Point of Origin (Legacy #1)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Good. I could use some pancakes.”

  I just needed the reality check.

  ***

  “You sure you don’t want any of these? They’re so good.” Ryker offered his half-eaten strawberry pancakes.

  “Nope, I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” I said, glancing at my watch. We only had an hour before the remembrance ceremony started.

  “She’s at her mom’s shop,” Agnes called out as I headed for the door.

  “You are a doll, Agnes,” I answered, walking into the sunshine. Damn door didn’t squeak, but maybe I’d get used to it.

  I looked both ways across Main Street and then ran across the road, sniffing my zip-up fleece as I went. Maybe I should have showered again—I still smelled like the fire I’d just spent the week getting into containment. But if it was between getting a shower and getting my arms around Emerson, I’d take option number two.

  Bells chimed as I opened the door to Kendrick Kreations, and the scent of fresh-cut flowers overpowered me. Flowers rested in displays in the bright space, with a thick counter separating the store from the workshop. Flowered wreaths stood from the front of the store to back, and I knew if I counted, there would be eighteen in that order. Love Shack played in the back of the shop, and I could make out Emerson’s mom singing from here.

  “Just a minute,” she called out.

  “I have the last one here,” Emerson said, backing her way through the swinging door, carrying the eighteenth wreath. Maybe I was going to hell for thinking it, but damn, her ass looked spectacular in those black pants.

  “I can take that for you,” I offered.

  She squealed, nearly dropping the wreath as she spun around. The flowers landed safely on the counter as she catapulted into my arms. “I smell like smoke,” I warned her, but pulled her closer in the same breath.

  “I don’t care,” she said into my neck, the sound muffled.

  I looped one of my arms around her ass and the other her back, my fingers tangling in the dark silk of her hair. God, she smelled delicious, bergamot and spearmint hitting my senses like a glimpse of heaven after I’d just spent the last week in hell.

  “I missed you.” I pressed a kiss to her hair and let myself simply feel the moment instead of pushing it away like usual.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she squeezed me tighter.

  Every other fire, I went home to my apartment, ordered a pizza and cracked a beer. Maybe I fiddled with tech or took a woman to bed. I got back to reality.

  But this—holding Emerson, her arms looped around my neck, her legs dangling, her very relief breaking down the last of my walls—this was living.

  I’d never been so glad to have survived a fire.

  The bells chimed, and two men walked in, both in fire dress uniform.

  “Hey, Emerson, Bash. We’re just going to grab the wreaths and take them to the memorial.”

  “No problem, Colin,” Emerson answered as I lowered her to the ground. Damn it, all I wanted to do was kiss her. She looped her tiny arm around my waist, surprising me. In a town this small, I was pretty sure everyone knew what we were doing, but she’d never gone public about it. Going public meant people assumed, then asked questions. Now I fucking needed to kiss her, to stake my claim as easily as she’d done hers.

  “How’s it going, Colin? Nate?” I asked the two firefighters. They were in the town’s department and had been since they graduated high school a little before me.

  “Good,” Nate answered as he ushered a line of firefighters in to carry the wreaths out. “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s doing great. Denver’s been good to her.”

  “Well, we sure miss her around here. There aren’t as many financial advisors as good as she was—is. Not that I think she’s dead or anything. You know, I’m just going to help them carry the wreaths out.” He awkwardly backed away.

  “It’s okay,” I laughed. “She’s not dead, and she’s still advising. You could call her; I’m sure she’d take you on. She’s got a soft spot for Legacy.”

  “Yeah, okay, I might do that.” He backed out, taking the last wreath with him. “I’ll see you guys down there. And for what it’s worth, I think you have every right to your hotshot crew.”

  The minute the door closed behind him, I kissed Emerson, holding her beautiful face between my hands. I meant to keep it light, but then her arms tightened around me, she gave me a little whimper, and I was done for.

  I tilted her head for a better angle, and she opened under me. Fuck, she tasted incredible, the living embodiment of every dream I’d had for the last six years. Hell, since the moment I realized she wasn’t just another friend.

