The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance) (21 page)

He eyed her faded T-shirt and backward baseball cap. “Okay. A double.”

She grumbled and slapped a twenty into the teller’s slot under the glass.

He slid back a ring with a key and an orange plastic palm tree with a flaking number four on it.

The room was about what she expected: bare ceiling bulb, scarred wood desk and threadbare carpet. The rattling air conditioner under the window wheezed out the ghosts of ancient cigarettes that had died here. After checking the lock and hooking the safety chain, she crossed to the bathroom. Pitted fixtures and a black-flecked mirror were at least marginally clean. If you didn’t inspect the corners too close.

Dropping her backpack on the only chair, she pulled the extra blanket from the closet to spread over the bed. It should be halfway clean since most people wouldn’t want to use it, given the weather and the substandard AC.

Flipping off the light, she crossed the room guided by the sodium lamp through the crack in the plastic blackout curtains.

She dropped onto the bed, unlaced her tennis shoes and swung her socked feet onto the bed without touching the yucky carpet. The bed sagged in the middle but wasn’t too awful. She lay back and rested her head on her arm.

She should sleep like a baby. The traffic sounds and shuffled noises through the paper-thin walls were the familiar sounds of her childhood. But instead, fear came on like a predator’s feet. It crept in the steps walking past her door and in the murmured voices around her. Like she had as a child, she lay frozen on the bed, making a deal with God—if she didn’t move, she’d be kept safe.

You’re not that scared little girl any more. You’re a grown-up and you can take care of yourself
.

Had she checked the locks?

She jumped at a knock behind her head. When it became a rhythmic bumping, she sighed, trying to block the picture in her head of what was going on next door.

I wonder what Nacho and Adam are doing?

God, she wished she had her phone to call them. Just to hear their voices.... Nacho would probably be working on his jigsaw puzzle before bed. Or maybe Olivia had come over and they were all playing Scrabble. Homesickness engulfed her in a wave so strong she ached. How she’d love to have Adam’s arms around her right now. She rolled into a ball.

Maybe he’ll go with us.
A small voice whispered from deep in her mind.

Oh, yeah, that’s going to happen. His business is in Widow’s Grove. His family is there. His roots are there.

And Adam’s roots went deep. He was like a big oak, while she and Nacho were just sparrows, staying to rest for a while...but how nice would it be to stay in those sheltering branches?

You don’t stay.

Well, it wasn’t like she’d be breaking some universal law if she did.

You know how it works. If something matters, you start to count on it. When it’s taken away it leaves a hole and you have to start all over, sealing it up.

And this time, it wouldn’t only be her that would be hurt. She had Nacho to think about.

Sure was a pretty dream though.

When the banging finally stopped next door, she lay sweating, listening to the traffic.

* * *

A
DAM
CARRIED
THE
empty pizza carton to the trash, glad that his offering had scored points. “So what happens now?” He’d helped Nacho with a couple of math-story problems before dinner but now the evening stretched ahead like a field planted with land mines.

Nacho just shrugged and picked at the red placemat in front of him.

You didn’t really dream he’d make it easy, did you?

Adam grabbed the sponge from the sink and wiped down the clean counter. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The boy heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Do all grown-ups go to class to learn what questions to ask kids? They must, because you all ask the same thing.”

“Work with me here. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“I wanna be in a gang.” His expression was tough but the words sounded tentative, as if he were testing them out for the first time.

Jesus. What the heck do you say to that?

Priss was braver than he’d known, taking this on. But she’d told him to look deeper. He paused mid-swipe and studied Nacho, slouched in the chair, kicking the legs, and shooting looks at Adam out of the corner of his eye.

He’s nervous, too.

And you’re the adult.

“Well, that’s one option.” He tossed the sponge in the sink and made himself walk around the counter, pull out a chair and sit. “It reminds me of the old Who song.”

“Who?”

“Yeah, they’re an old band. Pete Townshend is a legend. In one of his lyrics, he said, ‘Here’s the new boss, same as the old boss.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The kid’s chin went up.

Just like Priss’s, before she set her feet and got stubborn.

“You don’t like people telling you what to do, right?”

He crossed his skinny arms. “Damn straight.”

“Well, don’t you think the leader of the gang is going to tell you what to do? What people to hit, what corner to sell drugs on?”

Nacho snorted. “Dude, you been watching too many Denzel Washington movies.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. But my point is, why not be your own boss? Look at me. I’ve got my own business.”

“Oh, yeah, stand around all day and talk to old ladies about their feet. Sign me up.”

