Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)

by Adair, Marina

  She felt him chuckle. “I figured as much when I saw the pureed broccoli in my breakfast. The bits were too small to pick out but big enough to make my eggs green.”

  “It was a quiche and broccoli is the supervegetable. All the big-boy soldiers eat it because it makes them grow up tall and strong.”

  His pecs danced under her cheek. “I think I’m good.”

  It doesn’t look like Elsa’s castle?”

  Dax looked out at the five pint-sized survivalists in training, all sitting knee to knee, crisscross at his feet in a “Bug Huddle,” as Pixie had called it. He was at the head of the huddle, as crisscross as his leg would let him. “Which one of you is Elsa?”

  Giggles erupted among the troops. When no one spoke up, he asked again and the girls looked at each other like Who is this guy? And just when Dax was about to tell them to run until they were too tired to giggle, because Lord knew he was too tired to hear any more giggling, Violet raised her hand.

  She was in jeans and her Lady Bug uniform, but unlike last time, she had on hiking boots, a red knit cap, and matching mittens—and no wings. “Hey, what happened to your wi—”

  Emerson jumped up from the picnic table behind Violet and started slicing her hand frantically across her throat, a clear indication that she needed him to cease his interrogation immediately. Distress call heard and understood, he coughed and finished, “Your Converse?”

  Violet looked down. “These are my hiking boots. See?” He did. And he wasn’t impressed. They were pink, with pink sparkly laces—and not a speck of dirt on them. As if she’d never been hiking a day in her life. “And Elsa’s not a Lady Bug, she’s the princess from Frozen, Lovely Co-leader Mister.”

  Dax scrubbed a hand down his face. And here he’d thought today would be easy. Because, surely, how difficult could it be, hiking in the park and teaching a couple of capable kids to build a shelter using limited supplies? They could walk, talk, read, and giggle—surely they could follow simple instructions. Making it through Ranger selection and his sixty-one days of spec-op training at Fort Benning had been easier.

  “Well, according to the official Loveliest Survivalist Campout rules,” he said and could imagine his brothers laughing. A big military badass like him quoting Lovely rules.

  But he was already sitting on the ground, crisscross applesauce, as Violet had instructed, and wearing a stupid-ass hat. Might as well commit.

  He held up the book as proof. He felt like he’d been pretty clear, and the troops had been nodding, but now that he was done explaining, they were looking at him as if he were an alien with three heads. Who was slow in the three heads. And perhaps had cooties. “To qualify, the shelter needs to be constructed from a single eight-by-ten tarp and things found in nature.”

  He pointed to the pine boughs he’d collected and tossed in the center of the Bug Huddle. Then he smiled, because he’d learned that when he didn’t make a conscious effort to look friendly, the little brunette with freckles would duck her head to avoid eye contact and try not to cry. And she was disappearing behind her curtain of hair.

  Next to her sat the blonde with curly hair who came with a note explaining that she couldn’t eat dairy, gluten, peanuts, soy nuts, corn nuts, nuts of any kind, refined sugar, imitation sweeteners, soda, or food coloring. Dax couldn’t remember if air was on that list but ignored the food coloring and sugar part since he was certain those Astro Pops were not made with real fruit juice. The poor kid was so buttoned up Dax could barely see her face peeking out from beneath her jacket.

  “Well, Elsa made hers out of ice, isn’t that nature?” This came from the one with the Coke-bottle glasses.

  He leaned down and squinted at her name badge. “Kenzie, right?” She nodded. “Why don’t we make one out of a tarp like the rulebook says?”

  At his suggestion all of the girls’ faces fell. Except for Kenzie’s—hers went combative. “Is that because you can’t make one from ice or because the rules say we can’t use ice?”

  He looked at his co-leader for some help, but she was too busy pretending to organize the handouts on indigenous plants for the Fun Forest Foods portion of this survival training class. She was also grinning behind the handouts, he could see it in her big green eyes. Sure, they’d had a plan coming into today—divide and conquer—so he’d taken shelter and she’d taken food sources in the wilderness. But a little backup would have been nice.

