Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (24 page)

Sexy sleeping man.

After cleaning up the front room, they’d come in to make a mess of the bedroom. Which they’d done a spectacular job of. There were blankets on the floor, sheets smeared with paint, and crumbs on the nightstand.

It wasn’t the thought of the last two double-chocolate-chunk cookies that had pulled her from the best sleep she’d ever had. It was something that Adam had said, a word really that kept rolling around in her head, pulling her from her sex-induced slumber.

Mine.

There was no reason for him to say that unless he meant it. Sure, they were in the heat of the moment, and things had gotten intense, but at that point she was a sure thing, leaving him no reason to make such a statement. Unless it was true.

When he’d said it, it had felt true. Possessive even. And Harper wanted it to be true. She wanted to belong to someone.

She wanted to belong to Adam.

His arms flexed around her, snuggling her close. Their bodies were plastered together, her face pressed into his chest, while he nuzzled her hair. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

She froze. “You do?”

“Uh-huh.” His hands slid down her back to palm her butt. “Cookies.”

She felt herself relax.

He lifted his head and laughed. “I’m right. It’s three in the morning and you want cookies.”

She offered a small smile. “Yup.”

“Don’t move.” He kissed her nose and climbed out of bed. Not concerned in the slightest that he was traipsing through her house butt-ass naked and painted like a gladiator.

Bed still warm, he slid back in, sure to lift the covers all the way and get a good view of her. With a groan, he hauled her up against him and offered a bite of cookie.

“God, those are good,” she moaned.

“How good are we talking?”

“Scale of one to ten, a nine-point-nine.”

“A nine-point-nine, huh?” He took a bite and frowned as though not sure how he missed that tenth of a point.

She tilted her head up to look into his eyes, and smiled sweetly. “The kind of cookies I was looking for are measured on the
Oh
scale.”

“I know,” he said, taking a bite of the cookie. “I was just preheating the oven. Because this next batch will blow your mind.”

And then he spent the rest of the night proving that when it came to cookies, Adam was her man.

I
t’s not even seven and already I’m sweating,” Shay said, fanning herself with a stack of paintings.

As always, Harper’s friends had come through. It was Saturday morning, the main day of the festival, and they’d shown up at the crack of dawn to help display the kids’ artwork at the park, even though they all still had a ton to do for their own booths.

Not that they seemed to be feeling the time crunch. Nope, they were both sitting on the stage, legs swigging off the edge, sharing a bag of kettle corn that the hunting club was providing, and staring out toward Main Street.

“Yup,” Emerson said, reaching into the bag. “Hot.”

Harper hung the painting in her hand, a sweet rendering of a firefighter holding a cat with an apple tree behind them, then sat down between her friends and—
whoa!

Across the park, behind the first row of booths and headed their way, were three beautiful men in work pants and
BEAT THE HEAT
ball caps pulled low, working in tandem to carry a wood table. And there was sweat. Lots of glistening, sweaty muscles.

Jonah was at the back of the table guiding them forward, while Dax stood in the middle, muscling a good portion of the weight. Which left Adam, with his ripped abs, cut arms, and tight backside, negotiating the monstrosity of a table through the crowd—backward.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“Hauling out all of the chairs and tables from the town’s storage shed,” Emerson said around bits of popcorn.

Harper reached into the bag and grabbed a handful. “Don’t they know the high school football team is coming at eight to set up the eating areas?”

“Maybe someone should tell them,” Shay said. But no one bothered to move—except to pass the popcorn.

“And ruin everyone’s fun?” Emerson jerked her chin to the senior ladies’ water aerobics team, who had left the community pool in their swim caps and suits to watch the show. Eyes big, camera phones rolling, they lined the upper railing of the senior center.

The guys set the table gently on the ground, their muscles straining until Harper heard a few breathy
Oh my
s flutter over from across the way. And okay, she might have groaned in appreciation too, but who could blame her? It was like watching three gladiators prepare for battle.

Harper smiled at the reference, then felt her body heat rise thinking about last night. It was a hot enough image to have her searing, and she wasn’t lifting anything heavier than popcorn.

