Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (7 page)

“You are so close, I’d hate to see you mess this up,” Roman said, and Adam agreed. He loved his job, but he also wanted to move up the ranks. Be a leader. “They can look past stupid choices made by a stupid kid, but becoming a lieutenant is serious and competitive. And you know damn well Lowen has it out for you. So if lieutenant is still what you want—”

“It is.” More than anything, Adam wanted this promotion. He wanted to become the kind of man who didn’t make snap decisions, but had the control to think things through and explore every possible outcome before acting.

“Good, then don’t give him another reason to pass. Just like California’s fire season starts in January and lasts through December, you might work four on and three off, but if the day ends in Y, Lowen is watching you. And he is looking for a leader, not the guy who jumps without looking and gets caught with his pants down in the equipment closet.”

“
My
pants weren’t down.”

Roman lifted a brow and, okay, so hers were. “You took the lieutenant’s exam two years ago, Baudouin. You got one of the highest scores in the county, and yet you’re still in the same place. Do you ever wonder why that is?”

Every damn day.

Adam had done everything right. Took all the classes, aced the exam, worked more special ops teams than even his superiors, and yet he’d watched other guys climb the ranks while he remained a senior engineer. “Not my time yet, I guess.”

“Not your time?” Roman’s voice went serious. Dead serious. “Or there hasn’t been enough time since Trent?”

It was like a vise clamped on and tightened around his chest at the sound of his friend’s name. It was accompanied by the all too familiar burn of guilt. “Trent has nothing to do with me getting promoted or not.”

“Really?” Roman sat back. “Because every time you get close to a promotion you do something stupid, almost like you’re challenging the universe to see if it’s okay to get on with your life.”

“You don’t move on from something like that.”

Roman blew out a breath. “No, you don’t. But you also can’t let his death stop you from living yours. You’re one of the best, Adam. You make solid choices when it counts and crap ones when you’re off the clock, like you’re giving the department just enough reason to hesitate.”

Was that what he was doing? Adam hoped to hell not. He’d busted his ass to become a better firefighter, to assess a situation in seconds with the highest probability of success—to be the kind of firefighter Trent would have been. Then Adam thought about all the stupid pranks he’d pulled, the way he’d lived his life, and knew he wasn’t anywhere near the man Trent would have become. “Maybe they have reason to hesitate.”

“You act like I wasn’t there,” Roman said quietly. “Like I wouldn’t have made the same exact call.”

“But you didn’t.” Adam had. And even after a decade of playing it over in his mind, reevaluating every possible outcome, forward and backward until they were tattooed to the inside of his eyelids, he still couldn’t say with certainty what the hell had gone wrong. One minute they were in control of the fire, the next the wind turned and the blaze swallowed them whole.

“Had I been working on logic instead of raw adrenaline, I would have pulled back to the line the second the smoke shifted.”

“We were young, all gung ho and hopped up on FNG invincibility, pretending we weren’t scared as shit. And we all made that decision, Adam. So you don’t have exclusive rights to carry the guilt.”

“I was the senior guy there,” Adam bit off.

“By nine months.”

Adam gritted his teeth to keep from arguing. Nine months, nine years—it didn’t matter. When communication was cut with incident command, the choice to pull back or not fell to Adam. He’d made the wrong one.

In their line of work, courage was as necessary as water. But a good firefighter had a healthy dose of fear when it came to fire. Fear caused them to slow down, think through the situation, and give them time to let their training kick in.

Training that would have noticed the telltale sign of the fire pushing the air up. Training that could have ensured that one of the best firefighters and friends Adam had ever had would still be there.

Giving me shit about kissing the hometown sweetheart,
he silently added, knowing Trent was probably in heaven shaking his head right then thanking Jesus, Gandhi, Babe Ruth, and anyone else who would listen that his buddy had hooked up with a crazy cutie.

“You want to know why I’m here and you’re still there? Because I didn’t let Trent’s death overshadow my life,” Roman said, making sure Adam knew they weren’t just talking about his position in the department.

