“I’ve got issues, Dom.”

Serious baggage, she thought. “And Sean is my number one priority, and always will be. It would never work out between us.”

He stared hard at Fiona. “Are you saying you don’t think I’d be a good role model?”

“No.” Yes…maybe. The question wasn’t whether he’d be good for Sean, but how Dom’s presence would affect her relationship with her son. Sean needed to know his mother was as strong and tough as any man, and that she’d never let their lives be dictated by another walking ego with muscles. She’d never let herself be intimidated by a man again. She amended quietly, “It’s complicated.”

“Maybe.” His blue eyes connected with hers again and she saw something new in them. His face relaxed into a smile—sure, confident. “Maybe not.”

Dear Reader,

I’m so proud to join the Harlequin Superromance family with my first book, Her Son’s Hero.

This book was born out of my great respect for mixed martial artists and the controversial sport that has exploded in popularity over the past few years. As I read about the lives, dedication, sacrifices and victories of these talented athletes, it became clear they were real romance-worthy heroes. Some of them are a little rough around the edges, but most are good men with a great passion for what they do…plus they have fantastic bodies. It’s kind of hard not to fall in love!

Fiona MacAvery would agree. When pro MMA fighter Dominic Payette comes to town, she thinks he’s just a meatheaded testosterone-fueled brawler. But as he teaches her young son karate-do and shows them both how to face their fears, he’ll prove to them exactly what kind of man he is.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this book, MMA or anything else that’s on your mind. Email me at vicki@vickiessex.com.

Happy reading,

Vicki Essex

Her Son’s Hero
Vicki Essex

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Vicki Essex lives on a space colony with her husband, space cat, robot dog butler and a fleet of red spaceships…in her imagination. In reality, she lives in Toronto—New York City’s comely Canadian cousin. As much as she likes to punch things, she doesn’t like being punched back, so will likely never face an opponent in an MMA cage. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website at www.vickiessex.com, email her at vicki@vickiessex.com and find her on Twitter @VickiEssex.

This book wouldn’t have existed without

Denise Ing, Fiona Kwong and

Georges “Rush” St-Pierre.

I would never have started writing without

the ATLA fans at fanfiction.net.

Mike and Bryan, thanks for letting me cut

my teeth in your world.

Thanks to Mom and Dad,

who let me stay up past midnight when I

was a teen so I could keep writing.

Thanks to Victoria Curran,

my editor and writing oracle.

Thank you to everyone at

the Toronto Romance Writers, the best RWA

chapter ever!

Thanks to everyone at Harlequin Enterprises,

especially the guys and gals

in proofreading and production.

And for my husband, who indulged me,

consoled me, brainstormed and problem-solved

with me, and cooked and cleaned for me—

there aren’t enough words in the universe, not

even made-up ones. Luboo!

For John, with all my heart, always.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER ONE

“SEAN, SEAN, spawn of the con!”

Dominic Payette turned and watched from the porch as five jeering boys pounded down the sidewalk in front of his house, chasing a scrawny, sandy-haired boy. With his bulging backpack weighing him down, the kid didn’t stand a chance. The pack leader, a big guy with ruddy cheeks and shocking red hair, grabbed the bag and yanked the kid to a stop.

Dom set down the box he was carrying.

“You ignoring me, con?” The big guy shoved the whelp hard. The other boys circled, penning the kid in. “Think you’re better than us, little rich boy?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Or what? You gonna tell your mommy?” Another shove. “Gimme your money, rich boy.”

“I don’t have any. You took it all at lunch!”

Dom gripped the banister hard. He had to give the kid a chance to defend himself. He knew from all those years of being picked on that bruises healed quickly, but pride took much longer. Maybe it was tough love, but those were his rules.

He could see the tense line of the boy’s bony shoulders, the wildness in his eyes. The kid mumbled something, head bowed in resignation.

His tormentor’s lip lifted in a snarl. “Take his bag.”

The gang seized the boy by his sticklike arms while the redhead punched him in the gut. The kid doubled over, and his backpack was yanked off him.

But the bully didn’t stop there. He kicked him in the chest. Hard.

Dom leaped over the railing off his porch, outraged by the redhead’s viciousness and complete lack of honor. He had the kid outmatched and outnumbered—it was hardly a fair fight.

In a few long strides, Dom was on top of the pack, wading into them like a lion into a pile of field mice. The boys froze and stared up at him wide-eyed.

Dom knew he could be scary looking when he wanted to be. Five feet ten inches of solid muscle honed from years of mixed martial arts training, a shorn scalp and the fading bruises along the underside of his jaw would intimidate anyone. He glowered down at the boys. “You guys got a problem?”

The bully whirled around to face him. He went so pale even his freckles disappeared. “Let’s go! C’mon!”

The kids scattered, huge eyes still fixed on Dom. They dropped the backpack as they raced away.

“Are you okay?” Dom asked.

The boy slowly got to his feet, cradling his midsection, panting. His face was tomato-red, as if he was holding his breath.

“Hey, if it hurts, I find it’s better to shout it out.” Dom didn’t need to bruise the boy’s ego any more by telling him it was okay to cry like a girl. Boys at this age were trying to be men. Dom got that the kid needed a different outlet. “Just yell. I swear, most of the pain, it’s in your mouth. Like this…” Dom’s booming bark startled the kid.

But he didn’t say anything. He’d swallowed his pain, forced it deep inside. Defeat dulled his soft gray eyes. He picked up his pack and brushed himself off.

Dom grimaced. “Do you live around here?” he asked.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” the boy said warily.

“I guess that makes you smarter than me.” He smiled. “My name’s Dominic. I just moved here for the summer—in that house right there.” He gestured to the two-story Victorian behind him. Showing the boy he lived on his route home from school might make him feel safer.

The kid glanced from the house to the U-Haul truck at the curb. His eyes widened when he spotted the equipment inside.

He inched closer, his caution melting away like snow in the sun. “Are you, like, some kind of boxer?”

An easy misconception, since the most visible piece of gym equipment in the truck was a punching bag. “I do some boxing,” Dom said, “but I’m actually a mixed martial artist. My specialty is karate, but I also have training in wrestling, boxing, judo, Muay Thai and Brazilian jujitsu.”

The kid gazed up at him in awe. “You’re not, like, in the UFF, are you?”

“Actually, yeah.” Dom grinned, wondering if the boy would recognize him. Dom was at the top of his league, poised to win the welterweight Unlimited Fighting Federation belt in September. “Are you a fan?”

“My mom doesn’t let me watch fights on TV. She says they’re a bad influence.”

Dom’s lips quirked. Mixed martial arts wasn’t really for children; people got hurt in the cage and bloodshed was common. But the sport was misunderstood by many, and criticized unfairly as being nothing more than a glorified bar brawl.

The kid walked up to the edge of the truck. “Wow, look at all that stuff. It’s like you have a whole gym in there.”

“I pretty much do. I train eight hours a day.”

“That’s so cool. My name’s Sean MacAvery.” He stuck out a grubby hand. The defeated child from moments ago had disappeared. Dom’s callused paw swallowed the boy’s hand and the kid pumped it with more vigor than expected from someone who’d just been kicked in the ribs. “I live across the street, over there.” He pointed to where almost identical houses lined the road. “Do you need help moving your stuff in?”

Dom had to be careful. In his experience, people in small towns could be suspicious of outsiders, and judging by the way the neighbors kept flicking back their curtains to watch him, he figured the inhabitants of Salmon River hadn’t made their minds up about him yet. “You’d better ask your dad first,” he said.

Sean looked away, reddening. “I don’t have a dad.”

Oh, boy. He’d sure stepped in that one. Dom struggled to amend his faux pas. “I’d love some help. But you should definitely ask at home, let them know where you are.”

Sean brightened. “Okay!” He started to run, but jerked to a stop and turned. “You think you can teach me some moves? I mean, those guys…”

Dom couldn’t say no to someone who so obviously needed a boost to his confidence. “Yeah, I think I can show you some techniques. But you gotta ask at home first.”

