His Reason to Stay

by Jennifer Hoopes

  “I can help, you know.”

  She snorted and continued amassing food. He waited, his narrowed gaze focused on her back. She finally glanced back and froze. “Oh, you were serious?”

  Crossing his arms, he nodded.

  “But this is business.”

  “So?”

  “You hate business.”

  It was so matter of fact. So simple. Her conviction so strong. Hadn’t he helped her over the years? Been a sounding board? Why would wanting to help her now be so downright shocking?

  “I run a business, Tabby.”

  She waved her hand and turned around. “Well, that’s your passion. You don’t think of it as a business. This is the stuff you hate. That you ran from.”

  She sucked in a harsh breath, her truth as she apparently believed, lingering in the charged silence in the room. Tabby moved fast, coming up beside him, laying her hand on his still crossed forearm. “I didn’t mean it like that. Not running away. I mean you struck out on your own. Created something you wanted.”

  “And left my family to deal with the business? Is that what you really think of me?”

  “Eli, no.” She placed a warm palm against his stubbled cheek. “I admire you. You know that. I know how you feel about the family business, because I feel that way, too. I carved my own way just like you.”

  He longed to throw her hand off. To find a punching bag and pummel every ounce of guilt rising up his throat. Because even though he knew she believed what she told him, her words had opened a guilt mound he’d carried around since hearing of the death of his father and brother.

  “But you did so by staying around.”

  Now both hands cradled his face, forcing him to meet her hard blue gaze. “You found your passion, just like I did. Only mine happened to be here. Yours took you where you needed to be. You soared out there. Can you say the same would have been true if you’d stayed here?”

  He unfolded his arms and placed his hands on top of hers. “I don’t know,” he whispered. It was a heavy confession, and Tabby, true to form, didn’t wave it away. She searched his eyes, and slowly, as if every centimeter was an internal argument, she rose up on her toes and brought their lips together. It was the first time, since the night of the wedding, she’d initiated anything. It was simple, sweet, everything a partner would provide in a moment of comfort. Nothing too sexual or inviting. Pure connection, an I-know-exactly-what-you-need gesture.

  He kept the kiss light, let her lead, willing to show her that despite the fact he was confident in all his decisions, he could be a partner. That he believed in her strength and capabilities, and he was more of an amplifier to her strength than a burden.

  She ended the kiss, lowering her heels, and a blush spread instantly across her porcelain cheeks. He placed a finger against lips he felt sure were about to apologize. Her eyes widened.

  “Don’t say it.”

  She smiled under his fingertip, and he returned the gesture and stepped back, allowing the wall of heat, no matter how simple and sweet, to dissipate.

  When she made no move to go, he nodded toward the kitchen. “I believe you were about to feed me.”

  She shook her head and turned, her curvaceous bottom swaying away and around the island. “I suppose southern hospitality dictates it.”

  “Do you care which room I take?” Maybe yours?

  “No. Either guest is fine. They’re both furnished.”

  He told himself it was stupid to be disappointed. They weren’t married; hell, they weren’t even a couple. They were co-guardians who had carnal knowledge of each other. But some naive little giddy part of himself said, Wouldn’t it be fun if she wanted it to be that way? Kicking that giddy shit in the butt, he grabbed his two bags off the couch and went up the stairs. Just to prove he wasn’t going to moon over her and her sweet lips, he chose the guest room farthest from hers. Now there was a whopping twenty extra feet between them and two more walls.

  He crossed the threshold and took in the simple jeweled tones. The dark wood bed was covered in a ruby blanket, the walls painted a deep gold with navy accents. Nothing overtly feminine or frilly. He dropped his camera bag on the wingback chair done in a simple leaf pattern that reminded him of the ferns he’d seen in Australia and crossed to the closet. The door slid open just as the bedroom door banged against the wall.

  “Eli, maybe you—”

  She stood frozen, one hand on the door, one on the frame, staring at him. His confusion was evident until he looked back at the closet and saw three racks of baby clothes lined up in marching order. Boy’s and girl’s in every color and possible size. In typical Tabby fashion, she must have planned for every contingency, leaving no surprises.

  He turned and faced her with crossed arms. Her eyes darted between him and the closet as she picked at the hem of her shirt. Pink cheeks broadcasted her embarrassment. In that moment of her uncertainty, all he wanted was to wrap her up in his arms and tell her how very adorable her planning was. To drop kisses on her cheeks and make her see that he was an available support. That she wouldn’t lose anything of what made her perfect by leaning on him.

  But his uncertainty ruled, and instead he asked, “Did you leave any for the rest of us?”

  She took a tentative step into the room and shrugged.

  “Can I at least handle the sports apparel?”

  She smiled. “Depends on what colors you plan on dressing them in.”

  “Orange, gray, and white all the way.” He pumped his fist in the air. “Go Vols.”

  Her gaze focused on the rug. “So you don’t think I’m silly?”