After a round of high fives, the guys dusted off their hands and headed back for the storage shed at the far corner of the park. Only Adam stopped to stretch out his arms, lifting them up and over his head, which caused the waistband of his pants to slide down and over the two cute dimples he sported.

Shay turned to Harper. “Is that glitter on Adam?”

Harper tore her eyes off Adam and stifled a giggle. “It’s paint. I practiced some, uh, face masks on him last night.”

Shay snorted. “Then why is it on his lower back?”

Harper looked closer and smiled.
So it was.

It looked like he’d missed that spot when showering this morning. Granted, she’d been doing her best to distract him with the soap—and other things. She’d distracted him into a frenzy, then he’d distracted her three times, before dragging her back to bed.

“Huh, I guess it is.” She stood. “Maybe I should go tell him.”

Emerson grabbed her hand and yanked her back down. “That smile says you’re going to do a lot more than tell him. So do all those curls.” Which were held together by a paintbrush and sheer stubbornness. “What happened last night?”

“I guess he likes curls,” she said, still fighting the ridiculous urge to giggle. “He likes it straight, and up, and down.” She shrugged. “He just likes it.”

And he likes me!

“Of course he liked it, you were probably naked,” Frankie said, rushing up to the stage. Her hair was wild, her eyes a little crazed, and she was sweaty—in her normal black-on-black with steel-toed accents. But she looked ready to cry.

Or punch someone.

Not equipped to deal with either outcome, Harper asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain everything, but first I need water and I need you to open your shop,” Frankie said. Blanket was trailing behind, his sides heaving as if they’d arrived on foot, from twenty miles away. In a full sprint.

“Emerson, can you get a bottle of water?” Harper asked. Then to Frankie, “I’m not working today. I’m helping out at Beat the Heat.”

“Shit.” Frankie looked around at the crowd. It was still pretty sparse because of the early hour, but the crowd was growing. “I need to buy something. Now.” She looked at Shay, who was her sister-in-law, then handed her the leash. “You watch him. And you,” she said, looking at Harper, “come with me.” She grabbed Harper by the arm and dragged her away from everyone. “I need to buy a test for the . . .” She mouthed
baby.

“Oh my God!” Harper took the woman’s hand in her own. “You’re . . .”
Pregnant?

Frankie looked at their linked hands and back to Harper, obviously not comfortable with physical contact, or maybe it was public displays of affection, or neither. Harper released her hand and played it cool. “So the weekend getaway worked then?”

“I don’t know. I feel the same, but Blanket’s been acting weird, nuzzling my belly, giving it little love bites. Then last night he started dropping his teething rings on my belly. Two blue rings, right on my belly. It’s a sign, right?”

Harper stood there, mouth open, looking like a fish gasping her last breath. “Uh, I’m not sure alpacas have the gift of fertility detection.” When Frankie looked as if she disagreed, Harper asked, “Have you taken a test?”

“That’s why I’m here. I need you to open your shop so I can take one.”

“We don’t sell, uh, those at the Fashion Flower. Or the Boulder Holder.” In case that was her next question.

“You sell stuff on how to get . . .”—Frankie’s expression told her to fill in the word
pregnant
—“and stuff for when you’re . . .”
pregnant . . .
“but nothing to actually see if you are” . . .
pregnant?

“Why don’t you go to Bottles and Bottles?” Harper said. “I know the pharmacy will have some. And why are we still not saying the word?”

“I don’t want to jinx it, and do you think I would be
here
if I could go
there
?”

“No?”

Frankie glanced around and, clearly not satisfied with their current level of seclusion, dragged Harper even deeper behind the big oak tree. “Look, Mrs. Peters plays poker with Aunt Luce, and she is cousins with Nate’s grandma. And ChiChi has the biggest mouth in town. If either one of them hears I bought a test, then I’ll arrive home to a baby shower. And then what if I’m not and everyone thinks I am?”

Harper saw the problem. If Frankie wasn’t pregnant or if something went wrong, she’d have to explain to the whole town what happened. That would be as humiliating as it was heartbreaking.

“Do you want me to take you to the doctor?” Harper asked.

“No, I want you to go buy me a test.”

Harper froze, stock-still. “Same problem applies here. I walk in there and ask for a test and the rumor mill will start sending out smoke signals about me before I get back to you.”

