Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(57)
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 you’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.
“It doesn’t have nuts on it,” Kenzie explained, her tone heavy on the know-it-all. “It just has a poisonous oil that causes an itchy rash wherever it comes into contact with your skin.” She looked at Dax. “Did you know that poison oak can’t grow in freezing temperatures?”
Friday afternoon, Emerson closed up her cart early and rushed down Main Street. The sun shone bright overhead, painting the orange and red maple leaves with a golden glow. She was meeting her dad and Violet at Stan’s Soup and Service Station. Violet had made it through a whole week without wearing her wings to school—something to celebrate.
Her sister was finally moving past this confusing stage, finding her footing in the world, and Emerson wanted to make sure Violet understood how proud she was of her. Which explained the Tupperware box filled with baklava she’d stayed up late last night making.
Emerson stepped into the service station and was greeted by the seasonal scents of roasting pumpkin and nutmeg. Roger and Violet were already sitting at the counter, smiling and sucking down a root beer float.
“Sorry I’m late,” Emerson said, kissing her dad on the cheek, then Violet. “Wow, root beer float before dinner? Must be a special occasion.”
“No,” Violet said, confused. “Dad and I have a float every morning before scho—”
“Drink up, honey.” Roger put the straw to Violet’s lips, then smiled at Emerson. Sheepishly, she noticed. “Have a seat. We’re about to order.”
Emerson let it go and pulled out the stool next to Violet. Hooking her coat on the hanger under the countertop, she sat, springing back up immediately when something poked her butt.
“Ow!” she said, rubbing her backside. “What is that?”
“My trap,” Violet cried, leaping to her feet to come and rescue the sticks held together by twine. “Did it break?”
“I don’t think so.” Emerson took a closer look at the work. It was circular, smaller on one end and bigger on the other, like a megaphone. It was also more Dad-work than student inspired. “Is that a cornucopia for school?”
“No, it’s a fairy trap. Dad and I made it,” Violet said, using her napkin to brush it off. “It’s not done yet, though. I need to make a door so once a fairy goes in she has to wait for me to let her out. I caught one last night but she got out and only left behind some fairy dust.”
“Fairy dust?” Emerson said, her heart sinking as she met Roger’s eyes over Violet’s head and gave him a long, steady look. He held up his palm as if saying It isn’t wings.
“I wanted to show it to you.” Violet looked up, her eyes big and proud.
“It’s, uh . . . wow! I don’t know what to say.” Only that it negated everything she’d worked so hard on all week. The walks, the long talks, the special dessert she’d made. This entire celebration dinner.