The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  “You never asked.”

  “It never occurred to me to ask a young woman—”

  “Well, that’s not my fault.” When the storm in his eyes worsened, tornado sirens went off in her mind. She’d pushed too far. Her deep, cleansing breath doused the last flickering flames of her anger. “Look. This is not going to be a problem. I’m home from the bar a half hour after he gets home from school, and—”

  “The bar?”

  “My job. I’m a bartender at Bar None.”

  Fists clenched, he looked up to the inside of the awning. Priss knew it was a prayer on his part, asking for strength.

  “You have a problem with how I earn your rent money, dude?” She tightened the muscles of her chest and core, attempting to smother the anger flare-up that she couldn’t afford. The battle wouldn’t matter if she lost the war.

  He took a step back, eyes narrowed. “Yes, I have many problems actually. You told me you were in customer service.”

  Ouch. A rare attack of conscience slipped like a shiv between her ribs. “A bartender is a customer service job.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Look, I promise you that my brother is not going to be a problem.” She crooked a finger at Nacho who, in spite of his casual perusal of the street, was listening to every word.

  He walked over to Priss immediately.

  She pointed a finger at Adam. “You tell this man that you’re sorry. And that this is never going to happen again.”

  Maybe the kid did have some survival instinct, because he looked up at the pissed-off pharmacist with tears in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Damned right it won’t. I may not be able to evict you but I’m going to be watching.” He studied Nacho as if he were a small, venomous snake. “The only reason I’m not having you arrested is because you just lost your mother.” He shot a glance at Priss, and then back. “But you are not allowed in my store. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Nacho’s voice shook.

  Is this an act? He was either very good or very sorry. Priss intended to find out which, as soon as she got him upstairs.

  “I am not happy about this. But it appears I have no choice.” Adam turned to look down on her. “For the moment.” He turned on his heel, strode to the door, pulled it open, and with one backward glare, walked in.

  Priss felt a wasp-sting of regret for having misled him. But she hadn’t had a choice; the county had put her back against the wall.

  Screw it. He didn’t matter. Nacho did.

  She took a firm hold of his upper arm and pulled. “You and me, dude. We need to talk.” She led him around the building to the back entrance. The entrance she’d been relegated to as a kid. The one she’d worked her ass off to avoid since.

  Until today.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  YOU ARE NOT GOING TO YELL. In spite of the anger singing in her veins, Priss managed to close the apartment door gently.

  Nacho crossed to the window that looked down on Hollister. “This is cool.”

  The setting sun highlighted the soft planes of his face, reminding her that he was still a boy. One who had just lost his old life, such as it was. And she planned to show him that life could be better than he’d known so far—after she killed him. “What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how close you just came to going to juvie?”

  He walked past the kitchen, to the bedroom. “Where do I sleep?”

  “The big couch in the living room opens to a bed.”

  “Okay.” His voice echoed from the bathroom.

  “Get your butt out here. We’re not done.”

  He slouched back in the room, and leaned against the doorjamb, thumbs in his low-rider jeans pockets. She pointed to the table for two between the kitchen and the living area. He walked over, sat and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Priss took a deep breath and tamped down the urge to throttle him. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you disregarded my instruction to wait outside the pharmacy until I got there.” She took a deep breath. Kinder and gentler. “But explain to me what possessed you to try to shoplift in this store, of all places? Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

  He pursed his lips so hard his bottom lip jutted out.

  “Why did you do it?” She could play this game. She crossed her arms and waited.

  He lasted about thirty seconds. “You’re not my mother.”

  “True thing. Because if I had a kid, he’d know better than to pull a bonehead stunt like this. Why did you do it?”

  “I don’t have to tell you.” He moved, just a bit in the seat.

  “The court appointed me your guardian. So yeah, you do. But you have choices, you know. I mean, if you went back to county, you could be fostered out. Or maybe adopted.”

  His head snapped up.

  She dropped her hands and held them palm out. She hadn’t meant to scare him. “Look, I signed up for this gig. You can count on me to carry it through. But you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m not going back there.” His flinty tone told her that it wasn’t just an answer to her question—it was a vow.

  “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say so far. So that’s settled. You stay with me.”

  He sat up and put his elbows on the table. “So what’s for dinner?”

  She leaned against the kitchen bar and crossed her arms again. “Tell me why you did it.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “It was our initiation.”

  “Initiation to what?”

  “Me ’n’ Joe ’n’ Diego. We’re starting a gang.”

  A gang in Disneyland? Good luck with that, kid. She managed not to smile. “Here. In Widow’s Grove.” He may be from the wrong side of the tracks but she’d be willing to bet the only gang he’d ever seen was on TV.

  “Yeah.” He made his best “gang” sign, and tried to look badass.

  She didn’t know whether to kill him or laugh. Taking a deep breath, she paused a moment to get control of both urges. “Okay. Let’s get some rules out of the way. First, I’m saying it again. The store is off-limits. Period.” She walked over, pulled a key from her pants, and put it on the table in front of Nacho. “This is your key. It opens the alley door and our apartment. Don’t lose it.”

