The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance)

by Laura Drake

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s so sad. He’s such a nice guy. I’m sure he’s made mistakes in his life but who hasn’t?” Her words sped up. “I mean, who is his son to judge? It’s real easy to sit back and look at all the bad things your parents did. But you know, they did the best—”

  “Wait, slow down. What did his son do?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “His son won’t come see his dad. All Barney wants before he dies is to talk to him, and the idiot refuses to come.”

  “You’ve called him?”

  She had been hanging around Nacho long enough that she now had the eye roll down. “Only twenty times. He won’t even pick up the phone anymore.”

  Worry niggled at his brain. Worry that she was harassing a total stranger. Worry that she wouldn’t appreciate him pointing out that fact. “Priss, do you really think what you’re doing is a good idea? I mean, you don’t know this guy, right?”

  “No. And I don’t want to know him. I just want him to visit his damned father.” She dropped her cheek on her fist. “Loser.”

  “Okay, so forget about him. What about other family members? Does he have any female—”

  “Shit!” She bolted upright, lethargy gone. “I’m an idiot, and you’re brilliant!” She hopped up, leaned over, took his face in her hands and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Sin gave them a flat stare and Adam flushed. “Not that I mind being brilliant, but what—”

  “Barney’s grandson is a Tiger!” She spread her arms as if he’d just given her the secret to the universe.

  “That would make him even more dangerous than his son. Aren’t there any nice old ladies in the family?”

  “What kind of baseball fan are you, Adam?” She put a hand on her hip. “He plays shortstop for the Detroit Tigers.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure Barney’s proud. But how does that—”

  “For such a brilliant guy, you can be slow sometimes.” She snapped her fingers. “Hey, Sin, could I have Sunday’s LA Times?” She strode to the counter. “Come on, cough it up. I know you do the crossword every friggin’ day.”

  Sin does the LA Times Crossword? He took another spoonful of ice cream to cool off his brain. “The world’s gone mad.” But he didn’t say it loud enough for either of the women to hear. He had some sense of self-preservation.

  Sin took out a section and handed the rest over to Priss.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, fairly sure he didn’t want to know.

  Priss ruffled through, took one section and strode back to the table. “Barney’s son is not talking to me. Even if he picked up my call, he wouldn’t give me his son’s number. And I hardly think he’d be listed in the phone book even if I knew where he lived, which I don’t.” She scanned page after page. “But I do know where he’ll be every Saturday for the next month.” She dropped the paper on the table and stabbed a finger at a column. “The Tigers’ schedule.”

  Alarm skittered up his spine. “Priss, you’re not thinking about going to see him.”

  She looked at him like he was an odd bug. “Well, I hardly think if I call the home office for his cell number, that they’ll give it to me.”

  She had a point. But there had to be another way. Her aloof look and tightened jaw told him how far he’d get poking holes in her plan. “What’s his name?”

  She frowned. “Um...”

  “You mean you’re going to see a guy, and you don’t even know his name?”

  “Hang on, hang on. It’ll come to me.” She put her fingers to her temples, as if she could pull the name out of her head. “It was something about an animal...not a tiger. A...Otter! That’s it!”

  “His grandson’s name is Otter?”

  “Sandy Otto. Porter told me Barney’s son had his name legally changed to his mother’s maiden name.”

  “Before you go off on some crazy chase, let me make some calls. I’ve stayed in touch with some baseball people. Maybe I can get you a number.”

  The rumble of glass-pack mufflers rattled the sundae dishes stacked behind the counter. A midnight-black Chevy truck from the sixties pulled to the curb in front of the store. Violet ghost flames ran its length and flattened chrome tailpipes almost dragged the pavement. The passenger door opened and Nacho hopped out. Bear climbed out the other side, walked to the bed and lifted out Adam’s old bike.

  Priss put an arm around Adam’s neck. “Gotta go start dinner.” She pulled him down and laid one on him. Not a smack this time, but a searing, grown-woman kiss.

