Chief Distraction

Chief
Distraction



Copyright: Stella Kelly


Published: June 5
^th
, 2013


Publisher: WordCarver Press

The rights of author Stella Kelly are in
accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored, or copied in any form or by any means without written permission from
the publisher.

Chapter
One

 
Thick ashy smoke wafted past the front grill of the
Landcruiser, limiting visibility. The stench, a mix of soot and sweet, hit
reporter Blythe Davenport in the back of the throat. Jostling in the passenger
seat, she hung on for dear life as Big Lou, her camera guy, maneuvered over the
bumpy terrain. The sugar cane field was in full burn, an act that stripped away
the unwanted vegetation making it easier to harvest the cane.

“Maui snow,” Big Lou commented. A heavy-set
island native with a long black ponytail and penchant for heavy metal, Big Lou
was a man of few words. Blythe liked that.

“I’ll take the real stuff back in Chicago. Less
toxic,” she said, covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her stylish
blazer. Her eyes watered from the pungent air.

Big Lou laughed, “You get used to it. Better
than bein’ cold.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Blythe spotted a flash of swirling
red lights through the billows. She nodded toward the glass. “It’s over there.”

Pulling the vehicle to the right, Big Lou parked
beside an idling yellow fire truck. They sat for a moment, looking at each
other.

“Do we really want lung cancer for a story?” she
asked.

Big Lou shrugged. “You wanted authentic, this is
it. Looks good on film.”

“Here we go then.”

They hopped out, instantly engulfed by the thick
smoke. The smell almost knocked Blythe over, the sickly sweet aroma triggering
her gag reflex. She tried to hold her composure, willing herself to get the
story and get the hell out.

“Who do we meet?” Big Lou asked, knowing
practically everyone on the island.

“Some firefighter. Wasn’t given a name.”

“Not the Chief?” Big Lou opened the back hatch and
hoisted his camera up onto a shoulder.

“I’m sure the Fire Chief has better things to
do.”

Blythe pinned her microphone to her lapel.
Leaning toward the side mirror, she swept red lipstick on and thanked her lucky
stars for waterproof mascara. Her heels sunk into the soft ground throwing her
off balance. “Grounds pretty uneven. I should’ve worn flats.”

Big Lou shook his head. “After workin’ with you
for a year, you wearin’ anythin’ but heels is askin’ the impossible.”

His laughter was always infectious. Blythe’s
chuckle quickly became a cough.

“When you gonna catch the Maui bug and relax,
city girl?”

“One of these days,” she answered, choking back
more smoke. “That’s if I don’t go running back to The Windy City first.”

“You’ll come around. The island is it. Nowhere
else matters.”

“You’re a little biased, Lou.”

He grunted and followed as she teetered through
the churned-up earth, trying to avoid the stiff canes that shot up like green
spikes. She circled the fire truck, wondering where the firefighter was. “It’s
nine sharp. This guy can’t be too far.”

“Easy, Blythe, island time.”

“Right, island time.” She looked around for just
the right spot, a difficulty through the hazy smoke. “Doesn’t matter where he
is. Stand over there, Lou, and we’ll get the truck in the background surrounded
by the fire. It’s perfect.”

Big Lou positioned himself at a distance,
bringing his eye to the lens. He held up his hand, folding down his fingers in
a silent countdown. Blythe straightened and put on her professional game face.
“Sugar cane is the leading crop here in Maui and the cane burn is a necessary
part of the harvesting process. But not to worry, this is a controlled burn and
is watched carefully by our trusted Maui County Fire Department.” Half turning,
she raised a hand to indicate the massive fire truck with the MCFD logo on the
door and began walking around the front of the fire truck while she spoke. Big
Lou followed as he always did, taking her cue.

“Just to my right you’ll notice how the fire is
used to strip away the dried cane leaves. This helps boost the quality and
quantity of the recovered sugar.” Inching closer to the flames, Blythe felt the
heat lick at her back. The fire’s intensity mounted as she second-guessed her
proximity.

“Hey, get away from there!” a deep voice
commanded.

Looking left, Blythe strained to see its source,
but heavy smoke sabotaged any chance of identification. “Excuse me, we’re
rolling here!” she hollered into the abyss. “Keep rolling, Lou, I’ll pick it up
from here and we’ll edit that out.”

Big Lou did what he was asked, not once wavering
as a gust of wind came swirling out of nowhere, shifting the smoke and fire in
her direction without warning. Disoriented, she choked on the dark murky cloud,
unable to see her own hand in front of her face.

“Blythe?”

“I’m here, Lou. Keep rolling. Should clear in a
minute.”

The wind picked up again, this time creating
little tornado tunnels of dry soil and ash. Blythe knew that couldn’t be good,
but it was too late to bail. The force knocked her off her feet, but she barely
touched the ground before two capable hands came out of nowhere and caught her
up in two strong arms. Within an instant they were in motion, moving quickly
toward the awaiting fire truck. Completely shocked, Blythe had no choice but to
hold on and ride out the rescue.

