His Reason to Stay

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… The Firefighter’s Cinderella

  A Family by Christmas

  In the Dog House

  No Heartbreaker Required

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jennifer Hoopes. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover photography by konradlew, republica, and Leonid Andronov/GettyImages

  ISBN 978-1-68281-493-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition December 2019

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To Karen: Thank you for your friendship, guidance, and support. This difficult year was made better by your messages and jokes, and I’m forever thankful you are a part of my life.

  Chapter One

  Elijah Ellis swallowed a groan as his left leg cramped and begged to be stretched. If he moved on the icy mountain slope, the sound would echo for miles. All wildlife, including the cat he needed to capture images of, would go to ground, and his butt would be stuck in Bolivia for who knew how much longer. A clicking screech sounded, and he looked up. A Chilean hawk circled above, a good sign things were proceeding as he’d hoped, cramp be damned.

  He’d planned a month for the shoot but was edging on three weeks now, and the restlessness of things being out of his control infused his movements. If it took too much longer, he would make a rookie mistake and be back to square one. The magazine wouldn’t like that, and neither would he.

  The wind shifted, and his finger moved along the smooth shutter button. A familiar pull that his opportunity was close alerted every nerve of his body. The pain of the cramp faded away as the rush of capturing the perfect shot fueled his attention.

  As if on cue, the Andean mountain cat tested the terrain three hundred yards from him. He waited, knowing the sound of his shutter would send her fleeing if he wasn’t careful. His wait paid off as her baby tentatively followed in her footsteps. The mother turned and pawed at her offspring. Eli moved. The whirring sound captured the moment, her reaction, their response, and their subsequent flight.

  He rolled over on his back and smiled up at the wispy clouds dangling around the mountain peaks. Planning and research always won out. Satisfaction laced his body as he scrolled through the captured shots, two in particular that would be cover material. His editor owed him a nice steak dinner and a bottle of Brodie Whiskey.

  Thinking of the cream of the whiskey world brought about the face of the woman behind it. What was she doing right now? Were her hands buried in hops or swilling the golden nectar in a flask, debating whether another month in the charred barrels would be better served? He could picture her dark hair up on her head exposing a neck smoother than silk as she carefully managed every aspect of the distilling process.

  Sliding his camera into his bag, he stood and stretched, finally allowing his leg the relief it had so desperately craved. This assignment was complete. Another one was not immediately on the horizon but definitely in the pipeline. It had been at least six months since he’d been home. Six months since he’d seen his family. Maybe he could spend a little time with his father and siblings. Catch up on their lives and, in the process, see the woman who’d haunted his dreams since their spontaneous night together at their siblings’ wedding more than fifteen months ago.

  He scrubbed his hands down his face and sighed. They could never be more than a night—two lives that would never be on the same path or have the same stopping point. At least he could see her. Check in and see if she needed anything. That was all he could offer—support and encouragement. All he’d ever been able to offer her.

  The idea growing in intensity, he powered up his phone only to receive a dead signal. Not surprising in the Andes or anywhere he traveled. He had a satellite phone for true emergencies, but this could wait. Once he hiked farther out of the reserve, he might have better luck. One more glance to make sure he’d left everything as he’d found it, Eli made his way down the icy slope toward the hiking path. He’d been at a steady pace for thirty minutes when his phone roared and kept roaring. A quick glance at the screen showed him more than fifty messages, most from his family, a few from his editor.

  Only one thing would have his family reaching out in droves. The pit of his stomach lurched as he read the first one from his twin brother, Sam.

  There’s been an accident. We need you.

  …

  One week later…

  Tabitha Brodie slid open the door to the lower malting house and stepped into the cool, tangy interior. The smell, similar to sourdough bread, acted as a sedative, making cramped and tired muscles relax and breathe a sigh of relief. The sight of almost three acres of germinating grain spread out before her like a pathway to riches. She didn’t need the riches, but she did need the solitude, and at this time of day, with the first turn complete, no one would bother her.

  Or discover her secret.

  She turned and went up the small stairs to her left and came out on the tiny balcony overlooking the crucial ingredient to her family’s heritage. What’s left of my family.

  Grief swarmed her limbs, and she collapsed into the straight-back chair against the wall. Three weeks and it hadn’t gotten easier. Less frequent but not easier. Squeezing her eyes against the sting of tears, tears that fell more often, thanks to both the circumstance and the surge of hormones, she clasped her hands across her stomach and focused. Willed the grief back into the tiny compartment she locked her love and memories of her father, Colin, and sister, Maisie, inside. Being upset wouldn’t help. Her or the new life growing inside.

