Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (27 page)

Eight Months Later . . .

H
ow about this? Is this any better?”

Harper opened her eyes as wide as they could go and gave her brightest smile.

Adam took his time to study her thoroughly, his gaze taking in every inch of her dress, her bare legs—and everything in between. “Perfect.”

“I was talking about my eyes.” She batted them. “Do they look misty?”

Adam grinned. “Like you’re about to burst into tears. Maybe we should just tell everyone the truth today.”

“What? No. Today is about Frankie and Nate.” It was a day to celebrate their growing family with friends and loved ones. Which was why Harper and Adam had made the long trek from Colorado Springs a week early. “Do you know how hard it is to carry around twins? The woman deserves a baby shower twice this size.”

Harper glanced across the vineyard, through the acres of grapevines, sagging with spring blossoms, to the gathering of friends and family at the far side, and she felt her heart pick up. Round tables adorned with yellow roses and violets lined the patio, while cream-and-blue bootie decorations hung from every oak tree and fence post on the Baudouin winery. It was like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting, only no one was playing a part. This was real life.

Harper’s real life.

“It’s not too late to go back to the house and hide out.” He pressed his mouth to her ear, and Harper closed her eyes. “Maybe in bed.”

“We just left bed.” Moments before they’d arrived, in fact. And when she was with Adam there was no such thing as hiding. He loved and cherished every part of her equally. “I still have bed-rumpled hair and your handprints on my dress.”

“That’s what newlyweds do.” His hands gripped her hips, and he walked her backward under an oak tree. “We might as well take advantage of it.”

“Nobody knows we’re married.” Harper’s eyes fluttered closed as his mouth worked magic. “Plus, we’re already late.”

“You don’t look like you care all that much that we’re late.”

“I look like this all the time,” she whispered. “It’s the look I get when I remember that this is real.” When she remembered that two weeks ago Adam had officially finished his IC command and was coming back to St. Helena with a lieutenant promotion under his belt, and that she’d opened a branding and marketing company that had already signed five huge accounts—including Lulu Allure.

Best of all, it was the look she gave when she remembered that they’d officially started their lives together.

“It’s real, sunshine. This was real from the moment I kissed you.” Her breath caught at the look of fierce adoration and love in his eyes as her husband of three days leaned down and kissed her in a way that had her heart melting and her toes curling. “And it gets more real every second I’m with you. Every second you’re mine.” Adam wiggled a brow. “Plus, I read in that magazine of yours that there is no better place to practice having a baby than at a baby shower.”

With a final kiss that held so much promise, Adam took Harper’s hand and led her through the vineyard and toward their families—and the best kind of extraordinary that Harper could have dreamed.

acknowledgments

Thanks to my agent, Jill Marsal, for your advice, dedication, and unwavering friendship. And to my editors, Maria Gomez and Lindsay Guzzardo, for taking the time to push me to grow as a writer and dig deeper with each story I tell. To the rest of the Author Team at Montlake, thank you for making every book special, and for welcoming me into the amazing Montlake family.

As always, a special thanks to my husband, who is not only a real-life hero, but
my
real-life hero. I love you.

Read on for a sneak peek of Marina Adair’s next heartwarming romance from her Sequoia Lake series

it started with a kiss

Available early 2017 on
Amazon.com

Editor’s Note:

This is an uncorrected excerpt and may not reflect the final book.

chapter one

I
f life was an adventure, then Avery Morgan needed to fire her travel agent and demand a refund.

She wasn’t a demanding person by nature, but that’s what happened when the universe issued an early expiration date on living, it gave you cojones. So Avery issued herself a new passport on life, and was ready to put some stamps in each and every column.

Her first destination required crisp mountain air, fireside s’more-tinis, and a real get-back-to-nature kind of adventure—one that would hopefully give her the skills needed to live out loud.

Avery looked through the windows of the local Moose Lodge at the imposing Sierras, a rugged mountain range that cut through Northern California and towered over her quaint hometown of Sequoia Lake.

“Before you begin your climb, you want to make sure you give the chest harness a final tug to ensure it’s secure,” she said as if she were the foremost expert on extreme adventures. As if her entire world—up until a year ago—hadn’t consisted of managing retirement portfolios at her family’s bank and listening to couples talk about their senior cruise to Alaska.

She bent over slightly to click the last carabiner into place, securing the leg straps to the chest harness.

There was something so poignant about that sound, about how with one click the device restricted her freedom and pressed down on her scar, a reminder that she was strapped in and fully committed to the climb.

“I’ll tug it,” Mr. Fitz offered, his bony fingers already reaching out to help. Or grope. Avery couldn’t be sure, so she stepped back out of range.

