Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) (12 page)

But Emerson had a gut instinct that something was off. And her instincts were rarely wrong.

“Glad your knee’s fine,” she said, pulling into his drive and putting a little more oomph behind hitting the brakes than necessary.

Dax didn’t flinch, didn’t even react other than to flash her a knowing smile. How did he remain so controlled when she knew his knee was killing him?

Emerson threw the car in park and reached across the console. She placed her hand on his knee and pressed her fingertips under the kneecap.

“Jesus,” he gasped, partly out of pain and partly out of relief.

“I thought you were almost done with PT?” The way he had made it sound the other day, he was on his last few visits, but this felt like more-than-a-few-visits kind of recovery. She released her grip only to tighten again, and this time his leg jerked, but she held on. “How bad is it?”

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes as she manipulated the tissue around the knee. It was hot to the touch and, the way his breathing went shallower with every pressure point she touched, angry.

“Did you learn how to do this for your mom?” he asked quietly.

Her hand paused at the unexpected question, and so did her heart. She considered giving him her it’s-no-biggie stock answer about taking a few massage therapy classes at the local JC to avoid a real conversation about what that really meant. But something about this moment, about the way he was asking, made blowing it off impossible.

“When I left for culinary school she was struggling with small things, opening jars, standing for long periods of time, but she was good at hiding it. By the time I came home her disease had progressed to the point that hiding wasn’t an option. It was awful. Just walking in the yard with Violet was like hiking up the side of a mountain with hundred-pound weights tied to her ankles.” Emerson took a deep breath. “She didn’t want Violet to miss out and she was determined to live a lifetime in a few years. So I learned how to ease the pain afterward.”

“Is that why you’re the head bug?” Dax asked and she nodded.

“Lovely leader, and yeah, I had an amazing mom for twenty-seven years. Violet will never have that.” Emerson’s hands kept gently working his knee. It was strange, her mom had been gone almost two years and yet her fingers remembered exactly what to do. “But I am head bug, as you put it, because my sister thought it was smart to take on an army of zombies with fire sprinklers.”

Dax chuckled, but it seemed strained. Then a large hand came to rest on hers. “Can I get a rain check on dinner?”

“That bad?” she asked and a swift flood of concern filled her chest.

His head rolled to the side to meet her gaze, and what she saw there floored her. It wasn’t that stoic soldier she’d become so familiar with looking back. Nope, he was stripped down. Maybe he hurt too much to fake it, or maybe he felt safe enough to be open with her.

Dax without any armor was like catnip.

“It’s a lot of things, so I think it would be smart for me to go inside and you to go home.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, wondering when this had become so important. Yesterday she had been dreading dinner, but today, after their time at the store, she was actually looking forward to it. Looking forward to a fun night of flirting and laughing and the freedom to be a single woman. Not a nearly thirty-year-old guardian and business owner who had more responsibilities than a single mom.

Oh, who was she kidding? Emerson was looking for a fun night of flirting with Dax. Because flirting with Dax was more than fun, it was exhilarating.

“No,” he said, his voice rough and his eyes—those were on her lips. So intense Emerson felt them tingle. “I’m not.”

She wasn’t either anymore, which was why she needed to leave. Needed to pack up and clock out, because something had shifted. The teasing banter and sexy sparring had turned deeper, and that warm hum of connection they were sharing had turned electric. Suddenly, being trapped in her little car with a man as big as life made it hard to breathe. The last time she’d felt this intoxicated had been that night in San Francisco.

“How about I get you in the house and at least make you dinner,” Emerson offered. “You need to eat, right?”

Dax’s eyes went hot and he cupped her face with his masculine hand. “If you go with me into that house, I’m going to want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert, sampling every piece until I decide on my favorite.” His fingers dropped to the erratic pulse at her neck. “Then we’d do it again and again until our palates are completely satisfied.”

Emerson’s head was telling her to abort mission. A good chef knew that dessert always followed dinner—it was the hint of sweet that marked the end of the meal. The bad girl in her, the one who used to run things but went on sabbatical the day her mom got sick, reminded her that dessert was a host’s way of guaranteeing that nobody left the party unsatisfied.

