The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  Shelley indulged in a little fantasy about just what exactly he had going on beneath those scrubs as she stuck her key in the lock.

  “Oh,” she squeaked, startled, when the door opened before she could unlock it.

  “I heard you coming down the hall,” Natasha’s sister explained, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her ivory dress. The cashmere sure looked warm, but her voice – as usual – was frosty with disdain. “You were singing again.”

  “Was I?” Shelley deliberately kept her tone bright. Anne was a bitch, but she was Natasha’s sister, and Natasha did not need any extra tension right now. “I guess I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore.”

  “Natasha’s sleeping.”

  “Well, then I will be sure to keep it down.”

  Shelley brushed past her, ignoring the stony look on Anne’s face, then came to a dead halt. Her temper rattled against the lid she’d just clamped on it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “I rearranged a few things.”

  “Rearranged?” Pulling her eyes from the spotless – and unrecognizable – living room, Shelley looked at the older woman with disbelief. “You call this ‘rearranging?’” Because it looks to me like you bought new furniture and moved it in here.”

  “Calm down,” Anne said with the faintest hint of irritation, darting a glance over her shoulder toward the bedrooms. “That sofa was hideous. It needed to be replaced.”

  “That sofa was mine.”

  Shelley had worked her butt off to buy that sofa five years ago. Big, overstuffed, a totally convincing faux suede. Maybe it wasn’t in the best condition, but it was comfortable as hell. Not to mention that she had some very fine memories involving that sofa and a certain Marine she used to date. Very fine.

  And it pissed her off that Natasha’s sister had taken it upon herself to rearrange a few things.

  “It had a tear in one arm, and the springs were shot.”

  “So?” Shelley shot back. “I liked it that way. And what concern is it of yours, anyway? This isn’t even your apartment.” Natasha hadn’t wanted to stay with her sister during her recuperation – for obvious reasons, if you asked Shelley – but that meant they had been graced with Anne’s presence far more often than she would like.

  “No, but it is Natasha’s.” Anne’s dark eyes were annoyingly cool as she explained her position. “She needed something better.”

  “You mean better than me.”

  Anne sighed. “That’s your interpretation.”

  “Look bitch – ”

  “What’s going on?”

  Shelley whirled around to see Natasha, pale and owl-like, standing at the end of the hallway that led to their bedrooms. The T-shirt she wore hung almost to her knees, and with the weight she’d lost after her surgery, she looked lost in it, like a little girl.

  Shelley felt like crap for waking her up. Natasha had been having a hell of a time sleeping.

  “Nice work,” Anne murmured, and Shelley resisted the urge to smack the superior look from the woman’s face.

  “I’m sorry sweetie,” Shelley said, but Anne was already hurrying over, taking Natasha by her frail-looking arm. Shit. Had she lost even more weight? Shelley was going to have to start force-feeding that girl some doughnuts if this kept up.

  “Your roommate and I were just discussing the new furniture,” Anne said soothingly.

  “What new furniture?” Natasha said before blinking in confusion at the beige, straight-backed couch, which looked about as relaxing as the uptight bitch who’d picked it out. “Where’d that come from?”

  Her friend’s gaze shot to hers so Shelley pasted on a cheerful expression. “It seems that your sister bought us a present.”

  “What?” Natasha divided a frown among the new sofa, Anne and Shelley. “Why?”

  Because she was an overbearing, controlling snob, Shelley wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead she changed the subject. “Guess who I bumped into tonight?”

  “I think you should be resting,” Anne interjected.

  “Who?”

  “Natasha – ”

  “I’m fine, Anne. Really.” Natasha shook her sister off, coming to sit on one of the barstools at the counter while Shelley took a soda from the fridge and popped the top for her. “Who’d you bump into?”

  “Dr. OhMyGod.”

  “I thought he was Dr. Cutie.” Natasha smiled and took a sip from the can, her eyes looking considerably less dull. “What were you doing at the hospital?”

