Laura Drake - The Reasons to Stay

“What date?”

“Well, working in the office at the school does have its advantages. The replacement for your—um—the teacher who left—”

“No.” The chain-link twists dug in his forearms when he pushed off and straightened.

“Adam, just listen. Her name is June Sellers, and she’s just your type.”

“And what, exactly, is my type?”

She rolled her eyes and unholstered those fingers. “Blonde and classy, quiet and ladylike. The type a guy could take home to his mother. You know, a good girl.”

The air quotes stung. “Why do you say that like it’s bad?”

“It’s not. If that’s what makes you happy.” She dug through her purse a moment and came up with a crumpled Post-it note in hot pink. “I told her about you and she gave me her phone number.” She handed it over. “She’s expecting your call.”

He avoided what looked like peanut butter on the edge and squinted at the smeared writing.

“I just think you deserve more than what you want.” She held up a hand to ward off his protest. “I’m only trying to wake your ass up. Life isn’t safe, or neat and tidy. I’d think you’d have figured that out after what you lived through.” The pity was back in her stare. “When are you going to take off the gloves and live life out loud, Preston?”

“I’m happy as is, thanks, Carley.”

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Adam unlocked the glass front door of Hollister Drugs, stepped in, locking it behind him. He followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the soda fountain, where Sin stood in her uniform, reading the Widow’s Grove Telegraph, and sipping coffee from a mug that suggested doing something to oneself that was physically impossible.

With effort, he pulled his eyes from the multi-colored tattoos that twined, full-sleeve, down both her slim arms. “You need to cover those tattoos, and I asked you to take that mug home.”

“Well, Happy Monday, Sin.” She put down the paper. “We’re not open yet. I’ll put on the arm warmers when we are, and I don’t drink coffee in front of customers, you know that.” She set a clean stoneware mug on the counter and poured him a cup. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine this morning?”

“Good morning, Sin.” He reached for the coffee, noticing again how badly her hot pink hair clashed with the uniform. “You sure I can’t talk you into a different hair color? Blue? A nice lavender?”

When she smiled, the crystal set in her tooth flashed. “Nah, but thanks, boss.”

He saluted her with his cup. “Thanks for the coffee.” He noticed his new tenant sat at one of the tables, reading the Widow’s Grove Telegraph. The paper rustled when she turned a page. He raised an eyebrow at Sin.

She shrugged. “If you trust her enough to live across the hall from your mother, I thought it was safe to invite her in for a cup of coffee before we opened.”

He nodded. I should have thought to do that myself.

Priss wore a closely fitted pink button-down shirt and dress pants. Her short dark hair had that just-fell-out-of-bed look that had him imagining things he shouldn’t.

Her too-big green eyes held a warning that he’d been staring.

He slapped on his “trusted pharmacist” smile to cover his gaffe and carried his coffee to her table. “Morning. Mind if I join you?”

She put down the paper, pulled a phone from her large tapestry purse on the floor and checked the time. “Okay, but I only have a few minutes.”

He slid into the fancy wrought-iron chair. “I just wanted to officially welcome you to Widow’s Grove. I realized I hadn’t done that yet. Are you finding your way around?”

“So far, so good. I’m enjoying the apartment, but I wondered what passes for fun around here.”

“Well, the tourists go on wine tours, and there’s shopping—”

She waved a hand. “I mean the locals. What do you do for fun?”

“Baseball.”

A spark of interest flared in her eyes. “Tell me about that.”

“We have little league for the kids and a senior league for adults.”

“Women allowed on the teams?”

“They’re not banned. But only one team has a woman. It’s pretty competitive.” He leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. “Do you play?”

She nodded. “High school. And I played first base in a summer league in Boulder.”

Enchanting and she played baseball? Too good to be true. “Slow-pitch?”

She made a pfft sound of dismissal. “I said I played.” She leaned an arm over the back of her chair and flashed him a card shark’s smile. “Hard ball, baby.”

He could talk smack. He just never had, with a woman. He narrowed his eyes. “You any good?”

She held her hand up and blew on her nails. “Point nine two fielding percentage, no errors.”

“How many games?”

“Fifteen.”

“Nice.” A woman on the Winos? Why not? Pete Gilmour sucked at first base. Plus it would give Adam the opportunity to get to know Priss better.

On the other hand... He studied her stand-up hair and the stubborn line of her chin. She was hardly his type. And about as far from safe as it was possible to be.

Still, he’d sure love to see this little dynamo run bases. “You interested in playing?”

“Maybe. Who would I talk to if I was?”

“I run the league, and pitch on one of the teams. I might have a slot. If you can hit.”

“Two seven five average.”

“Not bad for a girl.” He didn’t let his lips quirk. But he wanted to. She stuck out her chin. “Pretty good for an infielder. Even a guy.”

Cute, competitive, and the stats to back it up. This could be love.

She folded the paper and slipped it in her purse. “Well, thanks for the tips, and the conversation.”

He wanted to keep her here, talking. This lady tugged at his attention and he wanted to understand why. “You never said what brought you to Widow’s Grove.”

He couldn’t say exactly what changed. She didn’t move, but she changed, lightning-fast, from a pretty, young woman to a jungle cat—motionless, crouched, wary.

Her fingers tightened on her cup. “Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.” He took a slow sip of coffee. “I would guess you’re not from a small town.”

“Nooo.” She said the word as if he’d pulled it from her. When she shrugged, her shoulders lost their firing-squad tension. “I got tired of the big city and decided to slow down for a while.”

“Well, you’ll find people here friendly. They’ll want to get to know you.” He raised a hand in a universal gesture of peace. “In a good way. We watch out for our own.”

“I’ve been watching out for myself for years.” She stared into her mug long enough to divine the future in the dregs. “I’m from Vegas, originally.”

“Not much small town there.”

“You’d be surprised. Off the strip, it’s a lot like a small town.” Her pert nose wrinkled. “People get way up in each other’s business. It’s part of why I got out of there as soon as I could.”

He wanted to keep her talking. “Um, before you go, could give me some advice? You know, as a woman?” He leaned in to whisper.

She backed up.

“What color uniform should I order for Sin?”

Her face went blank a microsecond, then she laughed. It wasn’t the delighted tinkle he’d expected from a tiny thing like her. It was an all-in belly laugh, and he glimpsed for the first time, what she’d look like unguarded. Her smile outshone the sun pouring in the window. But what hit harder was her...he fumbled for a word to describe it.

Life force.

A vibrant woman lived inside that wary jungle cat. Her laughter echoed in his bones, making him want to reach out and catch her hand where it lay on the table. He stopped himself in time. What kind of background made a woman that young so wary?