  Another deep breath and Tabby stood, almost immediately overcome by nausea. Damn morning sickness. Instantly, she regretted the curse. She’d read that the more sick she was, the healthier the baby would be. She’d hug a damn toilet for the next twenty-eight weeks if it mea
nt the baby was healthy.

  Using the wall for support, she moved across the small balcony to the pump and bucket sitting beneath it. In through her nose, out through her mouth, Tabby kept her stomach in line as she worked the metal handle, cold spring water filling the bucket. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and soaked it in the cool water. Wringing it out, she placed it across the nape of her neck and slid to the floor.

  I can do this. I have to do this—for Maisie and Isaiah.

  She’d been hanging on for almost a month. It would get easier, and eventually she would have help. When she finally shared the news.

  Stroking her stomach, she let her mind catalog all that needed to be done today and how she could manage it without stumbling and causing someone to look closer than they were.

  Tabby laughed. Grief made people stupid, and she meant that in the most loving ways. Anyone who knew Tabby would have had antennas straight up when she’d handed over her tasting duties to her young apprentice, Mateo. Everyone knew the whiskey from Brodie’s didn’t get bottled unless her taste buds, or her father’s, had approved.

  But her father was gone, and she was pregnant. She was doing the best she could under the circumstances.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the first time her father had brought her to the malting house. They’d watched the workers turning the grain.

  By hand is the only way, he’d drilled into her.

  The only way to ensure quality was to have your hands and eyes on it at all times. He’d then picked up the grain and dropped some in her hand.

  See the sprouts. He’d pointed. The beginning of the magic.

  She’d caught the magic that day, essentially becoming her dad’s shadow. He never talked down to her level, instead forcing her to rise up to his. Tabby would miss her father for many things, but his blind faith and constant push for her to be the best person and version of herself? That was a dull ache never to be filled.

  Except by the one person she would never let fill it.

  Where was he? Why hadn’t he come home to be with his family?

  To be with me.

  The last thought rankled the most. She shouldn’t want his support, want him to help her, encourage her. These circumstances would bring out his overprotective tendencies, and that was a slippery slope to obligation. Obligation she would never allow him to have, because it would eat away at his soul. She hadn’t seen him in fifteen months, but that night at the wedding, she had allowed herself to indulge. To live a fantasy for one night. To believe for one night that a future between Eli and herself was possible.

  The clang of a metal pulley was her first indication of intrusion. Tabby froze. No one should be coming in there. Not only had the morning turn been completed, but it was the distillery’s slow season between the spring harvests of the South and the fall harvest of the Midwest. Only their most select rare malt was in process.

  She strained her ears, hoping for some clue. Maybe it was one of the workers checking things out? Or needing an escape themselves. Hopefully, they would see no one around or pause the few minutes to gather themselves and close the door. No reason for anyone to come up to her hiding place.

  Fate was being exceptionally bitter today as footsteps sounded on the worn boards. Heavy footsteps.

  She pushed off the floor, the damp cloth sliding off and landing with a thwack, just as her unwanted visitor came into view.

  Oh, fate was just being a downright witch this morning.

  “I knew I’d find you here.” He grinned. “It’s been far too long, Tabby.”

  Elijah Ellis strode across the small space and enveloped her in a warm embrace. The heat of his body surrounded her and brought up memories she needed to drown. His scruff tickled her cheek as she forced herself to return the hug as a friend would. Pushed those passionate memories back down. Forced herself to toe the friend line even though their bodies had been more intimately acquainted one glorious—on constant replay—night.

  She knew he’d return at some point. He’d missed the funeral, not surprising since no one in either her or his family had known exactly where he was, besides somewhere in Bolivia trying to photograph some elusive cat. But she was surprised at how long it had taken him to come home.

  Thankful, but surprised.

  Eli stepped back, and Tabby indulged for one moment. Catalogued his jet black hair brushing his shoulders, his brown eyes sucking her in with their charismatic twinkle. His swimmer’s body, firm and solid. And for a moment she needed to confide in him. Tell him her most treasured secret. A gift left behind. One no one else knew. One he could help her bear.

  Increasing the distance between them, she forced the crazy notion back into a deep hole where the fantasy of her and Eli resided. Giving him any reason to feel protective of her or, rather, more protective than he normally felt was the wrong move. For all of them.

