by Vicki Essex
He laughed and stood down. “It won’t hurt, I swear. Just hold it there. Close your eyes if you have to.”
“If I close my eyes, I won’t see you coming.”
“That’s the point.” And before she could react, he’d crouched in his ready position and connected a powerful cross jab to her mitt. She hadn’t been prepared, but she hadn’t been bowled over, either—the bend at her elbow recoiled and absorbed most of the shock.
“Good. Now just stay like that.” He began a rapid succession of jabs and cross jabs, hooks, overhands and uppercuts to the pads, the little exhalation of breath each time he connected punctuating the contact. Fiona remained stiff, catching his punches, afraid that if she moved he’d miss and hit her in the face.
“I won’t hit you, I promise,” he said, reading her mind, still weaving and bobbing. “Now, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
She tensed, and the next jab reverberated through her bones. Dom let Fiona relax for a moment.
“Sean just told me Rene Kirkpatrick joined the new beginners’ karate class,” she said, signaling for him to resume. Dom’s fists impacted lightly against the pads and she planted her feet wider apart, preparing to receive harder blows.
“Ah. I thought you might see me about that.” He delivered another set of punches, left, right, left.
“You have to tell Sensei Miwa he can’t teach that boy.”
“Why not?”
“Rene is dangerous enough as it is. He doesn’t need martial arts. I enrolled Sean in the class to help him learn how to defend himself against that kid.” Discerning a pattern to Dom’s attack, she caught his fists and managed to push back against him. He stepped up his pace, grinning.
“So you admit Sean is learning to defend himself, not learning how to beat kids up,” he countered.
“Sean knows better than to engage. It’s kids like Rene who’d be learning how to beat kids up.”
“He does that fine on his own already.” A grim expression crossed Dom’s face, and he paused before commencing a new round of jabs and hooks and overhand punches. Fiona caught his fists easily, feeling a pleasant burn in her shoulders.
“He shouldn’t be in that class, not with Sean. It’s all the excuse he needs to pick on him.”
“Look, it’s not my decision to make. Sensei doesn’t turn down anyone who wants to learn.” Dom delivered a rapid, forceful volley of punches, and Fiona barely kept up. Sweat trickled down her forehead. “Rene won’t pick on Sean. Your son is the more senior student, and you know the etiquette. Sensei won’t accept any less than complete adherence to the rules, and he doesn’t tolerate bullies. If anything, this class might be good for Rene. Maybe he’ll learn about honor in the sparring ring.”
“But what happens once the boys step outside the dojo? The street’s a different battleground altogether.”
“I trust Sensei Miwa to instill a code of honor in all his students. He’s straightened out some nasty ruffians in the past.”
There was a story here, but Fiona was too irritated to stop and think about it. “I can’t believe Denise,” she growled. She met Dom’s strikes, feeling a shot of satisfaction each time she knocked those big fists away. “She knew Sean was in that class and had to make sure Rene was in one, too.”
“You really don’t like her much, do you?” Dom’s eyes remained focused on her mitts.
Fiona snorted. “I don’t have time for Denise. She coddles Rene and treats everyone else like they’re below her.”
“She coddles him because she cares about her child.”
“And why, exactly, are you running to her defense?”
Dom’s gaze shifted and locked with hers. “I know a proud mother when I see one.” He jabbed quickly, one-two. “She cares for her son the same way you do for Sean. She’ll do anything to protect Rene—not unlike you, actually.”
“I have nothing in common with Denise Kirkpatrick!”
“You’re both divorced. You both have sons the same age. You’d both do anything for them.”
“But I don’t try to destroy her reputation by spreading rumors about her ex-husband.” Fiona gritted her teeth. “I don’t say nasty things to undermine her and make her look like some charity case. I don’t let my son pick on hers for being different while the whole town looks on!”