“One of the coolest things about being an adult is that
you
get to choose. You could go to college—”

“Can you really see a universe where that happens?” Nacho squinted at him.

He smiled, hearing Priss’s words coming out of Nacho’s mouth. Maybe she was rubbing off on the kid. “Sure I can. You’re smart. You can do anything you want to.”

Nacho’s cheeks reddened and he looked away. “Well, I don’t want to do that.”

“Okay, maybe trade school. Or after high school you could start a custom-painting business, like Bear’s.”

“Oh, man, that would be cool.”

There
was
a kid in there. Adam saw it in the disbelieving hope in Nacho’s eyes, heard it in the boy’s reverent tone.

“Think about it, that’s all I’m saying.” Adam smiled. “Well, I have some ordering to do for the store.”

“I’ll go get the puzzle out of the bedroom.” Nacho stood. “Priss had a cleaning fit before you came and made me put it away
again.
”

“Hang on. I have another idea.” Adam walked to the living room and pulled his secret weapon out of his backpack. “How’d you like to read instead?” He held up the book.

Nacho walked over, took
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
from Adam’s hand and stared down at the cover. “This is awesome!” He looked up, unsure. “Is this for me?”

Adam chuckled. “It’s all yours.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Nacho walked to the couch and jumped, landing on his back.

“Feet off the couch.” Adam stood there, feeling like a superhero for the simple act of making a child happy. A warm heat rose in his chest, bringing with it a gratified smile.

No wonder she does it.

* * *

P
RISS
EASED
THROUGH
two Detroit fans to the front of the crowd at the door to the visiting team’s locker room. It was the only place she could be sure to catch Sandy Otto.

The game had been great, even though the base runners looked like ants from her cheap seat. Hoping to bank some good karma, she’d cheered on the Tigers to the win. Her stomach growled a grinding protest. Her seat had been cheap but ballpark food was ungodly expensive. She’d pick up something to eat on the walk back to the hotel.

The sun burned through her shirt, adding to the sweaty sheen on her skin. Damn, this trip had convinced her that this bird wouldn’t be flying south anytime soon. She was not a fan of humidity.

The door opened and the baseball fans pressed her on either side as a phalanx of players exited.

Priss’s heart sped up. If she missed him here, she’d only have one other chance, on Sunday. She scanned the faces that passed.

There!

A young redhead carrying a gym bag stopped, blocked by a player signing a kid’s autograph.

“Sandy! Sandy Otto!”

He looked up with a TV host’s fake smile. “Hi.”

“I’m Priss Hart. I know your dad. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He stepped out of the flow of traffic. “How do you know my dad?”

She’d thought he’d be more likely to stop if she’d said that. “Well, actually I’ve only talked to your dad. Your grandfather is a good friend of mine.”

His smile blinked out. “My grandfather is dead.”

“He’s not. But he’s gravely ill. I thought—”

“Well, he’s had ten years more than my grandma. Worry over his drinking killed her.” He looked over her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Barney’s very proud of you.” She touched Sandy’s forearm to stop him. “Surely you wouldn’t deny an old man a chance to see you before he dies?”

He stared down at her hand until she removed it.

“Like I said, my grandfather’s dead.” He walked away.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

P
RISS
PACED
OUTSIDE
the same door, in the middle of the same Detroit fans after the game the next day. She had to try once more—for Barney. For her mom.

For herself.

Lying in her ratty bed last night, she’d run arguments through her mind, trying to come up with the perfect words to convince Barney’s grandson to visit his grandfather.

That, and imagining what was happening at home.

Funny, but after the distraction of the game yesterday, she’d felt a tug in her chest as if a rubber band connecting her to California had pulled tight. She justified it because Nacho was there. Might as well admit it; she loved that little shit.

But it wasn’t Nacho that had her tossing and turning late into the night. She missed Adam, too. At first she’d blamed the missing on her greedy body. But when she was still awake after midnight, she had to admit it was more than that.

Adam had made it clear that he hadn’t wanted her to make this trip.

And yet...

He’d accepted that she had to go. He’d held her while the guilt she could no longer hold in poured out.

And in spite of understanding Nacho as much as a cat did a Rubik’s cube, Adam had agreed to stay with her brother, to keep him safe. Not because Nacho meant much to him but because Nacho meant so much to her.

What did that mean?

It means he’s a nice guy. You’ve known that since the first time you met him.

Maybe so, but he’d done all that for
her
.

The door to the stadium opened, breaking her train of thought.

“Sandy!”

She saw when he recognized her. His lips tightened and his brows came down over sharp-edged eyes. And he kept walking.

