Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) (13 page)

Adam was too busy staring at Emerson and her tray to say anything. He sniffed the air, then pulled out that easygoing smile that had gotten him laid a million times before. “Nice shoes. What’s that you got under the dish cover?”

He reached for it and Emerson pulled it away. “Hands off, this is for hired muscle only, sorry,” she said, not a hint of remorse in her voice. “And the shoes, they double as a weapon.”

Jonah and Dax burst out laughing. Adam only grinned.

She shrugged, then smiled up at Dax. It was a little shy, a little naughty, and cute as hell. “Ida wanted to say she caught three ‘illegals’ who all got in using a shared fake ID and to up your game.”

“Anything else?” he asked, wanting her to say why she was out here, checking on him.

“Uh-huh.” Amusement lit her eyes. “She also said to tell you that Uncle Sam is slipping if one of his finest can’t sniff out a soccer mom from a grandmom. Oh, and also if you could show a little more skin, she’d appreciate it.”

“Was that last part Ida’s request?”

She nodded at the window behind him—which had little granny faces peeking out. “Your fan club did. And they asked me to bring you a drink.”

The peanut gallery gave a heartfelt sigh. Dax ignored them.

“And the food?”

Emerson opened her mouth, then looked at his brothers and smiled. Which sucked because he saw the spark in her eye indicating she was about to make some smart-ass comment, which had become their way of flirting, but she held back because of Barney Fife and Smokey the Bear. “
Ida
thought you might be hungry.”

“Tell
Ida
thanks,” he said, even though they both knew it was total BS. Ida might have mentioned for her to check on Dax, but feeding him was all Emerson. She couldn’t help herself.

Before Dax could take the tray, Smokey slid up beside Emerson and slung his arm over her shoulder and visually perused the merchandise. “Beer and, hey, are those the famous tapas everyone’s been raving about?”

“No” was all Dax said, because the grin Adam was dishing up was playful and smug—and 100 percent stupid male at its finest. And Emerson had been dealing with stupid men all night, looking their fill, making wisecracks, all while the woman was hustling to do her job. She shouldn’t have to deal with SHFD’s number one player. “You can’t tap that or look at her tapas no matter how many times you tell yourself it sounds like
topless
. And stop breathing on my beer.”

He gave Adam a gentle shove, but just like he didn’t need to call Emerson on her BS, no one needed to call him on his. He wasn’t getting possessive over Adam sampling his tapas, he was ticked that Adam was sweet-talking his private chef.

“He never was good at sharing,” Adam said with a wink. “Cried when I borrowed his G.I. Joe doll.”

“G.I. Joe is an
action figure
,” Dax said slowly, “and I was five.
And
you lit him on fire with Grandpa’s blowtorch.”

“How else would I practice putting out a fire?” Adam said with so much
duh
in his tone Dax wanted to punch him. Then he turned to Emerson and cranked up the charm. “So rather than make him whine in front of a pretty girl, I’ll place my own order for a tray.”

“Too bad you don’t make the age cutoff,” Dax said, then held up a stamp of an anchor. “No stamp, no entry. Those are the rules.” He slid Emerson a secret look. “And the lady does like her rules.”

Emerson flushed, not enough that his brothers would notice, but he saw it. A faint pink tint crept up the tips of her ears. She opened her mouth to say something, something he knew by the playful spark in her eye was going to make him smile, when her phone pinged.

She set his tray on the little table he’d been using to hold the swag bags, fished her phone out of her bra, and looked at the screen. Her humor vanished—and so did the lightness she’d been carrying.

“Everything okay?” Dax asked, taking a step closer, because if he had learned anything about Emerson over the past few weeks, it was that nothing much rattled her. She took life head-on and never wavered. But she was wavering now.

“Yeah. It’s just my dad,” she said, and normally he would have let it go. Her smile was still there, fastened in place, right where it should be for everyone to see. But if he wasn’t mistaken, it was manufactured. Just like the tough-girl posture she wore. She was upset, and something about that drew out his need to comfort her.

“Is he all right?” he asked quietly, wondering if it was Pixie.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, ignoring his question. “Enjoy your dinner.”

The three of them watched her go back into the bar, and the way she squared her shoulders brought out this crazy instinct to follow her inside.

“Shay said you hired Emerson to do some cooking for you,” Jonah said, and Dax tore his attention off Emerson and put it on his brother, whose expression was one big wagging finger. “So what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, something to do with her family,” Dax said and both brothers looked at him weird. “What?”