The kid’s grin stretched the length of the street. He bounded down the sidewalk and waved as he walked up to a two-story house with a tidy garden and a dark green door.

Sean might be scrawny, but he bounced back from a beating quickly. Dom had to admire that. Rubbing the bruises on his jaw, he wished he was half as resilient.

FIONA GLANCED AT THE CLOCK again. It was almost five. Where was Sean? Her son was never this late getting home from school, unless…

Her gut churned. A lot of things could happen to a ten-year-old boy, even in this quiet little town. And Sean was so small, nearly a head shorter than his classmates. The doctor insisted he was due for a growth spurt any day; he was just—

The front door banged open and her son bounded in. Right away, Fiona spotted the mussed clothes, the brightness of his eyes and cheeks, a fresh scrape on his knee. He’d been in another fight.

“Oh, no, not again.” She hurried to him, checked him over. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Mom, there’s a UFF fighter moving in down the street!”

“A what?” Her mind was too clouded with concern to really understand what Sean was saying.

“I’m gonna help him move in, okay? Please?”

“Slow down, Sean. Tell me what happened to you. Who beat you up?”

“It’s nothing, Mom.”

She touched the scrape on his cheek. “It’s not nothing. Was it Rene again?”

“I’m fine.” Sean tugged out of her embrace. “Just leave me alone.”

“You have to tell me if people are hurting you,” Fiona said sternly. “I’ll go to the principal—”

“You did that before and it didn’t stop them.” The color of his cheeks deepened. “They just hurt me more.”

She knew it. That bully, Rene Kirkpatrick, and his little gang of hoodlums were always giving Sean a hard time. She’d have to settle this with Denise Kirkpatrick directly; obviously the school couldn’t protect her son.

“Did you do all the things I taught you?” she asked in earnest. “Did you tell them to stop? Did you walk away?”

Sean glowered at her. “That doesn’t work, Mom.” His shoulders hunched up defensively. “It doesn’t matter what I do. They all hate me.”

“I’ll start picking you up from school,” Fiona declared resolutely.

“Aw, Mom…”

“I’ll meet you at four o’clock.” It would mean she’d have to make arrangements at work to leave early, but it was worth her son’s safety.

“I don’t want a ride home.” Sean jerked back. “I’m old enough to walk by myself.”

“Don’t argue with me, Sean. This is for your own good.”

His face turned scarlet. He scrunched up his nose and flung down his backpack. “You always say that! You said that when we moved here and I had to leave Grandma and Grandpa and all my friends! I hate you! I hate it here!” He dashed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

Fiona sank into a chair, counting to ten. She knew her son had been having a hard time fitting in—they both had. But she hadn’t thought Sean hated Salmon River. She hadn’t thought her sweet-natured son capable of hating anything…much less her.

She supposed she should have guessed it, though. Since moving into the house her aunt Penelope had willed to her, Sean had grown quiet and sullen and increasingly more reserved. Her neighbor Gail, who often babysat for her, said it was perfectly normal for a boy his age. “And mind you, he doesn’t have a father to look up to,” the woman, who’d been a good friend to Penelope, had added without rancor. “Boys need male role models.”

Not that Mitch Farrell had ever been much of a role model or a loving father or husband.

In her experience, the best way to deal with her son’s temper tantrums was to leave him alone for a while. Sean would probably hide out in his room to cool off. She’d do some laundry and by the time she’d made a snack, he would have calmed down.

But when she did go up to his room an hour later, he wasn’t there.

“Sean?” She went through the house, checked the backyard. He was nowhere to be found.

Had he run away? He was getting to that rebellious age when he would do anything for attention. But lately, attention was the one thing Sean didn’t want from her….

What if he’d been snatched? What if he’d been hit by a car, or was hurt, unconscious, unable to call for her—

Calm down. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, going over all the places he might be.

Wait, hadn’t he said something about a new neighbor?

She grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

SEAN MACAVERY WAS surprisingly helpful for someone so tiny. They’d moved the bulk of the boxes in, chatting amiably about mixed martial arts—MMA—and Sean’s school and life in Salmon River. But when he got to the box bearing the pads he used for training, Dom decided to reward the boy with a few lessons.

“Try again,” he instructed, holding up one large rectangular pad. “Step forward as you strike. That way, you put more energy into your hit. And breathe out. Shout if you have to.”

“Ha!” Sean’s tiny fist impacted on the pad.

“Good. Think you can do both fists? One-two, right-left.”

“Ha! Ha!” The punches came harder this time, and Dom was surprised when he rocked back on his heels. He hadn’t expected the short, sharp blow to move him.

Underestimating your opponent. Just how soft are you getting?

Dom smirked to himself. “Good work, Sean. Next thing you want to do—”

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” a woman shrieked behind him.

THE MAN JUMPED and practically stumbled over his own feet as he wheeled around to face her.

Fiona’s mouth went dry. He looked like a cross between a Greek god and a marine, with a little Holly wood hottie mixed in. He was all muscle, sculpted from lean hips to broad torso. His hair was only the barest shadow of dark stubble, but he had a perfect head for the bald look. His eyes, blue as the sky, widened as he took her in. His lips curved up, and she felt her body warm. That was one lady-killer of a smile.

And then she noticed the bruises.

Her blood went cold. She would never get involved with a bad boy ever again. Not after Mitch.

“Hi, Mom!” Sean wiped the back of his hand over his sweating brow. “This is Dominic Payette. He’s moving in for the summer.”

The wattage of the man’s smile turned up. “It’s Dom to my friends,” he said with a slight New Orleans drawl. He held out a hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she repeated.

He blinked slowly, retracted his hand. “Sean’s very graciously volunteered to help me move my stuff in. He asked if I could teach him some self-defense moves.”

“If he had hurt his back or dropped something on his foot and broken it, you’d have been liable.”

“Mo-o-om,” Sean complained.

She tried hard not to be a helicopter parent, but Sean was so little, had been through so much, it was hard not to want to protect him. “He shouldn’t be learning how to fight.”

She saw the man’s blue eyes flicker, saw the lines on his face deepen. “If you wouldn’t mind a word aside?”

He guided her by the arm, and she flinched from his light touch. They moved a few steps away from Sean. “I caught a bunch of boys in…an altercation with your son.”

She cursed under her breath. “Did you see who it was? Was there a big, chubby boy with bright red hair and piggy eyes?”

Her new neighbor’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like him.”

Rene Kirkpatrick. His mother was definitely going to hear from Fiona.

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Dom said. “Sean needs to learn how to defend himself. If he doesn’t—”

“Excuse me, but I’ve been teaching my son to resolve his issues nonviolently.” Not effectively, but still. “I don’t want him learning how to beat other kids up.”

“I wasn’t teaching him how to beat up anyone, I was teaching him how to fend off his attackers,” Dom emphasized. “Look, I’m a certified karate teacher and—”

“I’m sorry, but I’m his mother.” This man could hardly judge her, Sean or their situation within a few minutes of meeting them. He had no idea what they’d been through. She wasn’t about to let some stranger boss her around. She crossed her arms. “Sean doesn’t need this.”

“He does,” Dom insisted. “He has so little self-esteem. I can see it in the way he stands.”

She glanced at her son. He was toeing patterns on the ground, his shoulders hunched. “He’s afraid,” Dom told her frankly. “If he doesn’t learn to face his fears and meet his opponents head-on, he’ll never learn to stand up for himself.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She lifted her chin, indignant. “That’s my job.”

“Your job is to be his mother, not his bodyguard.”

“Are you calling me a bad parent?” She’d had enough of people telling her what to do and how to do it. She’d had a whole lifetime of being criticized, and she wasn’t about to take it from some meathead bodybuilder.

His gaze passed over her in what she could only call cool calculation. “I apologize, Mrs. Mac Avery,” he said, his voice irritatingly calm. He took a step back. “You’re right, of course. He is your son.”

The fight left her, and she felt suddenly foolish. To her son, Dominic Payette said, “Sean, better go home with your mom.”

“But…you still have so much stuff to move.” Sean glared at her.

