Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(12)

Today, though, he seemed shorter, a little fragile even. And Dax didn’t know what to do with that information. So he filed it in his to-process pile, which was already backlogged until 2057.

“When I was overseas, all I could think about was comfort food,” Stan said. “Then I got back stateside and the smell of those tuna salad casseroles the church ladies would bring by made my insides itch.” Stan patted Dax on the shoulder and held his hand there for a moment. The air went thick with understanding and a genuine empathy that, for once, Dax didn’t mind accepting. “People just showing they care, not understanding that sometimes the care is suffocating. It’s why I started making soup. Stopped the covered-dish parade.” Stan paused. “And a whole lot more.”

With a final pat to the back, Stan said, “Now get chopping. I’ve got a food critic coming by for dinner and I got to get that squash marinated and roasted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh,” Stan called over his shoulder before disappearing into the garage. “Make sure you return those casserole dishes.”

“Return them?” That would mean having to go to each and every house, being invited in for more neighborly visits and gut-churning chats. “I don’t even know who brought me what.”

Stan chuckled. “Might want to figure that out soon, son, or else you’ll have a whole other kind of parade marching on your doorstep. And they’ll be carrying condemnation and sharpened knitting needles.”

Later, as Dax was finishing up with the last of the pumpkins, a tall figure appeared in the doorway wearing a big hat, a sidearm, and a smug look that was all big brother and respected sheriff rolled into one.

“You should have Mickey add kitchen helper to your résumé,” Jonah said, taking off his sheriff’s hat and setting it on the counter. “I bet it would be great for undercover work.”

“Stan needed help, so I’m pitching in,” Dax defended, tightening the bow on his apron, grimacing when he tried to move his stiff knee. Everything below his knee ached and everything above it was sore. He needed a solid night’s sleep but knew going home to his empty rental would only make him antsier.

“You sure he’s the one who needed the help?”

Dax set down the knife to argue, then picked it back up, because according to the gas-pump clock over the door, he’d been in that coffin-sized work space for over two hours, chopping pumpkins, onions, celery—not a single slice was the same size, and Stan would probably have to toss it all out—but Dax hadn’t itched once.

“Can I get a bowl of the chili?” Jonah asked. “Heavy on the cheese but light on the onions. Shay and I are driving out to Sonoma to get a schnoodle when I get home.”

Dax wasn’t sure if schnoodle was married code for sex or another furry friend Shay was taking in. But since either option gave him a rash, he silently filled the order and slid the bowl across the counter.

Jonah took a spoonful. “The other night seemed to go well with Mickey. You hear anything back yet?”

“There are a few other guys in the running, applying from other teams, but he said as long as my doctor gives me the all clear, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” Dax opened up two sodas and slid one to Jonah. “Thanks for the other night. The intro really helped.”

Jonah lifted his bottle before taking a swig, and instead of lecturing Dax about not coming to him in the first place, he just said, “Glad it worked out.”

“Fallon said they’ll make their final decision by the time I finish PT.”

“What are you going to do between now and then?” Jonah took another bite of chili. “Since you’ve been home a little over two weeks and already you’re going nuts.”

“Who says I’m going nuts?” Jonah merely eyed the apron and piles of vegetables. “Okay, maybe I have a little cabin fever.”

Bullshit and they both knew it. Dax needed that job. Needed it to start sooner than later. More than anything Dax needed to feel useful again, and sitting on his ass watching the rain fall was slowly killing him—no matter how many pumpkins he chopped.

“That’s why I brought over this.” Jonah handed him an unaddressed envelope from the Napa County Sheriff’s Department. Wiping his hands on the apron, Dax opened it to find a flier for a department-hosted event. “What’s this?”

“Close-quarters battle training for the department. The deputy in charge relocated to Reno and we have a few new guys who are applying for the two open positions in my department, and I want to see how they work under pressure. As the new sheriff, it falls to me to secure some guest instructors until we can fill the position. I think with your background in weapons and CQB, you’d be great.”

Dax studied the flier, thought about what it would be like to teach a bunch of deputies about the latest and greatest in guns, then remembered that the job would mean working directly with his brother in the middle of Mayberry.

“Not interested.”

Jonah leveled him with a look that was all business. “If you want to work with civilians, then you need to get involved in the community. Prove to Fallon that you can acclimate to civilian life, make connections, and that you’re willing to be an active participant in the neighborhood.”

Dax wasn’t looking to make connections—he was looking to do a job that had the least chance of connecting. Which was why he was applying for corporate security. The only people he’d have to connect with would be his team and high-value suits. “Did Fallon say something?”