“He meant that.” Adam pointed at the tray of food, then to the doorway where Emerson had disappeared. “And that.”

“Uh, my chef. Bringing me dinner.”

Adam made a coughing sound that sounded a lot like
bullshit
. “As the resident fire expert of the group, I’d like to point out that what just went down was not your standard cooking heat. That was more of a slow smoldering. Harder to fight and highly susceptible to combustion.”

It was also dangerous, Dax thought as he looked down at the tray. Not only had she brought him his favorite kind of beer, there
wasn’t a speck of green on anything.

This was confirmed by the little note that read,
No green. I promise
.

Which meant that the meal, as well as that dress, had been specially ordered. Prepared well in advance. And served specifically with him in mind.

The only way her intentions could have been made clearer was if she had scribbled her number on his forehead.

Groaning, Emerson slipped off her heels as the last pair of swing dancers cleared the floor and the bar finally quieted down. She had banked on running out of food by ten, leaving her plenty of time to find Dax before Ida let him go home, to see if he wanted to cash in that rain check. Only Harper had made enough spinach and dill-infused feta phyllo bites to keep the party going until midnight. And now Dax was gone—Ida had let him go about an hour ago—and her plan, which had taken her all day to gather enough courage to see through, was a total bust.

No need for the pinup pumps.

The story of her life. She’d been seduced by the possibility of a night of freedom, a night to let go and lose herself, and maybe, just maybe, find something fun, exciting, invigorating—a real shot at being a part of something amazing. A heady thought, one she wanted to grab on to, but life had stepped in and given her a fat smack to the forehead.

Which sucked. Big-time. She really wanted tonight to work, wanted Dax to work, because she desperately needed to have something that was just hers—even if it was temporary. Especially after that call with her dad.

Determined not to mope, because that got her exactly nowhere, she grabbed her purse and walked out of the bar. She made her way down the alley and around the back of the building, heading toward her apartment. Only when she reached the stairwell off the back of the Boulder Holder, she noticed someone waiting.

Dax sat three-quarters up the flight of stairs in a pair of black jeans and a matching leather jacket that was all biker and bad boy wrapped in alpha swagger. His elbows rested on his bent knees, a paper bag dangled from his fingertips, and two paper coffee cups sat one step behind him. He looked dark, dangerous, and so delicious her body hummed to life.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a little breathless at the sight of him. Or maybe that was the overdose of testosterone confusing her senses.

“Waiting for you.”

He stood and walked toward her, his riding boots echoing off the walkway, not letting up until he was standing close enough to touch. Close enough to smell—she sniffed again. “Is that bread pudding?” He opened the bag and held it under her nose. She breathed in the sweet almondy scent and groaned. “Not just any bread pudding. It’s from the Sweet and Savory.”

Only the best pastry and dessert stop in Napa Valley. And the bread pudding, made from homemade chocolate croissant bread with a heavenly amaretto sauce, was Emerson’s personal favorite.

“I wanted to take you to dinner, maybe grab something after you got off, but I forgot everything in this town closes when the sun goes down. So I figured maybe some dessert.”

Emerson’s knees wobbled as she remembered his words from the other night. This was her chance to do something reckless, something that would lead to a night of being bad.

With the town’s bad boy.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked. “To my apartment?”

Dax’s eyes ran the length of her dress, paying careful attention to her neckline, hips, and bare feet. By the time he made it back to her eyes all of the air seemed to disappear.

“Yes,” he said with conviction, his voice rough. “But I was given strict instructions from the chef that this dessert isn’t made to go. So I had to promise not to eat it at the counter or on the couch while watching television. It’s a dining experience that is deserving of the perfect setting.”

Emerson knew the perfect setting.

Her bed.

“Last time some guy bribed me with an experience that required a location change, I found myself in Derek Mather’s coat closet playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Dax let out a low whistle. “Heaven is a pretty big promise when the dude only gave himself seven minutes.”

“Thirty seconds in, I figured out he thought the gateway was in his pants and I decked him.”

Dax laughed. It was a good laugh that was real and transformed his entire face. The stress lines bracketing his mouth softened and that shell-shocked expression disappeared. And a hum vibrated through her entire body.

“I hope your offer is better,” she said. She hoped his offer was for seven hours of heaven—or as many hours as they could fit in before dawn.

