Anna Adams - Her Reason To Stay

“What?” A frown etched two small lines into Patrick’s forehead. “I don’t doubt you’re capable.” His gaze dropped down her body as if he were brushing fingertips over her skin. Daphne wanted to step behind a barrier, because her breathing and her breasts and her heartbeat had all reacted to his glance.

“What am I doing here?” he asked, his own voice tight.

“That’s a good question.”

He let her go and stared at his hands as if he’d betrayed himself. “This is your sister’s problem. She should have come herself.”

“You’ve done what Raina asked.” Seeing his obvious distress, she took pity on him. “Besides, I don’t know anything about computers. I’ve never owned one, so I couldn’t do your word processing.”

In the way of amateurs everywhere, she’d gone one lie too many. His skeptical grimace made her laugh with some relief.

“Did I go too far?” she asked.

“Who hasn’t used a computer these days?” He touched her hair. The mere heat of his body drew her. She wanted to move closer, so she glued her feet to the floor.

“What did you do before?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said as the past unrolled like film in front of her eyes, the blood, the pain and the disappointment that hurt more than a physical slap. She stepped back, afraid that her memories might somehow leap into Patrick’s head. “I searched for Raina. Shouldn’t you go now?”

“I want to know,” he said, unmoving, but obviously not unmoved. The sympathy in his eyes was more than she could bear.

Something had happened between Patrick Gannon and her. Feelings that ran too deep considering their short duration. “Should we trade?” she asked. “I’ll tell you personal things about myself if you do the same.”

He backed away, reaching the door with no haste, but sending a message of rejection in his frozen glance. The room fell away behind her.

“Your way may be right,” he said. “I had no right to pry. We don’t know each other, but I forgot that.”

And she forgot to breathe. In that moment, she sensed that if she made a move, he would stay. And they’d start exploring their feelings for each other.

So she remained still. Patrick opened the door. “I’m late picking up my son.”

“Your what?”

He was married? Leave it to her to choose a married guy. No wonder her inner alarm had been clanging with such urgency. Almost a full year in AA, and she still wanted to do things that were bad for her, such as letting Patrick matter.

“My son.”

“You’re married? I thought you and Raina might be…”

“No,” he said with enough emphasis to make it clear he’d denied the suggestion before. “I’m her friend. I’m also divorced.” Rage vibrated in his tone. Before she had time to ask why, he reached for the door. “Daphne, this chain is a toy. At least get yourself moved to another room.”

“I will.” She’d followed like some kid, anxious for a last glance.

Patrick’s scent wafted around her. His skin carried a memory of outdoors and spice. Too much aching intimacy had no place between strangers.

He looked at his watch, accidentally exposing the too-fast beat of his pulse in a vein on the underside of his wrist. “I have to get my son,” he said again.

She nodded, taking the hint of a second reminder. He was trying to put the boy between them, and she was glad to let him.

He crossed the sidewalk to the parking lot. “You should give Raina a call. She might be right about this place.”

Daphne noticed his matter-of-fact tone. Maybe her feelings were coloring the way she looked at him. She knew how to resist. She’d had some problems, a major one with whiskey, but men with eyes like ice and bodies like sin had never been an addiction.

“Thanks for the advice.”

A chill April wind blew through the open door. Bits of paper whispered across the parking lot.

Beneath the streetlights, his shiny car stood out from the dull vehicles around it. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, struggling against an insistent need to call him back.

Patrick opened his car door. “Get moved to a different room.”

She patted her back pocket for her key card. “Yeah.” She shut her door and made a beeline for the window shielded by a smudged curtain and a white sign that dripped the word Office in black.

Only several moments after he’d turned the car in a wide, swift circle, without looking at her, did she move away from her lookout position.

THE NEXT MORNING, the college student on duty behind the counter at Cosmic Grounds came to Daphne’s table and passed her a red Sharpie. Smiling shyly, he said, “I found this for you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He was already gone, the back of his neck shiny red.

She ducked her head and returned to the classifieds of the Honesty Sentinel.

Fortified by a cup of the kid’s strongest brew, she started her search. Pickings were slim, but she had to find something she could do. Then she’d worry about coming up with a résumé to impress a prospective employer.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d circled only three jobs that required no experience.

What would Raina think? It all depended on which Raina Daphne met here for coffee—the one who’d sat hunched in the corner of Patrick’s office chair, or the one who’d shown up at the coffee shop two days earlier. The second one didn’t seem likely to die of shame if her twin took a menial job.

Daphne rested her forehead in one palm and started at the ads again. She could always go back to jury consulting. Considering the mess she’d made of her last case, she could slip by the local jail and set the felons loose on an unsuspecting populace.

Inhaling with all her might, she swallowed hard. The negative stuff was getting too difficult to deal with on her own. She had to find a meeting. It had been over a week since her last one, but the thing they’d drummed into her addled head in rehab had been the importance of always finding an AA meeting.

“I thought I’d find you here. Good thing you keep coming, or they’d be out of business.” Raina’s voice at her side made Daphne jump.

Daphne set the marker on the table. “Hello, Raina.”

Today’s perfect outfit was a pink tweed suit and patent-leather pumps.

“Are you on your way to work?” Daphne asked.

“I had a meeting, but I’m planning to look for something like a job.”

“Like a job?”

“You know, one that pays.” Raina sat across the table. “My mother’s health began deteriorating after I finished college, so I helped her keep up with her charity work. We’re close to D.C., you know, but we’re such a small town in a small county. Our social services don’t always stretch to help everyone who needs them.” She smoothed her perfect hair. “When Mother couldn’t do everything she wanted, I did what she asked.”

“That’s good work.”

“But it was my mother’s. Not that I resented being her right hand. I enjoy helping people.”

“Who have you been helping? Children?”

“And adults. Anyone who doesn’t have a job. Anyone who needs something to eat.” She looked away and her uncomfortable expression made Daphne wonder if Raina thought she needed help, too.

“I’m fine. I don’t have your kind of money, but I don’t need to be rescued.”

Raina met her gaze straight on. “I wasn’t thinking of you that way. But I knew you’d take it personally.” She gripped another steamer trunk-size purse, this one in pale pink that matched her suit. “Remember, I accused you of coming for my money and I refused you before you got a chance to ask.”

“That’s true.” Daphne sipped her coffee. “I guess that proves something.”