“The rest of your guys are still in position,” Dax pointed out. “And yeah, he messed up. But he did it in a training situation. In front of his team. He won’t make that mistake again.”
Once upon a time, he’d been that same pumped-up, high-strung soldier jonesing for his first real combat situation to prove he was a hero. Then he’d met Sergeant Conley, who corralled all of that anger and energy and turned Dax into an elite soldier who knew that heroes were saved for comic books and action flicks, and he was being trained to do a job. “The kid just needs a mentor.”
“You’re applying,” Jonah said and Dax couldn’t help but notice that the question mark at the end was missing.
He shook his head. “Not happening.”
“What I meant was that you already applied,” Jonah said, smiling. “I wrote your résumé last week and sent it in. Congratulations, the job is yours. Now untie me before I kick you in the nuts.”
Dax wasn’t going to untie his brother, just like he wasn’t going to take that job. If someone had to make the hard calls, it wasn’t going to be him. Ever again. Although the thought of staying in St. Helena didn’t make his chest itch as badly anymore, the idea of playing judge and jury for another fifteen years was enough to take him under—and he’d just remembered how to breathe again.
“Until I hear you say ‘game over,’ this training is still a go.” When Jonah just smiled, Dax cleared his throat. “And thanks for the endorsement,” he said truthfully, because a guy like Jonah having enough faith in Dax to send in his résumé meant a lot. “But I heard back from Fallon. The job is mine. I can start as soon as Kyle gives me the all-clear.”
Something he needed to talk to the doc about at his post-op appointment that Adam was taking him to tomorrow.
“Congrats,” Jonah said with equal emotion. “Fallon runs a tight ship and they’ll be lucky to have you.” Jonah smiled, but his tone was dead serious. “Any team would be lucky to have you, Dax. Including mine.”
Dax wasn’t so sure about that. In San Jose he would be hired muscle with some serious skills behind him. No connections, no shared history, just a former sniper with a reputation and a job to do. Here, surrounded by family and friends, he was afraid he’d hesitate. Connections did that to a person, screwed with their head and contributed to making crap decisions.
He thought of Emerson and the way she’d leaned into him the other day, as if he were the only thing keeping her standing. How good it had felt to be the sole grounding force in her vortex of chaos. And how instead of pulling back like he should have, he’d pulled her closer, encouraged her to lean on him as if he was applying to be her own personal hero—then agreed to do the CQB training knowing he was going to leave.
Yeah, crap decisions.
“This one is delish,” Harper moaned around bits of homemade pita. “It’s so juicy and spicy.”
“It’s my Greek twist on a slider. I use ground lamb and short ribs for the patty, like my mom did, but then put my secret roasted red pepper and caviar aioli on top,” Emerson said, knowing it was a front-runner. The dish was complex and rich without being snooty, and walked that fine line between sophistication and street food.
“This is a definite menu must-have,” Harper said, shoving the rest of her slider in her mouth, then licking her fingers clean. “I could eat this every day.”
That was exactly what Emerson was going for. A menu that could win over the judges but remain approachable to the locals. Delectable without pretentiousness. And if she was being honest, it had heart too.
Smiling, she took a sip of wine and leaned back on the lounge chair, content to just sit by and watch the trees blow in the breeze.
It was Sunday afternoon and Emerson had a rare day off, so she’d decided to spend it sharing a bottle of wine with Harper on her balcony, sampling a few ideas she had for Street Eats. They were also celebrating Emerson’s Blow Your Cork earnings—which after the last event put her just two grand shy of her goal. She still hadn’t found a truck, but with her menu taking shape and the RSVP in the hands of the committee, she was feeling hopeful.
Something she hadn’t felt in years.
“Speaking of delish,” Harper said with a secret smile. “What’s up with you and the beefcake?”
“Nothing,” Emerson said.
Harper snorted. “Nothing, huh? Then why are you flushed?”
“I am not.” She touched her cheek and—this was becoming ridiculous.