Mr. Fitz was three thousand years old, with teeth too white to be real, and, even though he looked like a harmless old-timer in his
TOO BIG TO THROW BACK
fishing hat, his eyes were laser pointed at Avery’s chest—which was prominently on display because of how the harness fit her body.

“I’m fine.” Avery swatted his hands away right before they made contact. “But thank you for the offer.”

Mr. Fitz backed off, taking his seat, but looked awfully disappointed.

Senior X-Tream Team, the town’s invitation-only fly fisherman’s club, had asked Sequoia Lodge to their monthly meeting, since the first topic on their agenda was to finalize their big summer excursion. And since Avery was Sequoia Lodge’s newly appointed adventure coordinator, it was her job to go out into the community and solicit new customers. If she secured all twelve members for this excursion, then she’d meet her entire quota for September in one fell swoop.

She straightened her shoulders—an impossible task due to the climbing harness—and held out a clipboard to the crowd. “Now, if that answers all the questions, let me tell you about the amazing views from—”

Mr. Fitz’s hand went up.

“Mr. Fitz?” she said thinly since this was his ninth question.

“If I fall on this climb, will you be there to catch me?” he asked, and a dozen gray heads bobbed in support.

“Your harness is secured to a safety line and a main line,” Avery said, reiterating verbatim the lodge’s safety manual of the precautions taken in any excursion that included chest harnesses. But to ease the concerned looks, she added, “Plus your adventure guide is with you every step of the way to make sure your trip is exciting and safe.”

Another hand flew up. The captain, as he preferred to be called, was the president of Senior X-Tream and seemed to be the ladies’ man of the group. With his silver-streaked hair, captain’s hat, and deck shoes, the man looked as though he’d just stepped off his boat and was ready to impress. He was also trying his hardest not to look at Avery’s chest. “If you fall, can I catch you?”

“I don’t go on excursions. I just coordinate them,” she said, leaving out the part that with every party confirmed, she got a bonus adventure for herself.

A series of disappointed mumbles filled the room, and she dropped the clipboard to the table, silencing the room with a bang. “Now, can all of those in favor of Senior X-Tream starting off their fall season with the River Rock climb please raise their hands?” she asked in a tone that usually had her customers signing on the dotted line.

Not a single hand went up. Which was odd since she’d come here to pitch the Fern Falls fly-fishing day trip and the group had specifically asked her to explain the River Rock climb, even going as far as having her demonstrate how the harness worked. And since that trek had a special place in her
Living for Love
passport, she’d suited up.

Only now, she was afraid she’d secured the carabiner incorrectly. Even though she’d followed the directions exactly, she couldn’t seem to loosen the harness or get the carabiner to open. Not that she’d let them know that.

“Mr. Fitz, how about you?”

Mr. Fitz shook his head. “My wife would have my head if she knew I was even thinking about climbing River Rock. That’s a young man’s trail, and I had a new hip put in last spring—no way could I take the pressure of that harness.”

Avery had made it through a surgery of her own last year, and could tell him, without a doubt, that healing bodies and harnesses were a tricky combination. But that the pressure would be worth the thrill he’d feel when he got to the top and looked out over Sierra Nevada.

“Then why did you ask about the trip in the first place?”

Mr. Fitz looked at the floor, his ears going pink. In fact, most of the men were avoiding eye contact. A clear sign that Avery had been played. “You weren’t planning on booking any trips today, were you?”

“We’ve been going on the Fern Falls fly-fishing excursion for nearly twenty years,” Prudence Tuttman said from the back row, not sounding all that excited about going for number twenty-one. She was the only female in the group, outweighed the heaviest member by twenty pounds, and held the county record for gutting the most fish in under a minute. “Nelson has taken us out on the last five trips and said he was sending you down to handle all of the paperwork.”

“Said he had some big trek today and didn’t have time for paperwork,” the captain said, and Avery wanted to point out that no one had time for paperwork. It was the nature of paperwork. But refrained because a trek wasn’t why Nelson had sent her.

Nelson Donovan used to be the top-rated adventure guide at Sequoia Lake Lodge, fitting since he’d owned the lodge for over forty years. He’d survived a helicopter crash, three avalanches, and the loss of one of his sons ten years ago. Nelson was the kind of man stories are made of. Only lately, his memory had been slipping, and on bad days he struggled to remember his own story—which was why his wife hired Avery. When she wasn’t booking his trips, she was managing the schedule and rechecking any and all safety equipment he touched—stealthily.

Pride was a tricky thing, and Avery was careful not to take that from him, too.