  “Okay.” He slipped it into his pocket.

  “Second. No law-breaking. We’ve got enough troubles as it is.” She walked to the kitchen. “And last—there’s a sweet little old lady across the hall. She’s the pharmacist’s mother. You’re not to bother her, or be loud.”

  “He has a mother?”

  “Don’t be a brat. You should be happy he didn’t call the cops.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m just pumped.”

  “Besides, it was Sin who narked on you.”

  His eyes got round. “The goddess at the food counter?” He sighed out the words.

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t believe it. She’s too cool.”

  “Well, believe it.” Priss pulled open the fridge door, happy to have that over with. She thought it had gone pretty well, considering. “So what do you want for dinner? I didn’t know what you liked so I got corn dogs, sliders, and frozen pizza.”

  “Pizza.” When he smiled, the change was so startling that she realized it was the first time she’d seen him do it. He transformed from a ten-year-old gangster to a fresh-faced kid in a cereal commercial.

  He really is cute. She had to return his smile, longing for the days when pizza could fix everything. Pulling out the frozen pizza, she set it on the counter, then searched the cupboard beneath it for a baking sheet.

  One problem handled, her mind turned to the next.

&nbs
p; I’m going to have to find a way to smooth it over with the landlord.

  She’d have been glad to leave her street skills behind when she left Vegas. But at the look of distaste on Adam’s face when he found out she hadn’t told him the whole truth, she’d felt a rare prick of conscience. She refused to be sorry for what she had done. She’d committed to taking care of Nacho and she would use any tool she had in order to do it.

  But it was going to cost her.

  * * *

  ADAM SAT IN the crowded auditorium at UC Santa Barbara with June Sellers, the teacher Carley had set him up with, trying not to yawn. June leaned forward in the too-comfy theater seat beside him wearing a silk dress, flowery perfume and a sweet smile.

  On the stage, the string quartet played on. And on. He’d heard Bach before, but always in the background, and usually in elevators. The regimented music reminded him of geometry homework in high school—a necessary evil, except in this situation, without the necessary. He locked his jaw as another yawn threatened. Falling asleep on the first date would not bode well for a second date. And he did want a second date. He did.

  A couple didn’t have to like all the same things to have a successful relationship. After all, she was pretty, classy, feminine, quiet—and he was...bored. He shifted in his seat; even his butt was falling asleep. If someone had asked him to describe his perfect woman three months ago he would have described June, almost down to her flowy dress. But for some reason, his dream, in the flesh, wasn’t all he’d imagined.

  And that didn’t make any sense. Maybe the physical attraction would build like a slow fire as they got to know each other better. Slow fires were good. They were controllable—safe.

  The applause of the audience broke his reverie. The quartet members took a bow, and the audience was set free. Thank God.

  June gathered her light sweater and small purse. “Wasn’t that sublime?”

  He touched her elbow to guide her to the aisle. “I have to admit, I’m not a huge Bach fan.”

  “Really? What classical composer do you prefer?”

  “Jim Morrison. Or maybe Eric Clapton.” He held the door for her. “They’re as classic as they come.”

  He smiled at her scrunched brows as she breezed past him. He waved to Jenny Hastings and her husband, Dave, who was rubbing his eyes as if he’d just woken from a nice nap.

  Wanting to impress June, Adam had made reservations for a window table at Demure Damsel, Widow’s Grove’s only four-star restaurant, housed in one of the new Victorians lining Hollister.

  It was a short drive to the restaurant and once they were inside and seated, Adam studied June’s profile as she gazed over the formal English garden in the courtyard of the restaurant. She looked like she’d time-traveled from England with her fine-boned face, big blue eyes and a tiny nose. In the natural light, her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her white-blond hair was twisted up, held with a crystal pin and some kind of magic.

  “So, tell me about yourself, June.”

  She turned to him with a close-lipped smile. “Well, you already know that I’m a schoolteacher. I was raised in Boston.” She didn’t pronounce it “Baaston.” She drew out the o’s—a sure sign of class.

  “My father is a fine-art importer and he just opened his first gallery in San Francisco. I applied for teaching positions there, but when the opening came up in Widow’s Grove I decided to take it for the remainder of the school year. Then we’ll see.” She looked at her lap. “I’m already missing my parents. This is the furthest I’ve ever lived from them.”

  He took a sip of his very nice Napa chardonnay. “What do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes sparkled and she leaned forward. “I do needlepoint. It’s my passion.”

  “That, and Bach, right?”

  “Yes, just so. What do you do in your off-hours?”

  “I run the Senior Baseball League in town and I pitch for one of the teams.”

  “Baseball is your passion, then?” She took a delicate sip of wine.

  “I guess you could say that. I was on my college team, then I was recruited by the L.A. Dodgers.”

  When her eyes widened, staring down, he realized his elbows were on the table. He slid his hands into his lap. “I played with them one season.”

  Her nostrils flared. “What happened?”