Dom stepped back as Fiona lunged forward with a wild right hook. He caught her wrist neatly with his ungloved hand then yanked her against him in an unyielding hold. She cried out in shock, thrashing, trying to break free, screaming at him to let go. But Dom’s steel-cable forearms easily locked her against him.
Gradually, the fight drained out of her. Only when she stopped struggling did he relax his hold.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Outrage, frustration, helplessness and humiliation washed in and out of her with each gasping breath. How could she have let her feelings get so out of control? Why was she even letting Denise get under her skin? When had she become such a bitter, cynical, hateful person? And she’d taken it out on Dom, of all people. He’d never done a thing, except try to help her.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. A sudden need to cry burned in her throat, stung her eyes, but she refused to succumb to it.
“It’s not good to keep your pain in,” Dom murmured into her hair. He slid his hands up her forearms. “Let it out.”
“I can’t.” The deep, strangled voice didn’t sound like hers.
“You can.” He brushed a strand of her hair away, and she slowly leveled her gaze with his. His eyes glowed with startling intensity, and Fiona swallowed as she studied his face, the faded bruises, the little scars, the soft shine of old wounds. “You will.” His lips were so close she could taste his warm breath.
“I…” Dom’s eyes tracked to her mouth. “I…”
“Shh.” His head dipped down and his rough cheek grazed hers as he pressed his lips to her ear. Her heart banged against her rib cage. “You will.”
They seemed to hover there forever, suspended in a cocoon of body heat. She heard the shallow rasp of his breath, sensed that he wanted to say something more, do something more.
But then he stepped back, eyes lowered. His hands lingered on her for only a second longer.
“You should get back to Sean,” he murmured. “I’m sorry…” He rubbed his jaw. “Rene deserves as much of a chance as Sean does.”
Fiona didn’t have the energy to conjure up a shred of indignity. Wordlessly, she let herself out.
CHAPTER NINE
TWO DAYS LATER, Dom’s world was yanked out from beneath him.
“I’m going home to Japan,” Mako announced abruptly as he came out of his office.
Dom stopped hitting the heavy bag. “Sensei…?”
“I have to go,” he said. “My brother has fallen ill.”
Dom didn’t need any more explanation than that. “How long will you be gone?” He didn’t want to sound insensitive, but the whole reason he’d come to Salmon River was so that his old teacher could retrain him.
“It may be a few weeks, perhaps a month. Maybe longer.” He studied Dom, a smile on his face. “Domo-san, I need you to teach my classes while I am away. You are the only man I trust with my students. I will direct the more senior students to consult with you on lessons. Some will volunteer to help lead the less advanced classes.”
“But, Sensei…” Dom was simultaneously honored and horrified. He didn’t have a problem teaching, except that he was supposed to be getting fit for the fight.
“To pass on knowledge and spread the Way—this, too, is training,” the karate master said. “To teach is also to learn. I have great faith in you, my son.” Mako squeezed his shoulder. “You will make me proud.”
Dom couldn’t refuse him. The man had raised him like his own, and to be trusted so readily filled his heart to bursting with pride. He bowed deeply before his teacher. “I will do my best, Sensei.”
Mako booked a flight and departed that evening, leaving Dom the keys to the dojo. Fo
r the rest of the day, Dom flip-flopped between frustration and anticipation. He was excited about the challenge of having so many students at so many different levels, but Joel’s warning loomed large in his mind. He risked losing his biggest sponsor if he didn’t prove ready for the title match. And the thought of DiMartino still lying in that hospital…
A gray blanket instantly smothered Dom’s mood. He still hadn’t phoned Bruno’s wife. He should at least call in to check on the man, but…
But he was a coward. Losing those three exhibition matches after his fight with Bruno had him finally admitting he had issues, but had he confronted them? No. He’d slunk back to his old mentor, as if Sensei Miwa could make it all better. Now his teacher was gone, and he was back to square one. Aimless, lost, with no beacon to guide him.
Dammit, he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity. He’d done that as a teenager, for God’s sake. Dominic “The Dominator” Payette was a man now, and he refused to give in to hopelessness.