“Mrs. Peters won’t suspect a thing if you walk in there all smiles and goodwill,” Frankie said, a little desperate now.

“What if we ask Shay? She’s married. No reason for gossip.”

“Are you crazy?” Harper wanted to point out that no, she was not the crazy one in this party, but Frankie wasn’t done. “If Shay finds out, Jonah finds out. And since all my brothers gossip like a bunch of little girls when they get together”—Frankie shook her head—“it would be safer to take out an ad in the paper.”

Frankie took a deep breath, as if to center herself, and Harper could see actual tears forming in her eyes. “I don’t even know if I’d be a good mom. When people see me, maternal usually isn’t something they think. But Nate swears I’ll be the best mom, just like his, and when he talks like that I believe him.”

The confidence and love she heard in Frankie’s voice when speaking of her husband, and their bond, was moving. Inspiring. It made Harper want to find that for herself—with Adam.

Taking a deep breath, Harper said, “This is a bad idea.”

“No it’s not.” Frankie took her by the shoulders. “We’ll just make up some story.”

“You do remember I’m the worst liar on the planet, right?”

“I know, but you’ve got two blocks to work on your craft.”

With a twenty in her pocket and a smack to the butt, Harper was sent on her way. Five minutes and a creative story about running out of paint stirrers later, Mrs. Peters handed over a super pack of pregnancy tests with a suspicious grin, and Harper found herself standing outside a porta-potty, sharing a Pop-Tart with Blanket.

“What’s taking so long?” Harper asked. “The directions said two minutes. It’s been like ten. People are starting to notice something is up.”

“Two per test,” Frankie said through the plastic door. “I’m taking all three, which is why I needed the water. I still have one left.”

“What did the first two say?”

The door opened and Frankie peeked her head out. Then she held up the sticks and Harper felt a rush of joy push through her system. Because she was witness to the first-ever pregnancy confirmation by alpaca—and Adam was going to be an uncle.

Harper was magical. That was all there was to it.

St. Helena’s community park looked like a scene from
Pollyanna
. The night sky twinkled with lights, every oak tree and booth post on the property had glowing mason jars hanging from it. The picnic tables were covered with red-checkered tablecloths and baskets of various wildflowers, and they were overflowing with families and residents.

McGuire and Seth had handled the ladder raise like pros, Harper’s casino tables were a huge hit with the over-sixty crowd, and there wasn’t a single kid without some kind of face art and honorary firefighter’s hat running round. They’d already raised enough money to pay for Back-to-School Packs for every kid on their list, and the barbeque dinner, which had been smoking all day and sending off some serious mouthwatering scents, had yet to be served.

And dinner was the biggest moneymaker of the night.

This event was, by far, the best Beat the Heat Adam had ever been to. People had been telling him as much all day. Based on the way Chief Lowen was grinning in Adam’s direction, people had been telling him too.

“The chief was telling me that an opening came up for an incident command position in a special operations wildland firefighting team in Colorado Springs. He wants to send someone from our unit so they can come back and train our firefighters here,” Roman said. “It would be a six-month post, minimum.”

“Six months with those guys would be invaluable,” Adam said, thinking about the lucky SOB who’d get to go balls to the wall with some of the most elite firefighters in the country. He wanted to be that SOB so bad he could taste it.

“It would also mean getting six months closer to lieutenant, which is why I want to recommend you.”

And there it was. That addictive buzz that preceded a major rush. It started in his chest, pinching and gaining volume, then moved up and out until his entire body was intoxicated at the idea. “Thank you, Cap.”

“You did the hard work. I just want to acknowledge it,” Roman said. “Your experience as a smokejumper has given you the ability to evaluate the big picture in a matter of seconds, but the way you handled McGuire and Seth and getting everyone involved in helping with the event cemented that you’re a real leader.”

“I learned from the best.”

Roman gave a short, tight nod, then cleared his throat before he spoke. “I’ve known that you were a great firefighter, but now when you talk, the guys get in order and go.”

“I work with a great crew. They’re like my brothers.”

“This isn’t the time to be humble,” Roman said with a laugh. “They follow you—not just because they like you, but because they respect you. You’ve earned that respect. Including mine.”