First the flutters, then the hoping, and now flushing? It was like she was turning into one of those girls. And she had worked her entire life not to be one of those girls. “It’s because he hugged me.”
Harper froze, second slider halfway to her lips. “Hugged? You let him hug you? As in putting his arms around you and sharing an embrace?”
“I hugged him back.” And it was a fantastic hug too, all sweet and gentle and warm and—oh God, there went the flutters.
“Is he okay?” Harper leaned forward, shock and a little smart-ass lacing her features. “Are you okay?”
“I hug people.”
“Like who? Name one person since Liam, no, wait, your mom, who you hugged. And Violet doesn’t count.”
Emerson thought long and hard on that one, wanting to prove Harper wrong. Had it really been that long since she’d hugged someone? Wait, yes. “I hugged you. That night Shay got her shop for the pet rescue.”
“That was over a year ago and I hugged you. You merely tolerated it, just like you tolerated the celebratory Street Eats hug,” Harper clarified, and Emerson wondered if Harper remembered every hug of her life. “To qualify as a hug, it needs to be reciprocal. So this hug with Dax—”
“Dax and I had sex last weekend, against nearly every horizontal and vertical surface of my apartment, and you didn’t ask all these questions. But we hug and it’s a matter of national security?”
Harper waved a dismissive hand. “That was sex. This,” she whispered, leaning closer as though imparting the meaning of life. “This is different. He’s different.”
He was different, and so was Emerson. She could feel it and she feared that people could see it, so she strategically avoided her friend’s glare, instead paying particular attention to the arrangement of mouthwatering mini cupcakes she’d prepared—which were spongy and light with a rich liqueur frosting—to detract from the fact she was grinning. Like an idiot.
“We’re friends,” she said, knowing it was true. Only half the truth, but true all the same.
“Yeah, hot, vertical sex and hugging with a supersexy guy. Totally friend zone. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Exactly what Emerson had concluded the other day at Stan’s—she was in deep. It didn’t matter when he left, she’d feel the loss, because when she was with Dax everything in her world tilted right. And when she wasn’t with him all she could think about was what it felt like being with him.
Dax was funny and easy to be around and so incredibly kind to her family. And he’d called her sweet. No one had called her that before, but when he said it she felt sweet. Like she could be the kind of woman who got the great guy.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.
“Are you kidding me?” Harper laughed. “Hearing about that night was hotter than my last nine dates combined. My entire dating history combined.” Harper released a breath and took in Emerson’s expression. She wasn’t sure what she looked like, but it must have been bad, because suddenly Harper went superserious. “It’s more than sex, Em, he’s crazy about you.”
“How would you know? The man cut out of town the day he could enlist, then was MIA for the past fifteen years.”
“Because I pay attention,” Harper said with a laugh. “And if you would, you’d see that the man is as allergic to human interaction as you are, yet he hires you to cook for him. In his house, thank you. Helps your sister’s Lady Bug troop, finds your dad a job, and just happens to jog past your cart twice a day and pretend he isn’t checking up on you.”
“He’s checking me out,” Emerson corrected.
“No, he’s checking up on you. There’s a difference.”
There was. Emerson knew. It was the same reason she’d agreed to pick him up from PT every week. To make sure he was feeling better. “I coerced him into helping with the Lady Bugs.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “The only way a man like Dax could ever be coerced was if he allowed himself to be. Look at the guy, he’s built like the Hulk.” Emerson always thought more Captain America, but whatever. “He agreed to help because he wanted to help you, Em. And that’s as real as it gets.”
It was that real side of Dax that made Emerson so nervous. It wasn’t just that he helped her dad for no reason, or that he hugged her when she needed it most. It was how he made her feel when he did those things. As if she meant something to him.
Something that went beyond one night. Something that might be worth hanging around for. He’d met her family, seen her crazy life, and yet he was still there. Not for always, but for now. And that should be enough.