  “Since it needs to be less than thirty-two degrees for ice to form”—Dax licked his finger and put it in the air as a cool breeze blew by, scattering the pine needles and carrying the fresh scent of Christmas and rich earth, but his finger didn’t freeze—“and it’s clearly not below thirty-two, it would not be a naturally occurring element in the wilderness we are going to enter.” And since they still didn’t look like they believed him—him, the guy who had survived being stranded in the desert with only his rifle, his blade, and his ruck—he added, “It will be insulated, so it will keep you warm even if it did snow.”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t going to be cold enough to snow,” Violet said to the glee of Glasses.

  “I did. It’s not.” Dax cupped the bill of his hat and curled it for a moment. “Look, making a shelter out of ice is stupid.”

  The girls all sucked in a scandalized breath and almost—almost—drowned out the single chuckle. From Emerson. Who, if she weren’t looking so damn good in those snug Carhartts and a snugger thermal top with the top two buttons undone, would be on his list.

  The undone buttons, though, put her on an entirely different list.

  “The first rule in survival?” he said.

  “Stay calm!” they said in unison.

  “Great. And the second rule?”

  “Work smart!”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “Right. And working smart is finding the easiest path to the best solution. And making a castle out of ice when you are in a survival situation isn’t as smart as making a shelter out of branches or a downed tree, things you can find easily.”

  The girls all shared a look. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but then Violet reached over and patted his hand. “It’s okay that you haven’t built an ice castle, Lovely Co-leader Mister, you could have just said so. We’ll make a regular old shelter from your tarp.” She turned to the rest of her troop. “Right, Bugs?”

  “Right,” the girls mumbled disappointedly.

  Maybe this was one of those pie dish moments and Emerson was right. Maybe he knew zip about females. Obviously even less about princesses and ice castles. But he knew how to survive so they’d do it his way—plus he was bigger. “This shelter I’m going to teach you about. This is what Rangers would build if they found themselves in trouble. So if there are no more questions—”

  Kenzie’s hand shot up and he ignored it. “Let’s work smart. We’ll use that downed tree behind you as the main support and then find more wood to fill it in. So let’s break up into two teams.” He put an arm through the middle of the girls. “Shirley Temple. Glasses. You two go collect as many branches as you can,” he said to the blonde one and Kenzie. “They don’t have to be thick, but they need to be tall. At least as tall as you are. And you two,” Dax said, then smiled because he was addressing Freckles. “I need you and Violet to gather as much fern and moss and as many pine needles as you can carry. The greener the pine needles the better because the smell will ward off bugs.”

  “But we are bugs,” Violet said, concern lacing her face.

  “Bugs that bite.” He eyed Kenzie, who he was pretty certain had sharp teeth, and clarified, “Mosquitoes.” The girls nodded so he pushed himself to a stand—which took more energy and maneuvering than he’d have liked. “Dismissed.” No one moved. “First team done gets to pick the popsicle flavor.”

  They took off running, their little pigtails bouncing.

  “Ice shelters are stupid?” Emerson said, coming up behind him, her official red-and-black polka-dotted binder pressed to her chest. “That’s the best you
can come up with?”

  “I was ambushed,” he said. “For a minute there I thought there was a fifth, missing member named Elsa.”

  “I would have helped,” she said, her eyes sparkling with humor. “But you assured me you had it. In fact, I believe your exact words were ‘My legs weigh more than all of them put together, Emi. I’ve got this.’ Then you gave that constipated look you’ve got going on now.”

  “Admit it,” he said, stepping closer. “You just wanted to watch a group of six-year-olds hand me my ass.”

  “I was going to intervene, but then I started reading this list of dangerous and edible plants found in nature. Which I was supposed to go over before you sent them off into the wild alone.” She held up photocopied pages from a book he’d lent her about surviving off the land. “Funny thing, Ranger, did you know that nearly everything survivalists eat in the wilderness, outside of catching small prey, is green?”

