Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)

by Adair, Marina

  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 her
e 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.”

  “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

  She walked over to him, not stopping until her arms were wrapped around his middle and her head pressed against his chest. “Long enough to know you make me smile just the way you are too.”

  As Dax drew Emerson in close, he decided that he’d do just about anything to make her smile. When he’d first agreed to be a Lovely co-leader, he’d done it to get into Emerson’s pants. Now, after a few weeks of working with the girls and his co-leader, he decided he’d rather be right here, with her. Standing beneath a canopy of oaks and pines, miles from town, her looking up at him as if she liked what she saw.

  Not that he didn’t want to see if she went camo or commando under those PTA pants, but he was also interested in seeing more of what lay beneath that Kevlar exterior.

  “Are you admitting that you like me, Emi?” he asked.

  She pulled back and gifted him the most amazing smile. “Ask me after we win.”

  A faint chanting in the distance caught his attention. He looked past Emerson’s shoulder at the trail ahead. “Looks like you’re going to have to answer that question sooner than you thought.”

  Emerson turned around right as a cluster of three-foot-talls tore down the trail toward them. Violet was leading the pack, a big red Loveliest Survivalist flag flapping as she ran.

  “Loveliest Loveliness! Six-Six-Two!” they chanted.

  “We won?” Emerson asked, bouncing up on her toes. And the sheer amount of joy radiating off her was enough to bring a man to his knees.

  “Looks that way.”

  “Oh my God. We won.” She kissed his cheek, then spun around and started jumping up and down, chanting along, “Loveliest Loveliness! Six-Six-Two!”

  Dax took a step back as the chanting and flag got closer, knowing that they would want to wave it all the way to the campsite. But instead, they bypassed their tents and kept going—straight at him.

  Four sets of ear-piercing giggles and sparkly boots surrounded him, and before he could brace himself, they were all jumping up and down, their dainty arms latching on to him in a group hug that was pretty incredible.

  And Dax felt like he’d won too.

  Dax’s heart pounded hard exactly once.

  Coming completely alert, he forced his heart rate to slow, kept his eyes closed and his body stock-still so he could hear everything. Process the threat.

  The night air, thick with the scent of damp soil and fresh pine, stirred the trees outside his tent. But something was stirring the air inside. More like someone, he thought, relaxing his body, as he caught the aroma of milk chocolate and sneaky woman.

  Releasing a calming breath, Dax cracked open one eye to see Emerson waving a hand in front of his face. She was wearing a giant Bed Bug T-shirt that hung to her knees, her mascara was slightly smudged, and her hair was a disaster, falling down her back in bed-rumpled corkscrews.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  He was now. That was the thing with Rangers, they were trained to grab sleep when they could. Dax could reach REM mode in seconds, and be in full combat mode even quicker.

  Not giving her time to process, he moved fast, hooking an arm around her waist and, before she could release the scream he felt building, he pulled her down, rolling her under his body. She was curvy and soft and all things warm woman. “You tell me.”

  She blinked up at him. “Jesus, Dax. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Crap is a bad word,” he said, then ran a hand down her leg to find nothing but body-hugging leggings. “And this is the boys’ tent.”

  She slid her fingers into his hair. “I know.”

  “Girlie parts in the boys’ tent.” He nuzzled her throat, pressing little kisses to her exposed skin and making her gasp. “My twelve-year-old self would be jealous.”

  “You seem so surprised,” she said, wrapping those elegant hands behind his neck and skimming them under his shirt. “You invited me to the boys’ tent to give you a proper thank-you. Remember?”

  “Oh, I remember.” He kissed her neck, her breathing going erratic when he reached the little hollow area in the curve
she loved. “Full disclosure. I invited you to the boys’ tent to get you in my sleeping bag.”

  “I know,” she said, all kinds of sexy lacing her words.

  He lifted his head. “Why, Emerson Blake, are you breaking one of those rules you’re so fond of?”

  “You like it when I break the rules.” She wrapped those lush legs around his, turning him inside out—and breaking more than a few Lady Bug official chaperone rules. “The question is, what rule do you want to break tonight?”

  All of the erotic possibilities that came to mind set him on fire: two lone survivors stranded in the wild with only their body heat to keep them warm. No, sexy bombshell from the neighboring campsite jumps into his tent, naked and terrified of passing bears. Or, better yet, Lady Bug Lovely leader is so hot for her co-leader she sneaks into his tent to seduce him under the stars.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  How could he not, with her looking at him like that? All warm and open, her edges softer than usual. Happier too.

  “Just thinking.”

  She snuggled closer. “About?”

  “You.”

  Then he kissed her. Slow and steady, taking his time to explore every inch of her mouth, to coax out those breathy little moans that he’d become addicted to. He wasn’t in a hurry—not tonight. Not with her holding on to him as though she was content to stay right there, in his arms, and do just this until the sun came up.

  “You taste amazing,” he said.

  “I taste like brownie contraband,” she admitted. “I brought a bag with me but lost them in the scuffle. I’m pretty sure they’re all mushed by now.”

  “Let me see,” he said as if that was the excuse he needed to get his hands on her. The truth was he’d been waiting to get his hands on her since that hug in the forest. Hell, since San Francisco. It was all he could think about at times. But tonight, surrounded by a bunch of girls, he’d have to settle for an old-fashioned make-out session—pj’s required.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel his fill, which he did, making her giggle, then slid his hands down her bottom. When he could see her eyes heavy with need, he said, “Can’t find them.”