  We didn’t have time, but I took it anyway, slanting my mouth over hers again and again, keeping her on edge, changing the pace until she was clinging to me. Keep your hands to yourself. We were supposed to be at the ceremony soon, and no matter how desperate I was to get inside her, to feel her walls holding me as tight as her arms, rocking against me, we had to go.

  Damn it.

  “Well, it looks like you two have picked right up where you left off,” Mrs. Kendrick said from the doorway.

  I immediately let go of Emerson like she was in high school and stepped back, but she held onto my hand. “Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Kendrick was basically an older version of Emerson, but Emmy had inherited those brown eyes from her dad, where Mrs. Kendrick openly judged me with bright blue ones. She hadn’t always been so harsh, but I hadn’t always been an asshole, either.

  “Sebastian, please. We’re all adults now. You can call me Marla. Emmy, you left your purse in the back.”

  “Be nice,” she said quietly to her Mom as she passed by.

  Maybe being at that fire would have been safer for my health at that moment. “Ma’am, I know you pretty much hate me, but I’m not—”

  “Oh, enough. I hated you when she was eighteen and heartbroken. But Emerson knows exactly what you’re capable of and still chose…whatever is going on with you two. She’s a fully-grown, capable woman, and her choices are her own. That being said, it would be lovely if you didn’t destroy her again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Got it,” Emerson said, coming through the door with her black purse slung across her chest. “You need to get home and get into a tie…and a shower. Shall we?”

  She offered her hand, and I nodded.

  It was time.

  ***

  One by one, we stepped forward in honor of our fathers, and in a few cases, mothers. We laid the wreaths at the foot of the memorial—the single slab of black granite with all eighteen names etched into it—and joined the other family members at the front of the entire population of Legacy.

  Mayor Davis gave his yearly speech on their bravery and sacrifice, and how they would be proud of what we’ve rebuilt. He looked away from me when I answered that last comment with an arched eyebrow.

  I ran the numbers in my head as I glanced from family to family, and we were tight. Emerson said she had it covered, but I couldn’t see how, not unless he showed up. But it had been ten years since he’d stepped foot within town limits, and I didn’t see him making an exception today.

  “And now, we’d like to have a moment of silence in remembrance of the Legacy Hotshot team.” Mayor Davis bowed his head at the exact moment they died, and the crowd followed, but I couldn’t look away from where my father’s name screamed at me from the monument.

  The bell rang once for each death.

  I didn’t see the crowd around me or register the beauty of the chimes. I was lost, sucked back ten years to the radio call going out.

  Chime. My father’s discovery that I hadn’t evacuated with my mother.

  Chime. Ordering me to get my ass back down the mountain.

  Chime. Charging Spencer with getting me away from the scene.

  Chime. My protests, then outright shouting as Spencer drove us back to town.

  Chime. The radio call that the cold fr
ont had moved in. Winds picked up.

  Chime. My father’s voice saying they were retreating to the anchor point.

  Chime. Emerson’s father calling for the rest of the team.

  Chime. Watching through Spencer’s back window as the fire came over the ridgeline, not far from where our Clubhouse was now.

  Chime. The realization that they might not make it.

  Chime. The order to deploy shelters.

  Chime. Spencer cursing, my outright screams, knowing what that meant.

  Chime. The silence.

  My eyes slid shut, trying to block it out, to put that memory behind the iron walls I’d built.

  Chime. Emerson slid her small hand into mine, small tremors making her tiny fingers tremble.

  Chime. I covered that hand with both of mine, and her shaking stopped.

  Chime. Her head found my shoulder, steadying me, grounding me in the present, where I was more than the seventeen-year-old trainee who had gone where he wasn’t supposed to.

  Chime. I was a man now, who’d spent every minute of the last ten years working to rebuild this legacy.

  Chime. I was Emerson’s man.

  Chime. And I was done running.

