by Vicki Essex
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.
Thwack!
“Daydreaming, Sensei Dom?” Mako scowled at him, tapping the newspaper against his hip.
Dom rubbed his head. “Sorry, Sensei.”
Mako harrumphed. “Fifty rolls.”
Sean looked on in awe. At least someone was learning how not to be distracted.
AT LUNCHTIME, after the students had cleared out and Sean had joined his mom for a meal, Dom remained in the dojo to meditate. It was a peaceful moment in a familiar setting, with the whir of a fan lulling him into a relaxed state. He closed his eyes and gave his mind over to a half sleep. It was during these times that he hoped to find absolution for what he’d done to Bruno DiMartino, to grasp some kind of insight into his impotence in the cage. He searched his soul, but there was no Zen to be found.
His thoughts took a turn toward blond hair and dark eyes. Fiona MacAvery’s fervent need to protect her son was both her greatest strength and weakness. He saw something more in her, though. He couldn’t quite name it, but he suspected it was linked to her ex-husband, a man Dom instantly didn’t like. Even if he’d never met him. He didn’t like bullies in general, and he certainly didn’t like men who threatened women and children. But this was a more personal dislike. Mitch, he remembered, giving the villain a name.
Dom was on his feet instantly and working through the sudden burst of aggression, shadowboxing with a foe he had never met. Perhaps this was the key, he thought, clinging to the adrenaline rush. If he could harness this fury and use it in his match against Andrew Atlas…
Someone knocked loudly on the plate-glass window, disturbing his routine.
It had never bothered him before, having so many people staring at him as he trained. Being in the UFF, he’d constantly been surrounded by promoters, officials, reporters, fans and lots of women vying for his attention. But the women of Salmon River seemed to be particularly aggressive. He felt as if he were trapped in a fishbowl.
A pair of women entered. He cursed himself for not locking the door as Mako had suggested. A tall, attractive brunette was flanked by a petite blonde whose ringlets bounced with Shirley Temple joie de vivre.
“Hello,” the brunette said. “Would you be Dominic Payette?”
Shirley Temple rolled her eyes. “Of course he is, Denise. Who else would he be? You have his picture in your— Ow!” She rubbed her arm where her friend had smacked her.
Denise stuck out a hand. “Denise Kirkpatrick. I’m the head of the Salmon River Arts Council. This is my associate, Selma.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Oh, you have an accent! Let me guess— N’Awlins?”
Selma rolled her eyes.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
Denise smiled. “I hope so. As you might have noticed from all the banners, the Salmon River Arts Fair is coming up at the end of next month. Everyone here has been dying to meet you—hard to escape the town’s notice, as you can probably tell. So we were wondering if you’d give a demonstration. We’re going to have a stage set up in Fielder’s Park. The crowds would love to see you in action.”
“I know I would,” Selma murmured.
Dom shook his head. “I’m really sorry, but I’m in the middle of training.”
“I’m sure Mr. Miwa would agree that even a short performance would raise the profile of his school.”
“That’s something you’ll have to take up with him.” Though Dom would love for his master to have more students, and was all for spreading martial arts and the Way, he had to put his fight first.
“What can you tell me about karate, Mr. Payette?” Selma interjected quickly, sensing he was losing interest. “Is it hard to learn?”
“It’s only as difficult as the student is to teach.”
Selma scratched her elbow. “It’s just that… Well, not that Salmon River is a dangerous place, but sometimes we—women—like to know we can handle the yahoos who come in on the weekends and have one too many at Pete’s.”
Pete’s was a bar on the west end of downtown, at the very end of Main Street. Dominic had seen it on his way to the grocery store.
Denise nodded earnestly. “That’s right—Selma here works at Pete’s, and she’s always getting the rowdy ones all over her.”
“I was just wondering…does Mr. Miwa— I mean, Sensei Miwa—hold a women’s self-defense class?”
“He used to teach one, but I don’t think it ever generated enough interest here.”
>
“Oh, there’s interest, believe you me,” Selma said, casting him a sly smile.
“Again, ladies, you’ll have to talk about it with him. I’m just a visitor here. I’m sure Sensei would be happy to teach you if you wish to learn.” Dom wanted to leave it at that, but the women were more tenacious than a strong opponent’s choke-hold.