He worked out some of his growing antagonism on the dojo’s punching bag. He had to win the championship. He would win the championship. He would show no mercy. He would show the world he was the best—
“Dom?”
The timid voice broke through his furious thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder. The punching bag swung and creaked from the chains as he raggedly gulped in air. Sweat trickled down his face and stung his eyes. Sean, already changed into his karate uniform, stared at him. “Are you okay?”
Dom swallowed. He didn’t want the kid to look at him with fear; Sean had had enough of that in his life, courtesy of his father. It was a sobering realization. Dom wanted the boy to like him. Because he liked Sean…and his mom.
More than that, though, he genuinely felt bad for letting his emotions get the better of him. The last time he’d been so out of it while pummeling something was in his fight with DiMartino. All he could recall was being caught in a hold, pinned to the ground…and when he’d surfaced from the haze, the referee was pushing him off a bloody and unconscious Bruno.
Dom shook his head. What had come over him in that fight?
He summoned up as much calm as he could muster, relaxed his face into a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I had some things on my mind.”
The boy still regarded him uneasily. “I got out of school early today. Mom told me to come straight here.”
It was Monday—women’s self-defense. He would see Fiona again, the first time since he’d nearly kissed her.
Sean approached the mats, bowed and rolled up his sleeves. Dutifully, he set himself up behind the punching bag, gripping it at the bottom, and indicated with a nod for Dom to continue. Dom schooled himself not to laugh. Sean was trying to be helpful, even if his diminutive figure probably wouldn’t absorb the impact as readily as one of his beefier trainers could. He threw himself back into the rhythm of his set. Sean held up quite well, actually, keeping the bag from swinging around and working up a good sweat himself. Holding the bag developed strength.
“Can I ask you something?” the boy asked through gritted teeth. He was hanging on to the bag for dear life.
“Sure.”
“Sensei Miwa talked about the arts fair demonstration and said he’d pick the best students to perform.”
Dom had forgotten about that in Mako’s hasty departure. He would have to handle the performance. “What about it?”
“Well…do you think I’m good enough to perform?” Sean asked. “I mean, I know I just started, but I’ve been practicing really hard.”
“I noticed.” Even when the more advanced classes came in, Sean managed to follow along from the sidelines. The boy had a lot of talent. “Just keep practicing. You have a leg up on the beginner students in the new class. And I think you’re good.”
He meant it sincerely, but didn’t want to raise Sean’s hopes too much. With the fair a little over a month away, Dom had no idea what he was going to do. And with teaching all the other classes and keeping track of each student’s progress, on top of his own training, he wasn’t sure how he was going to pull it all off.
TWO WEEKS AFTER Sensei Miwa’s departure for Japan, Sean sat in the kitchen picking at his dinner.
“What’s the matter, hon?” Fiona asked. Maybe he’d changed his mind about fried fish and string beans, despite the health benefits he’d touted.
Sean looked up at her. “Sensei Dom looks really tired.”
“Oh?” She tried to sound interested without sounding too interested. It was hard enough to face Dom in self-defense class, remembering their last charged encounter, the tender way he’d touched her. The only time they made contact now was when he corrected her posture or form, and that he did sparingly.
“He’s at the dojo all the time now,” Sean said.
“Honey, he’s a professional athlete and he’s training for a big event. I’m sure he’s used to those kinds of hours.”
“Even the prowling tiger must come to rest if he seeks to catch his prey.” Sean had been studying Mako’s karate notes, fat binders of compiled wisdom and techniques that he kept in the dojo. The boy’s nearly photographic memory meant Fiona was frequently subjected to lessons of this kind, whittled down to fortune cookie proportions. It would be irritating if it weren’t so endearing. “On Saturday, he started teaching at six in the morning and he was still there after I left. He didn’t go home until almost eleven.”
“How do you know what time he got home?”
