Marina Adair - Need You for Keeps (St. Helena Vineyard #6) Read online

  by marina adair

  Heroes of St. Helena series

  Need You for Keeps

  St. Helena Vineyard series

  Kissing Under the Mistletoe

  Summer in Napa

  Autumn in the Vineyard

  Be Mine Forever

  From the Moment We Met

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Marina Adair All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477825587

  ISBN-10: 1477825584

  Cover design by Shasti O'Leary-Soudant, SOS CREATIVE LLC

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014907538

  To Miss Peepers, Patches, and Princess, for a childhood full of furry hugs and unconditional love.

  contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  acknowledgments

  sneak peek: need you for mine

  about the author

  Someone will come for me,” Shay Michaels said, eyeballing her newest client—who looked as convinced by her statement as Shay felt. Maybe it was that she’d said the exact same thing over an hour ago or that she’d been saying the same thing her entire life without any success.

  But this time Shay had faith that someone would come. Call it eternal optimism or romantic rebellion, but one of these days karma would stop flipping her the bird and pay it forward.

  And that day was today.

  Please say that day is today, she thought, looking down at the client in question.

  Domino sat stoically, tail wrapped around his massive feet like a statue, gazing up at her with his wet, brown doggie eyes that were so big they could persuade anyone with a heart to do something colossally stupid. Like crawl into a dog kennel that locked from the outside.

  Okay, to be fair, when Shay was tired she made questionable decisions. And today she was exhausted.

  As the top stylist to the town’s most elite and furriest residents, she had been on her feet since the crack of dawn preparing the shop’s luxury kennels for the day’s long list of canine clients. She was hoping to leave on time to pamper her own four-legged kids.

  In addition to her position at the pet spa, Shay was the resident saint at St. Paws Animal Rescue, a foster service she ran out of her home for a variety of animals that needed a little extra help finding their forever families. As much as she wished to keep every animal in need, her home—and the law—prevented her from having more than four animals in her residence at any given time. This weekend she had the chance to show off her foster dogs at the community park, so it was imperative they looked their best—which meant head-to-tail makeovers.

  Only Domino had thrown a wrench into her already hectic schedule. So when he started whimpering as she steered him toward the kennel, which meant scooting all two hundred pounds of dog across the floor by his spotted Great Dane tush, she’d decided to climb in and show him that kennels at Paws and Claws weren’t scary, they were comfy, more chic than her rental, and almost roomy enough for a human to live in. In fact, with the right kennel mate, they could be fun.

  Shay retracted that statement the minute the door slammed shut and locked behind her.

  “You know, with your height and retrieval skills, you could grab me the keys off the counter over there,” she said, pointing to the neon-green lanyard that was a mere two inches out of reach.

  Two inches!

  “Woof.” Tail wagging, tongue lolling, Domino meandered over to the table, right past the keys, and stuck his head in a fifty-pound bag of kibble that sat in the back corner of the shop.

  “That’s puppy chow. It will make your butt big, and no one wants to adopt a dog with a big butt,” Shay warned, then remembered the box of chocolate minidoughnuts she’d inhaled for lunch and made a mental note to run at least five miles tomorrow before work.

  Domino, however, seemed unconcerned about his figure and stuck his head in until it disappeared in the bag. At the sound of the crinkling paper, all of the dogs ran to the fronts of their kennels, noses pressed through the bars, straining for a handout. When none came, they started barking—all dozen of them. Which did nothing for Shay’s headache.

  She was just tired enough that she could sleep in a dog kennel, and since she was the only stylist on the Paws and Claws Day Spa’s schedule today, Shay figured this could easily become an all-nighter. Luckily her superpower was the ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere, no matter what—something she’d learned by her third foster home.

  When the dogs’ barks reached DEFCON 1, along with her headache, Shay closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her bent knees, needing a moment.

  “If you ask me, small butts are overrated,” said a masculine voice with a rich grit.

  Her eyes opened just as a pair of rugged, manly, steel-toed boots stopped at the edge of the kennel door. Shay lifted her head up, way up, and—gulp—found herself staring at the last man on the planet she wanted to see today.

  Jonah Baudouin flashed her that department-issued smile and something low in her belly tingled. She would've liked to blame it on a natural reaction to the weapon holstered at his hip or quite possibly the badge he carried, but she had a sinking feeling it had more to do with the way he filled out that uniform.

  Six feet two of hard muscle on a body that was built to protect and serve, he was the perfect catch if one was into brooding hero types. But Shay didn’t do brooding or heroes, and she most certainly did not do cops.

  Ones who made her tingle or otherwise.

  Not that it mattered, because the only reactions she seemed to inspire within him were irritation or amusement. Today he was packing both. He was also sipping on a giant-sized coffee cup that made her mouth water.

  “Sheriff,” she said casually through the bars. This wasn’t her first time in the pokey.