  “Not the hospital, you goof. He came into Murphy’s.”

  “Geez, I’ve really been out of it, huh? I haven’t even asked you how that was going.”

  “It’s going great.” Shelley leaned her elbows on the counter, filling Natasha in on the customers, the other wait staff. Cracking jokes to make her laugh. Just like old times. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anne gathering up her purse from the little table beside that awful sofa. Her back was ramrod straight, a sure sign that she was pissed.

  Good. That made two of them.

  “And guess what?” Shelley said, just as Anne announced “I’m leaving.”

  “Okay.” Natasha gave her sister a careless wave. “See you later. What?” she said as she turned back to Shelley.

  Shelley watched with satisfaction as Anne took her glacial ass out the door.

  Then she wiggled her eyebrows at her roommate. “Good news about Dr. OhMyGodWhataCutie. You won’t have to fight me for him. Looks like he has a brother.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  LIKE a capricious woman, Mother Nature followed up the cold snap with several abnormally warm, sunny days that urged people out of doors, where they could be heard talking hopefully of an early spring. Knowing that her mood could change again in an instant, Justin mostly ignored the talk, but he did take advantage of the weather. It had been weeks since he’d gone for a run on the beach. Moving quietly through the house so as not to wake up his brother, Justin eased out the back door.

  He started down the steps, paused, and then turned back around to engage the lock. It was likely a needless precaution – one with which he didn’t usually bother. But since he’d had the uncomfortable experience of being robbed last week, he’d been a little more cognizant of that sort of thing.

  The sun was just beginning to paint its watercolor rays across the sky, and there was still enough chill in the air to make him glad he’d opted for a windbreaker. It would likely end up around his hips before too long, but for now it kept things comfortable.

  Comfortable, Justin mused, as his footsteps rattled the weather-beaten wood of the boardwalk at the end of his street. Sea oats swayed gently in the early morning breeze, and down the beach a couple of seagulls argued noisily over the remains of some dead creature that had washed up on the sand.

  He’d been comfortable for a while now, hadn’t he? Sure, James coming to stay with him had put a little wrinkle in his routine. But that was actually working out to be a bonus. He was getting to know his little brother not just as a sibling, but as a man. And he liked what he saw. James wasn’t entirely sure where he wanted to go, but he knew where he didn’t want to be, and he’d had the balls to get out before he got so comfortable he couldn’t leave.

  Justin guessed the same could be said of him with this business with Mandy. He’d gotten out while he still could. Although as frustrating and awkward as that had been, it hadn’t really amounted to anything. She’d gone out of her way to avoid him since their altercation in the elevator, and he’d returned the favor. Casual relationships ended all the time. Justin didn’t really consider that he’d done something to take himself dramatically out of his comfort zone. It hadn’t exactly altered the course of his life.

  His sneakers pounded the sand, a muffled accompaniment to the breaking surf. He looked around at the virtually deserted beach and wondered when he’d become such a wuss.

  Oh sure, his job was challenging. Each and every individual he operated on presented a unique test of
his skills. But even though it was often literally a matter of life and death, this was a goal he’d worked toward for years, and it fit him like a glove. Losing a patient was brutally hard, but his logical mind knew that he couldn’t save everyone. He wasn’t God. He was just a surgeon. He could only strive to be the best damn surgeon possible.

  But outside of work, Justin realized he was a creature of habit. He worked on his house. He tinkered with his trucks. Up ‘til recently, he had fairly regular sex with the woman he dated steadily. And he went to lunch with Kathleen.

  Jesus H. Christ, he was dull.

  And the one thing he’d done which had been outside of his comfort zone – namely assaulting Kathleen with his mouth under that damn mistletoe – had thrown him for such a loop that he hadn’t seen her, except accidentally, in weeks.

  What bullshit.