Emerson knew that with a man like Dax, and that wicked prom
ise in his eyes, she’d never be left unsatisfied. He would make her
sweet spot a top priority and her satisfaction his own personal mission.

“Something is warning me that it still won’t be enough,” he
said, and Emerson’s competitive side was up for the challenge. But before her sweet spot could be tended to, Dax ran his thumb over her lip and said, “And I’m leaving in a few weeks’ time.” He sounded almost as if the admission caused him physical pain. “So this is where I say thanks for the ride and the groceries then hobble my sorry ass up to bed. Alone.”

“You just went home?” Harper asked, sliding a tray of mini spinach and dill-infused feta pastries into the fridge. She had flour on her face, phyllo dough stuck to her sweater, and her curly black hair was piled on top of her head, held there with what Emerson assumed was a half-chewed pencil or a clothespin.

Emerson knew the amount of preparation needed to pull off the farmers’ market
and
Blow Your Cork in one day was going to be intense, so when her dad called early that morning saying he had an interview later that day at a high-end boutique winery down valley for a senior manager position, Emerson had no choice but to offer to take Violet for the day. Hanging with her sister at the farmers’ market would be fun—she could put Violet to work selling the baklava. It was the two hours in between events that would be a problem.

Her solution? Prep for both events simultaneously before Violet arrived. Which meant she needed backup. Harper couldn’t cook, but years of working with kids had taught her to be a master with directions—issuing and receiving.

She also had a velvet honesty about her that made her the perfect sounding board.

“What was I supposed to do? Force my way in and make sure he made it to bed without passing out?” Emerson dropped an apron full of plums and oranges onto the counter. Today’s farmers’ market special was a plum shortcake, a crowd favorite, which meant she needed to make twice the normal amount.

Harper closed the industrial-sized fridge and turned to face her.
“A man who looks like that says he wants to dine on me? I’d carry him
to bed, show him what’s for dinner, then tuck him in. Right over me.”

“Even if you knew he was leaving?” A matter that had accounted for Emerson getting exactly zero sleep last night. She wanted Dax,
no question. And he made it more than clear he wanted her.

What should be a simple problem with a simple solution was complicated by the fact that in addition to wanting him, Emerson was stu
pidly starting to like him—and there was no simple outcome for that.

“I knew you were leaving for Paris, but that didn’t mean I stopped hanging out with you.” Harper crossed her arms. “In fact, I hung out with you more.”

“This is different,” she said. “I couldn’t shake you even if I tried. Your circle of friendship is unbreakable.”

Harper smiled proudly. There wasn’t a soul in town she didn’t know or hadn’t befriended. She was the kind of person who hugged strangers and could make friends with a rabid piranha. She’d rub a fishing line in some of that sunshine she wore for perfume, tie it to an olive branch, and seduce the flesh-eating fish into embracing his inner koi. Then she’d take it home, convert it to a vegetarian, and buy it a green-powered tank.

“And Dax, well, he’s—”

“Sexy, single, mysterious, and interested.”

He was also so damn charming he brought up feelings that she hadn’t dealt with since Liam left. And like Liam, Dax too was leaving. “He’s moving to San Jose.”

“Hello? Perfect situation. You need to get laid, and he looks more than equipped for the job.” Harper slapped her hand over Emerson’s
mouth. “And before you talk yourself out of a little friends-with-benefits
action and deny us this incredible opportunity, because let’s be real, th
e
last man who hit on me was Tommy Walker at last week’s watercolor class when he told me I smelled like glue”—at Emerson’s confused expression, Harper clarified—“Tommy
loves
glue. Anyway, I need you to really understand what you’d be saying no to.”

Harper turned Emerson’s head with her hands so Emerson could focus in on the front page of the
St. Helena Sentinel
and the most delectable abs and chest this town had ever seen.

“Look long and hard,” Harper whispered. “Still not convinced? Then let me remind you that we live in a town of six thousand. Six thousand people we already know, Em. Every single man we will encounter from here forward will either be tourists who will leave, college kids who will think we’re old, old men who will think we’re desperate, or guys who knew us when we played with Barbies.”

“I never played with Barbies,” Emerson mumbled through Harper’s fingers. “And get your hand off my mouth, you taste like crayon wax and olive brine.”

