Highlander for the Holidays (40 page)

“Hey, wait a minute.” Olivia started walking backward. “I’m not your girlfriend; I’m your
boss
.”

“Not anymore, you’re not, because I quit.”

Well, that took care of that little problem. Now she just had to deal with being in the middle of nowhere with this idiot. “Wait,” she said, holding up her hand to stop him. “You have to give me time to consider your offer,” she said, matching him step for step when he didn’t stop. “It’s just that you caught me off guard earlier.”

He finally stopped and looked around the small gravel pit, his eyes growing suspicious again. “So what say we get a little practice in right now?”

Okay, maybe running would be wiser. Olivia bolted for the woods, figuring Mark would probably catch her in an open footrace down the road. Besides, maybe she could find a stick and beat some sense into the idiot. Only she shouted in surprise when he grabbed her shoulder, and yelped in pain when she stumbled to her knees and he landed on top of her.

For the love of God, this couldn’t be happening. He was just a kid!

Olivia tried shoving him away; his fingers bit into her arms as he rolled her over, and she cried out again when his mouth slammed against hers. Okay, it was time to panic; they were in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t seem to get control of the situation, and the idiot was flatout attacking her! Olivia kicked at his legs and squirmed to push him off as she twisted away from his punishing mouth. “Mark! Stop this!” she cried. “You need to stop!”

“What in hell kind of camp doesn’t have girls?”

Olivia stopped struggling. Talking was good. If she could keep him talking then maybe he’d calm down. “Th-there will be girls your age in town once college lets out,” she said, panting raggedly as his weight crushed her into the gravel.

“That’s over two months away!”

Olivia shouted in outrage as she turned away from his descending mouth, and put all her strength into bucking him off even as she drove her fist into his ribs. He reared up, his own shout ending on a strangled yelp as his weight suddenly lifted off her. Olivia rolled away then stumbled to her feet, scrambling around Mark’s truck—only to run straight into another vehicle. She stumbled back to her feet just as she heard Mark shout again, and started running toward him when she saw a stranger drive his fist into Mark’s stomach. The boy hadn’t even doubled over when the man’s fist slammed into his jaw, tossing him into the air to land on the ground on his back, out cold.

“No!” Olivia cried, grabbing the stranger’s arm to stop him from going after Mark again. “Don’t hurt him any more!”

The man shrugged her off and turned toward her, the dangerous look in his sharp green eyes making her take a step back. “Forgive me,” he said gutturally. “I was under the impression the bastard was attacking you.” He gestured toward Mark even as he gave a slight bow. “I will leave you to your little game, then,” he said, turning away and striding to his truck.

Olivia ran after him. “No, don’t leave! He
was
attacking me.”

He stopped so suddenly she bumped into him and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her shoulders. And that’s when Olivia’s knees buckled, the magnitude of what had nearly happened turning her into a quivering blob of jelly.

Her rescuer swept her off her feet before she reached the ground. He carried her to a small mound of dirt at the entrance to the gravel pit and set her down, then shrugged out of his jacket and settled it over her trembling shoulders. But when he crouched down in front of her and started to reach toward her throbbing cheek, Olivia buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“I can’t believe he a-attacked me. He . . . he’s just a kid.” She straightened to pull his jacket tightly around her as she took gulping breaths. “Oh God, I can’t breathe!”

He cupped her jaw in his broad hand, his penetrating gaze inspecting her face before coming to rest on her eyes. “You have my word; the bastard won’t ever hurt you again. Henry, come here,” her rescuer called over his shoulder.

The rear passenger door of the pearl white SUV opened and a young boy got out. Olivia immediately tried to stand up, not wanting the child to see her like this, but the gentleman set his large hand on her shoulder. “Come here, son. This lady has just had a fright, Henry, and she needs comforting,” he said, gesturing at Olivia. “Sit here and hold Miss . . . what’s your name?” he asked, giving her a gentle smile.