  Waves lapped against the sand, the lulling rhythm failing to soothe his raw nerves. Annoyed with himself, Justin fumbled around in the pocket of his pants for his phone. Looping back toward his house, he didn’t give himself time to think, time to second-guess. He just pulled up his contacts. Then he shot a text off to Kathleen and hit send.

  His lungs burned, and his legs felt a little rubbery, but Justin attributed that to the exercise.

  If he’d become a big enough pussy that he got shaky just from sending a woman a text, then he might as well hang it up now.

  “Hey.”

  Acting on instinct, Justin whirled around toward the sound of the voice directly behind him, leading with his elbow.

  “Whoa there.” The smaller man just had time to get his arm up to block Justin’s move. Even in his surprise, his reflexes were lightening quick.

  But then, he had been a cop for a number of years.

  “Remind me not to sneak up behind you in the future.” Anthony flashed a grin, his teeth white against the wind-reddened tan of his cheeks as he shook out his arm. “You’ve got a mean jab there, Wellington.”

  “Sorry.” Justin felt heat creep up the back of his neck. Whether it was from the fact that he’d overreacted to being startled – something he’d have to examine later – or the tone of the text he’d just sent to this man’s girlfriend, he really couldn’t say. But because he was uncomfortable, Justin went on the offensive. “What are you doing here?”

  Anthony didn’t even live on the Isle of Palms. And it was still shy of eight am. Judging from his jeans, boots, and the circles beneath his eyes, Justin didn’t think he’d driven all this way to enjoy a stroll on the beach.

  The private detective pushed a hand through his windblown hair. “Working a case. What else? I saw you through my binoculars,” he explained, and Justin noticed the equipment hanging around the man’s neck, along with some sort of book sticking out of the pocket of his jacket.

  “Bird-watching.” He tapped the field guide – Justin could just make out the word Audubon at the top. “Makes a great cover.”

  “Well, at least you’ve got a nice day for it,” Justin said, rooting around for some conversational gambit that didn’t involve Kathleen, or the text he’d just sent Kathleen, or the things he wanted to do to Kathleen as soon as he could edge Anthony out of the picture.

  Because he felt like an asshole, Justin muttered something about catching him later and started walking, hoping the other man would take the hint and go back to spying on whomever he’d been spying on before he spotted Justin.

  But Anthony fell in step beside him.

  “I’m all done for now,” he explained. “The particular bird I’ve been watching has flown the coop for the day.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, she teaches at the high school.” His voice took on a rueful tone. “Seems she’s real popular with her male students.”

  Catching his drift, Justin’s brows arched skyward. “And you’re investigating her for the school district or…”

  “Husband.” Anthony shook his head as they approached the boardwalk. “Or rather, future ex-husband. He found some suspicious texts, a couple naked photos of herself she’d stored in her phone. Battle royal ensued, she denied all, deleted all, yada, yada, and now she’s trying to take him to the cleaners in the divorce. I tell you, man, if I hadn’t already arrived at the conclusion that marriage is for the birds – pun intended,” he added with a tap on his binoculars, “this job would have crystalized that in my mind. I’ve never seen so many miserable people in my life. You okay?” he paused to ask when Justin stumbled a little in his surprise.

  “Yeah. Loose board.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ve got to run, and my car’s parked that way.” He gestured with his chin. “Good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  Justin stood at the end of the boardwalk, the morning breeze drying the sweat that clung to his skin, watching Anthony walk away as he contemplated his moral dilemma. He liked the man. He really did. He was a straight shooter, and Justin didn’t think he was the type to string anyone along. Not that Kathleen was being strung along. She’d been dating the man fairly exclusively for almost a year. Surely she knew his stance on marriage.

  Which implied that Kathleen wasn’t looking to make their relationship anything permanent.

  He hoped.

