Page 1 of Scarred Trust

Chapter 1

“NO! NO, NO, NO!” I swiped at the drops of water on my laptop, panic flooding me. The screen blinked twice and went blank. Hours of work, on documents that haunted my dreams and caused me to be awake in the middle of the night, were suddenly gone. I banged at the keyboard, trying every button, praying it would magically restart. My bosses at Alderman, Bullard, and Stein Legal Services were going to count this against me, making my pursuit of the coveted Junior Partner position a little further out of reach. Just the way ABS liked it.

Before I could dwell on the games in corporate culture, the scant drips turned into a deluge accompanied by the angry tones and strobes of the fire alarm. I finally pulled myself away from my computer to notice the kitchen of my family’s pub filled with smoke from the flaming roasts I had been searing and long forgotten about.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed the fire retardant blanket and threw it over the stove and the fiery mess. I did the same thing for the table with a waterlogged pile of papers and a laptop. Needing to get the smoke out, I propped open the back door and appreciated the gust of fresh air.

“Shh. Please stop now.” Standing barefoot on the stainless steel prep table, I pleaded with the alarm, fanning it with an oversized baking sheet. I spun around at the sound of the swinging doors bursting open, almost losing my footing. The night shift of Firehouse99, hidden in their protective gear and each larger than the next, swallowed the space of the expansive kitchen.

“Where’s the fire?” The one in the front of their formation demanded, marching to my side. The others followed his scrutiny of the room.

“Is there anyone else on the premises?” He continued to pelt me with muffled questions from behind his visored helmet, while removing the baking pan from my grasp.

“There’s no fire.” I tried to explain from my elevated view.

“Fan out,” the leader barked to the others. His strong arms scooped me off the surface and carried me out the back door to the waiting fire truck.

“There’s no one in there,” I hollered through the darkness, hoping the other firefighters heard even though the one carting me off didn’t stop.

My rescuer set me on a cool metal bench of the truck, reminding me that I was still in my cami pajama set. The choice may have been comfortable in the hot kitchen, but out here, under the gaze of the crystal green eyes peering from behind the visor, I felt naked.

Dropping his gloves next to me, he positioned an oxygen mask over my nose, then stretched the elastic past my oversized glasses and my messy bun. The brush of his calloused fingers against my cheek made my breath shudder, and goosebumps skittered across my skin. It must be adrenaline and lack of sleep. The blanket he wrapped around me didn’t ease my unusual reaction.

The ‘L’ train rattled on its tracks nearby, but I didn’t notice anything after he removed his helmet and shrugged out of his jacket. I took advantage of his close proximity to admire the sharp mahogany cheekbones and familiar smirk of the man I had immediately recognized.

With his long sleeve t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, Weston St. James was even more handsome as well as a foot taller than when he was my rival and crush in high school. It’s not that I hadn’t seen him since we graduated. I had just done a fantastic job of avoiding him. Years of being away at college and law school had helped. Even though the restaurant donated food to the firefighters, as well as every festival and fundraiser in the area, he hadn’t taken any more notice of me than he had in school.

“Caitríona Duffy. Still the overachiever? I knew it would get you in trouble one day. Though I could have sworn you used to be a redhead.” His teasing voice was warm as he played with a wayward strand of my generic brown locks. When I made the strategic decision to dye my hair, I made sure it was dark enough to hide the wild crimson color of my ancestors, but not so dark that it created an attention-getting contrast with my translucent skin.

“I go by Cate, now,” my voice muffled by the mask. I was sure he was just trying to put me at ease, instead of flirting with me like I used to hope for. Along with the matching oversized glasses, my russet hair had helped me morph into the new, less conspicuous ‘Cate’ that blended in better with the legal world. No one gave me a second glance.

He nodded at my statement and assessed my vitals, each touch making my heart race faster as if no time had passed. I used to dream of being the object of Wes’ affection, but we were complete opposites. He was the outgoing athlete and star student, the perfect all-around charismatic nice guy who didn’t notice me. This was no different. He was being a kind and caring rescuer, while I was romanticising like I used to.

It was still dark when the crew came out a little while later. One of them announced that all was clear and safe to go back in. Another complimented me on using a fire blanket, but told me to be more aware next time. There was no use arguing that this was the first time I’d ever gotten distracted like that, especially since he was holding one of the pans with a carbonized block that used to be meat, making his team laugh while offering them a taste.

They turned their attention to Wes at the sound of his deep, resonant laugh. His crew teased him that with all of their jokes all night couldn’t draw a smile from him, but a pretty face had him beaming like he’d won the lottery. Everyone in town had heard about the devastation to his family, so his grieving was more than understandable. The comments about his change tonight confused me, though.

“Well, hello boys,” Gran said like an old-time Hollywood vamp with a little jaunt to her step as she inserted herself into the middle of firefighters. “Anyone need a little... snack?” she continued with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Not if she cooked it.” One guy thumbed toward me. “Did you see what she did to this?” He held up the incinerated roast for Gran to examine.

“Ah. That’s just part of the recipe. If you know, you know.” Gran waved off the ruined food and shot a wink in my direction.

“Thank you, ma’am, but we need to get the truck back to the firehouse and get it cleaned up before our shift ends,” Wes replied to Gran, removing the oxygen line from me and packing up the instruments he had used to make sure I was ok. I felt fine, though extremely embarrassed, but Wes watched me closely as if I was fragile and going to pass out at any moment.

“Ok, boys. Thank you for your speedy response and safe care of my sweet girl. If any of you are single, feel free to apply for the position of her boyfriend. I’ll be conducting interviews next week.” The crew backed up with hands up in surrender, except Wes, who saluted before climbing into the fire truck.

“Your parents should be here soon. Want to tell me what happened?” With Firehouse99's departure, Gran put an arm around me, carrying the pan of cinders in the other. We walked around the block to the back door of the pub to assess the damage.

“Did you ever have a thought that grabbed hold of your brain and wouldn’t let go, like it was the definitive clue to an ancient secret, if only you could decipher the language? In the meantime, it tears at your sleep and steals your attention when you’re awake.” I checked on loaves of bread I had baking before I had gotten so distracted and found that the Firehouse99 crew had already turned the ovens off.

“It’s usually when I’m missing something that’s just on the edge of my memory.” Gran peered over my shoulder and inserted a toothpick in each of the loaves to make sure they were done.

“Yeah. That’s what’s happening. I kept reading these documents from work, and it’s like I’m staring right at it, but I don’t know what it is.” Once we moved the pans to one of the empty worktops, Gran took on the stovetop with all the burnt pans. I cringed at the waste of money that we didn’t have.

“What’s the phrase that’s distracting you?” Gran hollered across the room as I went into the back to fill a bucket with soap and water to clean the floors while she started wiping down the surfaces.

“Force majeure.” This simple phrase had plagued my dreams as I tossed and turned, desperate to escape the labyrinth of my mind.