Point of Origin (3 page)

Fuck. That.

I closed the distance between us, and she scurried back on her heels until her ass met the pool table. One arm on each side of her delectable little body, I leaned in, catching her perfume as she closed her eyes. Bergamot, lemon, vanilla…Emerson. “We happened.”

Her eyes fluttered open, focused on the buttons of my shirt.

“Emerson.”

Slowly, she drew her gaze to meet mine, and I fucking fell in. Those brown depths had always been fathomless, capable of stealing every one of my thoughts. My blood ran hot, surging through my veins, pulsing with the rhythm of my heartbeat and lodging in my dick. Of course, I got a raging hard-on. I was within inches of Emerson Kendrick.

Some things never changed.

“Don’t,” she whispered, the sweetness of her spearmint-tinged breath triggering another dozen memories of her Tic Tac addiction.

“Say it,” I ordered, needing to hear the words more than anything. More than reestablishing the crew, more than making our fathers’ memories mean anything.

“Don’t,” she pled, her voice slightly breaking.

“Don’t what?” I leaned in enough that she bent back over the pool table slightly. Another few inches and I’d have her pressed against me.

Where she belongs
, a neglected part of my soul called out.

“Don’t come back here reopening wounds.” She shook her head and her bangs fell into her eyes.

Before I thought better of it, I had her hair between my fingers, the heavy brown mass streaked with strands of fire and autumn throughout. Before I did something even more stupid, I tucked it back behind her ear.

She took the opening and slid away, damn near running to put the pool table between us. “I’m serious. It’s taken this town a lot to heal—”

“This town?” My mouth dropped. “What the hell are you talking about, Emmy?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You and the hotshot crew, you moron.”

“We’re talking about us,” I reminded her.

“No, we’re not. Because there isn’t an
us
. We will never discuss what was
us
, and if you want any possibility of making this insane idea of yours happen, you’d better never bring it up again.”

“There’s no ignoring the fact that I know you better than almost anyone on this planet, Emerson. That I know exactly how it feels to have you under me, so deep inside your body that I’m pretty sure I left a piece of my soul there. There’s no ignoring what we had, or how badly I fucked it up.”

She swallowed, blinking back the sheen of tears I saw sparkle there before she turned and started walking out of my building.
Fuck
. That was why I wanted her gone before I came here. I’d never wanted this confrontation, or to see even a hint of the mess I’d left behind. And just like I knew I couldn’t stay when I was twenty-one, I knew it in my bones—if I let her walk out now without opening a line of dialogue, I’d never get her back here.

You don’t want her here, remember? You don’t do complicated,
the devil on my shoulder argued.

No, but you do Emerson,
the angel reminded me. Or maybe they were switched, what-the-fuck ever.

“Emerson,” I called out, but she didn’t pause. “Emerson!” I raised my voice as I raced to catch up with her, barely skimming the soft skin of her wrist before she spun on me.

“What?” she damn-near screamed, the anguish in her eyes unbearable before she threw up that mask she loved so well.

“Why is it insane?” I asked.

“The hotshot crew?”

“Yes,” I lied. I’d done everything in my power to avoid Emerson. To avoid thinking about her, calling her, visiting, begging her to forgive me for needing the life she wouldn’t understand. I wanted to know why she refused to even acknowledge that we happened, but I’d fucking settle for her opinion on the team.

“It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible. Not to me.” Her eyes widened, and I almost pounced just to prove my point.
Jesus Christ. You’ve been in town less than twelve hours, and she’s already got your self-control down to that of a fucking eighteen-year-old.

“Look, the town can’t handle it. We’re barely back in the black after the payouts from the policies. Legacy just can’t afford to support another hotshot crew.”

“If the town doesn’t have to pay for it?”

Now it was her mouth dropping. “What?”

“If Legacy isn’t responsible for salaries or the insurance policies, will the town agree?”

She blinked a few times, and I could almost see the gears turning in her too-efficient mind. “The town has always covered the cost of the team. It’s been a matter of pride. Are you thinking of going Federal? To the Forestry Service?”

“No. We’ll still fall under their guidelines, but we’d be privately funded.”

Her eyes narrowed. “By whom?”

Now it was my turn to pause. “Me.”

A single, perfect eyebrow arched. “Really.”

“Really.”

“Bash, the average hotshot earns at least sixty thousand a year, and that’s not talking about team leaders, supervisors, any of it. You have to maintain an eighteen-to-twenty-person team, which means you’d be out at least a million a year, and that’s before your overhead.”

My grin was instantaneous. “Nice to see you using that MBA. You’ve been out of school what? Two months?”

“Keeping tabs on me, Bash?” she fired back.

“Always. And I’m well aware of the cost. I’m good for it.” I looked her straight in the eye so she’d know I wasn’t bluffing.

She absorbed the knowledge of my wealth like she did everything else, with a simple nod, moving on to the next issue. Emmy had never cared about money, not when they had it, and especially when they didn’t. “The money isn’t the only problem.”

“The council,” I agreed.

“The whole town. Bash, you built this compound on Parson’s old land—”

“It’s my land now. Has been for about three years.” Since I’d sold the first app. Half the money had gone to the land purchase and the other half had gone to my broker for investments. Four apps later, I wasn’t doing too badly.

“Not the point. We’re what—maybe half a mile away from the ridgeline?” Her voice dropped, and her shoulders sagged. “Why here?”

“Because if I didn’t buy it, developers were going to. Did you want condos up here? Tourists trying to get closer to the slopes? Better us, men just like them, than a bunch of college kids on spring break fucking around on the land our fathers died on.” She wavered, her eyes doing the side-to-side shuffle they did when she was making a decision. God, it needed to be the right one the first time. Getting Emerson to change her mind on anything was impossible. “Help me, Emerson. You know the town, you can help this through.”