  “Deputy,” he corrected. “Still got a few months before the election.”

  “If you’re here soliciting support, I have to be honest and say that I’m voting for the other guy.” It was a lie and they both knew it. Deputy “Do-Nothing” Warren could bring a snow machine into hell and still not win. He was lazy, shady, and only had a badge because his dad was mayor. “But since you’re here, could you hand me the keys off the grooming station behind you?”

  “I’m investigating a stolen property claim,” he said, not even pretending to get the keys. “Mr. Barnwell reported his Dalmatian missing about three hours ago.” He was cool and casual, not a feather ruffled in his perfectly pressed uniform. A bad sign.

  “How awful.” Shay pl
aced a horrified hand to her chest.

  “Yeah, awful,” he agreed mildly. “Have you seen him today?”

  “Mr. Barnwell’s Dalmatian?” She shook her head, hoping she looked more baffled than guilty. “Nope.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to an officer of the law, would you?”

  “Not today.”

  “Huh.” He took a leisurely sip of his coffee, which she’d bet the keys to the kennel was a plain old-fashioned drip—no frills. “That’s odd, because a Caucasian female, wavy light brown hair, about five four and a buck twenty was seen shoving Domino into the back of a late-nineties Honda Civic.”

  Domino, the Great Dane, emerged from the bag of kibble and, expression dialed to woof? cocked his head at the sound of his name. He eyed Jonah’s crotch eagerly and Shay could almost see the dog vibrating with indecision.

  Kibble or doggie high five to the crotch? So many choices.

  Thank God the kibble won out.

  “Lots of people drive Civics,” Shay challenged, tucking a light brown wave of hair behind her ear.

  “Yeah, well, only one five-foot-four Civic owner is on record claiming Mr. Barnwell to be”—eyes locked on hers, he set the coffee right next to the keys and pulled a little official-looking notepad from his front shirt pocket, flipping to the middle—“cruel, criminal, and a bad neighbor with questionable hygiene.”

  She’d called him a lot more in private. “He really should brush his teeth twice a day if he intends on making a habit out of yelling at me.”

  “The getaway car had a St. Paws Animal Rescue sticker on the door—”

  “Getaway car? Is that official cop jargon?”

  “—and the shover in question was reported to be wearing a pair of faded jeans and an orange T-shirt that reads I BRAKE FOR SQUIRRELS.”

  He lifted his gaze and zeroed in on the squirrel on her orange shirt.

  Shay crossed her arms over the cute critter and shrugged. “Sorry, Deputy, can’t help you.”

  “Jesus, Shay,” he said, sounding all put out, like he was the one behind bars. “I’m trying to help you here. My bet is that dog is worth a few grand, which means if you have him in your possession, it’s a felony. So just hand Domino over and we can call it a day.”

  Either Domino had finished all fifty pounds of kibble in record time or hearing his name again was too tempting, but he lifted his head and barked. Twice. Really loud. Then bounded across the floor at NASCAR speed, skidding to a stop at Jonah’s feet, his nose going straight to the crotch for a big welcoming sniff.

  “You want to change your statement?” he asked, deflecting Domino with a few complex swishes of the hand. “Or do I need to get out the cuffs and haul you in?”

  Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Or maybe she’d just been too long without a bedmate who didn’t shed, but her entire body perked up at the thought of Deputy Serious and his seriously hot cuffs. Which was annoying because uptight, by-the-book men were not her type.

  Then again, it had been so long she wasn’t sure she even had a type.

  An awkward silence hung in the air while they glared at each other and Domino stared between them, panting.

  Breaking eye contact, because he was better at it than she was, damn it, Shay bent over to pet Domino’s head through the bars.

  He stopped, dropped, and rolled to assume the belly rub position. She obliged the best she could, her heart going heavy when his tail slapped the floor with excitement and he looked up at her adoringly.

  Domino was a lover. He needed attention, affection, unconditional love—a family who wanted him, not one who felt obligated to feed and house him.

  There was the perfect family out there—she just needed to find it.

  Determined, Shay stood to face down one very pissed deputy, the top of her head grazing the kennel’s roof. Apparently hauling her butt in was not how he envisioned his afternoon going. Or more likely, it was all of the paperwork she’d just added to his plate.

  “For the record, I didn’t lie. Domino is a Great Dane, not a Dalmatian. A Great Dane, Jonah, who weighs two hundred pounds.” She grabbed the bars and pressed her forehead against the cool metal. “Have you seen the size of Mr. Barnwell’s crate? It’s built for a Chihuahua. He can’t even stand up and he is locked in there all day long. Can you even imagine?”

  “Shay,” he sighed, looking up at the ceiling as though seeking divine intervention.

  “It’s cruel and it’s mean and no one will help me,” she whispered.

