The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  She snorted. “Testing my sanity.”

  “No. He’s afraid. He’s testing to see if he can trust you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know? You don’t have kids.”

  “Maybe not, but I was a kid once. I can recognize a frightened boy when I see one.”

  She studied his face. Adam knew she was deciding if she could trust him.

  “Look, he’s just lost his mom. They took him to a group home, and I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like. You came to the rescue, but even though you’re blood, you’re still a virtual stranger. I’ve gotta think in his shoes—I’d be pissed, confused and acting out, too.”

  He shrugged and put his hands out, palm up. “What do you think?”

  She cocked her head and watched him. “I think you’re a nice guy.”

  He looked away. “Sometimes it’s easier to see things when you’re not in the middle of it.”

  “Is that why you live like you do?”

  A lightning-bolt warning zipped through him. “What do you mean?” It was a knee-jerk question, but it was out. He couldn’t take it back.

  “I don’t know you well, and I could be full of crap but—”

  “But what?”

  “You stand outside of life, looking in—like you’re a bystander. You watch people living out their messy lives but you don’t get any of the dirt on you.” She was still looking up at him, considering. “Why do you do that?”

  Her concentration made him squirm. When he realized he was toeing the asphalt like a chastised child, he made himself stop. But he couldn’t make himself look at her.

  “Hey.” Her hand touched his arm. “I just open my mouth and shit falls out. I don’t mean anything by it.”

  Reaching into the car, she grabbed her purse and a square of white apron with long tie strings. “I’d better get upstairs.” She tossed the purse strap over her shoulder.

  Apparently they’d both learned something today. He watched her walk away to go deal with Nacho, her small shoulders squared.

  He’d taken the easiest path possible in life. Today he’d met someone who’d taken the hardest. If he hadn’t failed all those years ago, would it have made all the difference?

  * * *

  PRISS’S HEART SETTLED as she climbed the stairs to the apartment. Talking to Adam had given her an idea—a new direction that could guide her through this dizzying parenting maze.

  But the conversation also left her unsettled, as if Adam had jostled something, buried deep. An unnamed emotion stirred, as if awakened. She stepped softly, to lull it back to sleep.

  Adam had acted like he really cared. His dark eyes seemed to hold compassion and he’d stood close, as if he wanted to reach out, to touch her.

  Taking the last step to the landing, she slung off the soft thought. He’d made it clear from the start that she was—inappropriate. God, she hated that word.

  This wasn’t her first rodeo. If a guy like that acted all sweet, he probably just wanted one thing from her.

  She’d think about that later. She strode the hall to her apartment door. Right now, she had more pressing issues. The Good Cop routine had been an epic fail. It was time for the Bad Cop. She took a deep breath, turned the knob and walked in, kicking the door shut with her heel.

  Nacho lay sprawled on the couch, his arm over his eyes.

  She tightened the muscles in her chest to shield her heart and prepared to wade into battle for the second time today. “Let’s finish this.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Oh, you’re not talking? Good, because you don’t need your mouth in order to listen.” She strode to the couch, lifted his feet off it and hung them over the edge.

  At her touch, he bolted upright.

  “Show a little respect. This is a nice place—no feet on the couch.”

  A flash of genuine worry shone in his Nacho’s eyes before the tough-kid mask fell into place.

  She stood over him. “I tried to be the kind of parent that I wish I’d had. But I can see now that was wrong.” She lowered herself onto the other end of the couch. “I’ve got to be the kind of parent you need. And kid, you need discipline.”

  “I had a parent. I never asked for another one,” he muttered under his breath.

  “You’re grounded. For how long will depend on your behavior. I’m calling here every afternoon at three-thirty and if you’re not here to answer the phone, I guarantee you won’t like what happens next.” She paused to be sure that soaked in. “Homework is to be done by the time I get home. If you need help with anything, we’ll work on it after dinner. And from now on, you’re reading to me every night.”

  His lips thinned. A storm gathered in her brother’s dark eyes.

  Oh, God, not again. I can’t handle another scream-fest today. But they’d be right back where they started if she didn’t get control. Like now. She pushed down the dread and grabbed a fistful of grit.

  “I know you’ll have plenty of time for all this, because as soon as I can arrange it, we’ll no longer have a TV. We’re hauling it out of here.”

  “What?” Nacho’s cry of shock and outrage echoed off the high ceilings. “Am I grounded forever? What are we going to do for a TV after that?”

  “Welcome to the real world, kid. I have to pay to have your ‘artwork’ removed. And you will have to repay me.” She watched thoughts flicker across his face, knowing he was searching for an angle, a way out. “You have no money. You can’t get a job. But if we lose the TV, I don’t have to pay for cable anymore. I’m willing to put that toward what you owe me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’d rather read than watch TV anyway.”

  She waited. Nacho would consider his options, then choose: running away, Social Services or her. And probably none of those options looked good to him. But she was betting that he’d see her as the least of the evils. At least she was hoping he would.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it to a thin line of displeasure.

  She released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, then took another deep one. “Now, spill. Who gave you the paint?”