  She hadn’t given any indication to the contrary, but Justin realized that he’d been watching her over the past several months, at least, for any indication that things were getting serious with Anthony. He’d lived in a minor state of terror that she’d show up to meet him one day wearing a ring. It was why he hadn’t paid enough attention to his own relationship, how he’d let Mandy – whom he’d dated extremely casually off and on over the past couple years – slip beneath his radar and almost move into his house.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Well, that particular mess was no more than he deserved for being too much of a coward to go after what he really wanted.

  And what he really wanted was Kathleen.

  Justin shot a glance toward Anthony, but the other man had already climbed into his vehicle and driven off. Clearly not the type to hesitate.

  Disgusted with himself yet again, Justin resumed walking. At least he’d sent that text. It was minor, but it was a start. Weren’t there about a billion cheesy quotations about that being the most difficult part? Taking the first step?

  Man, he was embarrassed by his own thoughts. And James told him he was mooning before. Thank God he wasn’t privy to this quasi-motivational pity fest taking place in Justin’s head.

  Grasping the back door knob, Justin tried to turn it before remembering that it was locked. Taking out his key, he let himself into the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee greeting him. His brother really did have his uses.

  Heading toward the pot, Justin noticed that a mug had already been poured, steam curling from the top. He glanced around for some sign of James, heard nothing, then decided to take a sip. His brother put enough sugar in his own coffee to power an entire platoon of preschoolers, so Justin would know right away whether he’d already doctored this one.

  No sugar. Just the way he liked it.

  Commandeering the mug for his own, Justin headed toward the back of the house and the shower. When he passed the guest room door, he rapped it with the knuckles of his free hand.

  “I stole your coffee,” he called through the paneled wood. “You’ll have to pour yourself another cup.”

  “What?” came the mumble from the other side.

  “I liberated your coffee before it could be sweetened to death,” Justin repeated. Since the door wasn’t fully shut, he poked his head through the opening. “You snooze, you – ”

  He stopped midsentence. James leaned up on one elbow, the sheets pooling around his bare chest, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he stared at Justin.

  “What, you made coffee and then went back to sleep?” That made no sense. The coffee was still steaming.

  “What’re you talking about?” James mumbled, stifling a yawn.

  “The coffee.” Ju
stin offered his mug as evidence. “Did you wake up just to make a pot for me?”

  “Why would I do that? Although now that I’m awake, that coffee smells damn good. Is there any left?”

  Justin stood there, mug in hand, the sweat slicking his skin suddenly feeling icy. “You just made a pot,” he reminded his brother, wondering what the hell was wrong. Sleep-walking? Narcolepsy? He hadn’t noticed any signs before now. Brewing a pot of coffee was a little outside the normal realm of the automatic behavior associated with the condition, but not impossible. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine.” James looked a little more alert now. “But I didn’t make a pot of coffee.”

  “There’s a fresh pot on the counter. And this mug was poured.” Justin held it aloft again and let his eyes roam over his brother. His pupils looked normal, but Justin should probably go get his penlight and do a more thorough check. “There are some medical conditions that – ”

  “Whoa, whoa.” James held up a hand before running it over his eyes. “I don’t have a medical condition. I did not make coffee or pour you a mug.”

  “James.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible so that he didn’t sound like he was lecturing. “If you had one of these conditions, some of the behaviors are automatic – completely unconscious – so you may not know if –”

  “Justin.” James’ tone was as neutral as the one Justin had just used on him. “I realize that you are a doctor and your first instinct is to rationalize a situation in terms of potential medical problems. But look at me.” He met Justin’s gaze with a level stare. “I did not make a pot of coffee. Now, normal people who are not trauma surgeons might ask the question: if my brother, who is the only other resident of the house, did not make a pot of coffee, then who did?”

  “What are you talking about? Who would randomly, what, break in and brew a pot of coffee? And then leave? And besides, the door was locked.”

  “Just like your truck was locked.”

  The coffee he’d drunk swished uncomfortably when Justin’s stomach gave a little lurch. He stared at the mug in his hand as if it were a serpent about to strike.