  He tasted the sharp tang of bitterness that wasn’t due to the wine. “I wasn’t good enough.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  The old wound ached like Ms. Clark’s rheumatism. He shrugged. “Ancient history.”

  The black-bow-tied waiter saved him by arriving to take their order. Adam chose a fillet and June ordered salmon in caper sauce.

  When the waiter left, she said, “Owning the town pharmacy and caring for the town’s residents is a lot of responsibility. It must be a challenging job.” She looked at him, her china-blue eyes wide, as if he really was all that.

  He sat up straighter. It wasn’t every day that a pharmacist got to feel like a superhero. And it was in stark contrast to how the last woman he talked to had made him feel.

  Priss, that raven-haired little hellcat, had turned on him hissing and spitting, like he’d tried to steal her kitten. He felt a muscle jump in his jaw. “Normally I enjoy the job. Today was a challenge.”

  “How so?”

  He told her the story of the delinquent who turned out to be his tenant. By the time he finished, June’s delicately arched brows hovered near her hairline. “That woman lied to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her spine was light-pole straight. “I think that’s despicable.”

  He remembered Priss, hand tight around her brother’s arm marching him to the alley. Adam wouldn’t have wanted to be that kid. By not calling the cops, he may have consigned the boy to a worse fate. “You have to admire her for taking her brother in, though.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she sniffed. “She sounds like an alley cat.”

  The waiter wheeled a cart to their table and began tossing their salads.

  More like a mother panther—wild, protective and dangerous.

  After the waiter set their salads in front of them, Adam asked, “How do you like Widow’s Grove so far?”

  As the dinner wore on, the conversation didn’t get any more exciting.

  It was late when he pulled into June’s drive. No generic apartment for June; she’d rented a small cottage behind one of the Victorians that lined the street into town. When he pulled past the big house the headlights illuminated its Mini-Me—a scaled version right down to the baby-blue lattice fretwork on the porch.

  He shut down the engine. “You sure were lucky to score this little place.”

  “It is sweet, isn’t it? The owner has an antique store in town. He’s one of Daddy’s customers.”

  Adam stepped out of the car and walked around it to open her door. “Well, it fits you.” He offered his hand and helped her out.

  The night was crisp, starry and quiet. The smell of jasmine came from the bushes at the foot of the porch, mingling with June’s perfume, filling his head. He took her hand at the curving stepping-stone walkway. Fine-boned and tiny, it made his look huge by comparison. “Thank you for coming out with me this evening.”

  “I thoroughly enjoyed it.” Together they took the step to the porch. “I’m sorry you didn’t.”

  “On the contrary.” He tugged her hand, turning her to him. “I enjoyed being with you.” Her smile flashed white in the starlight.

  Here we go. He touched her chin, lifting it. He lowered his lips to hers.

  Her lips were cool, as if made of the alabaster her skin resembled. It was a composed, chaste contact.

  He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to spark the heat for a slow, warm fire.
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br />   Her lips didn’t part, and she stepped back. “I’d better get in. It’s late.” She squeezed his hand, then let go. “Thank you. I hope we can do this again.”

  Why would you want to? His kiss hadn’t even struck a spark in her, much less a fire. But her smile in the dark seemed genuine. “Sure thing. Don’t forget to lock up.”

  After she’d stepped inside and he heard the deadbolt click in place, hands in his pockets, Adam retraced his steps to the car.

  No warmth, no tinder. No sparks. He hadn’t even managed to drive the chill from her lips.

  A vaguely familiar ache hit him like vertigo. Trying to place the feeling, he opened the car door and settled onto the seat. He felt off kilter, as if... The key clicked into the ignition as tumblers clicked in his mind, placing the feeling.

  Unfulfilled.

  He couldn’t say when exactly it had begun, but lately it had been calling to him in quiet moments, whispering. He’d ignored it, staying busy until he ended the day tired enough to fall into a quick coma.

  There was a fine shake in his fingers as he started the car and threw it into reverse.

  The disquiet was no longer a whisper. It was a voice on the wind.

  And the wind was change.

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY, Priss pulled up behind Bar None and hit the button to raise Mona’s top. The dark-bottomed clouds looked like rain. She glanced around the alley while Mona’s engine chugged and wheezed and the top lifted.

  The iron security gate on the back door of the bar held more rust than paint, and the ripe scent of garbage drifted from the overfilled Dumpster. The backside of Widow’s Grove was the flip side of its facade. And here she was, once again on the seamy side.

  Pushing her dark thoughts aside, she raised all of Mona’s windows, snatched her wallet and apron from the seat, and stepped onto the oil-stained asphalt. At the door, she stopped to tie her mother’s apron over her jeans, crossing the ties in the back and tying a bow in the front. An odd feeling flowed over her, as if she were going through the exact motions her mother had countless times before her.

  “Not going there today.” She may not be able to get away from her mother’s life at the moment, but she refused to be pulled into the depression of her surroundings. Maybe she’d find something else soon. And even if that didn’t materialize, she knew from experience she could wait out the hard times by keeping her focus on the future.