.

  But now… Josh simply couldn’t believe the self-possession of the woman before him. She made it sound like no big deal, but putting herself in a situation where she was facing the temptation from two former addictions – or quasi-addictions – every day, couldn’t be all that easy. And she’d managed to overcome what he was sure was dyslexia. It still shocked him that the public school system had failed her so badly that she’d reached high school without anyone catching it.

  “Josh?”

  Sam’s voice brought him to the present. He looked up to find her watching him, having already carried their plates to the table. “Sorry.” It might sound condescending to say he was proud of her. She really didn’t need his approval. “Guess I sort of zoned.” He opened the fridge and called over his shoulder. “Bottled water?” he asked and she nodded. He poured it into glasses and sat down.

  “Lack of sleep tends to ha
ve that effect,” Sam observed, clearly trying to make the conversation lighter.

  Josh took the hint, and a bite of chicken. The first mouthful made him want to weep. “Oh man. I may never let you leave here again.” Which was the perfectly wrong thing to say. He could have bitten off his own tongue and fried it.

  Obviously noticing his mortification, Sam offered a smile. “It’s okay.” She took a small bite. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Rooting around for a safe topic of conversation that didn’t involve awkward propositions or requests to bear his children, Josh struggled for something to say. He could ask about Donnie, but was certain she wouldn’t be here if there’d been any change in his condition. He’d also quietly begun digging into her brother’s recent past to see if he could find a reason the man had been shot.

  Not exactly pleasant dinnertime conversation.

  He could bring up his conversation with Clay today, or the fact that he’d contacted some people in California to see if he could pinpoint good old Collin’s whereabouts for the timeframe in question, but somehow the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was the depressing fact that she was once again a victim. Instead, he thought of the way she’d survived so much already, and how she had found a way to give something back.

  “So have you been volunteering very long? At the Family Violence Center?”

  Sam speared a glazed carrot before looking up. “Here in Charleston, I just started about a month ago. But back in Columbia I’d been doing so for a couple years.”

  Columbia, where she’d been attending college. Before she’d gotten the call to come here. “Are you shooting for a degree in social work?” The mashed potatoes were hot and burned the roof of his mouth. “Ouch,” he complained. “Damn it.”