Her Son's Hero

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

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.