“How about we start with dessert?” When she lifted a questioning brow, he shook the bag. “A real dessert. With a view to die for.”

“You know Lexi’s bread pudding has raisins,” she pointed out and Dax looked at her like he could handle a few raisins—or at least pick them out. “Raisins made from green grapes.”

“I’m open to trying new things,” he said but she could tell green food wouldn’t have been his first choice. Fair, since it wouldn’t have been hers either. But he seemed to have a plan, which was great since her plan hadn’t extended past the dress and shoes. “And I know a little spot that would pair perfectly with bread pudding and new adventures.”

That was all Emerson needed to hear.

She took in his jacket, which made her mouth water because it
took him from dangerous to lethal. “Are you cleared to ride your bike?”

“Nope,” he said, sounding a little unsure.

“So you’re taking me to dessert, after sixteen hours on my feet, and
I
get to drive?” She snatched the bag. “Man, you know how to charm a girl.”

Truth was, he did. After an entire night of his eyes on her, hers on him, thinking over his promise, her body had gone into hyperdrive. But finding him on her stoop, holding her favorite dessert, had taken this to a totally different level—one she wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. A clear sign that she was out of her element.

“No ride. And I can’t promise heaven because there are green raisins involved. But I can promise you a little slice of it.” He closed the distance between them, his big body taking up all of her personal space, then took off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders—his warmth surrounding her. “Come have a seat and I promise it will be exactly what you need after tonight.”

“Big words,” Emerson said, snuggling deeper into the leather. It was buttery soft, smelled like new car and wild nights. But felt like an invitation. Not an invitation to forever, but something sincere and honest.

Beneath all that flirting and swagger, Dax was struggling with demons of his own, a history of loss and guilt that kept him from what he desperately needed. Genuine connection.

“I’m a big guy.”

No kidding
, she thought as he dropped his hands to her hips, spanning them around her back and making her feel petite and incredibly feminine. Then he flashed her one hell of a smile that let her know he came through on his promises.

No. Matter. What.

Y
ou were right,” Emerson said, polishing off the bread pudding and leaning back to rest her elbows on the steps behind them. “That was exactly what I needed.”

Although Dax loved to hear her admit that he was right, because he knew just how hard that must have been for her, he had to admit, silently to himself, of course, that he hadn’t come here with the purest of intentions.

Okay, he’d totally come here to take her dress and shoes up on that offer they’d been sending him all night. Only he’d seen her walking home in the freezing cold, her shoes in her hand, a lifetime of worry in her eyes, and he’d changed his plan. Gone from thinking with his dick to thinking like a friend.

Then she sat on the step, with only a few inches separating them, and her dress shifted up her thighs, showing him enough silky skin that “friend” became the last thing he was feeling.

“It’s crazy. I didn’t realize you could see so far from here,” Emerson said, taking a sip of her ho
t cocoa and staring out past downtown at the faint glow in the distance. “Is that Oakville?”

“Yup,” Dax said, leaning back too. “If you go up a step the trees block your view, and if you go down a step the buildings on Main Street do.” He knew this because, embarrassingly enough, he’d tested out each step for the perfect inspiring view, hoping it would lead to an inspiring view of her bedroom.

Instead of a hot game of Let’s Tangle the Sheets, though, Dax was sitting on a cold concrete step eating bread pudding with raisins, which weren’t as bad as he’d thought—they were worse—and he was enjoying himself.

How crazy was that?

She smiled up at him, and man, she was gorgeous. Calm, relaxed, in the moment, and so unbelievably gorgeous it was hard not to stare. “I can’t believe I have never noticed that.”

“If you stop moving long enough, you start to see things you never noticed were there before,” he said, knowing how true that statement was. Until tonight he’d never noticed just how hard Emerson worked to keep her world moving. And just how tiring it must be to have all those people counting on her.

She laughed. “If I slow down, everything crumbles.”

“In my job, it’s imperative to slow down, see all the options. That’s when everything comes into perfect view. Things that seemed impossible are suddenly crystal clear, and avenues you thought were a waste of time end up being golden opportunities.”

“Like what?” she asked, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Like handing out vibrators to a bunch of grandmas?”

He nudged back until she was smiling. “You could have warned me.”

“And take away that golden opportunity? Nah.”