She didn’t know if it was his smile that did it, or the fact that she needed to pull herself together for the sake of the child, but Olivia took a shuddering breath and released her death-grip on his jacket. “Olivia Baldwin,” she told the boy—only to gasp. “You’re Henry! And Mr. Oceanus,” she cried, looking at the man. “You’re arriving today!” She hid her face in her hands again, utterly humiliated. “Ohmigod, this is terrible. You shouldn’t see me like this.” But when a small arm settled over her shoulders, the young hand at the end of that arm gently patting her, Olivia quietly started sobbing again.

That is until she realized Mr. Oceanus was no longer crouched in front of her. Olivia shot out from under Henry’s comforting arm. “No, you can’t hurt him!” she shouted, rounding the vehicles in time to see Mr. Oceanus hauling Mark to his feet.

“He’s just a dumb kid.”

“Go sit in my truck, Olivia. I merely intend to have a little discussion with him.”

“Not in front of your son, you’re not,” she said, grabbing his arm. “What are you teaching Henry by beating up a defenseless kid? He saw you rescuing me, but it’s equally important that he also see sees you acting civilized to my assailant.”

“I would hope I’m teaching the boy that he has a duty to rescue a woman who’s being attacked.”

“But you did that already,” she said, keeping her voice low so Henry wouldn’t hear them. Good Lord, Trace Huntsman hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Olivia that his friend didn’t have a clue about how to deal with his newly discovered son. “Look, Mr. Oceanus, this—”

“I prefer you call me Mac. And if by acting civilized in front of my son you are suggesting I do nothing, then I suggest you and Henry go for a little walk. You have my word; I will wait until you’re out of sight to have my little discussion.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Please let him go, Mac,” Olivia pleaded, her shoulders slumping as she pulled his jacket tightly around her. “I-I just want to meet my daughter’s bus at the turnoff and go home before I fall down.”

The sudden concern in his eyes disappeared the moment he looked back at Mark. “If I catch you within fifty miles of Spellbound Falls after sunset today, I will kill you. Understand?” he said ever so softly, his hand tightening around Mark’s throat until the red-faced boy nodded. Mac released him so suddenly that Mark fell to the ground, and Olivia didn’t even have time to gasp before her rescuer lifted her into his arms.

“Henry, open the front door of our truck,” he said, striding to the SUV and setting her inside. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Your lip is bleeding,” he said, handing it to her. “Where is the turnoff you spoke of? You said you wish to meet your daughter.”

She took the handkerchief and shakily dabbed at her mouth. “It . . . it’s another couple of miles up the road.”

He nodded and closed the door, then opened the door behind her. “Get in and buckle up, son,” he said, closing the door once Henry climbed in.

But instead of walking around to the driver’s side, Mac strode back around Mark’s truck. Olivia started to go after him, but the door wouldn’t open even after she pushed all the buttons on the handle. She was just about to start pounding on the buttons when a small, unbelievably firm hand clasped her shoulder.

“Father will be civilized,” Henry said, giving her a nod when she turned to him. “I believe he’s just making sure the bastard understood his instructions.”

“You
heard
what we were saying?”

“I have very good hearing.” He patted her shoulder. “You can get over your fright now, Olivia; Father won’t let that bastard hurt you again.”

She twisted around in her seat. “Henry, you can’t keep calling him a bastard; it’s a very bad word.”

His eyes—as deeply green as those of the man who’d sired him—hardened in an almost mirror image of his father’s. “Is it not appropriate to use a bad word when referring to a bad person?”

Good Lord, he even talked like his father!

But Trace Huntsman, a military buddy of Olivia’s late husband who lived several hours away down on the coast, had told her that Henry had come to live with Mac only a few months ago, after the child’s mother had died. And that up until then the two had never met, as Mac hadn’t even known Henry existed.

“How come you call him
Father
instead of
Dad?
” Olivia asked.

Henry’s tiny brows knitted into a frown. “Because that’s what he is. He calls me Son and I call him Father.” His frown deepened even as his face reddened. “And please forgive me, for I believe I’m supposed to call you Madam, not Olivia. My mama would be quite upset with me if she knew I was calling a lady by her Christian name.”