“I let it fuel me to be better, make smarter choices, grow up. Then I worked my way into a position to where, if I got cut off from incident command, I’d know, without a doubt, what to do. And I didn’t wait for the department to move me up to captain—I proved to them I was ready. That I had what it took to go from lieutenant to captain to chief and beyond.”

“Because you’re the real deal,” Adam said. Roman was as skilled, methodical, and honorable as they came. He never hesitated and never missed important facts, even in the middle of a hell-blazer. He was captain for a reason.

“So are you. You’re just too busy jumping from one hot spot to the next to prove it.”

And wasn’t that the heart of the problem? By design, Adam was moving so fast he didn’t have time to think—about anything. Which had worked for him in the past, since thinking led to feelings and events he didn’t want to revisit. But maybe Roman was right, and his methods were also keeping him from moving forward.

Suddenly, he felt as if he’d spent most of his life running only to find himself in the same place. And if he wanted to make a difference, he needed to focus and show them he was serious. About his career—and his life. If he wanted to be a lieutenant, he didn’t just have to prove he was ready for the job.

He had to prove he
was
the job.

S
t. Helena had three truths Harper could always count on.

Keeping a secret was as realistic as winning the lottery without a ticket. The only person who benefited from lying was the liar—until they got caught. And when you challenged the first two, the only thing left to do was eat your weight in cookies.

Not that Harper had lied to Chantel about dating Adam—it was more of a half truth. She and Adam
had
gotten hot and heavy. Once. But it was still a cookies-needed kind of week.

Only yesterday, her favorite confection connection, the Sweet and Savory, had been closed when she’d walked by for her morning cookie fix. It was the first sign of impending doom. Then last night, Father Giuseppe stopped by the Fashion Flower to pick up the donation box for the family outreach program. Even after telling herself he was just there for the clothes, and not her repentance, Harper had handed over the box, her brand-new iPod, and every cent in her purse.

Then promised to see him Sunday in church.

Today, she opened a box of early-readers books that had been delivered, and on top, staring up at her in big, vintage, circa-1970s yellow letters was
The Berenstain Bears and the Truth
. The same book her grandmother had given her that first summer Harper had moved in. She had just turned nine, was heartbroken over her mom missing her birthday party, and devastated to learn Gloria wasn’t coming back. So when the neighbor kids had asked where her mom was, she’d lied and said she was “filming a movie in Paris with Johnny Depp.”

To be fair, Gloria had been dating a guy named Johnny at the time who was the director of a small production of
Oklahoma
in Paris—Missouri. And it had sounded more exciting than the truth: her mother hadn’t loved her enough to stay.

Harper slapped the box lid closed and shoved the books under the counter, then busied herself with organizing the antique lace bibs on the front display.

The Fashion Flower was the one-stop shop for everything kids and crafty in wine country. The high-end kids’ clothing appealed to the fashion-forward mommy, while the one-of-a-kind handcrafted styles allowed even the smallest of wallflowers to feel unique.

For Harper, though, this shop was about more than popsicle-stick ornaments and kiddie couture. She had done her best to create a space that inspired adventure and imagination, and encouraged children to explore their identity. To make bold choices.

Harper had been bold with Chantel, promising something she had no idea how to deliver. Then she’d gone and made it worse by lying.

“Lying is much harder to keep track of than the truth,” she mumbled, repeating what she told her students.

Telling herself it wasn’t a lie, just an omission of truth—because that sounded so much better—she stacked the lavender bibs on the top shelf. She was reaching for the poppy-colored ones when the bell on the door jingled and in walked her first customer of the day.

“Welcome to the Fashion Flower,” Harper chimed in her sunniest voice. “We have lots blooming today.”

Harper looked up and her stomach took a dive-bomb.

Francesca DeLuca, formerly Frankie Baudouin—as in Adam’s sister—stood in the doorway. She wore black combat boots, black jeans, and a black tank top that said
I BUST MINE SO I CAN KICK YOURS
across the front. She also had a fuzzy alpaca on a leash.