“Make fun if you want, but look.” He leaned forward and pointed between the buildings. When she bent down to see what he was pointing at, he put his arm around her shoulder to help guide her. And yeah, it was a total kid move, a way to get his hands on her, but she didn’t seem to mind, so he went with it. “Right there through the alley you can see town hall, and where you park your cart on Mondays. But if you move up . . . see that flashing light there.”

She straightened to look where he was pointing over the rooftops, nibbling that lower lip of hers and squinting. “That cluster of stars?”

“No.”

He drew her closer, until his lips were next to her ear and her hair was brushing his jaw. “There,” he whispered. “The blinking lights past Oakville. That’s the airport in Napa, and a plane getting ready to land.”

“Really?” she whispered. “I would have just passed it off as a star or something. What else do you see?”

She turned her head and aimed those long lashes his way and
bam
—he saw more than he’d anticipated. Her normal sharp edges were frayed, her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes bruised, and she looked adorable. Soft, messy, and completely vulnerable.

No, he thought, looking deeper. She looked lost, as if she was asking
him
for clarity. The most independent woman in the history of the world. And didn’t that make his heart show its soft underside.

“Want to tell me what that call was about?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said, but he held firm, didn’t give her a way out, which had her eyes sparking. “You want to tell me what Jonah was talking about earlier?”

That would be a big, fat negative. Talking about the job would require talking about why he couldn’t take the job. And that was not a conversation he wanted to get into with someone who couldn’t understand.

But she was looking at him, smug now, as if to say touché, and those walls of hers were going back up.

“Fine,” he relented because he knew he wasn’t the only one out of his comfort zone. They were both extremely private and ridiculously stubborn, so if someone didn’t back down, this conversation would end before it got started. And for whatever reason, he wanted to talk. To her. See what could have rattled her so badly tonight. “I’ll answer your question, then it’s your turn.”

“Is that the adult version of Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine?”

“Let me guess, Derek Mather tried that game too?” he asked and she laughed. It was a great sound, a movement that lit her whole face. Dax considered it a small victory since she’d seemed so down when he’d seen her walking toward the stairwell.

“No, lucky for him,” she said. “But you’re supposed to be telling me about the job. So get to it.”

Damn, she was a bossy thing.

“Jonah offered me a job working for Napa County,” he said, proving he knew how to share. “Running the weapons and combat training for the sheriff’s department.”

“I thought you had a job in San Jose.”

“I do. This would be temporary, just to help out Jonah until he can hire the real deal.”

She lifted a brow and Dax knew what she was thinking. Jonah had asked him for a favor and he was going to say no? Say no to the
guy who had stepped in and picked up the pieces when their dad died?

“I don’t think Jonah would have asked you if he didn’t think
you were the real deal,” she said quietly. “That isn’t his style.”

No it wasn’t. And walking away from a job before it was done wasn’t Dax’s. “I’ve never really trained recruits,” he admitted and then, because he couldn’t seem to shut up, he added, “I don’t know, it might be fun. I mean, I was a squad leader. But teaching classes? Not really my strength. I don’t want to leave Jonah hanging, though.”

“Ah,” she said as if it made so much sense now, and he wanted to ask her to explain it to him, because he was still confused. But she shrugged and in her most diplomatic tone said, “Well, it sounds like Jonah thinks differently, and it would give you the opportunity to get your feet wet with a team before you take the other job.”

That was exactly what Jonah had said, which made him feel worse for keeping his brother on the line. Maybe he needed to man up and move on.

“Problem is,” she said softly, leaning in closer, “you don’t seem like a dip-your-feet-in kind of guy to me. Which means you either go in half-assed or you walk away leaving a team hanging.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving them,” he defended. “They don’t even have me yet.”

“You asked my opinion.” She rested her hand on his knee. “I gave it to you. Don’t act like I burnt your G.I. Joe doll.”

“Jesus Christ! He’s an action figure! And okay, fine, if I took the job, I would serve as a temporary solution to a long-term problem, and if Jonah couldn’t fill the spot before I left, then, you’re right, the department would be short a leader again. Or I’d have to see if I can postpone my position in San Jose.” He already knew the answer to that. “And stick it out here until they find someone.”

“You, Dax Baudouin”—she poked his thigh—“have a God complex.”

He went to argue but there was no censure to her statement, just a sense of deep understanding. Empathy that shook him to the core.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said quietly, then placed his hand on top of hers, offering a gentle squeeze. “Tell me about your dad.”