  She smacked a stapled packet to his chest, so he trapped her hand there and stepped even closer. He couldn’t help it. When she was all bossy and sassy, he was like a moth to her flame. “I’ve eaten a lot of things I don’t like. Even had crickets on occasion when I was desperate, but that doesn’t mean I want to stir-fry some up tonight.”

  Rangers were experts at making something out of nothing—the way to survive was to adapt and overcome—but even when he’d been forced to eat nature’s salad, he’d gagged. Not that he’d let his men see, but it had happened.

  “If we are going to get the girls to try clover and dandelion salad, then you have to eat clover and dandelion salad. The X-tremely Edible category is our best shot at winning a trophy.”

  According to the handbook he’d breezed through last night, the X-tremely Edible division of the campout challenged each team to find nutrients in nature and creative ways to trap or locate food sources.

  “And you have to pretend to like it.” She didn’t move her hand but extended her pointer finger to poke his pec. “One gag and the whole class is over. Got it?”

  Another poke.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So put on your Ranger face and man up. Clover is your new best friend.”

  He wanted to point out that he was already one step ahead of her. Manning up wouldn’t be a problem. She wasn’t touching him anywhere sensual, just her hand poking into his pec with purpose, but it was as if he could feel her everywhere. She could feel him too, because her eyes went heavy and she looked a little lost, a little dazed, and a whole lot like she wanted him.

  “What’s up with Pixie and the no wings?” he asked quietly.

  Her face lit with excitement. “We’re trying something new, so don’t make a big deal out of it. But her teacher thought it would be best if the wings stayed home, and she started answering to Violet.” He could tell that she agreed with the teacher, but reinforcing the rules fell completely to Emerson. “So I promised Violet that I would do the twilight walk with her before dinner, like my mom used to, but only if she left the wings in her closet during the week.” She leaned in. “And it’s working!”

  “You’re a good sister.” He moved his arms so that their knuckles lightly brushed. “The way you take care of your family is . . .” He searched for the right word. “Sweet.”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest and shrugged. “Most people would argue about me being sweet.”

  A few weeks ago he would have been one of those people. But he knew better now, knew that her hands-off thing was all for show. It was her armor. What kept her safe from all of the disappointments life had thrown her way.

  Dax slipped his finger under her chin and lifted it until she met his gaze. “Most people would be wrong then, Emi, because everything about you is sweet.”

  Their gazes held, hers so uncertain and lost he wanted to pull her to him like he had the other day. “It’s getting weird again,” she said quietly, and he could see the pulse beat in the base of her neck.

  “I think you meant to say, it’s getting good.” He stepped closer and her breath caught. If this was weird, then he was officially a fan.

  “You should probably go find that wood,” she said but he noticed she didn’t move.

  “The wood—”

  Her eyes went wide and she pressed her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. “No, please don’t say it’s in your pants.”

  “Okay.” He kissed the palm of her hand and she jerked it back. And yeah, he might have given her a gentle nip. And then, because he didn’t want to be another one of life’s disappointments, he gave her what she needed right then. Laughter. “I also won’t tell you where the party is then.”

  She threw her head back and laughed, then stuck the papers in the neck of his shirt. “Read up, Ranger. I want you prepared for lunch.”

  Dax watched her go, her hips swaying as she walked to the picnic table. That sway was the kind of sexy sway a woman gave when she knew a man was watching—and wanted him to watch.

  Yup. She was feeling it. Fighting it, but feeling it all the same.

  He didn’t bother to tell her he wasn’t eating her lunch, that he’d stopped by Stan’s earlier and enjoyed two bowls of chili and some corn bread—and an hour of chopping. He pulled out the papers and went to hand them back when he noticed red markings in the margins. Phone numbers, notes, big red Xs through parts.

  He looked closer. It wasn’t pages from his book—she’d accidently handed him her list of trucks for sale. Commercial food trucks, to be exact. There must have been ten pages, containing the details on over thirty food trucks for sale in the area. The first several trucks were either untouched or marked out. In fact, there were only three that he could find in the packet that were circled as though possibilities.

