Chief Distraction (2 page)

Today, Mak did everything in his power to
distract himself from thoughts of the feisty woman who had entered his life
like a force of nature. He organized the firehall’s office, worked out with his
fellow firemen, and helped wash the fire trucks until they were gleaming in the
sunshine. Despite the distractions, the image of her lovely face and killer
curves reemerged in his minds eye. More than a physical attraction pulled his
thoughts in her direction. There was something white-hot smoldering beneath the
surface. What was it about her?

“Earth to the Chief, come in Chief,” called Pono
from the other side of the station table. “I’ve been calling you forever.
What’s up?”

Mak shook his head, clearing the images of
auburn and the smell of hot cinnamon and spice. She was overloading his senses.
“Nothing, just thinking about…nothing. Did you round up all the fire safety
pamphlets?”

Pono scratched his head, looking down. “Nope.
Not yet, but I’m on it.”

“We have to give those kids something to take
home, otherwise they’ll forget what we’ve said before we even finish the
presentation.”

“Don’t want that. It’s really great that you’re
doing all this. Beats waiting around here.” Pono swung a chair around and
straddled it, facing him.

Mak noticed how tired his colleague was looking
these days. “Getting any sleep?”

Pono laughed, “Sleep? What’s that? I forget.
This baby has us up at all hours, but I guess we asked for it. Mei’s a great
mom. I can’t complain.”

Mak watched Pono’s mouth pull into a proud grin
and wondered if he’d ever have the chance to be a father someday. First, he
needed the right woman. That was his only obstacle. The way things were going
it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Not on this island, and not with his
reputation.

“She’s what, two months now?”

“Yep,” Pono leaned forward, resting his broad
chest against the back of the chair. “Two months. Before I know it, she’ll be
dating and I’ll be an old man like you,” he winked at Mak. “Guess I’d better
look for those pamphlets.”

Mak pushed back his chair. “I’m heading over to
my sister’s place. She needs me to fix the BBQ or something. Speaking of kids,
I’m taking my nephews up the Haleakala volcano this weekend. At least they’re
out of diapers, thank goodness.”

“Lucky you. I’m drowning in diapers,” Pono got
up too, rubbing his eyes. He paused, as if forgetting what he was about to do.

“Man, you are sleep deprived,” Mak said as he
walked out the open garage door toward his SUV. “Pamphlets, Pono, remember?”

“Right, pamphlets.”

Mak
assessed the surfing conditions as he drove along the picture-perfect coast to
his sister’s house. They were optimal, the waves beckoning him to play.
Hopefully her BBQ would only require minor repairs. If not, he’d miss it all.
There was nowhere else on earth he’d rather be than here in Maui and nothing
else he’d rather do than fight fires and big wave windsurf.

In the silence of his contemplation, Mak’s
thoughts drifted back to Blythe Davenport. She was obviously a
Haole
–
not from the island. She seemed a little more worldly, more abrupt than most of
the people around here. Still, Big Lou accepted her and that meant a lot. Big
Lou always had an internal divining rod for judging people’s character. He
could spot a phony a mile away and he always brought out the best in everyone
with minimal effort. Put them at ease. Maybe Lou tolerated the reporter because
of her looks. They were, after all,
special
. She’d acted so aloof in the cab of the
fire truck, like he’d been on fire along with the sugar cane. Mak shook his
head as something quickly donned on him.

She knows.

Blythe Davenport had obviously been around the
island long enough to hear the rumors. With this revelation, Mak wilted in
embarrassment, feeling instantly defeated and ridiculous. Pulling into his
sister’s driveway, he decided to forget about the smokin’ hot reporter
entirely. Call it self-preservation. Call it laziness. He simply didn’t want to
deal with the drama of explaining his situation to anyone else at this point.
If she chose to believe the rumors, it said everything about her. There was no
point in giving Blythe Davenport a second thought.

“Shayla? You here?” Mak called as he entered the
front door.