“I’m sure my friend will arrive soon to help. He’s just late getting here.”

Fiona could see right away that Dom was lying. Who could he know in this tiny town? What was he even doing here?

Not that it was any of her business. Still, she couldn’t help but glance over at the moving truck. It was jam-packed with boxes. As athletic as Dominic looked, the man was going to be hard at work for a while, moving all that stuff in himself.

“Thanks for your help,” he said to Sean. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” He sent a smile her way. She tried to return it, but was sure it came off as a sneer. She couldn’t seem to lift her lips high enough.

Sean said goodbye.

“I’m sorry if my son was getting in your way, Mr. Payette. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s Dom, please.” He tried to reassure her with another smile. “And he wasn’t in my way. If it weren’t for Sean, I’d probably be out here past mid night.”

He’ll be fine. He’s a big, strong man. “I’d better get back. Time to make dinner,” she muttered, and hurried Sean across the street.

Her new neighbor’s gaze felt like a sack of sand on her shoulders. But it didn’t weigh nearly as much as her conscience did.

DOM WATCHED MRS. MACAVERY hustle her son across the street. The woman was gorgeous. Naturally, down-to-earth beautiful. And there was no question she was Sean’s mother. She had long, sandy-blond hair that caught the sunlight and glinted with hints of bronze. A fine, pointed chin and high cheekbones, along with a cute little nose, made her look elegant but girlishly pretty, too. Her bourbon-brown eyes and slightly smoky voice reminded him of sultry nights in the French Quarter in N’Awlins. With a son Sean’s age, she had to be older than his twenty-eight years, but he preferred women with a little more experience.

He liked feisty women, and Sean’s mom was about as feisty as they came. At one point, with her tightly balled fists on her hips, she’d looked ready to do battle. He’d nearly burst out laughing. But he understood her need to protect her son. Heck, he’d wanted to protect Sean. Dom knew he was right about the boy needing to learn basic self-defense. Sean needed confidence, not a mother who cosseted him.

But Dom was the new guy in town, after all, and it wasn’t in his nature to pick fights with single mothers.

Even if they were smokin’ hot and looked as if they could go a few rounds with him.

Damn. He’d come to Salmon River to train for the championship belt. And to avoid distractions. But it appeared he’d just moved in across the street from one.

CHAPTER TWO

FIONA WAS IN A SURLY MOOD the next morning as she dropped Sean off at the community center’s Saturday day camp and drove to work.

Yesterday’s encounter with her new neighbor had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Not just because he’d tried to dictate to her how she should raise Sean, but because her son seemed to agree with him.

It had started at dinner. Sean had been wolfing down his food with uncharacteristic abandon. To her utter shock, he’d shoveled his much-hated nemesis, broccoli, into his mouth without his usual complaints against vegetables.

“Broccoli has lots of iron. Iron’s good for building muscles and strength,” he’d said, as if all her past lectures about the importance of greens had fallen on deaf ears.

“Since when did you become so interested in nutrition?”

“Dom said it’s important to eat right.” He stuffed another floret into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “He said he eats a lot of broccoli and fish to help keep him strong. Do you think we can eat more fish, Mom?”

Fiona sat back, floored. Sean hated greens, but he loathed fish. How on earth could he have changed his mind after only just meeting Dominic Payette? How could some musclehead make her son want things she’d been begging him to eat for the past ten years?

It didn’t end there. When she’d asked Sean to help with the dishes, he’d done his duty. But in a preachy tone that nearly matched hers, Sean said, “It’s good to help others in need, isn’t it, Mom?”

“Of course it is,” she’d replied, not seeing the trap laid before her.

“So…you don’t think it was wrong that I tried to help Dom move in,” he concluded. “That I was just trying to be neighborly.”

Sean really was too smart for his own good some times.

She’d spent half the night tossing and turning, feeling guilty. The U-Haul truck was still parked on the street this morning. Dominic probably hadn’t finished unloading yet.

She should have made more of an effort to be welcoming. She and Sean had been newcomers here once, too. They still were after a year and a half. It was nearly impossible for anyone to integrate into the tight-knit community.

A figure darted out onto the road and Fiona slammed on the brakes. Rubber squealed on asphalt. The car shuddered to a halt as another person dashed after the first.

And wouldn’t you know, it was Denise Kirkpatrick and her spawn of Satan, Rene. Fiona honked the horn.

Denise slowly straightened. She said something to her son, and he scooted his pudgy butt up to the sidewalk.

Fiona rolled down the window as Denise walked to the car.

“Morning, Fiona.” The brunette’s wide lips curved in a scythe-like crescent as she leaned in. One manicured hand gripped the roof as she casually leaned against the door. “Guess you haven’t had any coffee yet, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Fiona’s fingers curled around the steering wheel. “Your son just ran out into the middle of the road without looking.”

“Boys will be boys,” Denise said. “Here in Salmon River, they tend to be a little rambunctious.”

Fiona ground her teeth. Denise had lived here all her life; her ancestors had practically founded the riverside town. Since Fiona and Sean had arrived, the woman had taken every opportunity to point out just how much they didn’t belong among good, hardworking, decent folk. Denise had been among the most vocal gossipers when news of Mitch’s troubles had made it to town. And while outwardly she pretended to be friendly, there was no mistaking the poison beneath her polite veneer.

Denise peered around the leather interior of the Toyota Camry. “Good thing you have this fancy car, huh?” She patted the door. “Otherwise Rene might be just a stain on the road now.”

Considering Denise drove an electric-blue BMW coupe, Fiona didn’t understand what she had against her nine-year-old sedan. She’d once owned a Beemer herself, but she’d traded it in years ago for this more practical vehicle. She’d also wanted to cleanse herself of her old life when she’d moved here.

“Well, you have yourself a good day, and drive safe,” Denise said after an uncomfortable beat of silence. She slapped the roof of the car a little harder than Fiona thought necessary.

It was only as the woman was ushering her son away that Fiona realized she’d missed her opportunity to tell the mother about her little bully. She rolled up the windows and let out a string of expletives.

Minutes later, her mood now pitch-black, she parked her car behind Leeds Reads, the bookstore where she worked. She breathed deeply, submersing the ill feelings she harbored for the Kirkpatricks in the still waters of calm. It was going to be a busy day: this was the first sunny Saturday they’d been blessed with this May, and the weekenders would be flooding the town. It wouldn’t do to scowl at every customer who came in.

GOLDEN SUNSHINE AND A CLEAN, sweet breeze alternately warmed and cooled Dom as he jogged briskly to Sensei Mako Miwa’s dojo. The run into town was a good warm-up, but more importantly, it helped work off some of his frustration at not being able to finish moving all his stuff in. He was just glad the place came furnished; he’d never have been able to wrestle a sofa by himself. By the time he’d managed to find the box of sheets so he could fix up the bed, he’d been too exhausted to eat. Thank God for energy bars. He’d have to stock up on groceries today, as well.

Right now, however, he had to see his old karate master and get his training back on track. The most important fight of his life was coming up in September. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. His manager had staunchly reminded him of that this morning when he’d called to check on him.

“You need to get your mojo back, Dom,” Joel Khalib had said. “I’m having a hell of a time convincing Silverstreak to keep you on.” Silverstreak was the energy drink company with the biggest logo on Dom’s trunks. “I told them you’d be ready for the belt in September. You gotta prove me right on this.”

“I will.” He didn’t have the luxury of doubt.

“You sure you don’t want me to send some of the other guys over? I mean, if you have the space, a little work on your jujitsu and wrestling…”

“This is about more than physical training right now, Joel.” Dom knew his sad performance ever since his fight with Bruno DiMartino had been entirely rooted in his brain.

He still hadn’t called Katy DiMartino to offer his condolences…or anything else. He asked tentatively, “How’s Bruno doing?”

“No change.” Joel’s tone was grim. “But don’t you worry about a thing. I sent over a nice bouquet of flowers from you. Made sure Katy has everything she needs. I even got her a rent-a-maid. You know, so someone can help her clean house while she’s at the hospital.”

