Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (best affordable ebook reader txt) 📕

“I’m so glad,” Tate said genuinely, “that I could help.”

The smell hit him as they entered the kitchen – cookies, fresh-baked – and even as his mouth watered he caught sight of an obviously sleepy Max.  The little boy glanced up from the truck book he’d been studying and smiled brilliantly when he discovered Clay.

“Mr. Clay!” And then suddenly he was around Clay’s legs.  “Mommy made you dinner, and I helped mash the potatoes, and I baked cookies for you all by myself.  Well…  Mommy took them out of the oven, but I got to scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet, and I didn’t even drop any.  And I saved the biggest one for you, ‘cause you’re the biggest, even though that one had the most chips.  And I’ve just got to put my fingers over my nose because your pants really stink.”

Laughing, charmed, utterly taken aback, Clay sank down to Max’s level.  Bright green eyes blinked at him over small fingers, and Max grinned from behind his hand.

If there was a man in the world who could resist that face, his name certainly wasn’t Clay Copeland.

“Thank you for making me dinner.  And for saving me the biggest cookie.”  He reached out, stroked Max’s hair.  “I’m sorry I got here so late.  Maybe we can do McDonald’s another time.”

“That’s okay,” Max said diplomatically.  Though he kept his hand in place.  “Mommy said that we could have just as much fun making dinner at home, and she was right, ‘cause I love making chocolate chip cookies.  And it was even more fun making them for you.”

Clay looked from the child to the mother.  Felt love settle, just settle, more comfortably than he could have believed.  This, he realized, was what it was all about.  It was why people put forth every effort to make relationships stick.

It was why perfectly reasonable men did completely insane things like go and fall in love on their vacations.

Sighing, ridiculously content, he straightened and held out his hand.  Max slapped it in their now customary manly exchange.  “Do you think you could show me to the shower, my good man, so that I can get rid of these really stinky pants?  I don’t think your mama would appreciate it much if I came to the dinner table smelling like a brewery.”

“Moms are funny that way,” Max said philosophically, which had Clay fighting not to laugh. Then he took Clay’s hand and headed toward the back stairs.  “I’ll show you where the shower is, so that she won’t get mad and make you eat mushrooms.”

So Clay showered, changed his clothes, and ate a delicious if reheated dinner that showed absolutely no trace of mushrooms.

Later, after he’d put Max to sleep with a story, and he and Tate shared a bedtime ritual of a different nature and lay tangled together beneath her sheets, Clay realized the other shoe was still on.

And about that, he felt they should talk.

“Tate,” he whispered softly, stroking the arm draped over his chest.

“Hmm?” She stirred, shifted.

“I just thought that you should know… I mean, I’d like you to be aware… that what happened tonight is par for the course.  My job is very demanding.  It makes it difficult to have a life.  Especially one with commitments.”

Tate made the effort to open her eyes.  “Are you saying that this is just about sex?”

“No.”  Offended dignity made him stiffen. “If this was just about sex I wouldn’t have…”  Stopping that train of thought before it quickly derailed, he shook his head in consternation.  “That’s not what I was trying to say.”

She waited a beat.  “Are you setting up an out?”

“A what?” Clay’s tone held suspicion.

“An out,” she repeated.  “You know, like when they put that little disclaimer on the packages of cigarettes portending that smoking may be hazardous to your health?  Then they market the hell out of them anyway, and fall back on their disclaimer when the entire population comes down with lung cancer.  We told you these things were no good for you.  It’s like a ‘Get out of Morality Jail Free’ card.  They don’t have to feel guilty when things go into the crapper, because they’ve already established their ready-made excuse.”

She leaned up to study his face.  “So I was wondering if that was what you were doing.  Protecting yourself from future guilt by warning me ahead of time.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, Tate.  My job made me do it.”

“I’m not…”  He started to protest, but then blinked at her, looking chagrinned.  “I know that’s how it sounds, but I promise not to use my job as a fallback excuse for a lousy relationship.”

“Good.” Tate snuggled in again.  “I know your job is demanding.  Believe it or not, mine is, too.  Not just running the inn, but being a mother.  And I can’t promise that I’ll always be perfectly understanding, just as you can’t promise you will be either.  It’s difficult, in a new relationship, when there are three people to consider instead of two.  Any relationship is going to be work, and ours might present some bigger challenges than most.  You might get irritated when Max comes down with the flu, and I have to cancel our dinner plans.  Or worse yet, when you come down with the flu because Max sneezed all over your coffee.  I might get irritated when you have to fly off to Nebraska instead of us going camping for the weekend.  It will be hard as hell to only see you if and when your schedule allows.  But unless I’ve read the situation wrong and have made a lot of erroneous assumptions, those are just some of the issues we’ll have to deal with, as part of the regular program.”

The hand stroking his chest went still.  “I’m willing to deal with them as they come along.  Are you?”

Blown away by her perspicacity, by her firm grasp on the situation, Clay lay there for another moment, too stunned to speak.  She’d shocked the hell