She sighed. “This is harder than Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine,” she said, moving to take her hand back, but he tightened his hold, trapping it there. “My dad went on an interview today. It was the exact kind of position he was looking for. A boutique vineyard, small and family run. They offered him the exact position he had before my mom got sick. It was the perfect setup.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t matter, he didn’t get the job.”

“It matters to me,” he said, lacing their fingers. “And it obviously matters to you. So tell me, why didn’t he get the job?”

“Because he gave them a list of every Lady Bug event, every school holiday, every special occasion, including National Fairy Day, that he’d need time off for. At the interview.” She huffed, full of fury and frustration. “Who does that?” She held up a silencing hand. “My dad, that’s who. He is the only guy in this recession who will walk away from a dozen amazing job offers and claim National Fairy Day as a legit reason.”

“Maybe he’s just not ready,” Dax said. “Maybe for him, going back to work, doing the same kinds of things he used to do when your mom was around, means accepting that she’s gone.”

“But she is gone,” Emerson said and he could hear the emotion in her throat. “She has been gone for almost two years. And standing still, wishing it wasn’t so, doesn’t change reality. It just makes life that much harder.”

It made everything harder for Emerson. That was for sure. Dax could see the weight she carried for her family, understood her need to keep moving forward for fear that if she slowed down, even for a moment, she’d slip back to that place.

“Not everyone grieves the same,” he explained gently. “For some people, picking up the pieces and moving on only serves as a harsh reminder of what’s missing. And with every step forward, you become more aware of what you lost, like trying to fit into a life that no longer fits you.”

“You think my dad is blowing these interviews because he doesn’t want to get back to what he loved for thirty-five years?”

“He loved your mom too, and from what it seems like, she was his life. Maybe it would be easier for him to start over fresh. A new direction that allows him to remember your mom and what they had, but something that gives him the chance to reinvent the next part of his life. Kind of like what you’re trying to do with the food truck.”

“My food truck is a step forward,” she pointed out, the challenge in her voice strong.

“Your dad is making progress too. He’s figuring out what he doesn’t want.”

Dax watched as she let that settle. Then with a small nod she asked, “Is that what you’re doing? Why you’re going to San Jose instead of staying here or going back in the army? Because you didn’t bring home all your teammates?”

Dax felt the unfamiliar jolt of unease at her question. Since he’d come home, no one had openly asked him about the men he’d lost—good men, friends who’d deserved to come home but wouldn’t because life wasn’t fair.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “I came home, some of the best guys I know didn’t, and I’m not sure what that even means. Or what it even feels like yet.” And then because he’d already started spilling his guts like a little girl, he added, “All I know is that being here, surrounded by my family and childhood, reminds me of how different my world is and how everyone else’s seems the same.”

She didn’t laugh or point out that everyone had problems, and that everyone suffered from loss. She moved her fingers around his knee, as though sensing his pain and needing to soothe him somehow. “So you’re looking for a place that doesn’t know you?”

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. But I know it’s not here, in a department filled with guys I knew when I was a punk with a motorcycle and tattoos.” A squad where he would be responsible for his brother and his friends. People who were his world.

“You’re still a punk with tattoos. Bummer about your bike, though,” she said, her fingers dancing up and down his leg, getting higher and higher and so incredibly high he sucked in a breath.

“If I was still that same punk, I wouldn’t tell you that’s my right knee.”

She kept rubbing—a little deeper and,
holy hell
, higher. “I know.”

“As in my injury is on my left knee.” And she was two inches from a touchdown.

“Oh, I know,” she said and Dax felt his eyes roll to the back of his head. “Just like I know that any department you decide to go to will be lucky. Just make sure that you aren’t so busy focusing on this new life of yours that you lose sight of the life you need.”

“And who’s going to look out for what you need, Emi?” Dax asked because he was tired of talking about things that made his head hurt and his chest ache. He wanted to feel more of that pleasure she was dishing out. And he could tell by the direction she was headed, she was all talked out too.

“I don’t know, Ranger.” Her hand stopped a scant inch from his flagpole, then she scooted that tight body of hers closer, so he could smell the amaretto from the bread pudding and turned-on female. Which was fine with him, because the motion caused her dress to ride up even higher, showing off a good three inches of leg and a little red garter belt attached to the sexiest pair of fishnets he’d ever seen. “Are you applying for the job?”