Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)

by Marina Adair

  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.

  St. 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 a
lluded 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.

  “You didn’t bring me one?” Dax asked, eyeballing the cups.

  And apparently his former Special Forces brother.

  “You already traded in your gun and holster for an apron. There would be no coming back from this for you.”

  “Says the man who carries his deflated hose around town,” Emerson said, and Dax smiled—as if Emerson giving him shit took away from Dax wearing an apron. “And you know what I get behind?”

  “Driving customers away?” Adam said.

  “Supporting my friends.” She rested her elbows on the counter and leaned in—so close Adam could see just how narrow her eyes were. “Not delivering them a shit sandwich on a lingerie-covered platter.”

  “Ah man,” Adam said, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to watch his brilliant plan explode in front of his face. “It was just a kiss.”

  “Yeah, well your kiss totally screwed with Harper’s week, which screwed with mine.”

  “Really?” Adam asked, because Harper would have had to feel something a hell of a lot more than Not interested if the kiss screwed with her entire week. “Define screwed?”

  “Easy. Pissing off the only caterer in town who would cater your party for pennies.” Emerson gripped the plastic partition above the window and jerked it down. “Enjoy the latte.”

  “Mine is straight drip.”

  Adam grabbed both cups seconds before they would have gone flying and crashing to the ground—like his career if he couldn’t get her to open the partition. “Come on, Em.” He tapped on the plastic. “I need you.”

  The partition was flung back up and Emerson’s eyes glared out. “Yeah, and I needed Harper to help me prep for the big wine convention last weekend, but she couldn’t because she was too busy dealing with your mess.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a mess.” He’d call it more of a one-taste-wasn’t-enough kind of situation, but certainly not a mess. They were both adults, both enjoyed the moment, both, apparently, were still thinking about it. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I rocked her world.”

  Emerson furrowed her brow in confusion, then rolled her eyes and reached for the partition again.

  “Wait.” Adam blocked her from slamming it. “Here’s the deal—I have to meet with Chief Lowen Friday, and if I don’t have you on board then I’m more than screwed.” He might find the occupational ceiling lowered permanently.

  “Not my problem,” she said, but he could tell he was getting to her. Beneath that ballbuster exterior, his soon-to-be sister-in-law was a softie who couldn’t turn her back on someone in need.

  And he needed her bad.

  “What can I do to change your mind? You name it, I’ll do it.”

  Emerson studied Adam for a long moment, and he smiled his most trustworthy smile, then popped that dimple just in case.

  Unimpressed, she looked at Dax, who needed to hand over his man card immediately because he shrugged and cocked his head adoringly. That I’m behind you one hundred percent, baby shrug/head cock combo that suckers gave their women after they’d handed over their balls for eternity.

  Adam threw up in his mouth a little.

  “Are you really sorry?” she asked.

  No, Hell no, and No fucking way all would have been truthful responses, because kissing Harper had been the most exciting thing Adam had done in weeks. Months. And he’d just worked one of the worst fires of the season.

  Knowing she was fixated on that kiss made it even better. But since none of those would win over Emerson, he sai
d, “From the bottom of my heart.”

  “Which isn’t saying much, but fine. You convince Harper that you’re sorry you almost screwed the barely legal coed stripper who stole your jacket and I will reconsider catering the event.”

  “She was an NFL cheerleader not a stripper, and she’s a college graduate, which means she has to be at least twenty-two.” He hoped to God she was closer to twenty-eight, because he was closer to thirty-five than fraternity, and saying twenty-two out loud made him cringe. “And I didn’t give her my jacket. I forgot it at the shop, and she was neighborly enough to hold on to it for me.”

  “She looked a whole lot more than neighborly on Facebook.”

  “I took the photo down.”

  “How noble of you.” She put her hand over her heart. “I’m sure it was right after you called Harper to apologize?”

  “I did apologize to Harper.”

  “Did you make it a good one?” she asked, and Adam had to think really hard about that. He’d been so distracted by talk of Honeysuckle and her in that red dress that he wasn’t sure. “You better have, because we both know that giving up on someone, even when they deserve it, totally screws with that whole save the world mantra Harper subscribes to.”

  Ah, Jesus. He sighed, feeling like a grade-A douche bag. Because he was the someone in question.

  “Yeah, she spent the entire weekend picking up the pieces, balancing her own job while filling in for the fired coed,” Emerson said.

  “I didn’t know Baby wasn’t supposed to have guests in after closing,” Adam said, knowing it was a lame excuse. “But I should have.”

  That he’d added to her stress by crashing her meeting with the rep made him a bastard. Wasn’t this exactly the kind of behavior Roman had warned him about? Acting without a care about the repercussions?

  It also explained why Harper had been so hostile.

  “Don’t sweat it, bro,” Dax said, smiling. “Harper helped Baby land her dream job down the street. Pole dancing or something.”