“Follow me,” her trusty rescuer instructed Lou.
Effortlessly, the hulking, dark haired stranger lifted Blythe into the
passenger seat of the truck and slammed the door. She sat in silence, alone.
Bolting upright, she practically pressed her nose to the window trying to see
something, anything, but hearing only muffled voices adrift in the eerie smoke.
A moment later, she heard the Landcruiser’s ignition hum to life. The driver’s
door of the fire truck clicked open and her rescuer jumped in. He wore a tucked
white shirt and navy pants, an obvious uniform. Describing him as larger than
life would be an understatement. It was more than his physical presence, so
much more. He commanded the space. With a muscular build on a tall frame, he
was extremely attractive in a rugged sort of way and Blythe had to consciously
close her mouth.

“What the hell were you thinking?” These were
his calming words of reassurance. Some hero.

“Excuse me?” Blythe balked. She watched as he
shifted the truck into gear and eased it blindly through the field, following
Big Lou’s red taillights. Her rescuer never once looked in her direction, only
straight ahead. His profile was striking, but his curt attitude erased any
sentiment.

Coming into a clearing as the smoke shifted
direction, he finally laser-locked his chocolate brown eyes onto her. “I
thought I said to meet me by the entrance of the sugar field?”

Feeling small and reprimanded, Blythe sat up
taller and braced her arms against the dash. The terrain was rough and bucked
her like a cowgirl at a rodeo. She’d never been in a fire truck before, though
she’d always wanted to. His demeanor certainly overshadowed the thrill of the
experience. “Listen, I appreciate your life or death reaction, but I was just
fine.”

“Is that a thank you?”

“A thank you for what? Giving me whiplash and
ruining my piece?” she snapped.

“Entering a blazing inferno for your ‘piece’ was
practically suicidal. What if I hadn’t been around to catch you? You’d be on
your way to the hospital right about now, or …”

“Or what, the morgue? BBQ anyone?” Blythe jabbed
sarcastically.

Looking straight ahead, she sensed him turn away
to focus on the terrain. “I know your type, always angling for a story, willing
to endanger anyone around you to get it. Twisting the truth into something it’s
not.”

Blythe gaped. “I take offense to that. You don’t
even know me!”

His eyes bore into hers again. “Trust me, I’ve
had plenty of experience with reporters and journalists. I know you better than
you think.”

For once in her life Blythe was speechless. The
brief silence between them made room for slight regret and she softened.
“Listen, I am thankful, okay? You must be the fireman we were assigned for the
interview, right?”

“I’m the Fire Chief.”

“The Chief?” Blythe barked, suddenly feeling
squeezed by the small space. Surely he couldn’t be
that
Fire Chief. How many Fire Chief’s
could there possibly be in Maui? “Oh. Well, sorry to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing.” Though his eagle-talon grip on
the steering wheel, minus a wedding ring she noted, indicated it was far from
nothing. She sensed he was just being polite, paying her lip service.

“Why don’t we start again? I’m Blythe Davenport,
MCS News. And you are?”

His pause was obvious. Maybe a fresh start was
the last thing on his mind. “Chief Makaio Kalani, but most people call me Mak.”

Blythe gasped.

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, um, no. Nothing. It’s nothing.” Blythe
couldn’t wait to get as far away from Makaio Kalani as possible. She couldn’t
risk him ever knowing who she was or how she’d been the one responsible for
ruining any chance he had of a love life all those years ago. “So where are you
taking me?

“Over to the entrance. Lou can get a shot of the
cane fire in the distance as you interview me.”

“No. I can’t,” Blythe blurted. She racked her
brain for an excuse. “I, uh, I’m too upset about what just happened. The smoke
really affected me so...I should head home.”

Chief Kalani glanced over. “Why don’t I drive
you to the fire station and give you the once over? I’m trained in first aid.”

“Absolutely not,” Blythe said, a little too
curtly than she meant to.

His brow furrowed. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

She felt his eyes burning into the side of her
face. Glancing at him peripherally, she sensed his confusion. She prayed he’d
let it drop, not question her further. “Thank you, though,” she practically
whispered.

The silence between them was as thick as the
smoke surrounding the cane burn. Her heart slammed into her chest and the small
space seemed claustrophobic.
Stay calm
, she told herself.
Stay composed
. But it took all of her
concentration to still her trembling hands. She didn’t dare glance in his
direction again. She couldn’t risk him ever knowing her identity, even if she
had written that damning article about him all those years ago under a
pseudonym.

After
an uncomfortably silent ride, the Fire Chief pulled the long fire truck into
the parking lot at the station. Lou’s Landcruiser sat waiting on the hot
asphalt at a distance and Blythe’s hand was already on the door handle. Before
the fire truck tires had come to a complete stop, she jumped out, mumbled a
‘thank you’ over her shoulder and practically ran toward Lou’s vehicle.

Chapter
Two

Mak couldn’t shake the image of the
auburn-haired reporter from yesterday’s cane burn. She’d jumped out of the fire
truck so fast he’d barely had a second to register what was happening. All he
could do was sit behind the wheel in shock and watch as she disappeared from
his life faster than a drift of smoke on a windy day.