But what if it wasn’t?
“I mailed the letter Wednesday,” Emerson admitted.
“I know. And I’m really proud of you.” Harper leaned over and patted her hand like she’d just received a gold star for effort.
“What do you mean, you know?” She hadn’t told anyone except Dax. And he only knew because he’d caught her—then hugged her. And yeah, she’d hugged him back. But she hadn’t said a word since then, to him or anyone else, because if for some reason she didn’t get the truck, she didn’t want anyone to give her those Poor Emerson looks she hated so much.
“I peeked in your purse on accident.” Harper sat back. “Okay, it wasn’t an accident, I was going to mail it if it was still there Wednesday afternoon so you wouldn’t miss the deadline. Thanks for mailing it, though, it saved me from infringing on your privacy.”
“You already infringed by going into my purse.”
Harper cocked her head, looking deep in thought and perplexed. With a nod she said, “I can see how it would look that way to you.” Emerson wanted to point out that it would look that way to anyone. “And if it bothers you that much, then I promise not to stick my nose in your business.”
“That’s like you saying you’re going to give up breathing.”
Harper lifted the lid off the dessert tray and snagged a Metaxa-and-orange cupcake. “I won’t do it again,” she promised and made a big show out of popping the cupcake in her mouth, her cheeks puffed.
Emerson reached for a cupcake too when the roar of a motorcycle barreled down Main Street. Both women froze, neither moving an inch. Then the engine revved closer and it sounded as though it was right below her balcony, and her good parts did a little revving of their own.
Harper’s eyes got big and she hopped up on her knees to look over the railing. She let loose one excited giggle, then calmly took her seat. Crossing her legs demurely.
“Is it him?” Emerson whispered, ignoring the fluttering and the flushing. And the bead of hope.
Harper pointed to her mouth, still full of cupcake, and shrugged.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I give you permission to stick your nose in my business.”
Harper swallowed and peeked back over the rail. “Yup, it’s him.”
“Is he parked in front of our building?”
“Can’t tell,” she said. “He’s in a pair of camo pants, though, and his legs are wrapped around a big, black motorcycle. God, he looks like Dirty Harry meets Magic Mike.” Harper sighed. “Even from this distance I can see the outline of his tattoo.”
Distance? That meant he wasn’t close enough to notice if she took a peek? “There is no way you could see his muscles through his jacket.” Dax would never ride without his jacket or helmet. That was a fact.
“Oh.” Harper looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Not that tat. The one that peeks out from beneath his shirt and jacket, only to disappear below the belt.”
Emerson knew the tattoo well, so well she felt her mouth go dry at the memory. Unable to resist, Emerson leaned over the railing and looked down—only to find Dax looking up. Right at her. Smiling.
He was on his bike all right, but the only distance separating them was one story. Straight up.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I wanted to check on Shirley Temple,” he called up, that cool timbre rolling over her. “See if the poison oak had gone down any.”
“Megan’s mom called yesterday and said that most of the swelling and itching was gone, and she should be ready to go to the campout this weekend,” she explained, and he made a universal gesture for close call by wiping off his forehead.
She was relieved by the news too, because in order to compete for the Loveliest Survivalist, a Loveliness needed a minimum of four Lady Bugs.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t allowed to ride your bike.”
“Just got cleared,” he said. “I was going to go for a ride to blow off some steam, maybe find some trouble to get into.” He released those dimples and Harper gave Emerson a giddy Oh my look. “You up for a little trouble?”
She was up for trouble, all right. So much it hurt. But if he was cleared to ride, then it wouldn’t be long until he was cleared to leave. “How was the training yesterday?”
“Come for a ride and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Said the fox to the hen. “I’m testing out my food truck menu. There is a lot of green stuff or I’d invite you up.”
“You know you look slightly to the right when you tell a lie,” he said. “Not to mention when I stopped by earlier, your friend said you were planning on a low-key afternoon. Just sipping wine and tasting cupcakes.”
