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

Tate tried to assimilate this new information.  Okay, so the man wasn’t a drunk, and he apparently had an education.  But a couple of initials before or after his name didn’t mean he was a swell guy.  He was still forward, and blatantly suggestive, and more than a little cocky.

She narrowed her eyes. “So what’s my behavioral pattern telling you now?”

“It’s difficult to say.  Maybe if you loosened the straps to your top again, I could get a better reading.”

Despite herself, Tate laughed, because it was clear he didn’t take himself too seriously.  Shifting her weight back onto her hands, she studied the almost ridiculously sexy psychologist.  He possessed the kind of humor and self-deprecation that transformed bravado into lethal charm.  But since he was here for only a short while and she had more than her hormones to consider, she decided that she’d have to pass. “Although I can’t say I’m not intrigued, I’m afraid I can’t go out with you, Dr. Copeland.”

“Clay,” he corrected.  “And why is that?”

“Well, for one thing, I have to work.”

“Okay. Then how about I –”

“Mommy!”

Perfect timing, Tate thought.  Then she raised a hand to greet the familiar duo heading toward them.

  THE excited voice brought his head around, and Clay noticed a small, dark-haired boy running in his direction, followed at some distance by an attractive older woman possessed of silvery hair and a tired smile.  He peered over his shoulder, gauging whether the pair was perhaps bearing down on someone behind them, but a quick glance at Tate Hennessey’s wry smile put any doubts aside.  And if that hadn’t done it, the resemblance between mother and son was unmistakable.

The boy was beautiful.  A beautiful, happy, living little boy.

Against his will, Clay felt himself shutting down, the ghost of his failure rising up to haunt him.

“Mommy, Grandma let me have two scoops of ice cream, instead of just one like you said.”  Flush with the excitement of his secret, he was too young to keep it to himself.  “I had a scoop of ‘nilla and a scoop of the pink one with all of those colored thingies in it.”

“Cotton candy?” Tate suggested as she wiped her thumb across his chin, which still bore the evidence of his coup.

“Uh-huh.  It was yummy, but I wish they wouldn’t make it pink.  Pink’s a girl color.  Who are you?”  He turned his inquisitive green-eyed gaze on Clay.

“I’m Clay,” he explained, hating his sudden stiffness.  “Pink’s not such a bad color, but you might not want to let any of your friends see you wearing it on your face.”

The boy giggled as his mother wiped the sticky mess off his chin.

“Max, this is Dr. Copeland.  Clay, this is my son, Max.  The second and most important reason I can’t meet you tonight,” she informed him under her breath.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Max.” Clay extended his hand, and the little boy eyed it for a second before slapping it with the traditional five.

“Ouch.  That was more like ten.”  Max giggled and Clay felt something inside him breaking, a small fissure he wasn’t quite sure how to repair.

The little boy in Topeka had had dark hair.

He opened his mouth to excuse himself, feeling panic begin to well through that fissure, but the arrival of the older woman stopped him.

“I take it the little heathen ratted me out.”

“If he hadn’t, the evidence on his chin would have done the job.”  Sending Clay an awkward glance, Tate made the introductions.  “Mom, this is Clay Copeland.  Clay, my mother, Maggie Hennessey.”

Clay stood, extending his hand.  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Hennessey beamed approval. And catching the spark that lit her mother’s eyes, he saw Tate roll her own.

“And how do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Tate informed her.

“Sunscreen,” Clay said at the same time, trying not to notice the boy’s undivided stare.

Seeing the confusion on her mother’s face, Tate hurried to explain.  “Dr. Copeland happened by when I was applying my sunscreen.  He was kind enough to offer to assist me in rubbing some on my back.”

Despite his discomfiture, Clay had to smile at that little bit of whitewashing.

“Oh.  So you’ve just met,” Maggie surmised.  “Are you from around here, Dr. Copeland?”  The spark in her eyes burned brighter.

“Clay.  And no, I live in Virginia.”

“Oh.”  The subtext of that single syllable reeked of frustrated maternal machinations.

“I think we’ve taken up enough of Clay’s time,” Tate said as she started to rise, and using her hand to block the sun from her eyes, turned to address him.  “Thank you again for your… assistance.”

Clay smirked at the blatant dismissal, but figured all things considered, it was for the best.  “No problem.”  His shaded eyes drilled into hers one moment longer than was strictly polite, before turning toward her mother.

“Mrs. Hennessy, it was a pleasure.  And Max.”  Somewhat reluctantly, he stuck out his hand again, but then jerked it away at the last second.  “Oh.  Too slow.  You’ll have to practice that with your mama.”

The boy laughed and Clay barely repressed a flinch as he lifted his hand in farewell.

CHAPTER THREE

CLAY pulled on a white T-shirt over his freshly showered torso, wincing slightly as the fabric settled onto his shoulders.  He’d overdone it a little today, staying out just long enough to make himself uncomfortable.  After he and the lovely Tate Hennessey had parted company, sun awareness hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind. Ironic, really, considering that had been a predominant part of their conversation.

As for ironic, how about the fact that he’d driven eight hours through the night to escape the recurring image of the dark-haired little boy he’d failed to save, only to have another one thrown virtually into his lap.

The psychological gods were obviously having a good laugh at his expense.

Winding a belt around his waist, he decided to put off analyzing the situation and his reaction to it for a couple more days.

After all, he was