  Over an hour later and more certain than I’d ever been of our goal, we walked hand-in-hand into the town hall, followed by as many of the citizens of Legacy that would fit in the small space

  The council looked horrified at the audience, except for Greg, who failed at disguising his smile.

  “You ready for this?” Knox asked as we walked down the slight incline of what was quickly a standing-room-only meeting, headed for the front.

  “As I can be,” I answered.

  He laughed. “I wasn’t asking you.”

  Emerson swatted his shoulder. “I’m fine. Worry about your job.”

  “All of my people are accounted for. Yours?”

  She scanned the crowd and shook her head. “Shane Winston is missing.”

  I cupped her face and kissed her softly. “Thank you for trying, but Shane was never going to show. He hates fire, and trees…and pretty much anything outside.”

  “Shit,” she mumbled as Mayor Davis called us to order.

  “Okay, okay, let’s get started,” He said into his microphone, his eyes relentlessly scanning the crowd. “We’re here for the matter of the petition by Legacy, LLC to reinstate the Legacy Hotshot Crew under the following conditions: the full salaries will be the responsibility of Legacy, LLC. The team will follow all federal guidelines to include eighty percent of the crew having at least a year of fire experience,” he turned the page of the petition. “And the town’s stipulation that sixty percent of the Legacy Crew would be blood of the original team, or legacies in name or birth.”

  The crowd mumbled in dissent, and Mayor Davis cleared his throat. “Because this is such an emotional matter, we felt the need to really ensure the support of the families.”

  “Support doesn’t have to be forcing your kids into a career they respect but never wanted,” one woman called out.

  “Vicki Greene,” Emerson supplied.

  “Chris Greene’s widow?”

  She nodded as more complaints were vocalized.

  “Now, now. It’s important to remember that Legacy, LLC agreed to these terms. We’re simply here to see if they’re in compliance.” Mayor Davis loosened his tie. “Are you ready Mr. Vargas?”

  I buttoned my blazer as I stood, taking the podium and opening the manila folder Emerson handed me. She’d put all this together with Knox while I’d been on the job. If not for her, we wouldn’t have even made it this far.

  It was time to see who put their money where their mouth was.

  “There is one addendum to the agreement, but it doesn’t affect these proceedings,” I said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Addressing the insurance and compensation paragraph of section fourteen, we’ve added that all crew members will be insured as full-time, no matter how many months of the year they actively serve. One man’s sacrifice during the summer as a firefighter should never be forgotten, nor his family penalized because he spent the other nine months of the year teaching Legacy’s children.”

  A shout of approval went up behind me.

  I didn’t care about the crowd. That wasn’t a change to appease the masses or gain the town’s support. It was to preemptively correct the wrong that had been handed to Emerson and her mother ten years ago when they’d been denied the payout the rest of the families had received.

  “Accepted,” Mayor Davis agreed quietly.

  One point down.

  “I have seven non-legacy members, all with multiple years of wildland fire experience, whose names you will find at the end of the petition.”

  “Those names are not a matter of our concern, Bash—Mr. Vargas,” Mayor Davis interjected. Smart move, really, reminding me that to him, I’m just a kid.

  “You can call me Bash,” I said with a laugh. “After all, I grew up here. I’m Legacy born and bred just like most of the town here supporting us. I’m blessed to have been successful in my finances, and my firefighting to make this possible, but I’m just the son of Julian Vargas when it comes down to it.”

  Mayor Davis leaned back in his chair.

  That shut the asshole up.

  “Do you have your legacies in order?”

  “If they’ll come stand next to me, I do. Knox Daniels,” I called out, and he stood at my right as always. “Ryker Anders,” and he took the left. Then one-by-one, as I called the names of the kids who I grew up with, they appeared as the adults next to me, ready to stand for our parents, our town, our heritage.

  “Indigo Marshall, Lawson Woods, River and Bishop Maldonaldo, Braxton and Taylor Rose, Derek Chandler…”

  “You’re two short, Mr. Vargas.” Mr. Henry said with a small smirk from the side. Not like it actually mattered to the asshole. It wasn’t like he’d be paying out the insurance.