Olivia smiled warmly. “And what’s your mama’s name?”

“Cordelia. But when father speaks of her, he calls her Delia. My last name used to be Penhope, but now it’s Oceanus.” He went back to frowning again. “Only Father is also thinking of changing my first name. I suggested we might change it to Jack or even Jake, only he said those names aren’t noble enough.”

“But what’s wrong with Henry?”

The boy shrugged. “Father says Henry is too English.”

“It’s too—” Olivia turned at the sound of a truck door slamming, and saw Mark push down the locks before blindly fumbling with the ignition as he watched Mac through the windshield—who was standing a few paces away, his arms folded over his chest, staring back at him. The pickup started and the tires spun on the loose gravel as Mark sped onto the road without even checking for oncoming traffic.

“See; I told you Father would be civilized,” Henry said, giving her shoulder one last pat before he hopped in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. “He didn’t kill the bastard even if he did deserve to die.”

 

 

DESPITE ONLY MEETING MAC AND HENRY LESS THAN
thirty minutes ago, Olivia had a feeling they were going to be a tad more of a bother than merely setting two more places at the table. For as precocious and direct as Henry was, his father was even scarier. Maximilian Oceanus was an undeniably large, imposing figure; the sort of man who not only would stand out in a crowd but would likely command it. He had to be at least six foot four, his shoulders filled a good deal of the front seat of his full-sized SUV, and he had picked her up—twice—as effortlessly as if he’d been handling a child. But it was when he looked directly at her with those intense green eyes of his that Olivia felt her world tilt off center. Kind of like when a person stood in a receding wave on a flat sandy beach, and had the illusion of being sucked out to sea even while standing perfectly still.

She should have never let Eileen talk her into breaking her rule of no private parenting sessions. She should have at least recognized what she was getting herself into when Mac had summarily dismissed her repeatedly gentle but firm refusals to let him come to Inglenook three weeks early—much the same way Mark had dismissed them this afternoon. Only where Mark had attacked her, Mac had gotten his way using good old-fashioned bribery.

She was still shaking uncontrollably and fighting back tears, which is why she’d jumped out of the truck the moment they reached the turnoff, before she humiliated herself again. Only Henry had shot out of the truck right behind her. At first it was obvious he’d felt duty-bound to continue comforting her, but once Olivia had assured him she was feeling much better, the boy had taken off to explore the nearby woods instead.

That is, after he’d dutifully run back and asked his father’s permission.

Mac had also gotten out of the truck but had merely leaned against the front fender, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded on his chest, apparently content to let his son deal with the welling tears he’d seen in her eyes. She was still wearing his leather jacket, and should probably give it back since he was standing in the cool March breeze in only his shirt, but the warm security of its weight surrounding her simply felt too wonderful to relinquish.

She buried her hands in its roomy pockets with a heavy sigh. Now what was she supposed to do? Without Mark, there was no way she could get Inglenook fully functional in three weeks. Olivia started slowly walking back toward the main road, but picked up her pace when she realized she couldn’t see Henry anywhere. “Henry?” she called out, scanning the woods on both sides of the road. “Henry, where did you go?”

“He’s fine, Olivia,” Mac said, straightening away from the fender. “He climbed down to the brook and is throwing rocks.”

“There are some deep pools in that brook,” she said, trying to pierce the dense woods. “And there’s still snow in places. He could slip and fall in, or wander off and get lost. Little boys have a tendency to follow anything that catches their interest without realizing how far they’re going.”

“He may get wet but he won’t drown,” Mac said. He pointed downstream of the bridge that sat a hundred yards up from the entrance of the turnoff. “And I will call him back if he wanders too far. Is it not my son’s job to explore the world around him, and my job merely to keep him safe while he does?” He frowned. “At least that’s what I’ve surmised from the books I’ve been reading.”

Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been reading books on parenting?”

Instead of returning her smile, his frown deepened. “At least a dozen; only I’ve discovered a good many of them contradict each other, and one or two had some rather disturbing notions about discipline.”