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

And while helping one’s fellow man was a noteworthy aspiration, striving for superhero status was both unrealistic and self-defeating.  No one was perfect, and no one could do it all.  He’d just have to do his job to the utmost of his abilities, and rely on a force greater than himself to handle the rest.

And boy, the Man Upstairs must be having quite a laugh right now, he thought as he pulled in beside Tate’s car.  He’d not only shown Clay a thing or two about humility and failure, but he’d also thrown love and hope into the mix.  There was an old saying about doors closing and windows opening that pretty much summed up the situation.  He felt like he was hitting an all-time professional low and an all-time personal high at exactly the same time.

Climbing out of his SUV, he started to run in out of the rain, but instead took a moment to look at the car seat strapped into the back of Tate’s Honda.

He’d been having some pretty mixed up feelings about the scope of the situation he was taking on, but as he stood there, rain flattening his hair against his head, he realized that at least part of his pleasure in coming back here tonight had as much to do with Max as with Max’s mama.  He looked toward his own vehicle.  Tried to picture that car seat there.

Thought it might look pretty nice.

Maybe even with another one beside it.

And when that thought didn’t make him turn and run, he knew that as Kim said, this was something he’d done right.  He might not be a perfect father figure to this little boy, but he’d damn sure try to do his best.  Just do his best with the hand he’d been given, and let the cards fall where they may.

Right now, his deck was firmly stacked right here at the Inn at Calhoun.

So slipping his handy-dandy lock pick out of his pocket, he trotted up the steps to the back door, pulling up short when he saw Tate’s note.

Please don’t get any chicken blood on the door

For a moment, he thought the woman he loved had gone crazy, until he made the association to her earlier comment about voodoo.  And then couldn’t stop the laugh that ripped out of his throat.  You had to love a woman with a good sense of humor.

Especially when it came packaged with such a killer set of legs.

And speaking of legs, he hoped she wasn’t sleeping, because he sure wouldn’t take exception if she wanted to wrap them around his waist.

He slipped the lock, dealt with the alarm, and considered the myriad ways he could improve the Inn’s security.  It was a difficult balance, wanting to secure your home and yet opening it up to paying guests.  Overall, it wasn’t a choice he would have made, but he guessed he’d have to learn to live with it.  Worry about it, but live with it.  Which was going to make all the time spent away just that much more difficult to handle.

Shaking the water from his hair like a dog, Clay headed toward the back set of stairs, ascended two at a time, and coming out on the second floor landing, discovered he wasn’t alone in the hall.

Watery light from an antique sconce illuminated an elderly woman several doors down, hovering near the stairs leading to the third floor and the owner’s bedrooms.  As Clay watched she put her hand on the doorknob, and began twisting it open.

“Ma’am?”

The woman stiffened, seemed to tense, then turned slightly toward the sound of his voice. Cautious smile in place, Clay moved forward, doing his best to appear nonthreatening.  No need to give the old lady a heart attack, since she seemed to be pretty confused.  Drawing closer he watched her eyes dart around, her hands stab into her pockets.

“Are you having trouble finding your room?” he asked, using his most honeyed Boy Scout inflection.  “That door leads to the third floor, and there are no guest rooms on that level.”

She was tall, very tall, though bent as an old oak.  Clay guessed that before osteoporosis struck she’d been only a couple inches shorter than him.

She wore soft-soled shoes, rather than slippers.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”  She eased back into the shadows.  “I’m afraid these eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

“That’s no problem, ma’am.  Can I offer you some assistance?”

“Oh, goodness no.”  She laughed, but her blue eyes narrowed.  “I’ll be fine.  You run along to bed.  You’ve done more than enough for one night.”

As Clay watched, she turned and shuffled off.

Two doors down, she slipped her hand into her pocket, pulled out a key and attempted to turn it in the lock.  On the third try, her hand stopped shaking enough to make it work.  Then she disappeared into her room and shut the door.

Clay stood there for a moment, waiting for what he wasn’t entirely sure.  But there was something…

He shook it off, wanting to set everything to do with work or profiling or his all-around general professional paranoia aside.  So he opened the door, turned the lock, and tiptoed up the stairs.  He found himself drawn to Max’s room, where a weak stream of light filtered out from beneath his door.

And pushing it open with only the lightest squeak of hinges, peeked his head in to find the little guy sprawled with one arm and leg off the bed, blankets bunched at his feet, and that goofy purple bear tucked beside him.

Something inside Clay moved.

Whether his heart, his soul, his latent paternal instincts – he couldn’t decide and it really didn’t matter.  In every way other than the strictest biological sense, he had the overwhelming feeling that this child was his.

It was one of the most powerful emotions he’d ever felt.

Negotiating the toy-strewn floor, he lifted Max away from the edge of the bed, tucking the sheet in, nice and tight, around his pajama-covered