Dom had grunted noncommittally. “You know it’s not your fault, right?” Joel said. “You should really be seeing a sports psychologist, man. I have some great references for—”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Sensei Miwa has always been able to straighten me out. I trust him.”

He approached downtown Salmon River, jogging over the old stone bridge that spanned the fast-flowing tributary the town was named after. Fishermen were trying their luck from aluminum skiffs and old wooden rowboats, and they silently watched him go by.

Main Street looked like a life-size version of one of those miniature Christmas villages. Two-and three-story brick colonial-style buildings with tasteful signs and well-kept window boxes were designed to attract visitors for the quaint boutique shopping, gourmet and country home cooking—not to mention the scenic waterside view.

Dom slowed to a walk and pulled his hood down to cool off. The sun felt great on his head and shoulders and he took a minute to drink in the clean air and listen to the birds. Gaily colored banners advertising the Salmon River Arts Fair flapped from old-fashioned iron lampposts. A hardware store on the corner, a church, a dry cleaner and an electronics repair shop showed the thriving community would continue to flourish even after the tourists left. The smell of fresh-baked pastries wafted down the street. Dom’s stomach growled, but he ignored it—the last thing he needed was to be tempted by empty calories.

Most shops hadn’t opened yet, but Dom could see people heading out of one building. It was eight o’clock, which, if Mako Miwa still adhered to his rigorous schedule, meant his first class would just be finishing.

The familiar and comforting scent of rubber mats and sweat hit Dom as he entered the Five Elements Gym and Dojo. A couple students were speaking with Mako, so Dom slipped off his running shoes and hoodie, stuffing them into one of the cubbies provided for students and visitors. He approached the mat, bowed, then knelt, waiting for his old teacher, his sensei, to finish. When the students left, Mako turned to him, frowning. Dom placed his palms on the mat in front of him and touched his forehead nearly to the floor, bowing to the man who’d taught him almost everything he knew about fighting and about being an honorable person. “Sensei.”

Mako Miwa knelt and bowed back, then bestowed a smile upon his former pupil. Except for a few extra lines, his old master hadn’t aged a day. “Domo-san. Welcome.”

“Thank you, Sensei.”

Formalities over, Mako broke into a wide grin and embraced him, slapping his back. They fell into small talk, catching up on common acquaintances, and discussed how the dojo in Salmon River had been doing.

“Not bad,” was his teacher’s only remark, though Dom could see an infusion of funds wouldn’t hurt. Duct tape held some of the training pads together, the ceiling tiles were water-stained and a large crack in one of the mirrored walls had been hastily repaired with clear packing tape. It was a far cry from the facilities the renowned sensei had owned in New Orleans. But Mako Miwa had decided after Hurricane Katrina that the gods were trying to tell him something, and he’d moved his dojo here to Virginia. It made sense, Dom supposed, since the Five Elements’ sister dojo, Four Winds, was in Richmond.

“UFF still treating you well?” Mako asked.

Dom grimaced, unable to answer.

“Not so well,” his teacher concluded. He gestured for Dom to follow him into his office at the back of the dojo.

Sunlight slanted in through the dirty window behind the old desk, washing the tired-looking room in gold light. The fake-wood panel walls bowed with age, and a three-year-old calendar curled from a nail. Mako Miwa had never been much for aesthetics, but the man’s cool serenity and martial arts skills more than made up for the ghastly decor.

The karate master went to a counter where an ancient coffeemaker full of dark tea sat. Dom remembered that tea well—it tasted like floor varnish. “I heard about your fight with Bruno DiMartino,” the old man said as he poured. “How is he doing?”

“Still in a coma.” Dom rubbed his chin, and his hand shook a little as he said it.

“You know it was not your fault.”

People said that a lot to him these days. Martial artists who competed knew there were risks, knew safety could never be guaranteed despite the rules, the protective gear, the skill level and the precautions taken by competitors and judges.

“It was an accident,” his sensei went on.

“I have a hard time believing that.” Dom closed his eyes briefly. All he remembered was the blood, the sickening wobble of Bruno’s neck as Dom’s fist smashed the side of his head—

He shut the awful memory out.

“So, what brings you here, Domo-san?”

“I need you to retrain me.”

The karate master made a dismissive gesture and turned away. “You’ve already learned all I have to teach.”

Dom seriously doubted that. “After DiMartino, I lost three exhibition matches, Sensei. I need to figure out what’s wrong. Why I lost against three rookies.” The humiliation stung deeply. He’d been 15-0 for wins-losses until that first bewildering defeat. The blemish on his once-perfect record represented more than a simple lack of nerve or decline in skill—three consecutive losses meant his stats went down. And his sponsors didn’t want to back a loser.

“You already know why you lost.” Mako’s dark eyes studied him closely. “Doubt clouds your mind and your heart. Doubt and fear.”

“I’m not afraid, Sensei.”

“Not for yourself, perhaps, but for your opponents—” he nodded definitively, sharply “—yes. You feel pity for your adversaries. You do not think they are capable of defending themselves. This is not the way of the warrior, my friend.”

A long breath hissed out between Dom’s teeth. Mako was right, of course. Dom had been pulling his punches, hesitating too long before striking. He’d left himself open to his opponents’ attacks.

But he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Tell me what I must do to clear my mind, Sensei. I will do anything you ask.”

“Anything?” The older man chuckled. “Does winning mean so much to you?”

Dom thought about the UFF welterweight championship belt, the symbol of everything he’d worked toward since he was an angry young punk, looking for a fight. He’d traversed a long, hard road to get where he was today. “It does.”

Mako skewered him with a long, assessing glare. The smile dropped away from his face. “I will not be easy on you,” he warned.

“You were never easy on anyone, Sensei.”

“You will not complain or question what I make you do?”

“All I want is to get back in the cage and win the belt.”

“If that is all you want…very well.” He stood abruptly. “We begin now.”

And then a look of pure mischief appeared in Mako’s eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I HEAR THERE’S A NEW MAN in town.”

Fiona looked up as she was paying for her coffee and cinnamon buns in Josie Baby’s Bakery and Café. She seriously needed the break after the rough morning she’d had. The weekend part-timer had called in sick and there was a ton of shelving still to finish.

Josie “Baby” Banner grinned up at her wickedly. “He moved down the street from you, apparently.” She pushed a stray lock of curly dark hair behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

Fiona suppressed a smile. The rumor mill in Salmon River was as active as any other. If someone had seen her with Dominic…

But no, if they had, it would have been all over town by now. When news of Mitch’s crimes had reached Virginia, it had spread like wildfire and burned Fiona to a scandalous crisp.

“I spoke with him briefly.”

“Really? What’s he like? Is he cute?”

Fiona shrugged. She had to admit that Dom was stellar in the body department, with that T-shirt clinging to his sculpted form. He was dangerously sexy in a Vin Diesel kind of way. “I guess, if you like that sort of thing. Sean met him yesterday. He said he’s some kind of fighter.”

“Ooh, a bruiser.” Josie rubbed her hands together. “I love the rough-and-tumble types. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe you should go over and see for yourself.”

“Maybe I will. I’ll bring him a welcome cake.”

Fiona shrugged again, a little irked how Josie was so eager to please. Then again, it was the baker’s effusive friendliness that had earned Fiona one very good friend and ally in Salmon River. She wasn’t sure she could trust a guy like Dom with her friend’s tender heart, though. He didn’t strike her as the kind who would appreciate Josie’s sweet and giving nature.

Coffees and goodies in hand, Fiona walked down the street, passing the Five Elements Gym and Dojo on the way. The wide windows on the corner unit gave passersby a good view of the goings-on within, and it seemed there was quite a show. Most of the hovering gawkers were women.

“Who do you think he is?” Fiona overheard one ask.

“I hear he’s renting the Patterson place on Geneva Street. John Patterson told me he was getting a new short-term tenant.”

“Oh! Look what he’s doing now.”