“I have a son,” Denise said. She smiled up at him, revealing big, orthodontist-perfect teeth. “Rene…he’s a darling, but since his father left…” She shrugged. “Well, I’m thinking of enrolling him in a karate class to give him a boost.”
“Anyone can benefit from martial arts,” Dom said. “Maybe if you visit the website for more information—”
The door opened. Sean and Fiona walked in, back from their lunch break. They stopped when they saw Denise and Selma. Dom wasn’t sure what was going on, but Fiona’s eyes narrowed on him, then cut to Denise.
Sean frowned as he removed his sneakers. “You’re supposed to take your shoes off when you come in here, Mrs. Kirkpatrick,” he lectured sternly. “You’re getting dirt on the mats.” He disappeared into the change room without another word.
Denise watched him go, her face a study in bemusement. She tilted her head up and regarded Dom. “Is he one of your students?”
“My newest.”
“I didn’t know Sean was into martial arts,” she said casually to Fiona.
Fiona’s voice was a thread of steel. “I figure it’s time he learns to defend himself against bullies.”
“Well, I suppose since he got kicked out of fun camp, he’ll need something to keep him occupied.”
And then Dom saw it. Denise Kirkpatrick was the mother of that boy he’d seen kick Sean.
Denise’s smile seemed forced. “I was just saying to Mr. Payette that women would flock here if he and Mr. Miwa were to hold a women’s self-defense class. You’d join, wouldn’t you? I mean, with that husband of—”
“Ex-husband.”
The brunette nodded emphatically. “Ex. Right. In any case, Selma could use a few tips on how to beat the men off, too. And with me, why, that’s three students right there. How many more would you need to fill a class? Because I know plenty of women who—”
“I’m not interested,” Fiona stated, cutting her off. “Excuse me, but I have to get back to work.”
“Oh, but wouldn’t it be nice if we could get all the women together to do something fun like this?”
“Ladies, the next class is going to start soon, so I’ll need to ask you to please come back some other time.” All Fiona’s negative energy was flooding the dojo. “It really is a moot point until you speak to Sensei Miwa.”
“About what?” The old man had just stepped in off the street and was taking in the dojo’s visitors. His mouth turned down when he spotted the women’s shoes grinding dirt into the mats.
“Ah, Mr. Miwa, there you are….” Denise and Selma closed in on him and started their spiel all over again.
But when Dom turned to talk to Fiona, she’d already left.
CHAPTER SIX
FIONA SERVED DINNER in zombie mode, barely registering her son’s lecture. It had been four days and still Sean would not stop talking about his new hero and his first karate class. She didn’t think so many sentences could starting with “Dom.”
At least he hadn’t been covered in bruises after his first day. He’d looked perfectly fine, though obviously tuckered out. He’d made a big deal about cleaning up after Denise had tracked dirt into the dojo, and went on at length about the chores Mako and Dom had charged him with, like cleaning the windows and sweeping and dusting.
“I just hope I’m not complicit in some child slave labor ring or something,” she told Josie over coffee. Her friend had brought a blueberry pie for dessert, seeking gossip and a little company. Sean had refused a slice of pie at first, claiming it was full of “empty calories,” but he had eventually scarfed it down after Josie assured him that blueberries were an important source of antioxidants.
“Sean’s a big boy. He can handle some hard work.” Josie helped herself to another slice. “Didn’t you ever watch The Karate Kid? This is exactly like that scene where Mr. Miyagi gets Daniel-san to paint the house and wax the cars.” She mimed Ralph Macchio performing the circular hand movements. “‘Wax on, wax off.’”
“I don’t want him doing more than he’s capable of. I mean, he’s just a kid.”
“A kid who’s growing up faster than you can keep him down. C’mon, Fi, you need to loosen those apron strings.”
“I let him have plenty of freedom,” she protested.
“But you still treat him like he’s six years old and has just lost his daddy.”
“You don’t get it,” Fiona argued. “You don’t even have kids.”
“Way to rub it in.”
Fiona cringed. “Sorry.” Above all things, Josie wanted to have a baby, whether or not there was a father attached to it. She’d even been considering a sperm donor to make her wish come true. “I get defensive when people try to tell me how to do things.”