  His eyes cut away. “I bought it.”

  “You had no money, even if a store would sell spray paint to a kid, which they won’t. And don’t tell me you stole it. The cop told me the break-in at the paint store was three weeks ago. You were in the group home then.”

  Silence.

  “Who was it?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t make me tell.”

  She guessed he wouldn’t offer up the thief, but she’d had to try. “Street rules” hadn’t changed since she was a kid. If things went down, you took the hit. Ratting may get you out of grown-up trouble but worse awaited you in the hallways. Kids didn’t have sentencing limits like grown-ups did. Your debt was never paid in that society.

  She, of all people, knew that.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  His body slackened just a bit.

  “But tomorrow you and I are going to the warehouse and you’re going to apologize to the owners, then to the paint shop.”

  He winced. “But I didn’t—”

  “I know you didn’t steal the paint, but you took stolen property. That’s part of the price you pay, dude.” She walked away, but halfway to the bedroom it hit her—he hadn’t agreed. She wasn’t having another mess like the last time. She looked back at him. “So we’ll head out when I get home, right?”

  “Yeah.” The word came out battered, defeated. He threw his arm over his eyes.

  She walked into her bedroom and closed the door. They both needed time to think. But first, she had a phone call to make. She sat on the edge of the bed and dialed.

  “Bar None.” Floyd barked.

  “It’s Priss
.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? You leave midshift? If I wouldn’t be screwing myself, the only view you’d get of this place would be from the other side of the bar.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I had an emergency. Gaby—”

  “Gaby doesn’t know which end of a goddamn beer bottle to open, ferchrssake!”

  Wincing, she pulled the phone a few inches from her ear. “I didn’t leave midshift. I only had a half hour left.” She thought about telling him what had happened. Surely he’d understand that she had no choice. But on the way to her mouth, the words hit a wall.

  Screw Floyd. What happened in her family was none of his business. Nacho may be behaving like a loser, but Floyd wasn’t hearing it from her. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” God, she hated groveling. “Now, either fire me, or get your ass back to pouring.”

  “Let’s see if you can manage to work a whole shift tomorrow.” His gravel cough was Floyd-speak for a chuckle.

  She hung up and fell back onto the bed. Jesus, what a day. She’d dodged that hand grenade, but Nacho had better be done breaking laws because she was running out of moves.

  * * *

  PRISS LIFTED HER end of the TV, trying to get it over the lip of the elevator on the ground floor. “Come on, Nacho, you’re not helping.”

  On his knees in the elevator, Nacho bent to push. “Making me help with my own punishment is just wrong. Arrrgh!”

  The TV shot into the vestibule. Unbalanced, Priss fell on her ass and slid.

  The door to the store opened. Adam stood in the doorframe, frowning. “Nacho, what the—what’s my TV doing here?”

  Priss got to her feet, glaring at her charge. “Right, sorry—guess I should have run this by you first. Tell the man what’s going on, Nacho.”

  “I’m grounded. Apparently forever because she’s getting rid of the TV.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all you’re losing.” She dusted the back of her slacks. “Why don’t you wait for me in the car?”

  Nacho mumbled something inaudible and slouched out the door to the alley.

  She turned back to Adam and tried to catch her breath.

  Superman. In his double-breasted lab coat, with his strong-boned face and one brown curl falling onto his forehead, he looked like Clark Kent, right down to the dimple in his chin.

  “When you want another TV, let me know. I meant to replace that before you moved in. I’ll get a big screen—”

  “Nah. We’re making like Clapton and going unplugged.”

  It took him a few seconds to detach his focus from the TV and shift his eyes to her. “You’re a Clapton fan?” He said it like a kid would say Disneyland.

  “Best guitar player ever. With a nod to Jimi.” She bent and grasped the corners of the massive monstrosity of a TV. “Where do you want me to put it?”

  His hand settled on her arm, a warm, solid presence. “Just leave it there. I’ll have the recyclers pick it up.”

  When she straightened, his hand slid away, along with the warmth. “You’re going to throw it out?”

  “That thing has got to be one of the first models adapted to cable.”

  Barney. A smile unfurled in her chest and found its way to her mouth. “Mind if I give it away?”

  “It’d save me a phone call.”

  “Great, I’ll just—” She bent.

  Both his hands settled on her arms. “Will you stop? There’s no way you can lift that thing.”

  She knew he had brown eyes. But she’d never noticed they were a rich, dark-chocolate brown. Nor had she noticed the pale lines that radiated from their edges, probably earned on a ball field, squinting into the sun.

  He dropped his hands. “Where do you want it?”

  “In Mona’s trunk?”

  “I take it you mean your car. Unless you have an elephant outside.” He bent at the knees, and lifted the TV as if it didn’t weigh over a hundred pounds. “Open the door for me?”

  She hustled to the door and once he was through, Priss trotted to the car where Nacho sat, face forward in the passenger seat. She opened the trunk. “Thanks for doing this.” She scanned his biceps, displayed by the pulled-tight lab coat. “It’s going to a good cause, I promise. I know a guy who—” Realizing she was babbling as well as about to betray a confidence, she shut up.

