Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) (22 page)

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, his hand stroking down her spine and back up.

“Why do you think something’s wrong?”

He chuckled. “Because I can practically feel your stress pressing into me.”

She wanted to point out that it was her flapping, because she was a big fat chicken. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He scooted up to lean against the headboard, then positioned her so she was lying on his chest, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

She opened her mouth and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Before you tell that lie on your tongue, remember the thing you do with your eyes. Dead giveaway.” So she closed them and dropped her head. “Emi?”

She took a deep breath and looked up past his flat stomach, his rippling abs, and impressive pecs, into those deep blue eyes that melted her heart. “Last night was”—
amazing, life altering, epically intense
—“nice and I just don’t want it to end.”

His expression softened and he said, “It doesn’t have to. Just decide to stay.”

She opened her mouth to ask him the same thing, but all she heard in her head was a loud, patronizing
cluck, cluck
. So Emerson did something she hadn’t done in years—she snuggled into his arms and closed her eyes.

And wished with all the fairy dust in the world that he would stay, right here, with her. For always.

B
othe State Park was over 1,900 acres of untouched nature at its finest, located a few short miles north of St. Helena in the foothills of the Napa Valley. With its year-round hiking, spring-filled pools, and wide variety of indigenous trees and plants, it was the perfect place for the annual Lady Bug Loveliest Survivalist Campout. It was also the place that St. Helena Lady Bug Lovelies 662 was going to win its first Loveliest Survivalist trophy.

Emerson had packed everything they’d need—and a few extra things, like a batch of unsanctioned brownies and cupcakes, just in case their X-tremely Edible plans didn’t work out so well. Dax spent some time before their Lady Bug meeting on Thursday helping Violet perfect her bass trap. He could have just made it for her—it would have been easier.

But Dax didn’t do easy. He did things right. So he stood by patiently while Violet explained to the girls how to make the exterior, not even interrupting when Violet made every mistake possible with the trap, and a few that seemed impossible.

Then it was his turn to show them how to make the funnel. The girls giggled when he said a weave was kind of like a braid, made a big deal out of the fact that he carried a knife in his pocket, and made gagging noises when he said they had to clean the fish. He never raised his voice or lost his cool but took the time to encourage and instruct in a way that boosted all of the girls’ confidence. Not to mention made Emerson’s heart a few sizes bigger.

“Do you have your tarp?” the regional queen bug asked, a sash of badges and ribbons twinkling in the afternoon sun as she searched through Lovely 662’s survival pack.

“It should be in there,” Emerson said, helping search the pack. But it was nowhere to be found. “Violet, did you take out the tarp?”

Emerson looked down at her group of girls, with their wrinkled sashes and mismatched boots, staring in awe as a Loveliness from Sacramento marched by in slick-looking mountain climbing boots and matching ponytails—all twenty-seven of them.

“Violet?” she prompted and when her sister turned to look at her she felt her heart sink. Making shelter in the community park at home had not prepared them to take on teams that looked like they built log cabins for fun. “Did you take the tarp?”

“No, Lovely Leader Emerson,” she said, her eyes back on the Sacramento Lovelies.

“Oh dear,” Queen Bug said, all fret and worry.

“If you forgot your tarp, our Lovely is selling regulation-sized ones by our tent,” Liza Miner said, coming up to the table with her entitled smile and starched Calistoga Lovelies 983 uniform. “You can’t miss it. It’s the tent with the nine-time Loveliest Survivalist Champion flag above it. Just tell them I sent you and they’ll give you a deal.”

“Yeah, thanks, we’re good,” Emerson said, tipping the bill of
her
nonregulation camo-colored ball cap that said
#LOVELIEST-LOVELINESS
.

“Are you sure?” Queen Bug asked, her eyes firmly on her clipboard. “Because we are all out. Not a single tarp left.”

“Can’t compete without a tarp,” Liza said sweetly, then leaned in. “Or is this your way of saving your girls from embarrassment?”