Harper dropped her hands but didn’t back down. “All I’m saying is that this is a chance for you to get yours. To forget about all of the
stress, the demands of your family for a few hours, and have some fun.”

“And maybe an orgasm or two?”

“Um, how about ten? Have you seen the man? Plus after Liam, you deserve ten.” Harper’s voice softened. “You deserve to be happy, Em. Really happy. You take care of everyone else and never complain, and now there is a chance for you to take care of you.”

“For just a night,” Emerson said softly.

“Sure, a built-in expiration date. Keeps it simple and free of expectations. I mean, everyone’s going to leave at some time or another,” Harper pointed out. “But this time it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Emerson thought about that and wondered what it would be like to be free of expectations. She was a pretty private person by nature, and every relationship she had was intense, which was why she was selective of the people she let in.

This thing with Dax would be physically intense but emotionally casual, and for a girl who knew how to take her mother’s vitals before she could legally drive a car, there hadn’t been room in Emerson’s life for anything frivolous. There also hadn’t been room in her life to really live. Not solely for herself.

Emerson thought about San Francisco, about that kiss in her car, then thought about the erotic statement he’d thrown at her last night and wondered if she could go through with it. If she could put aside her need to nurture and for the first time in a long time put her needs first.

For just a night.

She looked over at the cork costume on the wall, then smiled. “Does your grandma still have that vintage ’40s dress in her shop window?”

Y
ou need lunch money?” Adam asked with a grin, pulling up to the curb and making sure to park right in front of a life-sized cutout of Beefcake Bodyguard—in case Dax had somehow managed to miss the posts about it on Facebook.

“Fuck off.” Dax grabbed his jacket and stepped out onto the curb, the crisp evening air filling his lungs. A few maple leaves blew down the lamp-lined sidewalk and into the street.

It was Saturday night, nearly happy hour, and he had received a half dozen calls from curious ladies inquiring about his hosting skills, a few more inquiring about his
other
skills, and enough grief from Adam on the ride over to make his right eye twitch. And unless he could talk his way out of playing Beefcake Bodyguard, his night was just getting started.

“Beefcakes aren’t really my type,” Adam said. “But Ms. Lambert over at the Grapevine Prune and Clip was at the bank getting a hundred bucks in ones today, just in case the rumors were true and you were taking it all off at midnight. My guess is you won’t go home lonely tonight. The other guys at the firehouse have a poll going on how many teeth—”

Dax slammed the door and, finger high and loud, he waved his thanks and walked toward the bar. From the outside it looked like a typical small-town storefront. Gray clapboard siding, raised planter boxes filled with seasonal flowers, and a little red awning over the door. A couple of wrought iron tables and chairs sat in front of the street-side window, which had tasteful gold calligraphy that challenged one to
INDULGE IN SECRET PLEASURES—ONE SIP AND ONE DIP AT A TIME
.

Praying he wasn’t expected to be the secret pleasure, he rounded the alley to enter through the side door. A red carpet ran the entire length of the alley, which was already filled with customers winding down and around the back of the building.

Not just customers, Dax groaned: ladies. Senior ladies with walkers, ginormous handbags, and saggy breasts slung up in sequins. They were all flapping their cards, the same VIP card Ida had given him, waiting for the doors to open. Excitement and impatience hung thick, and Dax knew he should run.

Too bad for Ida that she’d run an ad without consulting him first, because no way was he going to be the hired beefcake. It would take a riot squad to control this mess if it went sideways. And it was going to go sideways. There was no way all those ladies were getting in. It would be against fire code, and as soon as they realized it, shit was going to go down.

He’d only dropped by to tell Ida that he wasn’t working her event, then go to the Spigot, a cash-only, manners-optional sports bar down the street where he was meeting Kyle for brews and a game.

And okay, he’d also come to see if he could catch a glimpse of Emerson in her cork costume. Maybe poke fun at her outfit, make her laugh, and charm away any residual weirdness from last night. A smart man would welcome the weirdness, embrace the distance it would create, and get out while he was ahead.

Dax was neither a quitter nor smart, because the last thing he wanted was awkwardness with the one person whose company made him feel at ease.

“Those muscles look real to me,” someone said from the crowd.