  Adam grunted lowering his burden, then walked over and pulled a hank of twine off a wooden pallet beside the large garbage bin to secure the trunk lid. “Even together, the two of you cannot lift that thing out of this car. Don’t even try.”

  “We won’t.” She took a step toward the car door, but then turned back. “Adam? Thanks. For this.” She glanced at Nacho, then lowered her voice. “And for yesterday.”

  His Superman smile dazzled. “I’ll see you at coffee tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I want to talk about you playing for our team.”

  She glanced to the back of Nacho’s head. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  She drove Nacho to school in silence. When she pulled up, he jumped out fast.

  “Hey.”

  He slammed the door. “What?” His eyes scanned the knots of kids on the sidewalk.

  She waited until he looked at her. “I’ll call you at three-thirty. Get your homework done. I’ll be home by four-fifteen or so, and we’ll go on the ‘apology tour.’”

  “Okay.”

  The resignation in that word gave her hope. “You have a good day.”

  He turned away with a snort.

  It did suck to be him—but he’d earned every bit of it.

  A horn blatted. She shot a death-ray stare at the Range Rover soccer mom in the rearview mirror and eased Mona forward two feet in line.

  * * *

  PRISS STOOD LOOKOUT, scanning the alley behind the bar.

  Ian lifted one end of the television. “God, this thing weighs a ton!”

  “Shhh.” Priss said, holding the trunk lid. “He’s just on the other side of that door.”

  Porter lowered the gate of his idling truck, then walked over to help. “Barney’s going to be so excited. This is a good thing you’re doing, Priss.” Together the two guys lifted the TV and carried it to the truck.

  “I didn’t do anything. My landlord donated it and loaded it.” She slammed the trunk.

  They slid the TV into the truck bed and Porter closed the tailgate. “You got the key to his room?” she asked.

  “Right here.” Ian tapped the pocket of his slacks. “See you tomorrow, Priss.”

  She waved as they pulled out. Walking to Mona, she realized that she’d left her apron inside. Not that it mattered so much, but she’d hate to lose it.

  She trotted in, snatched the apron from the end of the bar, then turned to head back out to her car.

  Gaby, arms full of fish and chips, pushed out of the swinging kitchen door. She sucked a breath through her teeth that sounded like a snake’s warning. “Watch where you’re going.”

  Priss raised her hands.

  Gaby squinted at her. “You think you’re all high and mighty, giving an old drunk a cast-off from your Big Life. Well, just remember, Miss Priss. I know your true stripes.”

  Priss didn’t have time for a fight. “Yeah, I know. You’ve got your eye on me.”

  “That’s right. Don’t you forget it.” The old vulture shuffled off, her gray hair barely visible over her dowager’s hump.

  Someday I’m going to figure out why she hates me so. But not today—Nacho was waiting.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “LAST APOLOGY COMING UP. I’m sure it’ll be easier than this one.” Priss hit the gas and Mona fishtailed out of the warehouse’s gravel lot and onto the blacktop.

  Nach
o rested his arm on the car door and his chin on his arm. He looked like one whipped puppy.

  She stomped on the niggle of sympathy in her chest before it could grow. He’d earned every bit of the dressing-down he’d gotten from the warehouse owner. But she had to give it to the kid—he had stood tall as he apologized.

  Hopefully Nacho had taken the angry man’s lecture on morality, free will and good citizenship to heart. Even if it had been applied with a bulldozer.

  “I just have one question.” She raised her voice to be heard over the wind. “What was the ‘B’ for?” He’d gotten as far as “Bekins B—” when the cops interrupted.

  “Blows.”

  She bit her lips to keep from smiling. Bad cops weren’t supposed to be amused by poor behavior, no matter how funny. Checking the directions she’d scrawled on the back of an envelope, she took a left at Foxen Canyon Road.

  Wow. She’d never been on this side of town before. The road slipped between rolling hills the color of ripe wheat, with live oaks adding a dusty green accent. The warm sun on her shoulders lifted her spirits. “Isn’t this pretty?”

  Nacho just grunted, but he did sit up and look around.

  A few cotton-ball clouds broke the eye popping blue of the sky, and the smell of hot, growing things swirled in her head.

  Less than a mile from the turnoff, the road narrowed as the hills crowded it. Trees closed in, looming overhead. Slowing, she turned into a dirt drive marked by a rusted mailbox on a leaning post and a hand-lettered sign.

  The Gaudy Widow

  Custom Paint Jobs

  Beside the dirt drive, a sagging barbed-wire fence had fallen into the waist-high weeds in places. She shivered in the chill of the deep shade. After a few hundred feet the drive opened into a dooryard.

  She braked and let the car idle. “I don’t think anyone lives here.”

  It looked like a strong wind could easily level the dilapidated farmhouse on the right, with its boards sagging and silvered with age. Strategically placed car jacks looked to be the only thing holding up the porch while dark windows seemed to watch the trespassers. A huge barn to the left was in worse shape than the house. She could see through the gaps in the flaked red boards to the blackness within. The big doors stood open.