This time all of her girls looked over—and they looked defeated before they’d even been given the chance to compete. It was Kenzie who spoke. “Are we disqualified?”

“No way,” a sexy and confident voice said from behind them. “We’re just getting started.”

The girls cheered and raced over to their co-leader, who was walking up the trail looking like he belonged on the cover of
Hot Survivalist
magazine with his ruck, two tents strapped to his back, a cooler filled with stuff heavy enough to make those arms flex, and a bright blue tarp.

Emerson felt like kissing him square on the mouth—except that would break the
no PDA by unmarried Lovely leaders on Bug Time
rule. And it would send inquisitive Violet into a tailspin of unanswerable questions. So when he got to the registration table, she took the tarp and gave him her biggest smile. “Thank you.”

His lips curled up into a slow smile. “Later you can sneak into the boys’ tent and thank me properly.”

Her knees went weak, but she covered it well.

“You’re a Lovely leader?” Liza asked, no doubt taking in his 250 pounds of spec-ops badass. Dax didn’t have to wear his uniform for people to get that he was highly skilled, specially trained, and extremely lethal. And his matching
#LOVELIESTLOVELINESS
cap said he was Emerson’s.

At least for the weekend.

“Co-leader, and yes, ma’am. St. Helena Lady Bug Lovelies Six-Six-Two,” he said as if he were giving his rank and file. “Right, troop?”

“Right,” the girls screamed. Liza blanched. Emerson chuckled.

There were survivalists and there were Survivalists.

Then there were men like Dax. And no matter what happened this weekend, she knew that he would make sure those girls had fun, walked away with their heads held high and smiles on their little faces.

“Now, if you’ll sign us in, I will go supervise while the girls set up camp.” He gave Emerson a wink that had her knees going weak, then he whispered, “I’ll make sure the boys’ tent goes up first.”

Emerson watched as he headed down the trail toward their campsite, a gaggle of little girls on his tail. Kenzie was telling him the proper procedure for constructing a tent, Megan was showing him her anti–poison oak gloves, which were nothing more than glorified dish mitts, Lana silently carried a tent pole, and Violet was content to skip next to Dax.

Something Emerson could relate to.

“Cut the crap, short fry.”

Dax caught Violet by the back of her wings as she snuck out of the girls’ tent. The kid had gone all week without those things and suddenly, right after the competition was finished and the team was awaiting the judges’ decision, she’d cut out and disappeared into the woods.

Only instead of reemerging with her bass trap, she transformed herself into Tinkerbell, complete with wings, bows in her hair, and a handful of glitter. Yet
she
was scandalized, looking at him as though he were the one staring down two to five days of Emerson-enforced hard time.

“It’s Pixie Girl,” she informed him primly.

“You’re AWOL, kid. You broke rule number nine, always stay with the group.”

“That’s rule number seven,” she corrected.

“Whatever, you disappeared and left your team standing to face the judges alone. Not cool,” he said in his scariest team-leader tone.

“Well, you said a bad word.” She pinched a finger full of glitter and tossed it at him. “Bad word begone.”

Eyes on the culprit, Dax brushed the glitter bomb off his pants. “I’ve got an idea. How about you do one of those chants with the glitter and transport yourself back to the competition so you can hand in that trap?” She didn’t move. “Better yet, transport your sister over here so you can tell her I said ‘crap’ and I can tell her that you are full of it. How does that sound?”

“I don’t want to make Sissy mad,” Violet said to the dirt on the ground. “And I don’t want to let my Bugs down or be full of that bad word.”

Resisting the urge to explain that although it was technically a four-letter word, as far as offenses went, it ranked as a pathetic one on the foul chart, he pointed to her wings. “Then why are you skipping out on everything you worked so hard for to put on that getup?”

“Because I’m a fairy!”

Glitter hit him in the chest this time. Dax ignored it. Instead, he kept his laser-lock glare on the little fibber in front of him, whose poker face was almost as pathetic as her sister’s. “Try again.” She reached for the glitter. “Without the flashbang of sparkles.”