“You got any of those Monkey Munchkin teething toys?”

“They’re in the baby boutique section.”

“Thanks,” Frankie said as she and the alpaca located them in seconds. She cleaned out every single ring and headed to the cash register, dropping a dozen of them on the counter.

“Didn’t you buy a case of these last month?” Harper asked, ringing up the order.

“Yeah, but Blanket here goes through them when he’s stressed.” Frankie took one of the rings out of the packet and gave it to Blanket. “Don’t you, boy?”

Rump wagging with glee, Blanket took the teething ring with his big horse teeth and rolled it around in his mouth. A low hum filled the room.

“You should ask Peggy at the Paws and Claws Day Spa if she has a chew toy he can’t eat through.” Harper rang up the last one and put them in a decorated paper bag, then tied the handles with a big blue bow.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because Peggy sells those indestructible dog toys.”

“Blanket isn’t a dog,” Frankie corrected. And her eyes? They skewered. “And he’s only going through so many rings because his daddy and I have been hoping for another and he’s been feeling left out.”

“You’re getting another alpaca?” Harper asked because Frankie already had three. Blanket and his alpaca family lived in a custom-made habitat, which was spitting distance from Frankie and Nate’s place. Complete with bedrooms, a splashing pool, and a reading loft, it was bigger than Harper’s apartment.

“No,” Frankie said as if questioning
Harper’s
sanity. “Nate and I are trying for a . . .” She mouthed
baby
and pointed at her flat belly.

“Oh my God.” Harper clapped her hands. “You’re going to have a baby?”

“What part of me not saying the word in front of Blanket did you miss?” Frankie threw a few bills on the table. “And yes, that’s the plan. The universe just needs to catch up.” Frankie put her hands over Blanket’s ears and, even though his humming had grown to white noise, she lowered her voice. “We’ve been trying since last fall. And, don’t get me wrong, the trying is fun—Nate makes everything fun—but I want to get to the next part.”

Harper’s heart went out to the couple. It might have seemed like everyone was pregnant lately, but she’d met so many women since working at the Fashion Flower who’d struggled with getting pregnant on a timeline. It was frustrating and stressful and Harper could tell that Frankie didn’t need someone else telling her things like “It will come in its own time” or “Everything happens for a reason.” That would only dismiss her fears.

Whether she’d been trying for ten months or ten years, her fear was real.

Harper knew what it was like to want a family, and what it was like to be unable to create one. She didn’t know how to make Frankie’s problem disappear, but she did know something that might help.

Grabbing a copy of
What to Expect Before You’re Expecting
off the shelf, she handed it to Frankie. “A lot of my clients who wanted to speed things up swear by this book.”

Frankie flipped through the book and went straight to the index. “Is there a chapter on Pop-Tarts?”

“Pop-Tarts?”

“Yeah, when Blanket’s mom was pregnant, the vet told me to stop feeding her Pop-Tarts, something about the food coloring being enemy numero uno.” Frankie looked up at Harper. “I’ve been eating Pop-Tarts. Do you think that’s the problem?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a doctor, but I’ve never heard anything about Pop-Tarts and conceiving.” This seemed to soothe the woman. “But I have heard that tossing out the ovulation calendar and getting away from all the pressures of life works wonders.”

“There has been a lot of pressure. The second our families found out we were trying, it was like open season on the baby questions.”

“Then give this a try,” Harper said. “Take a spontaneous trip up the coast. No pressure, no stress, no expectations, and no family. Just you and Nate letting nature work her magic.”

Frankie closed the book and rubbed Blanket’s head. “I’d need to find a sitter.”

“I’m allergic,” Harper said in case rumors of her sitting career had spread.

“Bummer. How much do I owe you for the book?”

Harper held up a hand and, whether it was because she felt for Frankie, or because she’d secretly kissed her brother then alluded to him being her boyfriend, she said, “On the house.”