  “Why is the truck on page two crossed out?” he asked because he didn’t know a lot about food trucks, even less about cooking in one, but he knew cars. He’d also seen Emerson work in his kitchen enough to understand that the few trucks she had circled weren’t big enough. “Or these circled ones smaller than twenty-nine feet?”

  She looked up and he knew the second recognition hit. Her eyes went wide and she was on him in seconds, reaching for the paper. He wasn’t sure what came over him, maybe it was the expression she wore, the same one she’d worn when doing the mailbox shuffle the other day, but instead of giving it back, he flipped the page and pointed to the twenty-nine-foot semicustom truck that would be perfect. “I like this one.”

  “Then you should buy it,” she said, successfully snatching the papers back and sticking them in her binder. “It’s only thirty grand more than the others.”

  He followed her over to the table and leaned a hip against the corner. “That much of a difference?”

  She sat down and pretended to reshuffle the handouts, not saying a word. Fine with him, he was used to waiting people out—it was what made him such a good sniper. He could wait for hours, days if he had to. Most people lived to fill the silence. Emerson held on longer than he expected, but after about three minutes of the birds chirping and leaves rustling, she broke.

  “It’s frustrating,” she said. “The difference between a renovated roach coach and a renovated food truck is like twenty grand, then with upgrades and equipment it goes up from there.”

  “Is this the only commercial truck warehouse in the area?”

  “For financing reasons and my timeline, this place seems to be my best option.” She shrugged, then reached under the table and pulled out two bowls filled with weeds and flowers that the girls had collected at the beginning of the day. She picked up a clover and nibbled it. Dax’s throat constricted a little. “I was thinking I could get a bigger truck that needs a little TLC and clean it up. But with Street Eats not that far off, I don’t think that’s a smart option.”

  Dax considered pointing out that he was great with TLC, both with cars and women, but since both would break her weirdness rule, he offered, “I know a guy who runs car auctions for Sonoma County. Repos and stuff for the police department. If y
ou’d like, I can give him a call and see if he has any better options.” Her eyes went cautious, so he raised a hand. “No pressure. No weirdness. No marker. I want to barter for the intel.”

  She crossed her arms, which did amazing things for those two undone buttons. “I’m listening.”

  “After I’m done teaching the girls to make a shelter, I will go call my buddy. And you explain to the girls that I couldn’t stay for the forest feast.”

  “You’re that scared of a little clover salad?”

  “Yup.”

  “Fine, deal.”

  Dax was about to lean in and kiss on it when what sounded like a small herd of antelope frolicked up behind him. “We got the needles and leaves, Lovely Co-leader Mister,” Violet said.

  All four girls stood there panting, muddy, and with needles stuck in their hair. They were smiling proudly, their cheeks and noses red from the cold, as they held out their bounty for appraisal.

  It wasn’t enough to make a complete shelter, but it was enough to get them started. “Good job, troops. Drop it over by the big log.”

  “All Elsa did was wave her hands and dance and her ice castle was done,” Kenzie pointed out. “This is way harder.”

  Another chuckle from Miss Helpful.

  He silenced Emerson with a look, then addressed Kenzie. “Well, it will be warmer and maybe we’ll even win the Resourcefulness Under Pressure Award.” So there.

  “Lovely Co-leader Mister,” Violet said, holding up a familiar-looking three-leaved plant. It was waxy and red and—ah, shit. “What’s this?”

  “That’s poison oak,” Kenzie pointed out. “It is a climbing shrub that is native to North America and related to the cashew plant.”

  Shirley Temple’s eyes went wide as she dropped her bundle and jumped back. “Isn’t a cashew a nut?” Her words were frantic, but her voice came out a strangle of tears. “If I have nuts I need to use my EpiPen, which is a needle and it hurts. And I don’t like to hurt.”

  Freckles looked as though she was about to burst into tears at the idea of seeing a needle, and Violet started picking up dirt and throwing it in the air like it was magic dust.