Fiona glanced through the window and felt her eyebrows rise to her hairline. Dom was doing an advanced yoga position, a one-armed plank on a medicine ball. The other arm stuck straight up, perpendicular to the ground. His body rippled with sinewy muscles beneath his clinging T-shirt. He made the exercise look effortless.

“Oh, my,” a woman said, fanning herself. “What do you suppose he does for a living?”

“With a body like that, I wouldn’t care if he was a garbageman.”

Dom got up from the mat and glanced out the window, his eyes connecting with Fiona’s. There was no mistaking the spark of recognition in his baby blues. He gave her a salute.

Fiona felt heat climb up her neck. Arms loaded with coffee and pastries, she could do little more than nod. His grin broadened.

Thinking he’d been grinning at them, the other women collectively swooned. Fiona shook her head as they started arguing over who he’d been making eyes at. She walked back to the bookshop, feeling just a little sorry for Dominic Payette. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be swarmed by Salmon River’s most ardent husband hunters and matchmakers.

THE SMACK TO THE BACK of his head made Dom flinch, not in pain, but in surprise.

“What do you think you’re doing, Domo-san?” Mako tapped a rolled-up newspaper against his hip. He used to punish him with a swat whenever Dom’s attention wandered during lessons. It seemed old habits died hard.

“I was just waving to a friend.” Mrs. MacAvery, her blond hair shining in the sun, her eyes dark and watchful. A small part of him had wished one of those coffees and whatever was in that box had been for him, since he still hadn’t eaten a proper breakfast. Beyond the window and the staring faces he saw her enter the bookshop across the street. Maybe she worked there?

Thwack! The newspaper came down harder, bouncing off his scalp this time. “You have more important things than girls to think about right now,” Mako admonished with a dour look. “Give me twenty rolls.”

Dom suppressed a grim but knowing smile. He knew his sensei would keep him on track.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN FIONA FINISHED WORK at four o’clock, she went to get Sean from fun camp. Since so many people worked weekends to cater to the tourist crowds, the town’s family and community committee had set up the service so that parents would have somewhere to send their children who needed babysitting.

Sean shuffled over as she got out of the car. “Hey, sweetie.” Fiona didn’t lean in for a hug or a kiss; her son was getting to that age where he abhorred public displays of affection. She probably wouldn’t be able to call him “sweetie” soon, either.

Sean mumbled a reply, scuffing his toe against the ground.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked.

He shrugged thin shoulders. His T-shirt looked much more rumpled than usual. Then she noticed dark purple marks on his arm.

“Where’d you get that?” She pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and gasped at the sight of a huge new bruise. “Who did this?”

“Cut it out, Mom.” Sean pulled away and walked around the car to the passenger side.

“Ms. MacAvery?” The fun camp supervisor, Mrs. Madden, called. “Could I please speak with you?” It was practically a demand.

Fiona steeled herself. Seventy-seven-year-old Teresa Madden was a God-fearing widow whose acerbic tongue spared nobody. But her age, religious zeal and dedication to public service made her a paragon of virtue. She was active and volunteered her time to a lot of community causes. Fiona secretly suspected the old woman was like a shark, and would die if she stopped moving.

“Hello, Mrs. Madden,” she said, pasting on a smile.

The corners of the woman’s mouth were turned down so far it looked as if she’d drunk vinegar. “Sean was in another fight today. I had to pull him off Rene Kirkpatrick and send him to the closet for the entire afternoon.”

It was Fiona’s turn to frown. The closet was exactly that—an empty, windowless cubbyhole where ill-behaved students were sent to “think about their sins.” Unfortunately, it seemed the wrong kid had been punished again. Rene was half again as tall and heavy as Sean. Did Mrs. Madden really think her son could have pinned him to the ground?

“I don’t have to remind you about our three-strikes policy,” the woman said. She picked at the linty moss-green sweater she always wore, even though it was a balmy 78 degrees out. “And this is strike three. I’m going to have to ask you not to bring him here anymore.”

Exasperated, Fiona demanded, “Did you at least ask him what happened?”

“What was there to ask? I came out and saw your boy sitting on Rene’s chest. I may not be as young as you, but my old eyes still work.” Her mouth crimped in distaste. “If you don’t get a handle on your little hellion, he’ll end up in jail just like his father.”

Fiona reeled back in shock and anger. “I will not allow you to insult my son, Teresa. Sean is a well-behaved and polite young boy. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Rene. You know he provoked him to attack!” Her voice had risen to an angry pitch. “And Sean is nothing like his father.”

But her words bounced off the old woman’s thick hide. “Have a good day, Mrs. MacAvery. I don’t expect to see you or Sean here again.”

And that was that. Fiona could say nothing in protest, knew there was no one she could appeal to who would change Teresa Madden’s mind. She, like Denise, was a part of the Salmon River establishment. No one would raise a hand or a word against her better judgment.

Injustice burned through Fiona’s blood. She briefly considered flinging her purse at the old woman’s head, but counted to ten instead. Then she marched to the car, her hands balled into tight fists.

What was she supposed to do now? Saturday was the busiest day of the week at Leeds Reads, and her paycheck was dependent on those hours. But she couldn’t leave Sean at home alone all day.

Maybe Marion would allow him to stay in the back room of the store while she worked. Sean would hate it, especially now that the weather was so nice and summer break was coming up fast.

Her mind was scrambling for alternatives as she reached the car. Sean was waiting for her by the passenger door. He was staring intently at the tips of his shoes, his face beet-red as he held his breath, and held in his emotions.

Fiona sighed. Gently, she said, “Mrs. Madden says you got in a fight again.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Sean whipped his head up. “She didn’t even listen to me!”

“I know.” Fiona’s heart broke at her son’s anguish. It was so unfair that he had to go through this. “Sean…she said you can’t go to fun camp any more.”

His cheeks drained of color. “I hate it there any how,” he muttered, and spun around so she wouldn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. “No one there likes me.”

“I like you plenty.” Fiona tried for a smile, but her son just glared at her over his shoulder.

She grimaced. Sean needed friends his own age to play with. She couldn’t be everything to her son forever. “C’mon.” She unlocked the car doors. “Let’s go get some ice cream.” She couldn’t be his best friend, but she could at least try to cheer him up.

THE FAINT NOTES of the local rock station played in the background on the radio as they drove home, both thoroughly depressed. A trip to the park and a plain vanilla cone hadn’t cheered Sean up. He’d sat on a swing, grinding his shoes into the sand while kids played around him. Alone on a bench, Fiona could see mothers at the other end of the park glancing her way. And she’d wondered for a brief moment if worrying about her son’s isolation distracted her from thinking about her own.

A thin layer of cloud obscured the sun now, casting a wan silver light. The wind picked up as they drove.

When they crossed the bridge over the river, Sean sat up. “Look, it’s Dom!” It was the first time all day he’d appeared bright and alert.

Fiona saw her new neighbor jogging along the paved shoulder in a gray hoodie and sweat-pants. A mixture of anxiety and pleasure tumbled through her. She was still agitated by yesterday’s encounter, and didn’t really want to face him.

“Stop the car, Mom! Let’s offer him a ride.”

“Oh, Sean, I’m sure he…”

Sean rolled down his window as they approached, and stuck his head out, forcing Fiona to slow down. “Hi, Dom!”

“Hey, there, Sean.” Dom kept pace with the car, jogging backward. She struggled with the impulse to floor it and leave him in the dust.

“You want a ride home?” her son asked.

Dominic glanced past him to Fiona. “Climb in,” she said, wishing she could sound more enthusiastic as she pulled onto the shoulder.

Sean unbuckled his seat belt and got out, then climbed into the backseat. “You have long legs,” he said as Dom raised an eyebrow. “The front is better for tall people.” His legs were long. He wasn’t that tall, but in combination with everything else she’d seen, the proportions were perfect.

“Thanks, Sean,” he said. He climbed in and buckled up, then turned to her with another heart-melting smile. He smelled…clean. Mixed with the fresh air and vanilla ice cream, it was just a little intoxicating.

Fiona squirmed in her seat. What did she think she was doing, sniffing her neighbor?