Frankie rested her elbows on the counter, getting nose-to-nose with Harper. “You might want to check that whole deer-in-the-headlights thing you have going on. It makes you look guilty. Like you’re hiding something. That’s just some advice”—she winked and grabbed the bag—“on the house.”

It was Adam’s first day off this week. Normally, he’d stay in bed until noon, tangled up with a warm and sexy woman, then go for a run and grab a breakfast burrito for lunch.

Only
normal
had taken a hike right around the time he’d been drafted into planning Beat the Heat. Or maybe the problem had started with that dress. The slinky, body-hugging red one. Either way, Adam had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, frustrated and alone—and thinking about that dress. Which was almost as stupid as thinking about what was beneath that dress, because fantasizing about Little Miss Sunshine was a bad idea.

So he’d gone for a hard run until his legs were shaking and his mind was blank, and now he was in town. The breakfast burrito and a woman in his immediate future. Too bad the woman was wielding a knife and shooting him looks that were anything but warm.

The knife made sense. Emerson wasn’t only his brother’s fiancée, she was also founder, owner, and executive chef of the Pita Peddler Streatery, an award-winning gourmet food truck. The scowl shouldn’t have surprised him either, since she rarely smiled at anyone before noon—unless it was at Adam’s youngest brother, Dax.

“Sorry, that weekend doesn’t work for me,” Emerson said, not sorry at all.

Taking a breath, Adam glanced at Dax, who was standing at the prep station fashioning napkin rings out of twine and daisies in his deputy’s uniform and apron, using every bro-sign in the book to tell Adam to get out now, while he still could.

Knife or not, Adam wasn’t scared. Plus, bro-code was hard to decipher when the signer in question was dressed like Betty Crocker. “You catered the event last year, Em, and agreed you’d do it again this year.”

“Were you there?” she asked. “Did I personally tell you that I would?”

“No, but—”

“Then how do you know what was said?”

Adam looked down Main Street to avoid Emerson’s smug glare. The food truck was parked in the middle of downtown today, directly across from the community park and the annual Summer Blossom Showcase banner. Although it was barely eight, the sun was already burning up the asphalt, while Emerson’s chilly gaze was freezing his nuts right off.

“What’s your problem?” he asked.

“The Five-Alarm Casanova,” Emerson said, and the reference to his embarrassing-as-shit nickname caused the pressure behind his eyes to grow.

Three weeks.

If she agreed, he’d have to deal with this BS for three weeks. Then again, if she didn’t he’d be screwed.

“You proposed a sample menu.” Adam flipped to the catering section of the binder and found the order from last year’s event and a preliminary menu for this year. He held it up to the welcome window. “See?”

“See?” Dax repeated, sounding disappointed. “Come on, man, that’s your big strategy? To tell a woman she’s wrong in her own kitchen?” Dax shook his head. “And to think I used to believe you were really the lady-whisperer.”

“Don’t get upset, Dax,” Adam said, looking at his brother’s latest flowered napkin ring. “You might bruise the daisies.”

Emerson ignored the sparring and glanced over the counter at the menu, then looked Adam dead in the eyes. “That’s a great menu.”

Adam felt his chest relax a little. He had a meeting Friday to update Cap and Chief Lowen on his progress. Having a caterer and event planner locked down would give him a gold star. If he played his charm cards right, between Emerson and Megan at Parties to Go-Go, he might just wind up throwing the best Beat the Heat Festival in the history of the event—and not even break a sweat.

Wouldn’t that be nice.

“All I need is a great chef.” Adam slid one of the two to-go cups he’d set on the stainless steel serving counter toward Emerson. “How about we finalize the menu over breakfast burritos and morning beverages?” When she didn’t move to take hers, he added, “Fifty Shades of Chocolate latte. Your favorite.”

Lucky for him, nearly every woman in town now had the same favorite when it came to hot beverages. The Fifty Shades of Chocolate latte from the Sweet and Savory bistro was bold, heady, and perfectly whipped for St. Helena’s female sector.