Violet dropped her hand and sighed. Big and weighted, and Dax knew he was finally getting somewhere. The kid wanted to tell someone her secret. It had probably grown so big in her little head that she felt as if she were going to explode with admissions.

Worrying her lip, she glanced around and leaned in at the waist with a cupped hand over her mouth. “My dad’s here. He watched me and my team. And I think we’re going to win.”

“I think you’re going to win too.”

His girls had decimated the other teams. Fastest fire, most creative and effective shelter, and, more importantly, they’d stayed calm and worked smart. And as a team. Until Violet disappeared.

“But even if you don’t, you should be up there with your team, facing the music together. Not down here playing dress-up,” he said, then realized his hands were on his hips like he was some kind of helicopter parent. He dropped his arms. “What does your dad have to do with this whole I’ve Got Wings game you’re playing?”

Dax knew all about playing the part—he’d done it a hundred times before. Hell, his entire life was about putting on a game face, even if he wasn’t sure of the outcome. When things got squirrely, his men would look to him for leadership and direction—and even the slight hint of doubt could cost lives. So yeah, he knew all about playing the part.

“He still believes,” she said, barely above a whisper.

This time it was Dax who exhaled. Because everything suddenly clicked. The wings, the ridiculous name, the fairy trap she made with Roger. “Are you dressing up because your dad thinks you’re a fairy?”

Her shoulders sank and a cool breeze blew past, catching the ends of her wings and giving the illusion that they were flapping. “I don’t want to make him sad, like when I found out Santa was really Emerson.” There were so many sad things about what she’d just said, Dax had a hard time swallowing. Santa wasn’t Dad, it was Emerson. “So I have to be Pixie Girl when we win, so he’ll still believe. He smiles when I’m Pixie Girl.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe he smiles because he loves you, Violet? Or that he’s pretending too because he thinks it will make
you
smile?”

Her big green eyes went wide and she shook her head.

Dax crouched down low and put a hand on her slim shoulder. “You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not to make your dad happy. You make him smile just the way you are.”

“You sure?” she asked and he was pretty sure he heard a sniffle.

“That’s an affirmative,” he said and before he knew what happened, little arms were wrapped around his neck and pink glittery wings were jabbing him in the ribs, but he didn’t care. Violet might not be a fairy, but her hugs were pretty magical.

“Now, get running, because according to Bug Time, you’ve got less than five minutes before the judges come around, and that bass trap of yours will lock down this competition.”

She gave him a big smile and a salute, then took off.

“Hold up.” He grabbed her by the wings again before she got too far. “I’ll take these.”

“Thanks, Lovely Co-leader Mister.” She shrugged out of them, reached into her pocket, and came out with a handful of glitter. “Can you hold this too?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer, dropping the glitter on—and inside of—his boots, then racing up the hill.

“Thanks, Lovely Co-leader Mister,” a sexy and amused voice said from behind him.

Dax turned around and his breath caught in his lungs. Emerson stood in the shadows of an oak tree behind the girls’ tent. Dressed in a uniform of khakis, starched white shirt, and a red sweater vest, she should have looked like a soccer mom but managed to look sexy as hell. She also looked a little vulnerable at that moment, her expression a potent combination of awe, admiration, and adoration.

The first two he knew what to do with. Had received those looks a lot. They came with his rank and Ranger tab. The last one, though, he didn’t see that often with regard to him. And never from someone as amazing as Emerson.

“I thought you were with the girls.”

“I was.” She stepped out from the shadow. “But then Liza Miner saw our shelter, which is beyond impressive, and started googling how we did it. When she realized that we didn’t cheat, she started yelling instructions to her Lovelies to add pine needles for bedding. The Sacramento leader called foul, took Liza’s phone, and dropped it in the fire.” She grinned. “Our fire, because it’s the biggest, and the situation went bad fast, so Queen Bug banished anyone over ten wearing a Lady Bug patch until the winner is announced.” She looked at her watch. “Which should be in a few minutes.”