“Sandy, you need to come to California. Not for your grandfather. For yourself.”

When he hesitated, the stream of players flowed around them. God, she didn’t want to do this. Especially not in public. But it might help—all of them.

“Trust me, I know how this works. I left my mother and all her drama behind and never looked back. I found out later that she died poor and all alone.” She heard the pain that dripped from her words but she had to keep going, because he was listening.

His face was cold and closed, but still, he listened.

“No one should have to live with the guilt I feel...the guilt I will feel for the rest of my life. You need to—”

He held up a hand. “Look, lady, I’m sorry for your problems. But trust me, I’m going to sleep just fine at night.” He shook his head. “However long that old man suffers, it’s a lot less than my grandma did.” He turned to walk away.

Oh, no, you don’t. Not till I’ve had my say.

Adrenaline pumped into her blood. He’d only taken one step away when she grabbed his bicep and pulled him around. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears and she shouted over it. “He’s in Valley Hospital in Santa Maria.”

A rent-a-cop security guard stepped between them. “Lady, let him go.”

She tightened her grip. “You don’t want to do this, dude. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”

Otto jerked his arm away. The guard put his hands against Priss’s shoulders and pushed her back. Cotton tore.

Otto stumbled back, looking down at his ruined shirt.

“Hey!” A cop in uniform ran up, grabbed her hand and whipped it behind her back.

“Don’t. Dammit, I’m just talking to him!” She twisted away, wincing when she felt a muscle pull in her shoulder. But the cop still had her by the wrist and the security guard blocked her view. She yelled over his shoulder. “Barney is sorry—sorry for it all. Do it for
you!
” She stood on her tiptoes trying to see around the guard.

When the cop behind tried to grab her other hand she flailed and felt her knuckles smack flesh. “Stop it! Sandy—wait. Let me go!”

Both arms were jerked behind her and her shoulder sockets screamed. At the cop’s growl, she turned her head.

Fury in his eyes, his lips pulled back from teeth red with the blood spurting from his nose. Something kicked the back of her knees and she went down. When her head hit the pavement, the world winked out.

* * *

T
HE
HOLDING
CELL
was cold. Or maybe it was shock that made her teeth chatter in spite of her clamped jaws. Her head throbbed with the bongo beat of her heart, and she raised a hand again to touch the goose egg at her temple. She’d only been out for a minute so the EMT had cleared her to the cop’s custody.

The booking was as efficient as a meat-packing plant and she was spit out at the end feeling as processed as a cellophane package of hamburger.

Why do they have to crank the air conditioning so hard?

She shivered in vain. The six-by-ten cell contained only the cement bench on which she sat, a metal seatless toilet and metal bars. No cot, no blanket. She hugged herself and sat straight, having learned that leaning on the cinder-block wall leeched what little heat she had.

The cop may not have been gentle but she could hardly blame him. She hadn’t recognized that wild woman at the stadium this morning.

Assault and battery on Sandy Otto. Resisting arrest. Assault on a police officer.

Holy shit, how had she let things get so out of control?

Just forget what can’t be fixed. The important question is what are you going to do now?

Since she had no record, they were only going for misdemeanors. But since she didn’t live here, she was considered a flight risk. Bail was not only more than she had on her, it was more than she had in the bank.

And Adam and Nacho thought she was on a plane right about now. She glanced around, but there was no clock on the wall outside the bars. After all, why taunt prisoners with passing time? She didn’t need it anyway because she heard the minutes ticking away in her head.

How long before Adam started worrying?

If she were on her own, she’d work it out somehow even if it meant sitting her time out in jail. But because of Nacho, she didn’t have a choice. She slumped on the bench, elbows on her knees, fingers dangling. She had to figure out how to best deal with this and get back to Nacho as soon as possible.

You’re a great role model.
She’d tried to convince Nacho to be an upstanding citizen and here she
sat, in jail.

And how could she possibly ask Adam’s help again? He’d been above and beyond wonderful up to now, but calling from jail for bail money? She imagined the disapproval in Adam’s voice if and when she got the guts to call. Pictured him looking down his nose at her, the way he had Nacho that day he was caught stealing.

Shame coated the inside of her chest in a thick, caustic paste, burning through her illusions. She could go to community college. She could work in an office. She could act like she belonged in a book club. But at the bottom of it, Priss Hart was a still a mutt. Always a mutt.

Widow’s Grove and the people in it had somehow gotten inside her, stripping her of her walls and weapons. She felt naked, bared to the skin and vulnerable to the braided leather whip of judgment.