  “’Scuse me, boss,” Sin said. “But Ms. Feeney is at the prescription counter with a hemorrhoid ring.”

  Priss let go of the back of his neck, but he saw in her eyes she hadn’t wanted to. “Thanks, Adam. I mean it.”

  “No reason to thank me, yet.” He glanced out the window. Nacho stood waving goodbye to the truck that was pulling away from the curb. “Nacho may be a few minutes coming upstairs. I need to talk to him.”

  “He won’t bite.”

  He whipped his head around. Was he that obvious?

  Priss’s smile was tender. “Under all that attitude is a lost kid, Adam. Talk to that kid, not the one you see, and you’ll do fine.” Then she was gone, jogging down the aisle toward the back door.

  “No running in the store!” he yelled after her. Ignoring Sin’s raised pierced eyebrow and Ms. Feeney’s hemorrhoid ring, he walked to the front door.

  * * *

  NACHO LIFTED THE bike onto the sidewalk and headed for the alley, hoping Priss would make good on her promise of pizza for dinner.

  “Hey, Nacho.” Adam’s voice came from behind.

  His stomach clenched, cutting off a growl. He turned. “Yeah?” What now?

  Adam walked up. “How’d the bike do today?”

  Wary, he frowned. “Okay.”

  Adam put his hands in his back pockets but didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, and thanks for letting me use it.”

  “No problem. It was just sitting in the garage.” He ran his fingers across the seat. “It was a good bike—still is, I guess.”

  Why is he just standing there? If I’m in trouble, he should just yell and get it over with.

  But Adam didn’t seem mad. He seemed all nervous, like he had in the office yesterday, with his brochures.

  “I owe you an apology. My friend found the dollar. Penny had it.”

  It took Nacho a few seconds to overcome the shock of hearing an adult apologize. “That’s okay.” He rolled the bike toward the alley. When Adam touched his shoulder, he stopped.

  Adam walked around, to look him in the face. “No, it’s not. It had to hurt to get called out in front of people you didn’t know for something you didn’t do.” He held out a hand. “A man apologizes when he knows he’s wrong.”

  Even more surprised by this offer, Nacho shook the outstretched adult hand.

  Adam blew out a breath. “Whew. Glad that’s over.”

  He was nervous to talk to me? This day was getting weirder by the minute.

  “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. How did it go at Bear’s today?”

  Nacho wheeled the bike through the alley. “Oh man, you shoulda seen. He’s got this shortie faring from a guy’s Harley that wraps around above the headlight. He’s airbrushing a skull chewing barbed wire on it. It’s gonna be legendary.”

  “Sounds amazing.”

  “It is. Then Bear’s got these rims he’s gotta powder-coat. He says maybe he’ll let me help.”

  “You’re lucky to get to work with him.” Adam smiled. “You’re going to do fine.”

  Why is he being so nice all of a sudden? He doesn’t really ca
re.

  Does he?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PRISS STOPPED, MIDPOUR. “What are— What’s wrong?”

  The bright light from the open door seared her bar-adjusted eyes but she’d recognize that broad-shouldered silhouette anywhere. She put down the martini shaker as Adam strode to the bar.

  “Everything’s fine.” He leaned his forearms on the bar. “Oh, hi, Gaby. How are you feeling?”

  “Fair to middlin’. Those shoe inserts you gave me helped.” Gaby lifted her drink tray and walked away.

  Priss closed her mouth. It made sense that Adam would know most everyone in here; he was the town’s pharmacist. But for some reason, she’d never thought about that before.

  She finished pouring. Wiping her hands on her apron, she shot a look around, seeing her workspace through a stranger’s eyes. Well, hardly a stranger’s. She snatched a crumpled napkin from the bar and swiped a wet spot with a towel. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Adam.” Porter raised his glass in salute.

  Adam waved, but his eyes remained on her. “Can you take a quick break?”