“You raised him well, Mrs. MacAvery,” he said.

“It’s Miz, actually. Or, um, Fiona,” she offered after a moment. “Mrs. MacAvery” was what people called her mom, and it sounded way too formal.

“Fiona.” Dom flashed her another grin. “Funny, you look like a Fiona.”

Was he flirting with her? She concentrated on her driving instead of on the irregular pulse fluttering at her throat.

“I saw you head into the bookshop across the street from the dojo this morning,” he said. “Do you work there?”

“Oh, yeah, Mom loves it,” Sean answered before she could say anything. “And she gets me all kinds of stuff to read, too.”

“And how was your day?” Dom asked him.

“Oh. It was…” He trailed off into silence.

Fiona sensed Dom looking at her.

“Sean was kicked out of fun camp for getting into a fight,” she explained quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. It was the first time today he’d offered an apology or any kind of admission that he’d been at fault. “I didn’t mean it to happen.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t start anything.”

“Wait. Sean, did you start that fight?”

“Of course he didn’t.” Fiona couldn’t believe he’d even suggest her sweet, innocent son had instigated any kind of violence. “He wouldn’t—”

Dom placed a firm hand on her shoulder. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Let him answer.”

“He called Mom a dirty word,” Sean said.

Fiona flinched. “You mean Rene? What did he call me?”

“I don’t want to say it, Mom.”

“Are you telling me you started that fight?”

“He called you a dirty word!” Sean argued hotly. “He called you a—”

“You’re right,” Dom interjected, “we don’t need to hear the word, Sean.” Fiona’s grip on the wheel tightened as her temper ratcheted up at this man’s nerve. Dom went on, “I think it was honorable of you to defend your mother.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she snapped, and suddenly the day’s stress and frustration cascaded over her. “He got kicked out of camp because of his fighting. He didn’t have to let Rene bait him, but he did. Fun camp was the only place I could send him on Saturdays. What am I supposed to do now? Who’s going to take care of Sean while I go to work?”

Silence descended. Fiona glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Sean staring down at his hands, humiliated. Her heart sank.

“He fought for you,” Dom said quietly. “Aren’t you proud of him for defending you, even if he won’t defend himself?”

She’d had just about enough of Dominic Payette. “I’m his mother. I can take a little abuse from the Rene Kirkpatricks of the world. I don’t need anyone to tell me or my son how to behave.”

She felt her neighbor’s steely gaze on her, felt the intense pity there, and she hated it. She couldn’t pull onto their street soon enough.

“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you later,” Dom said as he got out of the car. Sean waved and watched him walk up the steps and into his house, even as Fiona jerked the car back onto the road and drove the last few yards up to their home.

Any distance that she could put between herself and her neighbor was welcome.

LATER THAT EVENING, the doorbell rang. Fiona was in the middle of preparing Sean’s favorite meal. When they’d returned home, her son had gone straight to his room and slammed the door behind him—again—telling her exactly how he felt.

“Dominic.” Her breath caught as she took in the figure filling the doorway. He’d changed out of his jogging clothes into jeans. A thin gray T-shirt stretched across his broad, muscled chest, tapering to his narrow hips and flat stomach. She stiffly asked, “Can I help you?”

“I really hate to bother you,” he said, “but I just blew a fuse and I can’t find the fuse box, or even a flashlight.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried calling my landlord, Mr. Patterson, but he’s not answering. Do you suppose I could borrow a flashlight, or a candle and some matches or something?”

Finally. An opportunity to make amends for her poor behavior. She wasn’t setting a good example for Sean. She needed to make things right between them…for her son’s sake.

“The layout of your house is a lot like mine, actually,” she said. “Give me a minute and I can show you exactly where the fuse box is.”

He seemed surprised by her offer. “I…yeah, okay, thanks.”

Gail was lounging on her front porch, so Fiona asked her to keep an eye on Sean for the few minutes she’d be away. She grabbed a pair of flashlights and walked across the street with Dom. “So what happened?”

“I plugged in my stereo and laptop, then went to boil some water for tea, and the power went out.”

Fiona nodded sympathetically. “My aunt Penelope, who owned the house before I moved in, put in all kinds of extraneous switches. To this day, I can’t use my toaster if the porch light is on, and there hasn’t been a single electrician who can figure out why without tearing the walls apart.”

They walked across the porch and stepped into the dark hallway. Fiona turned on the flashlights and handed one to Dom. It took her a minute to adjust to the layout, a near mirror image of her own house. “This way.” She led him to the basement.

The lower level was pitch-black and smelled musty. Fiona shone the light around and found a curtained-off corner where the electrical box was hidden. Fortunately, John Patterson had upgraded the most important components so that all she had to do was flip the breaker switch on the panel. She could hear the hum as appliances upstairs turned back on.

“There you go.” It was still dark in the basement, but another pass of the flashlight beam revealed a switch on the wall.

She didn’t realize Dom had gone for it, too, until they crashed into one another in the dark. Fiona’s face collided with his chest, squashing her nose and knocking her flashlight away.

“Sorry,” he murmured. She felt his warm hand grip her waist to steady her. “Are you all right?”

She peered up, just making out his rugged features, his square jaw and high cheekbones, in the soft, yellow light of his flashlight. His eyes were in shadow, but she could tell he was looking at her.

Her gaze automatically went to his mouth, and she licked her lips.

What would it be like to taste him? The thought flew at her from nowhere, but the absurdity of it didn’t keep her from leaning forward, drawn magnetically as if by some—

Something small and dark was inching across his throat. Fiona screamed and jerked out of his hold. “S-spider! Spider!”

Dom reached up, brushing the little creature away.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” Fiona cried, shrinking back. She cringed, her skin crawling.

“It’s gone.” Dom flicked on the light switch. The harsh bluish glare of the compact fluorescent blinded her momentarily. “Arachnophobia?”

“No. Well, yes. Let’s get out of here.” She pounded up the steps, careful not to touch anything.

When they reached the kitchen, Fiona kept shaking her hair.

“How about some tea?” Dom offered slowly, watching her nervous twitching with concern. “I’ve got this great jasmine green tea. It’s very good for soothing nerves.”

She gave her head one last shake before folding her hands and nodding resolutely.

“Sorry I screamed in your face,” she said, once they’d settled down with their little clay cups of tea. “I hate spiders.”

“I figured.”

“No, I mean, I really hate them.”

“That’s okay. Fear’s a good thing. It lets us know we’re alive.” He said softly, “Don’t tell anyone, but…I’m afraid of mice.”

“Mice?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s so scary about them?”

“I just can’t stand all those squeaking noises, and their little pink tails…. And don’t get me started on rats!” He shuddered.

“I’d brave a vat of mice and rats over a tank of spiders any day.”

“Let’s make a deal then. I’ll get rid of all the spiders in your house if you get rid of any mice that show up in mine.” They laughed together.

Hearing about each other’s quirky phobias opened a door that Fiona forced herself to step through.

“I want to apologize,” she blurted, before pride could stop her, “for the way I’ve been treating you. Not just today, but from the moment we met. It’s just that…seeing Sean come home all roughed up…” She spread her hands helplessly. “I just blew up, and you were unfortunate enough to be in my line of fire. It wasn’t the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood. Not at all.” Her apology loosened the knot in her gut.

Dom leaned forward. “Listen…it’s not my place to tell you how to raise your son. But I was bullied a lot as a kid, too, so I know what he’s going through.”

“You were bullied?” She had a hard time imagining anyone picking on him.

“You don’t have to be small or weak to be a victim. Just different.”

Sadly, Sean was all those things. “Try to understand. I don’t want Sean fighting. I don’t want him to think fists will solve all his problems. His father…” She hesitated. “My ex-husband wasn’t very tolerant or patient. He brought a lot of anger and violence into the house.”

In an instant, Dom’s expression turned dark and fierce. Fiona nearly inched away from him. “Did he hurt you? Did he hurt Sean?” His voice was low, dangerous, almost a growl. The hairs on her neck rose.