Fiona had been a spoiled only daughter to a wealthy New Hampshire couple, and her parents had dictated everything about her life, including what she wore, what college she went to and how she should live after college. Ironically, her only means of rebelling had been her downfall.
Mitch had been a bad boy, a flirt and “perfectly working middle-class.” He wasn’t exactly from the wrong side of the tracks, but that modicum of parental disapproval, however slight, was good enough for Fiona.
And then she’d gotten pregnant. Sean had been the one saving grace of their disastrous marriage.
“I got the third degree from my parents,” Fiona went on, “and then from Mitch. Now that I’m free and finally have a life—”
Josie laughed. “You have a life? Where are you hiding it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Only that your so-called life has revolved entirely around Sean for the past ten years. When was the last time you were on a date?”
“I’ve been on dates.” She’d been asked out several times by various men, but the calls had stopped after news about Mitch had broken out. And Sean was her first priority. “I’ve dated,” she muttered defensively.
“If you ask me, you need to get out there. Find yourself a man—short-term, even. Like, maybe that hot neighbor of yours?”
“Dom?” Heat flushed through Fiona at the thought.
“He’s single, sexy and guaranteed short-term. He’s only here for a few months, right?”
“He’s Sean’s teacher. I can’t date him.”
“Why not?”
She shifted in her seat. “He’s…not my type.”
“Hon, he’s twenty-eight, five-ten and 175 pounds. With those muscles, he’s every girl’s type.” Josie’s face melted into a dreamy smile and Fiona stared at her, dumbfounded. “What? I went online and checked out his stats. You should see some of the videos of him fighting. He must have incredible stamina…” Her eyes glazed over dreamily.
“If you’re so interested in him, why don’t you go after him?”
Josie lifted her chin. “I chase easier meals, darlin’.”
Fiona shook her head. “Speaking of easy, you should have seen Denise Kirkpatrick and Selma Van Nussen all over him the other day.” She grabbed their empty plates and forks and put them in the sink. “I can’t believe Denise trying to use me to get Dom to teach a women’s self-defense class. That woman is a conniving, manipulative…”
“Jealous?” Josie asked with a smirk.
“What? Me? Of Denise? Hardly.” That intense feeling at the sight of Denise Kirkpatrick standing so close to Dom was disgust, not envy. “And even if he is into her, that’s his business.”
“No, not jealous at all, I see.”
Fiona shot her a dirty look.
“You should give her a chance. She’s not all that bad. I mean, she’s involved in all kinds of local charities, she regularly canvasses
the mayor for various causes, she supports all the town businesses….”
“She buys all her coffee from you….”
“Exactly! With her money, she could ship it in from any Starbucks in the state. But she buys her stuff from me. That must earn her at least one brownie point.”
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Sean hollered, pounding down the stairs. Where he’d dug up that reserve of energy when he’d been too tired to help with dinner dishes, Fiona just didn’t know.
“Hi, Dom!” she heard her son exclaim.
Josie’s eyes met hers and she waggled her eyebrows. Fiona remained seated as Sean skipped into the kitchen, his teacher in tow.
“Hey, Mom, it’s Dom.” He grinned at his rhyme.
“I can see that.” She nodded to her neighbor. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Me?” Josie stood and stuck out her hand. “Josie Banner. I own Josie Baby’s Bakery, down the street from Five Elements.”
“I should be cursing you instead of shaking your hand,” he said. “It’s hard to resist the smell of fresh baked goods when I’m training.” The wide, heartmelting smile he sent her stirred a cloud of stinging gnats inside Fiona’s brain. She was not jealous. “After I win the belt, I’ll be sure to make my way over. There was a banana loaf in the window that had my name on it.”
“Ooh, I like this one,” Josie said to Fiona, and winked at Dominic. “Tell you what—since you’re so worried about your fine figure, next week I’ll make you some of my super-healthy granola nut bars. They’re chock-full of things for growing boys like you. The weekend hikers and runners love ’em.”
“That’d be great. I prefer natural foods over processed snacks. You never know what’s gone into them.”
“Nothing but the finest ingredients in my goodies.” She fluttered her lashes, and Fiona stifled a groan. Josie was a born flirt, but did she have to lay it on quite so thick? And in front of her son, no less.
“Was there something you came by for, Dom?” Fiona asked.