Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(29)
“The last time I saw you, you had on diapers and were dragging around a doll.”
“Action figure,” he clarified. “A G.I. Joe action figure.”
“Your mom was at chemo and I was babysitting. You cried the whole time because your brothers wouldn’t let you in their blanket fort.” She reached out her hand and Dax, making a mental note to punch his brothers later, shook it.
“Ida Beamon,” she said. “I’m too old to babysit, but I still play bunko with your great-aunt Lucinda and Frankie. Although Frankie’s too busy with her husband to make it to the game much anymore.” She leaned in and whispered, “You know he’s Italian.”
Yes, and he’d heard enough for one lifetime about his brother-in-law’s prowess, but thankfully Ida was already moving on. “I heard you were back in town. The ladies down at the pool canceled senior water aerobics when they read on the Facebook that you were jogging up and down Main Street topless. I had a lady doctor visit that day, so I had to miss the excitement.” She gave him a thorough examination. “Wait until they hear I got a private showing.”
Unsure of how to respond, he asked, “So you want to help me out and tell me where I can find Emerson?”
“You should come to Blow Your Cork on Saturday. It’s a single's heaven. And ladies’ night.” She gave him an appreciative shimmy of the cantaloupes. “You’d start a riot. The other night it was so hopping the fire marshal came by.” She pulled out a VIP card and slid it across the bar top. “Just drop my name and this will get you in free of charge. Or you could just come with your aunt.”
“People pay a cover charge in St. Helena?” Dax had a hard time picturing any establishment in a town of six thousand asking for a head fee. Almost as hard as it was to picture his seventy-year-old aunt coming to a club.
“Only the tourists,” she said as though he were mentally challenged. “But if you’re looking for Emerson, she caters all of our events.”
“Thanks,” Dax said, pocketing the card. “But I was hoping to talk to her before she delivered my next batch of food.”
“Seems pretty important to you.” Ida leaned forward. “You sure this is just about her flipping your flapjacks?”
At this point, Dax wasn’t sure what it was—only that he wanted to find her. Normally he’d have cut out of there the second Ida brought up his mom. But something about Emerson playing stealthy ticked him off—and turned him on.
Hell, at this point he was so bored and antsy, he’d rather spend his day searching down his chef than sitting on the couch watching television. So here he was, chasing her down with no clue as to what he’d do once he caught her. “I’m sure.”
“Her number’s in the phone book,” Ida said.
“Already tried that one, it goes to an answering machine.” Which she either wasn’t checking or had selective caller block installed. “Tried her cell too.”
“Only two reasons a woman like that doesn’t return your calls,” Ida said. “Either she’s playing coy.” Not likely—Emerson didn’t know the meaning of coy. “Or she isn’t interested in what you’re selling.”
Or she knew it would mess with his head. Regardless of the reason, Dax was intrigued.
“But,” Ida went on, “because you showed me a little skin earlier, I’ll tell you that she has a home number that she always answers.” Ida pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled it down.
“Thanks.” A grin as wide as the valley split his face as Dax reached for the paper. Ida tapped her cheek, so he leaned across the counter and gave her a peck, then moved toward the door.
“But it’s Thursday so she won’t be home,” Ida called after him, and Dax stopped.
“You going to tell me where she is?”
That got a toothy grin. “That information will cost more than a kiss.”
“I’m not taking off my clothes,” Dax clarified, knowing that this little favor was going to cost him. That was how it worked in small towns. Ida did him a solid, and before he left, Dax would have to return the neighborly favor. He just hoped it had nothing to do with her melons.
“She closed up the cart early and headed to the community park.”
It took Dax less than three minutes to jog to the park and two seconds to locate his target.
His person of interest was huddled around one of the public barbecue pits at the far end of the park. Alone. Bent at the waist, her hands moving a mile a second, she was like a homing beacon, drawing him in.
Her hair was pulled through the back of a camouflaged ball cap, and she wore a sweater, also camo, that fell off one shoulder, revealing the thin strap of what his gut was telling him was a bra. Solid black. Like her skirt, which in her current ass-to-the-sky pose was pulled high enough to show him the curve of her cheeks and if the lace was a matching set—were it not for the camo leggings she had on underneath.
She should have looked ridiculous with that knockout body covered from head to her patriotic-themed Converse in multicamo. Instead she looked sporty and tough, while managing to crank the sexy to full throttle.
“Should you be running with your knee?” she asked, her eyes firmly affixed to what was happening in the barbecue.
Dax walked around to look at her from the front and found himself smiling. Her hat was pulled low. Not low enough to hide the way her face was pursed in concentration—or the ash smudges on her forehead and right cheek—but low enough to know she meant business. And since she was trying to light the pit with a hunting knife and a flint rock, he took a big step back.