“No, no, Mitch wasn’t like that. I guess you could say it was verbal and emotional abuse.” But she refrained from admitting she had always been afraid he would snap one day and take his threats further.

“Sean’s had enough of that kind of fear in his life,” she went on. “I know the situation with those bullies is bad, but…” She trailed off. It was frustrating feeling so powerless, so inadequate, so incapable of protecting her son, the one person who mattered to her most.

“Let me teach Sean,” Dom said.

“What?”

“You said he’s been kicked out of Saturday fun camp. Sensei Miwa has a youth beginners’ class at nine in the morning on Saturdays. Bring him to the class, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the rest of the day while you work.”

“Absolutely not,” Fiona said, alarmed by the suggestion. “I barely know you.”

“You live across the street from me. And you work across the street from the dojo. Sensei Miwa will be on-site at all times. Sean’s perfectly safe.”

“I thought I made it clear I don’t want him learning how to fight.”

“He’d be learning self-defense,” Dom countered in his calm, resonant voice. “I can show him techniques to disable his opponents long enough that he could get away. It would be good for his self-confidence.”

“Look, I appreciate your offer, but Sean is my—”

“Do you think you can protect him when he hits thirteen? Fourteen? Seventeen? Twenty?”

Fiona breathed deeply, counting to ten and letting the tension drain from her. “I know you have ideas of what might benefit Sean, but this is something I need to work out on my own.”

Dom’s concerned expression told her he wasn’t going to push it, even if he also seemed to be sizing up an opponent.

“Promise me you’ll talk to him about it, at least. And that you’ll think about my offer,” he said.

As if. How could she possibly trust Dom with her son if she couldn’t trust herself with the man?

CHAPTER FOUR

A WEEK AND A HALF AFTER Dom’s arrival in town, mixed martial arts suddenly became the latest craze and Salmon River’s favorite sport. Fiona hadn’t realized just how well-known Dominic “The Dominator” Payette was until she started hearing his name on the lips of every customer at the bookstore.

From them she learned about his upcoming championship title match, and about the three exhibition matches he’d lost in the past few months. It was more than she really wanted or needed to know about her neighbor, but the details trickled in as steadily as the boys—and girls—who came in, wanting to learn more about the mixed martial arts hero.

“I guess I’d better stock up. I’m nearly out of books about MMA,” her boss, Marion Leeds, said as yet another parent and child walked out with a book about mixed martial arts. She flipped through a volume, grinning at the pictures of shirtless men grappling together. “That’s one heck of a sport.” She fanned herself.

“I’d hardly call punching and kicking someone until they bleed a sport,” Fiona said. To her, fighting was fighting, and self-defense was just another form of it. Sean should be learning to avoid violence. Besides, the last thing she wanted was for him to think he could actually take someone on and win. He was sure to get hurt.

Still, she knew Dom was at least partially right about her son’s self-confidence. Earlier in the week, she’d gone to pick him up from school, and found Rene Kirkpatrick’s gang taunting him from the other side of the fence. “Baby boy, baby boy, mama’s little baby boy!” they’d cried.

Sean’s face had gone nearly purple with suppressed rage. Fiona’s praise for his keeping it together was met by the most scathing backlash yet.

“Well, someone calls it a sport,” Marion countered. “And if it gets people reading and buying, it’s all good to me. I’m going to see what I can order in for a fast turnaround.” She headed to the back room, tucking the book filled with semiclad men under her arm.

Sean had a doctor’s appointment on Main Street after school. Fiona picked him up and parked back at the bookstore. As they passed the dojo, Sean was drawn to the huge windows.

“Hey, Mom, look, it’s Dom!”

She balked, but followed him to the window. Dom was wearing a gi—the traditional white karate uniform—his chest bare beneath the loose-fitting top, intense concentration carved into his face. He was taking his frustrations out on a punching bag braced by Mako Miwa.

Sean rapped on the glass and yelled, “Dom! Hi, Dom!”

“Sean, that’s rude.” Fiona wanted to hustle her son away before she was forced to meet Dom’s gaze. “He’s training. He doesn’t need to be bothered.”

But Dom turned and said something to his teacher, who nodded and went to the door.

Mako Miwa was Salmon River’s only Japanese resident, so Fiona knew him on sight. He was a compact man, half a head shorter than Dom, neither fat nor thin, with slick black hair and near-black eyes. His air of dignity and serenity told Fiona he’d seen the greater part of his life.

She remembered him once waving at her and Sean after a particularly nasty fistfight between Sean and some kids from school. Everyone else in town had steered clear of them, but Mako Miwa had seemed unaware of their plight, and had simply smiled.

The karate master grinned at them now, hands clasped together. “Dom would like to see you,” he said after he’d introduced himself. “Please, come in.”

“We really shouldn’t. Sean has a doctor’s appointment in about fifteen minutes….”

“Just a quick visit?” Mako suggested.

“Please, Mom? Can we?”

She stared down at her son and gave in.

Stepping past the threshold, Sean removed his shoes. “You have to do that, Mom,” he insisted. “It’s not polite to wear your shoes inside.”

“Well, that, and it gets the mats muddy,” Mako said. “You know something about dojos, then?”

“Just what I read in manga and on the net.”

Mako chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day when Japanese comics would be a big thing with kids in America, especially in a town as small as this.”

Fiona was impressed by what her son had learned. It shouldn’t have surprised her, though; he was a gifted child. She just hoped he wasn’t getting any crazy ideas that he could do any of the things the characters in the comic books could. Like helicopter-kicking a bad guy, or upper-cutting them into the sky.

Don’t be ridiculous. Sean was smarter than that. Fiona had grown up with the likes of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, and she’d turned out fine…. Though admittedly, dropping an anvil on her ex-husband’s head would have a certain appeal.

Dom slung a towel over his shoulders as he approached. “Hi, Sean, Fiona. How are you two doing?”

Fiona felt a tingle all the way to her toes. When had a man’s sweat become an aphrodisiac?

“Great,” Sean chirped. “What were you doing just then? Was that a kata?”

“Just a training exercise to focus my coordination.”

“It looked really cool. What else can you do?”

“Well…”

“Can you do spinning roundhouse kicks? Or flips? I’ve been looking stuff up on the internet that I want to learn.”

Dom glanced at Fiona. “Oh, so you told him?”

Uh-oh.

“Told me what?” Sean looked from one adult to the other.

Before Fiona could find the right words, Dom said, “I talked to your mom about you coming to the dojo on Saturdays while she’s at work. I’ve already cleared it with Sensei Miwa.”

Sean’s mouth dropped open.

“Not that I consider myself a babysitter of any kind.” Mako crossed his arms over his chest. “The dojo is a place of serious business and study. I would require your son to participate in lessons and chores, as all the other students do. He’d have to help keep the dojo clean and raise funds for its upkeep. Most important, he’d have to learn to respect his elders and his fellow students, and uphold the teachings of karate-do and martial arts.”

The gravity of his words settled over Fiona’s shoulders like a mantle. She felt trapped, caught between two adults and her son, who seemed to like the prospect of doing chores in some smelly gym. She grasped for her only real excuse. “I don’t think I can afford it right now—”

“You can take it out of the college fund Grandma and Grandpa set up for me,” Sean volunteered eagerly. “That’s what it’s for, right? Learning? I could learn stuff here!”

Fiona closed her eyes. She wished Sean hadn’t mentioned his well-padded trust fund. The money would have gone a long way to helping her make ends meet, but she’d refused to rely on her parents for anything. They’d sided with Mitch when he’d been hauled off to jail, and had berated her for not standing up for her husband, despite everything he’d put his family through.

She hadn’t seen her parents since she and Sean had moved from New Hampshire, and they hadn’t tried to contact her, either, not even to talk to their grandson. The only things still connecting them was that big chunk of money. It would be used when Sean did eventually go to college, but until then, Fiona was adamant about supporting him on her own.

“I really can’t talk about this right now,” she said, glancing at her watch pointedly. “Sean’s doctor’s appointment…”

“Of course.” Dom nodded. “Just promise me you’ll talk things over with Sean before you make any decisions.”

