The Reasons to Stay (Harlequin Superromance) Read Online Free PDF

falling onto his forehead. Underneath the Mr. Sphincter was a fine-looking man. That weird combination of handsome and uptight increasingly intrigued her. It seemed she kind of liked weird.
    “And how is Annie doing, Ms. Talcott?” Adam looked up; his soft brown eyes held concern. “Has she gotten settled in Atlanta?”
    The old lady beamed. “Oh, yes. Can you believe? She’s expecting again!” The woman set her industrial-strength purse on the counter, unclasped the catch and pulled out her wallet, flipping open a huge accordion photo holder. “Have I showed you my great-grandtwins lately?”
    “How old are they now?” Adam’s fond smile displayed a killer chin dimple.
    Their voices faded as she strode to the front of the store. He really appeared to care about that lady’s family. Hell, he even took the time to look at photos.
    No doubt about it. Adam Preston was a Nice Guy.
    And therefore, suspect.
    Four hours later, Priss returned home. She pulled into her space, shut down the engine and waited for Mona to stop wheezing. She’d looked for work at every business in Widow’s Grove that her skills could possibly stretch to fit—and a few they wouldn’t.
    The clock was ticking. Nacho had been in the not-so-caring hands of the county for two weeks now. Every night, a herd of sharp-hooved nightmares thundered through her sleep, all starring Nacho, with the boy being neglected, being bullied—and worse.
    She shook her head, shoving her past to the back of her mind for another day.
    * * *
    I T WAS ONLY midmorning on Friday and she was already tired, discouraged and in need of coffee. She’d picked through the meager want ads in the local paper and had been to every business on Hollister. She was beginning to get a whiff of failure on the wind that grew stronger each day.
    Today. I’m not quitting until I find a job today.
    Throwing her shoulders back, she put on her interview smile, snatched her purse from the floorboard, and stepped out of the convertible. She’d abandoned her heels after that first day. Dressy flats might not show off her legs as well but they hurt less. She strode as fast as her pencil skirt allowed toward the red-and-white-trimmed building. The sign next to the door read The Farmhouse Café.
    How hard could waitressing be? After all, her mother had done it for years so it had to be a piece of cake.
    A cowbell clanked against the glass door when she stepped onto an oak floor, silvered with use. Empty red vinyl booths marched along the windows to a corner where a potbellied stove squatted. Grizzled men in overalls drank coffee in a booth against the back wall. The place was midmorning-deserted.
    A Formica-topped bar faced her. A pale-blonde woman sat sipping coffee on the only occupied stool, a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket on the stool beside her. A big-haired blonde stood on the other side of the bar, in a tightly fitted white pantsuit that advertised Monroe-like curves. She’d borrowed Marilyn’s lipstick, too. Her Cupid’s-bow mouth was a slash of crimson.
    The waitress said something to the girl at the bar, then looked up. “Hey, sweetie. Welcome to the Farmhouse.”
    Priss walked over and extended a hand to Marilyn . “Hello. My name is Priss Hart. I was wondering if you needed any help with your bookkeeping. I’m—”
    The blonde patron choked on her coffee. She grabbed a napkin and coughed into it while the waitress patted her back. When the biker chick could speak, she said, “You must not be from around here. Jess is the math whiz of the universe. She does the bookkeeping in her very best dreams.”
    “Stow it, Sam.” Jess shook Priss’s hand. “I’m Jesse Jurgen. That sexy hunk in the kitchen is my husband, Carl.”
    A Nordic giant filled the serving window, waving a spatula in greeting.
    Priss nodded to him, then took a breath and pushed the reluctant words past her teeth. “Could you use a waitress, maybe?”
    “Sorry, dear, it’s just Carl and me.”
    Hope