  I took a deep breath to call the next name, praying he’d showed up, that he didn’t hate me so much that he’d let this fail.

  “Spencer Cohen,” he called from the aisle, walking down to the floor. There was a collective gasp among the crowd, and my head hung in pure, sweet relief. The large, intense thirty-year-old took up a spot at the end of the line, his hand raking over his light beard.

  All of the council members sat forward. “Spencer. I’m…”

  “Speechless, Mayor Davis?” he asked. “Me too. But that’s a good thing, because I’ve learned that when you have asinine things to say, you should keep your mouth shut. You tend to just keep talking, and about this issue, you’re dead wrong. You have no more right to deny this crew her name than you did to loan us out to that other fire the day ours erupted.”

  The crowd murmured, finally hearing what I’d known for years. Davis had made the executive decision to send the Legacy Hotshots to a different fire for the pay, thinking ours would be easily handled by the town’s department.

  “Then you denied their requests to return home, until they did on their own recognizance, only to find their deaths saving this town,” Spencer finished.

  What the fuck?

  My eyes swung to Emerson, who shook her head, her mouth hanging open. Ryker, Knox, all the other volunteers all wore the same expression. None of us had known.

  “This isn’t about past events,” Davis argued over the growing anger in the crowd. “That was ten years ago, and wrong decisions were made. We didn’t have all of the information, nor could we tell the future. What we’re doing now is trying to keep those mistakes from happening again. Now, Mr. Cohen, last time I checked, you’re not a legacy, so this is a moot point.”

  “He doesn’t have to be,” I countered. “The wording in the original petition you accepted today says, ‘blood of the original crew.’ Spencer is the only surviving member of the original crew. There is no one in a better place to serve as superintendent.”

  “Was he not the one who left the line?” Mr. Henry asked
, his eyes narrowing on Spencer.

  “I did, and I have no regrets,” Spencer said loudly.

  “He did it to save me,” I announced, and the crowd quieted. “I went to the ridgeline that day, and he was ordered to evacuate me. Trust me,” I looked down the line to Spencer, “he would have rather died that day.”

  “Truth,” Spencer agreed. “Now you can rule this whole thing out as incomplete because you’re unwilling to accept me, and risk the entire town coming for you, Davis, or you can trust me like Julian Vargas did, and stop being such an asshole.”

  Laughter erupted, and Mayor Davis’ face turned hydrant red. He started to bang the ceremonial gavel. “Enough! Fine, we’ll accept you, Spencer, but he’s still short.”

  I looked down the list. Shane Winston. Fuck.

  Emerson’s eyes met mine as she rose to stand next to me. “He didn’t come,” she whispered.

  “I know. It’s okay.” The last thing I wanted was for her to blame herself.

  “We have an alternate,” she added, handing me an envelope.

  Who? There was zero chance Harper was going to be allowed to firefight, not with Ryker and Knox ready to kill for her. I opened the notecard as her voice rang out, sweet and clear…and devastating.

  “Emerson Kendrick.”

  “Absolutely not!” I shouted, looking from her back up to the awestruck faces of the council. “She is mistaken. She’s not volunteering.”

  “Yes, I am, Bash,” she said, tugging on my sleeve. “You don’t get to control this. Shut up and let me do this for our town—for you.”

  “You’ve never been a firefighter!”

  “And? You only need eighty percent experience on the crew. With Taylor and I, they still have more than enough.”

  They. Because I could set this all in motion, back it, finance it, fight for it, but it would never be my team, and with one motion, she’d set her roots even deeper into Legacy, killing my plan to ask her to come with me. Fuck. Me.

  I was wildly aware of the crowd, the crew, even the council listening in to our fight, and I wasn’t in the mood to give a fuck. “There’s zero chance I’m letting you near a fire, Emerson. None. You’re not risking your life, or a single hair on your head. It’s not going to happen.”