“I think he needs to take it off so we can see with our own eyes,” someone else said, someone who sounded a lot like ChiChi DeLuca. ChiChi, who had silver hair, wore orthopedic shoes, and married his grandpa last year.

“No inspecting the merchandise,” Ida said, waddling out. She looked at Dax, took in his boots, jeans, and dark tee and shrugged. “Was hoping for dress whites, more of
An Officer and a Gentleman
look.”

“Richard Gere was in the navy. I’m army,” Dax said, but Ida didn’t seem to be bothered by the difference, as though the two were interchangeable. “And I hoped you would have consulted me about tonight before taking out an ad in the
Sentinel
.”

“It wasn’t an ad, it was an editorial piece about safety in our society.”

“And me shirtless on the cover addresses civilian safety how?” he asked.

“One look at those guns and any underage woman will think twice before coming in and poaching our men. But just in case, I got one of those blue light things the TSA uses to detect fake IDs.”

“How many minors snuck in last week?” Because the thing about small towns was one couldn’t fart without people smelling it. Dax couldn’t imagine how kids could lie about their age in a place where half the patrons had, at one time or another, changed their diapers.

“Not minors, men poachers,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him through the side door into the bar. “Those fresh-out-of-their-third-marriage twits who all live in that fifty-five and older community down the road. They come in here with their menopause glow and pregrandma boobs, attracting the guys with real hip joints and acting for all the world to see like they’ll never need a hip replacement.”

Ida paused in the entry to point to just such a woman in line. She wore sailor pants with six buttons on the front, a starched white shirt—tucked in—and gold-rimmed glasses.

“So you want me to bounce Ms. Wheeler?” Dax asked. “She was my kindergarten teacher.”

“Personal histories with the patrons mean nothing. Understand?”

Dax understood. More than he cared to admit.

“Good.” Ida stepped close, then right up onto her toes and poked his abs with her meaty finger. “If she ain’t over sixty-five, she ain’t getting in. Real hips get the di—”

He held up a hand, not wanting to hear the rest. “Look, we have a problem.”

But Ida wasn’t listening, she was already gone, waddling her way behind the bar like a woman with a plan.

Dax blew out a breath and sank onto a stool. No point in chasing her down, she’d be back, then he’d tell her that he wanted no part of her plan. He’d repay the marker some other way. Maybe with some creative defense lessons so she could handle her own security.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the mood lighting, but when they did, he knew he was screwed. The entire place had been turned into an
Anchors Aweigh
set. Life preservers lined the walls, blue-and-white-striped tablecloths adorned the cocktail tables, and a big gold anchor hung behind the bar. The place was already hopping with old timers in wartime attire lining the bar, sipping sidecars and smelling like Bengay, waiting for the dance hall ladies to come swarming in.

But what had him pausing, had him rethinking his evening plans, was the dance hall honey standing at the far side of the room.

Emerson wasn’t dressed like a cork tonight. Oh no, she was wearing enough body-hugging fabric to cause someone to blow theirs.

She looked soft and sexy in a vintage dress that hugged her body and went from collarbone to below the knee, only to cinch high in the waist with a tiny strip of leather. The dress was navy and white, the belt red, and the heels a blatant invitation. Her hair was down, silky auburn curls shining under the lights and flirting around her shoulders, while one side was secured with a big white flower.

She was a walking, talking, World War II dream girl.

Her eyes locked on his and instead of looking away, like any other woman would have done, she sent him an amused smile that had a bit of challenge thrown in. Challenge that when paired with those shoes was a request for trouble without consequences.

Dax loved a little trouble. Trouble without the drama was even better. But nothing about this woman said no strings.

It wasn’t the dress or the bombshell body—or even the shoes. Those were giving him a green light all the way. It was that flash of vulnerability he’d seen when she was talking about her mom. About her sister.

Emerson put up a good tough-girl front, but he knew that she wasn’t as bulletproof as she pretended to be.

And that slayed him. Because Dax knew all too well what a bullet to the chest felt like. So he’d take that night-of-fun challenge and raise her a partner in the short term. She could use someone on her side, and he was already more invested than just fun. So when Ida came back over with a big box of door swag and a blue light, he said, “Where do you want me?”