  Jonah stepped forward until she could smell the summer heat on his skin, and that normal cool and distant expression he wore like Kevlar softened.

  “Hard to do when you go breaking in to other people’s property, steal their pets, and start trouble.”

  “I don’t start trouble.” He raised a disbelieving brow. “I don’t. And I called your office three times last week, when the temperatures hit surface-of-the-sun levels and I had to give him water through the bars.” She didn’t mention she’d spent most of yesterday sitting by his crate, rubbing his head, and giving him an ice pop and that she’d only decided to take him when Mr. Barnwell threw out the pamphlet she’d put on his doorstep about crate cruelty.

  But a felony? This situation was so beyond what she could handle. Mr. Barnwell wasn’t mean, at least she didn’t think so. He was just misinformed—and stubborn.

  She looked up at one of St. Helena’s finest and admitted—silently, to herself—that she needed help. She needed his help.

  And didn’t that just piss her off.

  “If you promise to do something so he isn’t locked back in that crate ever again, then I promise to give him back.”

  “You’re making a list of demands?” He laughed, and even though it was aimed at her, she had to admit he had a great laugh. “I have a gun and cuffs and you’re locked in a cage.”

  And why did that image have her hormones short-circuiting? No wonder all the women in town pawed over him. The uniform and high-octane testosterone radiating from his every pore were a lethal combination.

  “But do you have enough manpower to watch him twenty-four/seven? To make sure he doesn’t ‘run away’ again?”

  Jonah braced his hands overhead on the top of the kennel’s door, his mighty fine arms bulging tight against the fabric of his shirt as his frame towered over her. He looked at her long and hard, then at the dog, who was staring up at him like he was a god. Which just meant that he thought Jonah had a stash of doggie treats stuffed in his pocket.

  She knew the moment he gave in—his shoulders relaxed and those intense blue eyes narrowed.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to Mr. Barnwell, but I can’t promise you anything.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” With a smile, Shay stuck her arm through the bars to shake. “You can take Domino then.”

  When Jonah’s big, rough hand engulfed hers, a zing of something hot raced up her arms and spread out to every happy spot she owned and a few she’d thought she’d lost. And Shay had no business getting zings or tingles for any man, let alone this one.

  Nope, Jonah Baudouin was stable, a straight shooter, and sexy or not, the soon-to-be sheriff of a place she’d started to think of as more than a temporary stopover.

  This wasn’t their first tangle over the law, and she was pretty sure based on her history that it wouldn’t be their last. So finding out if he used those cuffs for business or pleasure wasn’t in her best interest.

  She shook once and waited for him to release her hand. When he just stared at her, she snatched it back. “And I’ll try to stay out of your hair, but I can’t promise anything.”

  His mouth twitched. “You do that.” He clipped a leash on Domino and tipped his hat. “Have a good day, Shay.” They started for the door.

  “Wow, thanks for all that protecting and serving,” she said, sure he was just yanking her chain.

  “Anytime,” he threw over his shoulder.

  “Wait,” she hollered after him. “
What about letting me out?”

  “Call the other guy. You know, the one you’re voting for. Make him earn that support you’re so eager to throw his way.”

  “Thank you for your support,” Shay said, handing a discreet paper bag to the next customer and putting the money in her cash box.

  “I can’t believe how many people showed up,” her friend Harper Owens said, taking in the line of women stretching across the grass field. A line that made it impossible for Shay not to smile.

  “Me either. Although I think it’s Emerson’s bottomless Salty Chihuahuas that have people roughing the heat.”

  Emerson stepped out from behind her food cart with a cold pitcher of said Salty Chihuahuas and snorted. She wore her hair short, an even shorter black skirt that was covered in a million zippers, and a tank top that said PITA PEDDLER STREATERY across the chest. Her red Converse hi-tops, matching lipstick, and bite-me attitude made Emerson appear every bit the tough troublemaker of their trio.

  Shay had met them at the farmers’ market a few months ago. She had been doing five-dollar pet-icures, Harper was working a kids’ art table, and Emerson was passing out baklava samples. The triple-digit day had scared off the crowd and had them bemoaning their poor sales under Emerson’s food cart umbrella. Two hours and three batches of the gooey Greek dessert later, the trio was cemented.

  “I think it’s the half-naked men,” Emerson said, gesturing to the tray she balanced on her hand. Behind the two full pitchers of her trademark tequila-infused cocktail sat a stack of cups that read BOTTOMS UP right above a picture of a magnificent butt in nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs.

  “Good point.”

  Naked hotties and free booze were just smart business tactics in a town where a good portion of the female population carried a senior discount card. But today’s turnout was more than Shay could have hoped for, especially since summer was showing her nasty teeth. It was late morning and already the heat hung thick on the valley floor, bringing with it the sweetness from nearby vineyards. Not that a little heat could stop today from being a success.