“Anakala Mak!” came excited shouts from the
living room. A moment later Mak was attacked by two small sinewy boys, one
jumping into his arms and the other grabbing him around the waist.

“Hi, boys. Where’s your mom?” Mak grasped them
tightly so they wouldn’t fall off.

“Out back. She’s gonna kill the BBQ,” the
younger of the two said.

Mak smirked. Shayla was notorious for taking out
her frustrations on the appliances, the furniture, whatever was around. Since
her husband left her for another woman two years ago, she desperately needed an
outlet for her pent-up aggression. Mak tried to be there to pick up the pieces,
giving her a well-deserved breather once in a while.

“So, we’re going to conquer the volcano on
Saturday. You guys up for it?” Mak threw one boy onto the couch before sitting
in an oversized chair. He leaned back and squished the boy on his back between
himself and the cushions.

“Help!” the boy yelled and giggled, pushing
Mak’s back with all his might to get him off.

“Hey, you still there? Didn’t see you.” Mak smiled
and pulled the boy out from behind him, cuddling him before letting go. The boy
ran for the back door.

“Mom, Anakala Mak’s here!”

A moment later, Shayla waltzed into the room
with hands covered in charcoal.

“What’s wrong with the BBQ?” Mak asked.

“Not working. What else is new?”

Rising from the chair, he laid a firm hand on
her shoulder. “Lets have a look at it. I can fix anything.”

“Can you fix my life?”

“Nope. Only you can fix that,” Mak said, never
pulling punches with his sister.

“I’ll fix yours if you fix mine. Deal?”

“No deal. My life’s just fine.” Mak lumbered
through the kitchen and out the back door. He heard Shayla sigh, knowing she’d
be rolling her eyes at his brave-faced comment.

Chapter
Three

“Baste the ham in its natural juices,” Blythe
read aloud from the Joy of Cooking cookbook propped up on the counter. “Baste?
I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

The idea of cooking a full-fledge meal with all
the trimmings was a foreign concept. She was more a grab-a-salad-on-the-run
kind of girl.

“The things I do for family.”

After glazing the ham and churning the roasting
potatoes, she placed napkins on the three plates at the table in preparation
for her guests. Her younger sister Rachel would arrive any moment from the
airport, having flown in from Chicago with her boyfriend Jarrod. They planned
to stay a week and Blythe couldn’t be happier. She hadn’t seen them in months.
Being in Maui while the rest of the family was on the mainland was a lonely
business, but her career had dictated that. It was a personal choice and one
she was proud of, even cherished.

She strained the baby carrots and set the
colander in the sink, stressing slightly at the sight of them. Overcooked and
mushy – and bound to be ice cold if they didn’t arrive soon. Being the world’s
worst cook took effort, the title far from self-proclaimed. Other family and
friends had blatantly told her as much over the years, but tonight Blythe was
determined to prove her sister wrong. She could pull this off, if only she
could get the timing right. There was nothing she couldn’t tackle, even if it
meant making something semi-edible. Okay, so maybe it was wishful thinking.
There was always the take-out restaurant down the street on speed-dial.

Opening the oven door, Blythe peered inside as a
billow of smoke wafted up and blocked her visibility. “Damn it!” she coughed
and waved the smoke away from her face. The drippings from the ham were falling
to the bottom and burning. She considered calling her mom, but that would be
admitting defeat. Besides, she was a grown woman who’d seen her share of
harrowing situations while reporting breaking news stories. Handling the ham
should be a cakewalk.

“Foil, that’ll do the trick.”

As she reached for it, the phone rang in the
living room and Blythe instantly forgot about the drippings. Thinking it was
Rachel calling to say they’d be here soon, Blythe cringed when it turned out to
be the guy she’d been avoiding. He obviously hadn’t gotten the hint after their
second date and was calling to try his luck again. Trying to keep the
conversation brief was impossible. He went on and on about his plans for the
upcoming weekend and how nice it would be if she joined him. She’d told him
twice already that she had company coming, but he was persistent. Blythe’s manners
were persistent too, until she spotted smoke bouncing along the ceiling from
the kitchen to the living room. The smoke alarm began an ear-piercing screech
triggering Blythe’s panic.

