Her Son's Hero

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.