She shot him a look. What kind of person did he think she was?

In the waiting room at the doctor’s, Sean pleaded with her to let him take karate lessons. It quickly degraded into an argument that pingponged between petulant cries of “Please, Mom,” and her deadpanned “I’ll think about it.”

The battle continued on the drive home. But when he couldn’t get her to say yes, Sean stomped up to his room.

She was trying hard to see Dom’s side of things, she really was. Sean could use every ounce of self-esteem he could get. But what if he learned the wrong lessons from these martial arts classes? She thought about Dom driving those powerful fists into the leather punching bag, his furious concentration—and all she could think of was Mitch punching yet another hole in the drywall, or smashing another plate on the floor and muttering how one day it would be her face.

Fiona shuddered. If she allowed Sean, whose temper sometimes flared like his father’s, to learn these deadly skills… What if he used his karate moves on someone and that person got hurt?

There was another reason she didn’t want Sean going to the dojo. Dominic Payette was very much the kind of man Fiona used to have a thing for, the charming bad boy who could have her at his feet with a mere smile and a crook of his finger. Just as Mitch had done.

She couldn’t deny the fighter’s magnetic attraction. Leaving her son in Dom’s care would force her to be in regular contact with him. And she could already feel her defenses lowering around him.

Fundamentally, she simply could not accept Dom as an appropriate role model for Sean. He beat people up for a living. There was nothing about that she could respect.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thumping noise followed by a crash. She pounded up the stairs.

“Sean, are you okay?” She burst into his room and stared at the carnage.

A shelf she’d put up above the bed hung loosely from one bracket. Books and knickknacks were scattered everywhere, and the ceramic Winnie the Pooh reading lamp Sean had owned since he was a baby had been smashed to bits. Her son stood wide-eyed on the bed.

“I didn’t do it!”

Then Fiona saw the video clip playing on Sean’s computer. In it, a man in a gi performed a high kick, breaking a wood board with his shin. The title of the video: How To Do a Roundhouse Kick.

Sean was smart. He had the internet, and even if she cut that off, she knew he’d just go to the library. He would learn whatever he wanted in whatever way he could, and there was no way to stop him short of tying him to the bed.

So she had a choice: he could learn martial arts from a master in a controlled environment, or he could teach himself until he broke something else. Like his neck.

Fiona sagged in defeat.

Dom had won this round.

CHAPTER FIVE

“DON’T DO ANYTHING you’re not comfortable doing,” Fiona told her eager son as she walked him to the dojo the following Saturday. She’d had about three dozen misgivings since she’d informed Dom she would take him up on his offer. But she couldn’t change her mind now. No one was available to babysit. Sean had nowhere else to go. “And don’t be surprised if you don’t get things right away. Karate’s hard.”

“I know that, Mom.” He rolled his eyes.

“Be respectful toward Mr. Miwa, you hear? He’s allowing you to go to these classes and stay at the dojo all day for next to nothing, so if he asks you to help clean up or tells you to sit and be quiet, you do it.” She amended quickly, “But don’t do anything that feels wrong.”

Sean stared at her, confused. “How do I know if something feels wrong?”

“You just do.” She wished she had a more concrete answer.

When they walked in, Dom was warming up, doing push-ups on his knuckles. Mako looked on. The dojo owner had changed into a gi, as well, presumably for the class he was about to teach.

“Good morning, Fiona, Sean,” Dom called as he finished his reps.

Sean toed his shoes off and quickly knelt at the edge of a mat. “Good morning, Sensei Miwa. Good morning, Sensei Payette.” He prostrated himself, and Fiona felt a strange mixture of pride and protectiveness. Was he supposed to act so humbly? What kind of self-confidence was kowtowing to people supposed to inspire?

Mako made a little chuckling noise. “And I didn’t even have to show him. He’s good.”

“He’s got internet access,” Fiona said wryly, and briefly told the two men about the incident with the shelf.

“Already looking to do advanced lessons, I see.” Dom clapped Sean’s shoulder. “But as Sensei is fond of saying, the tree cannot grow until its roots are set.”

Sean blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“It means you can’t advance your knowledge until you have the basics down.”

“Oh.” Sean’s forehead furrowed in thought. “I’m ready to learn.”

“Here.” Mako handed him a white gi. “Get changed, and then I’ll walk you through the dojo etiquette.” He pointed to the change room in the back. The boy leaped to his feet.

The karate master turned to Fiona. “Your son is in good hands here, Ms. MacAvery. Dominic is an excellent teacher, and I’m not too bad myself.”

Fiona glanced uneasily between the men. It felt like the first day of school all over again, giving up her son to strangers. But Sean was ten now, not four. She had to trust he would be all right. “I’m right across the street if you need me. If he gets hurt, please let me know right away.”

“He’ll be fine, Fiona,” Dom said. “Trust me.”

SEAN PROVED TO BE an eager student and an adept learner. He knew exactly where to sit in the dojo when the beginner class came, greeted all the students with somewhat timid deference, but treated them with curiosity and respect. Dom was impressed.

He wondered how long Sensei Miwa had been watching young Sean MacAvery, how much he’d known about the little boy and his mother before he’d suggested Dominic take him on as a pupil. Dom didn’t understand why it had been a requirement of his retraining; he’d thought he would be meditating or learning more advanced moves. Regardless, it made sense to give Sean this opportunity.

When the beginners had all lined up, Mako introduced Sensei Dominic Payette as his most prized student and a gifted teacher. The novices, as young as eight and as old as eighteen, greeted Dom with the same precision and etiquette Sensei had drilled into him, but some of the boys clearly recognized him from the UFF.

After Mako introduced their newest student, he paired Sean with Blake Anders, a seventeen-year-old from the advanced class who drove in from a neighboring town just so he could learn from Sensei Miwa. The young man was an exceptional martial artist and eager to share his skills with others. He was also patient and kind. He would be a good mentor to Sean, and Dom in turn would reward Blake by teaching him new skills.

That was the way of the dojo: wisdom and skills were passed from student to student. Seniors would not disregard younger or less advanced students, and juniors were expected to respect and be grateful for anything their teachers passed on. It was an environment that had once been totally alien to Dom, who’d never known respect and honor.

The class went through a warm-up and some basic exercises. Sean followed along as best he could, with Blake at his side correcting his posture and the placement of his feet. Dom noticed Sean didn’t need to be told twice what to do.

As Dom followed along with the beginners’ class, he recalled the day Mako had caught him trying to steal his car. That had been the lowest point in Dom’s life. Who knew where he’d be today if the old man hadn’t stopped him?

And stopped him he had. Before Dom even knew someone was there, he’d been thrown to the pavement with his arm pinned behind his back.

“Tap out?” Mako had asked, a note of laughter vibrating through his words.

“Get off me, man! I didn’t do anything!”

“I asked you a question, boy. Tap out?” Mako pulled his arm snug against him, sending a sharp pain through his back.

“Ow! Yes! I tap out! Stop!”

The karate master let go and Dom scrambled to his feet, prepared to flee. But the dojo owner had scrutinized him with those fathomless eyes and smiled. With a firm grasp on his wrist that made Dom realize he wasn’t going anywhere without breaking a femur, the sensei had led him inside his dojo and offered him a cup of tea.

And they’d talked. About why Dom was trying to steal his car; about why a young man like him was on the dangerous New Orleans streets in the middle of the night rather than safe at home.

It had taken some time, but eventually Dom had poured his heart out to the dojo owner about his self-destructive father, the death of his mother, the destitution her illness had left them in.

Mako offered him a path then: join the dojo and learn karate. Dom could take up a custodial position at the center, and Mako would pay him minimum wage and give him lessons for free.

Dom had nothing else to look forward to, so he’d accepted. In time he’d climbed the ladder of belts, and eventually became involved in mixed martial arts. When Dom had told him he was going to compete in the UFF, Mako hadn’t been as supportive, preferring that his surrogate son continue to study karate-do, but he’d understood the young man’s need to compete and bring honor to himself.

And Dom was so close.

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