  “It’s good to see you. You’ve been missed.” I’ve missed you.

  Eli cocked his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

  She waved his concern away. “As well as can be expected.”

  He moved closer. “Tabby?”

  And the floodgates opened. “I lost my sister, Eli. My sister and my father and brother-in-law in one fell swoop. No one’s okay.”

  Steel arms folded around her, his chest shouldering the wracking sobs. No one had seen her cry like this. She’d held it together for almost a month. Not only for her stepmother and stepsiblings, but for the life inside her. But God, it felt good. Safe to be unburdening it to the one person who understood not just the loss but the repercussions.

  Eli murmured apology after apology into her hair, his warm breath caressing her face. He smelled as he always did. Clean, musky, and exciting. A part of her had been attracted to him since the day he’d picked her up off the dirt riding ring and tweaked her nose. And even while just comforting her, that part still purred. That side knew what this man could do to her. To her body. But he didn’t need to know it.

  The sobs reduced to hiccups and eventually dried up. “Thank you,” she managed against his broad chest.

  He set her back from him and looked down. “I should have been here for you.”

  Yes, you should have. For me, for your family. But his presence was a blessing and a curse, so Tabby locked away thoughts and wishes that didn’t matter and stepped away. “I’m sure you got here as soon as you could.” I just wish I had been better prepared. The thought was selfish but truthful. She wasn’t the only one who was dealing with not being prepared. Even if they were preparing for two different things. Coming home for Eli was always a double-edged sword, but now? Under these circumstances?

  She leaned on the balcony railing, putting a little distance between the connection that flared to life whenever he was near. “How are you doing?”

  …

  Eli sighed. He’d hoped Tabby wouldn’t ask him. Because he didn’t know and that was more frustrating than what the answer might have been. Nothing about this situation, his rush home, the accident, and even the woman standing three feet from him was under his control. The fear that had propelled him for the torturous seven days it had taken him to get home had all centered on seeing her. Making sure she was okay.

  Raking a hand through hair that he should have had cut before appearing in front of any one of his or her family, he moved to stand beside her. “I think I’m numb.”

  Tabby hummed. The sound bitter and still musical. She looked so pale and weak right now. Hollow circles under eyes without a hint of spark to them. Her frame thinner and less voluptuous than he’d last seen. Not the strong, robust woman he’d grown up beside. The woman who was his female counterpart. Grief had certainly taken its toll on her, and he desperately wanted to shelter her from the burden. To cocoon her in safety for as long as he was in town.

  He’d always protected her, at first as a litt
le sister who’d lacked a big brother to take on some of her fights, but then it had altered and become more about ensuring the amazing, strong vibrant woman wasn’t crushed by anything or anyone. But he’d been gone more often than not these past few years because of his desire to forge his own career and path. An attempt to control his destiny his way and become something more than what was predestined for him because of his last name.

  And with each trip home came guilt because he’d not wanted what had been created for him. Guilt because he’d not slid into the company as his siblings had done. So he stayed away and hoped and prayed that his brothers Isaiah, Sam, Lucas, and Caleb had done the job in his absence.

  He scuffed his shoe on the floor. “When you feel up to it, I’d like to know the details.” He cleared his throat and stared at the grain below. “I mean if you can.”

  Tabby sighed. “Not many to tell. They’d all gone out to dinner in Knoxville. Dad, Maisie, Isaiah, and Sean. Coming home, they hit a bear on Pine Top. The car went off the side.”

  And into a ravine. Eli gripped the railing, a splinter of wood piercing his skin. He wondered if the Brodies and the Ellises were cursed. Both mothers had died within years of one another, and now an accident had wiped out both patriarchs and first-borns in one fell swoop. What would happen now?

  Tabby turned to him and placed her hand on his arm. Warmth flooded his body from the simple gesture. “I can go with you to the graves. I mean, if you haven’t already been.” She dropped her hand and stared at the grain. “Or maybe you’ll want to be alone?”

  Her clear uneasiness in his presence sawed away at his skin. Nothing about her actions screamed, “Happy to see you.” Not like her usual reaction when he came home or when they’d suffered through grief together in the past. He couldn’t account for any reason why the camaraderie was absent. They’d been partners in life and crime for most of their lives.

  And partners in bed once.

  He didn’t regret that night. He thought of it often, and at times, when he’d lain still and motionless in some godforsaken country waiting on some damn animal to make up its mind, he’d wondered if he could convince her that more than once might suit them. That maybe they could find a way to make a relationship work.