Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(71)

“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 #LOVELIESTLOVELINESS.

“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?”