  Eli crossed swiftly to her. “No, I think you’re being exactly what I would expect Tabitha Brodie to be. A planner.” She looked up and punched him.

  He caught her hand. “Just remember you do have another set of hands, shoulders, and wallet to help you.”

  She stared at their joined hands and nodded. Something in his chest rearranged and locked into place, and Eli knew at that moment, leaving might never be an option. Maybe the question wasn’t if Tabby was better off with him than without. Perhaps the better question to ask…was he better off with Tabby than without?

  Chapter Twelve

  Tabby had shared a home with people before. After all, she’d been raised in the big cabin with her father and Lydia and two step-siblings. But one, she’d been a child, and that had been a really big house. And two, Eli hadn’t been the one in her personal space.

  When his penchant for blasting bluegrass music reared its ugly head for the third time in an evening, she silently screamed, grabbed her laptop, and escaped out the back door. By the time his eardrums forgave him, and he noticed she was no longer at the table behind him, he might not even have time to discover where she was.

  Slipping down the lighted flagstone path toward the pond, she stepped up into the gazebo and settled onto the wicker settee. The back side was open to the water and any visitors that might grace its surface. At this moment, that meant a mallard and her babies all swimming in a row.

  She laughed. Lord, will I ever have my ducks in a row like this mamma does?

  Tabby pictured trying to go anywhere with double the stuff and doing it on her own. Two children, two car seats, two feedings, two changes of clothes. God, just the mental list to take an imaginary trip had her curling her legs under and wrapping herself up in her arms.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  How many times had she thought this since the accident? Since realizing in the split second after knowing her sister and father were gone that she still had life growing inside her. And in that spilt second of overwhelming grief, the only person she’d wanted was Eli.

  Well, she had him. And now all she could think about was when he would go. He had to go.

  But there, in her own little escape hatch, with the procession of ducks before her, he
r mind conjured up another scenario. One where another set of hands loaded a baby up and took care to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. Those hands were strong and steady. They handled everything with a happy-go-lucky shrug and a smile that melted her panties off. They were hands that had held her through tears and cheers over the years. And even one night had held her in passion.

  But now?

  “Run you out of your own house?”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see the owner of the hands swaggering his fine body down to join her. She made room on the settee, and he settled in the opposite corner, their bodies only inches apart on the small piece of furniture.

  Another place he invaded and overwhelmed.

  “Well, you seemed to want to be alone with your banjo tunes, so I came out here to do work.”

  He glanced at the unopened laptop and back to her. “Efficient, I see.”

  Tabby shrugged. He didn’t run her company or her life. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. Maybe the constant barrage of her accomplishments would drive home that point to her heart? She was doing fine on her own. She could do this.

  “When did you have this built?”

  Sometime during her mental pep talk, Eli had risen and now leaned over the left railing, looking down in the inky water.

  “Last summer. I have a swing on its way. One of the artists at the commune is working on it. One your mom always used.”

  “Jasinda Earl?”

  Tabby nodded.

  “Might have to baby-proof it soon.”

  Tabby took in the open side in front of her. She’d known about the potential surrogacy last year when she’d had it built, but it was only supposed to be a surrogacy. Not a full time, rest-of-her-life gig. More changes, more things to do. Not that she was complaining. It was a special gift to have her sister’s children growing inside of her. A little bit of Maisie left. But there was so much to prepare. So much to continue working on and figuring out. And now there was the link to the man who overwhelmed what had been a safe, peaceful place until five minutes ago.

  “You know you could probably do a clear epoxy or something so you don’t lose the view.”

  She glanced up at him to see him pacing it out and eyeing up the view.

  Taking charge as usual.

  “I’ll see. I don’t need to make any decisions yet. They won’t be mobile for a while. But when the time comes, I’ll make the right decision.”

  Her choice of pronouns didn’t slide by him. He crossed his arms and opened his mouth but thought better of whatever he was going to say.

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head. The thought of food and drink brought a permanent frown to her face. Morning sickness was the pits, but she had all-day sickness, and keeping anything down had proven a labor of Hercules.

  “Tea?”

  That she could manage, at least in small doses, and she had a feeling if she continued with the head shaking, Eli would order a whole smorgasbord from Patty Bean’s and have it delivered. Then proceed to force-feed her bite by bite.

  Just the thought of steamed spinach and black eyed peas had her wrapping her arms around her stomach.

  She snatched up her laptop and followed him out of the gazebo and up the path. She kept a reasonable distance between them, just as two friends would, but regardless, his very essence reached across the space and stroked her senses, urging her to close the gap. It seemed since his proximity had gotten closer, her libido had increased tenfold. Funny for a woman who’d been a virgin up until last year, she certainly seemed to crave an awful lot of passion.

  Or maybe she craved an awful lot of Eli.

  Either way, the craving would remain just that. Things were already complicated enough without throwing great sex into the mix.