And that was how Dax found himself, two hours later, standing in the cold, vetting real IDs from fake ones, and passing out ladies’ night swag bags that had been donated by the lingerie shop next door.

“What kind is this?” Mrs. Moberly, the town’s long-standing librarian asked, pulling the red vibrator from the bag. “Oh my, it’s a Go Big or Go Home.”

Dax rolled his neck from side to side and mumbled, “I believe so.”

Mrs. Moberly held up the device to inspect it. He could have told her that, according to the shop’s owner, Clovis, the Go Big or Go Home was the preferred personal pleasure device for two out of every three women in St. Helena—three years running. He could have, but he didn’t.

First, because that would be acknowledging that most of his female relatives had one or wanted one. Second, because
what the hell?
And third, because after repeating the scripted spiel to the head of the Daughters of the Prohibition board, who asked him why the overwhelming support for the device, she’d proceeded to turn it on. And watching that thing light up in the presence of someone who used to read him
James and the Giant Peach
wasn’t something he wanted to experience.

Ever.

“Why don’t you save this for the next person, dear?” Mrs. Moberly said, pushing
her glasses farther up her nose and handing him the vibrator. Just like that, she placed a dick-shaped laser light show in his hand and smiled. “I already have one.” Then she patted his cheek and even gave it a little pinch. “It’s so good to see you home, Dax. Safe and in one piece. We’re all real proud of you.”

She said it as if he wasn’t standing on Main Street holding a rubber pleasure stick in his hand and she hadn’t caught him in the stacks, sneaking peeks at the boobs in
National Geographic
when he was twelve.

One last pat and she was gone, and Dax turned to the next customer.

Ah, shit.
“What are you doing here?” Dax asked his brothers, only the question was rhetorical, because if one of them had been in his shoes, he’d come to laugh too.

“What did Dad tell you about standing in public with your dick in your hand?” Adam asked and Dax shoved the vibrator into one of the bags but managed to hit the on switch in the process.

A low hum shook the paper bag and vibrated off the cement and, before Dax could stop it, a bright red glow lit up the box and patriotic-themed strobe lights flickered into the inky night sky. Red, white, and blue, because when Clovis caught wind of a theme, she went all the way, which was why she hadn’t just donated the standard Go Big or Go Home, she’d donated the limited edition Let Freedom Ring series.

“Wow, that can’t be normal,” Adam said with mock concern. “You should have that checked out.”

Dax looked at Adam in his SHFD blues and hat and snorted. “Dude, you drive a red engine, play with your hose, and ring a bell for a living. And you’re giving me shit? I could maim you with nothing but that vibrator.”

Adam opened his mouth, most likely to say something equally as mature and constructive, when Jonah, peacemaker at his core, nudged him silent. “Giving a guy a hard time at his place of work? Grow up.”

Jonah turned to Dax. He didn’t laugh, didn’t make a further mockery of the moment, which he totally could have, and instead put a hand on Dax’s shoulder in a clear sign of support. “We just came by to check on you, see how your knee was holding up, and to ask if you were holding out on your answer about teaching the weapons class until I sweeten the deal. Because if so, I can see if the department will throw in one of those pink stocks for your rifle that all of the ladies down at the range are talking about. Maybe one that flashes lights.”

“Move along, old man,” Dax said, shoving his brother. “There
is a strict no-asshole policy in effect tonight.”

“Seriously, have you thought about the job?” Jonah asked. “Because
if it’s a go, then I need to process the paperwork by Wednesday.”

Dax had thought about the job. A lot. The logical part of him knew that getting out with a team of guys, experiencing the kind of camaraderie that came when hanging with people who were cut from his cloth, would be good for him. Maybe even stop some of that itching in his gut.

The other part that was still somewhere over in the Middle East was telling him it was too soon. That walking into that kind of brotherhood again would be a betrayal, because he’d been a part of the best kind of team, vowed with his life to make it to the end with them, and he’d let them down.

“What job?” A honeyed voice slid over Dax’s skin and settled right behind his button fly.

Trouble stood in the doorway, holding a tray of food and a cold beer, her auburn hair shimmering with fire from the twinkling lights of the awning above, well within touching distance.

“Just a temp position with the department,” Dax said.

“One you should consider,” Jonah added.