  She checked her customers’ drink levels. “Can you guys live without me for ten minutes?”

  Attention locked on the game show, they murmured assent.

  She tipped her chin toward the back door and untied her apron.

  Blinded by the bright noon sunshine of the alley, she grasped his upper arm and he led her to where Mona sat like an elephant seal basking in the sun. “Did you get a number for Sandy Otto?” She leaned against the car door, hope rising in her chest. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “No. That’s what I came to tell you. My source couldn’t get access.” He leaned on the door beside her. “But you’ll be there for your friend, and I know that will be—”

  She pounded a fist on Mona’s side. “Shit.”

  “He’s only a backup shortstop but the teams take great pains to protect their players. There are lots of crazies out there.”

  “Dammit. I’ll have to go to him.” The cogs in her brain whirred, considering the logistics.

  “Why is this your problem?” He turned and took her sore hand, running his thumb over the back. “Look, I know you have a soft spot for the old guy and you’re a loyal friend. I admire you for it, really, I do. But, Priss, you’ve known this guy for, what, two months?”

  His frown burrowed, digging into a place she didn’t want to go. She looked at her feet. “He’s a sad old man. Can’t you imagine lying in a bed all alone, waiting to die?”

  “You’re right. It’s incredibly sad.” Adam’s regard illuminated her deep dark corners like an interrogator’s spotlight. “But you’re not normally the warm and fuzzy type so this makes even less sense to me.” He held out his hands. “I’m just trying to understand you.”

  Suddenly the liquefied sludge of guilt, pain and regret that had heated in her gut the past few days pushed up through the crust she’d built over the years.

  “So, what are you saying? I’m too tough?” The superheated words burned coming out. “I can’t be human? Care about other people? Oh, no, not Priss Hart. She’s a hard-ass.” She crossed her arms to cover truth. “She doesn’t have feelings like the ‘other people.’ You know, the ones who have money and class, and...what the hell are you looking at?”

  “What is this really about, Priss?”

  His dark eyes captured her and like the sun through a magnifying glass, the focus made her squirm.

  “Why does this hurt you so?”

  “Because I let my mother die, all alone!” Her shout echoed off the brick building, coming back to slap her in the face. “I left and never looked back. Oh, I made excuses. I ran her faults through my head over and over, until I brainwashed myself into believing that she didn’t deserve better....”

  She hauled in a breath and tried to hold back the words, but what could stop lava?

  “She didn’t deserve that. She was just a lost little girl in a woman’s body, trying to fill a hole in herself with the next man, and the next man. All she wanted was someone to accept her, to love her. I’m her daughter, and I walked away. I blamed her for everything shitty in my life. Don’t you see what a colossally horrific thing that was to do?” She wiped her sleeve across her nose. “The last few days, every time I close my eyes I see her lying in that hospital bed trying to pull in air like a fish flopping on a bank. And where was I? Off, flying blind, thinking I was a success. Thinking I was—”

  He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

  She’d have been okay if he’d just let her get mad. But nice was her undoing—always had been. Her eyes leaked onto his shirt.

  After some time, he whispered into her hair, “Priss, you’ve got it all wrong.” His voice rumbled through his chest, against her cheek. “I’m sure your mother didn’t want you crippled and chained to her.”

  His hand rubbed her back in soothing circles, and too destroyed to argue, she just listened, accepting the comfort that poured into the hole in her chest like cool water.

  “Think about it, hon. If that were you, would you want Nacho hovering, suffering with you? Or would you want him out in the world, living a full life?”

  The truth in his words trickled into her parched soul. She stayed in the caring circle of his arms only a few seconds more, afraid if she stayed any longer she’d never leave. She sniffed and backed up, wiping her cheeks. “How did you get so damned smart, Preston?”

  “I’m not smart at all. You were just too close to see the truth.” He pulled an ironed handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her.