“What if I were to tell you that as Sequoia Lake Lodge’s official adventure coordinator, I have the ability to customize your trip,” Avery said. “Give you exactly what you’re looking for.”

“We’ve been pitched custom excursions before, but our group isn’t large enough to absorb the cost,” Prudence explained. “We asked Nelson, but he couldn’t seem to come up with one that would fit within our budget.”

It was true that customized trips were always on the higher end in pricing and usually reserved for cooperate retreats and large group events, but with all of the fall specials and their senior discount, finding something new and exciting within their means shouldn’t be that difficult.

“No sense in signing up for a journey that you’ve already taken.” Avery pulled her calculator and the excursion price guide out of her travel pack, setting them on the poker table that the Moose Lodge provided as workspace. “If you guys are bold enough to chase a new view, I
know
I can plan the perfect customized trip for your group and come in close to budget.”

Well, if that didn’t get their attention. The excitement in the room rose until it crackled, but it was Mr. Fitz who spoke up. “I guess the Fern Falls fly-fishing trip has become old hat for us.”

A few amens sounded from the group. The captain even took off his hat and leaned in closer as Avery started scribbling down some rough numbers.

“At least with Fern Falls we know what we’re getting into,” Prudence cautioned the group. “This bean counter doesn’t even know how to unlock that carabiner. How is she going to come up with a trip we’ll like?”

Bean Counter
held up the Sequoia Lake Lodge guide. “Because I am a master planner and know this book inside and out.” When they didn’t look convinced, she added, “What’s the fun in knowing exactly what you’re going to get?”

“Knowing it won’t suck,” Prudence said.

“Adventure is about trying new things, straying off the known path.” No one spoke. “And if you book today, I will take ten percent off the total.”

She wouldn’t get her bonus trip, but she’d get the credit for bringing in her first custom trek, which would go far with her boss. If there was one thing that Nelson admired, it was assertiveness.

And if there was one thing seniors loved, it was a deal.

Twenty minutes later, Avery walked down the front steps of the local Moose Lodge and onto Poppy Street, painfully aware that the safety harness was jammed and not coming off anytime soon. The sun was setting behind the lush peaks of the Sierra Nevada, streaking the sky a brilliant orange. A cool evening breeze blew through the thick canopy of ponderosas and crape myrtle trees that lined the main drag of town.

Avery shifted her bag, which housed the signed, customized excursion contract for the Senior X-Tream Team, farther up on her shoulder and waited for the thrill of landing a big client to come.

It didn’t. Odd, since once upon a time, say just a few months ago, coming out on top would have had her flushed with excitement, and okay, for a small moment in there, when all twelve sets of eyes had been riveted on her, the adrenaline of a job well done had made a brief appearance. Fooling her into actually believing she was one step closer to her own adventure.

But that was just it. Avery had been Sequoia Lake Lodge’s acting senior adventure coordinator for most of the summer, yet the closest she’d come to a real adventure was waking up to a band of raccoons partying in her cabin. They’d torn through the screen door and made off with a box of Oreos, peanut butter, and two pairs of her favorite underwear—which told her they were male raccoons.

Avery hoped her job would entail more than senior center visits, working the farmers’ markets booth, and helping lost guests at the lodge find the restroom. So far, she spent more time talking about all the different trails the Sequoia National Park offered than actually taking one. In fact, adventure coordinating wasn’t all that different from managing retirement funds, except her desk was outside and travel insurance covered more than lost suitcases.

Even the bright sun and gentle breeze couldn’t distract from the feeling that she was once again sitting idle, waiting for life to find her. Instead of waiting for the net to appear, she was going to leap.

Determined to talk to Irene and Nelson about running this trek on her own, she headed toward the yellow Victorian with violet trim at the end of the street that had
HOOT & HAMMER
and an owl painted on its leaded windows. It wasn’t a hardware store, but she’d seen enough sawdust and heavy woodworking machinery to bet the owner possessed a screwdriver and set of hands strong enough to pry open the carabiner. Convincing Nelson she was ready to take clients into the great outdoors while she was stuck in a harness wouldn’t make the kind of impression she was going for.

Only, before she reached the shop, she noticed the Closed sign hanging in the window. She also noticed a big, shiny, black ego-trip with mud tires, a lift kit, and a mountain bike secured to its top.

The truck was parked directly under the town’s flapping banner—
which read
COME FOR THE ADVENTURE, STAY FOR THE PEOPLE
—and
practically on top of her Mazda’s bumper. Not only did it have a toolbox
in it’s bed, the box appeared to be unlocked—and it’s owner nowhere
in sight.