Her eyes met mine. “You’re asking this town to bleed again when there’s almost nothing left to give.”

“I’m asking this town to breathe, to live again.”

She turned slowly, taking in every detail of the facility. The huge great room used for everything from meetings to training, to watching football, the offices, the kitchen, the long dining tables, even the stairs that led downstairs to the living quarters for anyone who didn’t want to bunk in town. “I’ll think about it.”

I let out the breath I’d held. That was a maybe. Maybe was good. I could muscle the council, the business owners, anything money could grease, I could handle it. But where emotions were involved, to the town, I was an outsider. I’d left, abandoned Legacy just as she was getting on her feet.

I’d abandoned Emerson.

She wandered to the door, pausing where the pictures of the crew ten years ago hung. Eighteen heroes. Eighteen deployed shelters. Eighteen caskets.

Her fingers brushed the smiling photo of her dad, whose arm was looped around my dad. They’d been inseparable, best of friends since grade school. Even their bodies had been found next to each other.

“This is their crew, Emmy. Our dads’, our friends. They loved this team. I’ve never asked you for anything, and I’m asking…” My jaw flexed. “I’m begging you to help me bring their crew back.”

She looked up at me, those eyes seeing through every layer of bullshit I’d used as armor since I left Legacy. “What do you know about running a hotshot team, Bash? It’s not something you throw money at and walk away from.”

Shit. Fuck. Damn it.

I took a breath. “I’m working on hiring someone to run the team. Someone I worked with in California.”

“California?” she asked, demanding the truth.

“I’ve been on a hotshot crew for a while now. I know what I’m doing.”

“How long?” She asked, putting it together faster than I’d hoped she would.

“Six years,” I said quietly.

“You left m…” She cut herself off with a shake of her head and an ironic smile. “I eventually figured out you were on a crew. Ryker told me a few years ago, but I never realized when it started. Are you with them? Ryker? Knox?”

“Ryker. Knox is further north,” I replied. “It’s in my blood. It always has been.” I reached for her, needing to keep her close enough to touch, to keep from bolting.

She stepped away, and I didn’t pursue. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Bash. You never have.”

Bite the bullet. Do it.
“There’s something else you need to know.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not staying. Once we have the team in place I’m going back to California.”

As if someone had frozen her features, her face became an unreadable mask. “You’re really leaving. You waited until you thought I’d be in London…you purposely planned this visit so you didn’t have to see me.”

“Yes.” There was no lying to her. She knew me far too well for that shit. There had never been lies between us. Ugly truths maybe, but never lies, and I wasn’t about to start now.

She nodded twice, then spun on her heel and walked for the door.
Fuck.
This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. Clean, easy, all of it—that had been the plan. But then she’d sat up in her chair at the council meeting, and I knew I was royally screwed. And not in the good way. “Emerson, please. This is their legacy.”

She paused, her hand on the door. Her shoulders rose and fell twice before she turned back to me. “No, Sebastian. We are their legacy. This is you reconstructing the very thing that killed them.”

Without another word she walked out of the front door, closing it softly and taking my only chance of success with her.

Chapter Three

Emerson

“This is such bullshit,” Harper agreed over the thrum of conversation in the bar.
Wicked
was the most popular bar in town, mostly because it was the
only
bar in Legacy. We’d been lucky to snag a couple of stools for a Friday night.

Then again with Harper’s looks, she could have talked any of the guys out of their seats. I’d seen that blonde hair and those blue eyes work their magic more than once.

“It is what it is,” I said with a shrug, popping a spearmint Tic Tac.

“He hasn’t said anything else? Talked to you? Anything?”

I spun my empty shot glass and caught it. “Nope. Just asked me to help him and I haven’t seen him since. I still haven’t made up my mind about what to do.”

“I can’t believe he’s actually here. Ryker didn’t say anything, I swear.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ve been my best friend for over twenty years, Harper. I know you would have told me.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I feel like shit that I didn’t notice. Ry isn’t home often, and I was honestly just trying to enjoy having the asshat around.” She leaned over the bar, “Mike! We need two more!” she shouted, lifting her shot glass for him to see.

“Probably more than that,” I muttered as he nodded.

“Looking good, Harper,” one of the local guys shouted directly behind us, where he had a front-row seat to the show her ass was putting on.

I hooked my fingers in Harper’s belt and yanked her back down to her seat. She immediately pivoted, her finger already wagging. “Knock your shit off, Alex. I’m your kid’s preschool teacher for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey, I was just paying you a compliment. Not that you don’t look great too, Emerson,” Alex said with a deceptively sweet smile.

“Uh huh,” Harper replied with more than a little venom.

“Thank you, Alex,” I replied at the same time, tugging the edges of my asymmetrical sweater over my red tank top.

“So Vargas is home, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Life in a small town.
“He’s just visiting.”

“That’s right, trying to restart your daddy’s team, isn’t he? Like that’s going to happen.”

My fingers tightened on the glass, but I couldn’t tell if it was the cavalier mention of the team, or his stupid assumption that Bash couldn’t do it.
Maybe it’s something that needs to be done.

“Greg, get your boy under control,” Harper ordered as he appeared from down the bar.

“Yeah, and then I’ll fix global warming,” he answered. “But for what it’s worth, I think Bash has the right idea.” He gave me a wink before joining his friends at their table.

I plopped my head in my hands, more than ready for another shot. “Why can’t I just be attracted to him?” I asked Harper quietly. She leaned in, more than aware that ears were everywhere in a tiny town. “He’d be good for me, right? He’s funny, kind, stable. Good looking, even!”