“I was practicing in my room, and I saw his porch light go on through the window.”
She didn’t admonish him for being up late. He’d been training hard to be in the arts fair demonstration.
“Mom, I was thinking… With July Fourth coming up, maybe we can invite Dom to the Salmon River picnic.”
What? Where had Sean come up with that…crazy…embarrassing…idea? The huge corn and wiener roast drew the whole population to the water side in Fielder’s Park. Everyone would see them together.
“It would be good for him to take a break, don’t you think?”
Fiona promised to consider the proposal and sent Sean off to do his homework. As she washed up, she daydreamed of a perfect day with a blanket on the grass, Sean playing by the water’s edge with other kids his age, and a bottle of wine between her and her gorgeous neighbor. And she found she liked the scene too much.
Except they wouldn’t be on a romantic date, and the rumor mill would be working overtime.
“Like that’s the reason you’re going to tell Sean no?” Josie chuckled when Fiona asked her for her opinion. “You shouldn’t care what the rest of the town thinks of you, Fi.”
“Easy for you to say. The ones that don’t outright shun us just don’t care if we live or die.” On second thought, maybe it didn’t matter to anyone if she was seen with Dom.
“So what? You’re a hardworking mom with a smart boy, living in a nice home. Screw what they think. You’re allowed to go on dates with men, and you’re allowed to be picky. So tell me, what’s really stopping you from asking Dom to the picnic?”
Fiona didn’t know. Was she afraid of rejection?
Or maybe she was afraid she liked Dom too much. That by taking this first step, she would find herself rushing toward something far too serious far too soon, the way she had with Mitch.
You’re not that girl anymore. She’d learned from her mistakes, had grown up a lot and knew what she wanted in life.
“You’re right, Jos,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like it’d be a real date, right?”
“Of course not.”
“And Sean was the one who suggested it, so it’s not as though I was the one asking him out.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d just be a…a chaperone on a playdate.”
“Exactly.” Josie giggled. “Unless, of course, you want to play, too.”
THE DAY OF THE PICNIC dawned sunny and clear, but by late morning, gray clouds were scudding in. The weather didn’t keep people
away, though. Fielder’s Park teemed with residents and visitors alike. The mayor and other members of the town council cooked up hot dogs, burgers and corn on the cob on three big propane grills. In a tented area Josie Baby’s Bakery had supplied cookies and cupcakes, Pete’s Bar and Grill had laid out heaping platters of wings and vegetable sticks, while Teresa Madden had made a garbage-pail-size vat of vinegary coleslaw. Other donations covered the table, each labeled with a description and the contributor.
Dom couldn’t stop looking at Fiona. Her blond hair had been neatly clipped so the pink tips of her ears showed. She wore a long, flower-print dress that hugged her curves and left her arms and shoulders delectably bare.
Sean, in shorts and a striped green T-shirt, ran ahead of them, kicking a soccer ball.
Dom still couldn’t quite get over Fiona’s invitation.
“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” she’d confided later. “And I don’t mean to make a big deal of this, but Sean really wanted you to be there….”
What Dom really wanted to know was whether she wanted him to be there. Things had been a little tense between them since that almost kiss, mostly because he couldn’t stop fantasizing about what follow-through would have been like.
“This is great,” he said, unable to hide his excitement. He felt like a teenager going to his first Mardi Gras. “I’ve never been to something like this before.”
“It’s a pretty tight community,” Fiona said, though he noticed her tone was resigned rather than proud. “They like to do this kind of thing. And it’s just the start of festival season. The arts fair is like this times five.”
The reminder made him grimace inwardly. He’d been so busy he’d barely had a chance to think about what he would do for the martial arts demonstration. It shouldn’t have been so difficult. After all, when he entered the cage during every match, he was expected to give a good show, as well as win. But the whole point of the demonstration was to promote the dojo and spread the Way.
Fiona circled in front of him and waved a hand before his face. “Hey, you in there?”