Emerson shot a dirty look at her friend, who lifted her hands in surrender. “I talked to him before I promised to butt out. And I’d like to remind you that you gave me permission to butt back in a moment ago.”
“The doctor said I can’t ride alone. See,” he hollered and she looked back over the railing. Dax held up a white piece of paper, which may or may not have been a prescription, but it looked convincing. When she didn’t move, he shoved it back in his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. “Come on, Emi.”
That was all it took. Him saying her name that way. Tired and rough around the edges, so exempt of the normal BS and charm that she found herself caving. He didn’t want to go for a ride, he needed to disappear for a while. That he needed her to go with him spoke to a part of her that she couldn’t shut off.
“You’re glowing, Em,” Harper said quietly. “Glowing. Tell me you still don’t know what to do.”
Oh, she knew. She’d known since San Francisco, she’d just been too stubborn to admit it. “You like cupcakes, Ranger?”
“Depends,” he said with a rare boyish smile. “What’s the color of the frosting?”
Emerson squeezed tight, a mix of thrill and terror pumping through her body as Dax sped along the winding mountain road. Thrill because the bike was going fast enough that it felt as if they were free-falling in tandem, their bodies pressed tight together from the force of the wind.
There wasn’t an inch of her front that wasn’t in full, bone-melting contact with his back, and shoulders, and thighs, and butt. Oh my, that butt. It matched the God complex he wore so well. In fact, every time he zigged the bike their bodies zagged in the best way possible.
The terror part came from the overwhelming sense of being out of control. Every hard turn Dax leaned into, her body screamed for her to go the opposite direction. Because leaning into what felt like falling went against everything she knew.
A firm hand pressed down on her knee, which was nestled tightly against his thigh. “Emerson,” Dax hollered over the wind roaring around her mask. “Do you trust me?”
Emerson didn’t do trust so well. Life had taught her better. But there was something about Dax and that take-anything-life-throws vibe he wore like a cape that made her want to trust. Made her wa
nt to let go and experience every terrifying thrill that came with it.
“Yes,” she hollered back.
With a quick squeeze to the thigh, he yelled, “Then close your eyes and hang on.”
And she did. Without hesitation. She squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed tighter, her hands resting low on his stomach, loving how safe she felt wrapped around his broad, strong body. Because even though she was holding on with everything she had, it somehow felt as if she was finally letting go.
Free.
Alive.
The bike rumbled under them moments before it surged forward, and she laughed over the rich, throaty roar of the engine. As Dax leaned she followed, quickly learning the subtle cues to read his body. The way his midback muscles flexed before he dropped into a higher gear or how one side of his abs would tighten moments before he steered into a sharp turn. It was as if their bodies were communicating, talking back and forth without words, working together in the most elemental way.
It was intimate.
Almost like a hug-spoon combo where Emerson got to play the big spoon. It seemed to go on for hours and had the power to wipe away her worries. Her dad’s new job, finding Violet sleeping in her wings last night with a new fairy trap Roger had made under her bed, nothing mattered. Her mind went peacefully, pleasantly blank—lulled into a calm state by the sound of the ride.
Dax must have felt it too, because the more road they covered the more relaxed he became—and the more connected she felt.
Emerson had a deeper understanding of the stoic soldier. His wild ways were nothing more than a way to release all of the emotions that had no place else to go in his tightly controlled world. Dax kept everything carefully contained until there was time to blow steam—and blowing steam in a town with ties would be hard for a guy like him.
“How are you doing?” he yelled.
“Perfect.” Absolutely perfect.
She felt him chuckle. “We’re almost there.”
She opened her eyes, surprised to see that the Mayacamas Mountains, which separated Napa Valley from Sonoma, were behind them. And in front of them sat rows of fire-colored vineyards with metallic strips that marked the harvested vines shimmering in the afternoon sun. Off in the distance, there appeared to be a big landing strip.
Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) Page 19