  Grateful to have found the only man under seventy who still carried a linen handkerchief, Priss took it, mopping her face and his shirt with it. It gave her something to do to avoid looking at him. “You may be right, Adam, but I can’t see that part right now. Just let me hurt, okay?”

  * * *

  ADAM LEANED AGAINST the car, his brain considering and discarding excuses like a veteran postal employee sorted mail. Priss had given him another glimpse of the vulnerable woman behind all the tough. And he didn’t want to slam that door. But babysitting Nacho for two days was about as crazy an idea he’d ever heard. “I do understand why you feel the need to go, Priss, I do.” Head down, he walked away a few steps, then back. “But this guy could be a psycho for all you know.”

  “Everybody knows the Cubs snatch up all the psychos.” She gave him a wan smile.

  “How about if I go with you?” He stopped in front of her and took her hand.

  “Thanks, Adam. But this is something I have to do. For me. Besides, you’re my babysitter.”

  “What?” He backed up a step.

  “I can’t ask your mother to take Nacho on. She’s off the walker now and she’s a love, but he’s too much for her.”

  “How about...” His brain couldn’t fill in the blank. She sure as hell wouldn’t allow Nacho to stay with Bear. And after last weekend, Adam wasn’t going to suggest the Beauchamps.

  She spread her hands. “See?” She pushed away from the car. “I’ve got to get back to work. I know I’m asking a lot. Just think about it, will you?”

  She took the step that separated them, twining her fingers in his. When she looked up his heart kicked his ribs. Swimming in the depth of her sea-green eyes was that passionate, sensitive woman he’d chased. But now he saw more. He saw that she felt those same things for him.

  Startled, he glanced at her expression. Still open and hopeful but what he’d seen in her eyes wasn’t there anymore. Could he have seen more than she’d allowed herself to?

  Or was he putting his wishes into her eyes?

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, a soft, quick kiss. “No matter what you decide, thank you, Adam. For everything.” She turned and walked to the door, opened it
and flashed him a Mona Lisa smile.

  * * *

  A WEEK LATER, Priss threaded her arms through the straps of her duffel bag and shrugged it onto her back. “Now, Nacho, you’re going to take good care of Adam, right?” She lifted her fanny pack from the kitchen table and clipped it around her waist. “Remember, he’s a rookie.”

  “Oh, yeah, don’t worry.” Nacho rubbed his hands together.

  “Not funny, Nacho. I mean it.”

  Luckily, Adam was smiling, even if it looked artificial. “We’ll be fine. Do you have my car keys? I gassed it up last night.”

  He’d threatened not to keep an eye on Nacho if she tried to drive Mona to LAX, so she’d agreed to take his “reliable” car. She patted her pocket. “Right here.”

  “I still wish you’d wait three weeks, when the Tigers come to San Fran. The three of us could make a weekend of it.”

  “I’m not sure Barney will be around that long.” And by then, Nacho and I will be packing to move. “I’d better get going.” She walked over to where Nacho sat doing homework at the kitchen table, looking innocent. “Nacho, you’ve got my phone, right?” She’d insisted on leaving her phone with him, just in case he needed to call Adam.

  He pulled the phone from his pocket and held it up.

  “You behave, kid. I mean it. If I’m lucky, I’ll be back Monday night. But latest, Tuesday.” She gave him a quick, fierce hug.

  He shrugged her off. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, already.”

  Adam followed her out of the apartment, closing the door behind him. When she turned to say goodbye, he thrust a wad of neatly folded bills into her hand.

  “I have enough money.”

  “I know. But keep it, just in case. You can give it back when you come home.”

  “Adam, I’ve got it. Promise.” She handed the bills back. “But thank you.”

  “It’s just that Tropicana Field is in a crappy part of St. Petersburg.” His lips pursed.

  “I’ve got reservations at the Holiday Inn, and I’ll take a taxi to the game. Will you stop worrying?” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye and hopefully distract him from his questions.