But how could judgment hurt a woman who prided herself on not caring what others thought? She shifted her weight to the other deadened cheek.

It couldn’t. Unless she was no longer that woman.

But if she wasn’t, then who was she?

The clang of metal brought her head up. At the sound of footsteps on tile, she stood.

A police officer walked up to the bars, his hand around the upper arm of a woman. While he unlocked the door, Priss looked past the curtain of long black hair and heavy makeup.

She’s so young!

“In you go.”

The girl walked past the police officer, stilettos clicking, her bare shapely legs shown to best advantage in a tight butt-skimming skirt. Her lace spandex top left little to the imagination.

Overwhelmed by a miasma of cheap perfume, Priss stepped back as the girl plopped onto the cement bench and crossed her legs.

The cop locked the door and walked away.

The girl’s eyes challenged, as if daring Priss to start something. “What’d
you
do?”

“Assault.”

“What, did you get into it with another soccer mom?”

“Huh?”

“No, wait. There was a really good sale at Nordie’s and you fought it out over last year’s designer blouse.”

Priss ran a hand down her faded Hurley T-shirt and holey-kneed skinny jeans. “Are you kidding me?”

“Dress down all you want.” She tossed a hank of hair over her shoulder with a flick of her long fake nails. “I know middle class when I see it.”

Priss snorted. “You don’t know how wrong you are.”

“Whatever.” The girl turned to look out the bars, the clearest dismissal possible, given the tight quarters.

No longer able to even pace the three steps to the bars and back, Priss leaned against the wall. Hadn’t this young woman only confirmed what she’d known since she walked into that dumpy hotel room?

You don’t belong in this world anymore.

But she’d just admitted that she’d only been posing in her Widow’s Grove world.

So where did that leave her? She felt like someone standing with one foot on a dock, the other on an unmoored boat, and if she didn’t make a decision fast, her ass was sure as hell going to get wet.

But Nacho would get a dunking right along with her.

Oh, that’s bullshit. You’ve been using Nacho as an excuse for too long. You’re the one who always insists on the truth. So why don’t you just face it?

Where she came from wasn’t as important as
where she wanted to be. Wasn’t that why she’d flown from place to place since she left Vegas? She may not have known it at the time, but looking back she could see she’d been looking for a place to settle.

And these past months, she’d found it.

But it was more than that.

Her short fingernails bit into her palms.

If she really looked past that blind spot...

She wanted it all. The small-town life. The brick house with the rounded wooden door that looked like a Hobbit lived there. The small-town pharmacist who mistakenly believed she
was
all that.

The cold that chilled her blood wasn’t due to the air-conditioning.

If something matters, you start to count on it. When it’s taken away it leaves a hole in you.

But the old words that used to chew through her no longer had teeth. She wanted to grab at the chance the universe had mistakenly thrown her way.

The question was, did she have the guts to grab it?

“What have I got to lose?” A flash of heat bloomed in her chest.

She realized she’d said it out loud when the prostitute looked up.

Priss just smiled.

She already had way more than she’d flown into town with. She had Nacho. His behavior was improving. He was reading, and his grades were coming up. He’d found Bear, and maybe someday that relationship would lead Nacho to a career.

She’d stumbled onto a home and a family. No way she was leaving.

But what if Adam does finally see through the middle-class disguise to the mutt underneath?

Still pictures of Adam flashed through her mind. Him wearing that silly double-breasted white pharmacist jacket, smiling across the table at her. His hand, warm over hers, in the darkened car the night they searched for Nacho. The soft look in his eyes when he held her after sex.

Could he love her? Was that what was at stake here?

Yeah. I think it is.

He was the only man who saw past her bullshit and for whatever misguided reason, seemed to care about the woman underneath it. He was kind and giving, and she had done nothing but bring chaos to his orderly life.

And if she got up the guts, she was about to do it again.

She crossed her arms over her midsection to ease the burn. Bullets fired from her own gun always did the most damage.

Well, screw that.

She pushed away from the wall. She wasn’t going groveling, looking for a handout. She was going to call the man she loved and ask him for help. She was who she was—rough edges and all. If Adam decided after this momentous disaster that he didn’t want her, she’d survive that somehow. Avoiding pain by flying from it didn’t leave it behind. Hadn’t she found that out with her mother? Hadn’t that been what she’d been trying to tell Sandy Otto?

Surety mingled with the heat in her chest, spreading outward, warming her.

Priss Hart had been many things, but never a coward.

She stepped around her celmate’s stilettos. “Hey!” She yelled through the bars. “Don’t I get a phone call?”