“What in hell is that?” he asked.

“A fire. I have to go. The answer’s still no.”
She slammed down the phone and rushed to the kitchen. Visibility was nil as
smoke filled the room, rising in thick curls and snuffing out all the
breathable air.

Coughing, she opened the kitchen window
overlooking her flower garden and tried to direct the smoke out that way,
frantically fanning an oven mitt in the window’s direction. It didn’t help. She
flicked off the temperature and opened the oven door, but as she did flames
shot up at her face. She jerked it shut again and sprang for the phone, her
fingers fumbling as she dialed.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Aloha, my kitchen’s on fire!”

Moments
felt like an eternity. The sound of approaching sirens soon calmed the rising heat
of Blythe’s anxiety. Help was on the way. She stood on the front porch, unable
to see or breath inside now. She envisioned her house emblazed with all the
possessions that mean so much to her burning up like kindling. Although she’d
only lived in the house alone for a year, her parents had purchased it twenty
years ago as a family get-away investment. Her and her siblings had spent
summer holidays here and many memorable Christmas breaks. When her parents
suggested selling it, Blythe had jumped at the chance to apply for a job in
Maui, buy her parents out, and begin a new chapter of her career in paradise.

The Fire Chief’s van pulled up first, followed
closely by a large yellow fire truck. In her state of panic and confusion,
Blythe hardly registered Chief Kalani running toward her until he was right in
her face.

“Miss Davenport, we’ll take it from here.”

She stumbled aside and waited as firemen
streamed into her house dressed in full gear. A second later, she heard the
whoosh of a fire extinguisher and then a calm silence. Blythe swallowed dryly
and wrung her hands, desperate for answers. Was her kitchen a write-off? Would
she have to move? Was the damn ham really worth all this heartache?

The front screen door creaked open and out
walked all the firemen, tipping their hats in her direction and smiling. A
couple chuckled once they passed her. The last to leave the house was Chief
Kalani, wearing a huge grin.

“Miss Davenport, everything’s under control. The
fire was contained in your oven so we extinguished it. No harm done. It just
needs a good cleaning.”

She studied his open, handsome face and detected
an edge of playfulness. The catastrophe she envisioned hadn’t happened. In
fact, she could have put the fire out herself by the sounds of it. “So, it was a
fire in the oven only?”

“The ham is burnt. I assume it was a ham,
right?”

“Yes.”

“You may want to get yourself an extinguisher
and consider going out for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll do that,” Blythe looked down, completely
mortified. “Thank you, Chief Kalani.”

“Please, call me Mak,” he said. This got her
attention. She looked up and met his gaze, but fear gripped her. Judging by his
behavior, he still hadn’t figured out who she was and she planned to keep it
that way.

“You rushed off so fast the other day, I thought
maybe I’d done something to offend you…besides sweeping you off your feet at
the cane burn.”

Sweeping her off her feet?
Was this guy for real? No wonder she’d
found it easy to write the article all those years ago. The story of the guy
who’d broken up with his girlfriend and was then cursed by the ex-girlfriend’s
grandmother was now legendary. And Mak happened to be that guy. Sure, most
people would consider the article a ridiculous piece of gossip, but not in
Hawaii. Not on an island steeped in tradition and superstition. Curses are
taken very, very seriously. When he introduced himself in the fire truck, she
had visibly shrunk back. Could he tell? She prayed he wouldn’t figure out who
she was by some sixth sense or a vibe she was giving off – a guilty,
embarrassed vibe. But how could he possibly know? There hadn’t been an author
photo with the article, just harsh, biting words. When she’d written it, she
hadn’t really thought about the impact such an article would have on the person
of interest. She was trying to impress her new boss, get a paycheck, and
scramble her way into the business.