Gunter tore past her with a deadly, feral growl and dove toward Cody before anyone had time to grasp the situation.
“You bastard!” Gunter shouted, his fist aimed at Cody’s shocked, bloodless face.
Catherine finally came out of her stupor, realizing what was happening. “Gunter!” she yelled.
As if in slow motion, Catherine could only watch as Gunter’s fist connected with Cody’s face, sending the defenseless boy reeling into the wall behind him. His head hit with a solid thunk, suspending Cody long enough for Gunter to connect again, this time with Cody’s stomach. The battered boy slid in a boneless heap to the floor.
Catherine rushed straight into the fight and stood between the enraged young man and his fallen prey.
Her eyes glaring at Gunter, she didn’t see Marcus Saints start in their direction or see Robbie grab him by the shoulder and stop him.
“You son of a bitch!” Gunter growled, trying to move around Catherine.
“Gunter! No!” she shouted when he tried to take another swing. She moved with him, blocking his way. “Enough,” she said more calmly. “You will not hit him again.”
Gunter turned his anger on her. “You heard! He scared Nora,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“No, you’re not,” Catherine said firmly, flinching when he tried to shove her out of the way but managing to keep her body between him and Cody.
He grabbed her shoulders, and Catherine lifted her chin. “He made a mistake,” she whispered. “Cody would never scare Nora on purpose. He was only playing.”
“How can you know that?”
Catherine set her hand on his heaving chest. “Because I trust Cody, Gunter. He just wasn
’t thinking.”
“Then I’ll teach the son of a bitch to think!” he snapped, pushing her away, trying to get to Cody.
Catherine stepped between them again, getting a bit angry herself. “How, Gunter?” she hissed, shedding her sweater and pulling up the right sleeve of her shirt, exposing a three-year-old scar. “Is this how you’re going to teach him?” She lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose another scar, this one running from her waist up to just under her breast. “Or maybe like this!” Catherine turned her back on the stunned man and parted her hair at the nape of her neck, exposing yet another scar about two inches long.
“Maybe this would teach him to think!”
She turned back to Gunter. “Will giving Cody a beating make Nora feel safe?” she asked through clenched teeth, taking another step forward, causing the suddenly pale boy to back up. “Did spending three weeks in the hospital so my children’s father would be sent to prison solve my problems?”
Catherine stopped and blinked through blurry eyes, her anger suddenly deflated. “Don’
t you see, Gunter?” she whispered. “I’ve frightened Nora so badly that an innocent game of hide-and-seek scares her.”
Gunter stared at her, his chest heaving and his eyes clouded with uncertainty. “How do you know, Catherine? How can you know Cody wasn’t being mean?”
“I trust him, Gunter. The same way I trust you.”
Catherine reached out and touched his chest again, gently this time, and quietly spoke to the young man she’d come to care so much about. “You acted without thinking, Gunter. You’ve lived with Cody longer than I have. Would he purposely scare Nora? Is he really that malicious?”
“No.”
“You owe him an apology,” she said.
Cody, who had either wisely or painfully remained silent until now, suddenly sucked in his breath. “No,” he croaked. “I don’t need an apology.”
Catherine turned and tried to help the battered boy to his feet. Gunter silently moved around her and carefully lifted Cody up, holding him by the shoulder when he started to sway.
Cody ignored Gunter, instead keeping his attention on Catherine, staring at her in silence. “Thank you,” he finally said. “I’ve never really done anything in particular to earn your trust—but thank you,” he whispered.
“Don’t thank me, Cody. I need to apologize to you. Nora overreacted, and it’s my fault. I
’ll talk with her.” Catherine’s eyes welled up with tears as she looked at the battered young man. “Will you please let me explain it to her, and—and still be her friend?”
Robbie MacBain watched as Cody tried to comprehend the terrified mother who was apologizing to him for trying to protect her children. He scrubbed his face several times, up and down, hoping to work the blood back into it. He looked over at Marcus and saw that the man was as pale as he was. Never, ever, did he want to witness anything like that again.
He didn’t know which had been harder; to see his defenseless housekeeper standing squarely in front of an enraged young man, to see her anguish at her children’s fears, or to see the undisputed testimony of her scars that told him just where those fears were founded. It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to interfere and all of his strength to hold back Marcus Saints.
Never, ever, did he want to see that again.
Breaking into the charged silence, Robbie slapped Marcus on the back. “Come on, warden, I’ll buy you a drink in my office.”
Saints dazedly nodded and let Robbie lead him out of the kitchen. They walked through the attached shed to the office Robbie had built on the end of the garage two years ago—
which was also where he kept his medicinal supply of scotch whisky.
But tonight’s dose would probably be the whole bottle before either man would get his emotions back under control.
No… never again.
“I want to know where you found her,” Marcus demanded half a bottle later.
“Raiding my henhouse,” Robbie returned, taking another sip of his scotch.
“What?”
“Just another delinquent for my farm.”
“No, really, where did you find her? She got any sisters?”
“Hell, I hope not. One Catherine Daniels is enough.”
“She’s not from around here.”
“Arkansas.”
Marcus whistled. “She answer an ad in the paper? How did you word it? ‘Position open for adventuresome woman. Pay is two thousand dollars a week. Extensive health plan and a retirement fund after only six months’?”
Robbie scowled at him. “I found her raiding my henhouse six days ago. She and her kids were hiding out in an old cabin up on the mountain.”
Robbie could tell Marcus still didn’t believe him. He took another sip of his drink and tried again. “She’s running away from the bastard who gave her those scars.”
Marcus looked at Robbie and then at his empty glass. “Is she divorced?”
“Aye.”
“Got custody of the kids?”
“Aye.”
“Does he know she’s here?”
“Not yet.”
“Dammit, give me a break. She told Gunter he went to prison. Is he out?”
“Paroled three months ago.”
Marcus closed his eyes. “She’ll be safe here.”
“Aye, she will.”
“Maybe,” his friend clarified, glaring at Robbie with slightly drunk eyes. “How the hell could you just stand there and let that happen? How could you know Gunter wasn’t going to flatten her against the wall? Dammit! She stood nose-to-chest with the meanest brawler this side of the Canadian border!”
“Let’s just call it instinct, Saints.” Robbie sighed and looked down at his drink. “At least, that’s what I knew at the time. Looking back, I would say I was insane. I honest to God don’t know how I just stood there, either.” He took a sip of his drink and continued.
“But Gunter finally got a good look at violence from a victim’s perspective, didn’t he? So I guess my instinct was right.”
“Do you ever screw up, MacBain?”
“Nay, never. That’s why you gave me the boys, isn’t it?”
Marcus snorted. “They’re here because no one else wants them. Hell, even the detention center didn’t want Gunter.”