  The peace of the cabin was welcome, and she hoped his attachment to loud music had broken, at least for the evening.

  “Any kind in particular?”

  “Peppermint, please.”

  She curled up in the armchair and opened her laptop. Thirty-two new emails populated, and she closed her eyes on a sigh. It was time to face the facts that she needed someone to help.

  “You okay?”

  Her eyes popped open to see a steaming mug and a concerned face. God, how long had she been there wallowing about her email mountain?

  “Fine. Just tired.”

  “You should rest. I read that this is the worst time for your body, and I imagine it’s double because there are two.” He winked. “And most likely triple because they’re Ellises.”

  “You read?”

  “Good lord, Tabby, I’m not illiterate.”

  “No. I know that. It’s just…” She leaned closer as if imparting some secret. “I’ve never seen you with a book.”

  “Gee, you really think I only have my looks to recommend me?”

  He tried to play it off, but the underlying hurt strained his voice. She wasn’t being fair. Yes, they knew each other in the most intimate way, both physical and emotional, but they really didn’t know each other. Not now since he’d been staying away far more than he’d been coming home. Or rather she really didn’t know him. Like the fact that he read or blasted bluegrass music, or God, was he adding milk to his tea?

  These were all things she should know. Not because they had a future together, but because the future would include him. While she was convinced he would leave, he would still be a part of the twins’ lives. She had no doubt about that, nor of him living up to his co-guardian responsibilities. And they should know about him. When he was off on assignment, those were things she could share with them.

  He crossed back into the living area and settled on the couch.

  “So what book are you reading?”

  He arched an eyebrow over the mug, and she fought back the swoon. The man was sex on a stick dipped in caramel and sprinkled with jimmies. Or she was an over-hormoned, sex-crazed pregnant lady.

  “What to Expect—”

  “When You’re Expecting.” She laughed. “You could have just borrowed mine.”

  “I’m highlighting.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Honey, no one does research like me.”

  Tingles erupted across her skin. His double meaning was clear in the hooded chocolate gaze zeroed in on her.

  She broke the staring contest and set the rather unsteady tea cup down. “Well, you’re right. I probably should get rest. Another long day tomorrow with meetings.”

  She snapped the computer shut and got up, setting it on the table.

  “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Sleep well, Tabby.”

  She swallowed the snort. All she would do tonight was lay there, knowing he was two rooms away and would make for an awesome bed companion. Then she would lecture herself on all the ways this would go smoother if he stayed out of her arms and her bed. Then she would remember their night in the barn. It was a hellish cycle.

  She knew.

  She’d lived it the past three nights.

  …

  Eli let Tabby escape. Strategic retreat was called for tonight as her skittishness was broadcasted loud and clear. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy to bring her over to his side. It would take a lot of little instances, like at the gazebo, to show her he was serious. He was here for her. Full. Stop.

  He went into the kitchen and cleaned up the mugs and kettle. Pulling out his own laptop, he sorted through the emails he’d neglected since he’d been home. Five were marked urgent and flagged from one of the magazine editors. The same one he’d said “no” to about the new assignment. The first one was a simple request to change his mind. By the third one, “please” appeared more than any other words combined, and by the fifth, the woman was so desperate he was pretty sure she’d promised him her first born.

  Firing off a
cordial thanks-but-no-thanks, Eli shut it down and lowered his head to his hands. He had no idea why Sara was so insistent that he be the one for the story. The entire photography team of the magazine was freelancers. She had her pick of the cream of the crop, not to toot his own horn. Even if her original guy had backed out, there were probably five other guys who could do just as good a job, if not better.

  Oh well, not his problem to worry about. He straightened and leaned back on the edge of the chair, clasping his arms behind his head. A few muffled bumps sounded overhead, and Eli let his mind trace Tabby’s steps as she got ready for bed. A standard ritual that hadn’t seemed to deviate. In this grand plan of his to help Tabby, he hadn’t foreseen the stumbling block of his desire for her. He should have. Just their one night together had been more intense and passionate than any before. But being around her, smelling her, seeing the domestic side of her, brought the battle between wanting to help and guide her and wanting to be with her front and center.

  Ignoring the sudden increase in his pulse, he flipped the chair back on four legs and reopened his laptop, launching the draft of a letter. He’d started it last night when the thought of going up to a room that didn’t have Tabby in it seemed too impossible to attempt. He’d been wracking his brain trying to figure out what would really make her understand. Him being here with her was what was best for the babies. It was what Isaiah would have wanted, possibly even imagined, when he’d named him co-guardian.

  The only thing he could see still blinding Tabby from the obvious was his career. At least in regards to the magazine. He already knew he wanted things to slow down, but the more he’d sat there last night, the more he realized a major shift needed to happen. So he’d drafted the letter. A resignation letter. His whole life had been centered on becoming the best wildlife photographer in the world. And while he might not secure number one on every one’s lists, he was there on one or two and easily in the top five.