It was late Sunday evening, and Catherine was sitting in a chair by the hearth, sewing the ripped pocket of a shirt. She realized now that she should have set out a larger box when she’d asked if anyone had any clothes that needed mending. The cardboard box she’d tossed down on the living-room floor, with Nathan’s crayon letters spelling out

“MENDING,” was overflowing.

She should have known, having an eight-year-old male of her own, how hard boys were on their clothes. Multiply that by four—no, five, as she’d seen Robbie sneak a shirt into the pile—and the task could be daunting.

But it was a task she welcomed. For Catherine, sewing was not only a stress reliever, it was also her greatest joy. Back in Arkansas, she had taken in sewing to earn extra money. Being a janitor at the local high school had paid well enough, but making wedding dresses and prom gowns of her own creation had paid even better. She’d almost been ready to quit her day job and become a seamstress full-time when the letter about Ron’s release had come in the mail.

She had missed sewing these last couple of months, Catherine realized as she carefully made the small invisible stitches on the pocket of Rick’s shirt.

Nathan and Nora were already sound asleep. So was Cody. The boy had come dragging in around five, eaten supper without much conversation, and climbed the stairs and fallen into bed without even asking what was for dessert. Catherine would bet he’d think twice about where he aimed his potato gun in the future.

Gunter and Rick were out in the machine shop helping the mechanic dismantle the tree harvester. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.

Robbie walked into the living room just then, a bowl overflowing with apple cobbler and ice cream in his hand, a spoon in his mouth, and a cup of hot cocoa in his other hand. He sat down on the couch facing the fire, set his cocoa on the side table, pulled the spoon from his mouth, and smiled at her.

Catherine was proud of herself. In only four days, she had learned how to breathe normally around the huge man. Now she only had to learn how to stop staring at him.

“You have to be careful what you wish for around here,” he said, using his spoon to point at the box by her feet. “You’re liable to be rewarded in spades.”

In an attempt to look relaxed and not at all bothered by his being so close, Catherine shrugged and smiled back. “I don’t mind. I’m really a seamstress by trade.”

He lifted a brow. “Really? What do you sew?”

“Dresses, mostly. For weddings and proms and other special events.”

“That sounds complicated,” he said, digging into his ice cream. “I remember Maggie’s wedding dress. Or rather,” he said with a snort, “I remember the weeks of deciding which pattern was theright one and then finding someone to make it.”

“Is Maggie your sister?”

“Aye. She just had a baby last month. They named the lass Aubrey,” he added, popping the spoonful of ice cream and cobbler into his mouth.

“Aubrey’s a beautiful name,” Catherine whispered, looking back at her sewing when she realized she was forgetting to breathe again.

Robbie MacBain certainly scared her, though she thought it wasn’t because he was a man but because he was such ahandsome man. She had thought her libido was long dead, but darn if it hadn’t been showing signs of stirring lately. It couldn’t be because she had cleaned him up and could still picture his hard muscles, long sculpted legs, broad shoulders, powerful chest, and amazingly taut stomach. No, she didn’t care one whit about that kind of stuff. It must be the fire in the hearth heating her cheeks.

“I’d like to talk to you about Nathan and Nora,” Robbie said, again digging his spoon into his second bowl of tonight’s dessert.

Catherine looked up. “What about them?”

“They should be in school.”

She immediately shook her head. “No. Ron still has too many connections in law enforcement, and he could trace us if I tried to register them. I’ve been careful not to leave any paper trails. School is out of the question.”

He canted his head at her. “What do you think will happen if he does find you?”

“I—I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted. “And I don’t care to find out.”

“He doesn’t have custody of Nathan and Nora, and you are legally divorced. What would he want from you, Cat?”

“Revenge,” she whispered.

“For?”

“For spending three years in prison.”

“Ah,” he rumbled, nodding his head. “You mentioned he was in prison for domestic abuse. Against you or against your children?”

“Me.”

“So you’re saying he beat you up, you pressed charges, and he was imprisoned, and now you feel that for him, revenge is worth the risk of going back to jail?”

“Why else would he be following us?”

“Maybe to see his children?”

Catherine shook her head. “Possibly Nathan but definitely not Nora. Ron only paid attention to his son, and then it was only to teach him how to be aman.”

“Will you tell me exactly what put him in prison?”

Catherine ducked her head and started sewing again.

“I’ve given you my word that you’re safe here, Cat. Even if Ron does find you, there’s not a damn thing he can do to you. But I need to know what I’m up against. What he’s capable of.”

She looked up. “It’s not your responsibility to protect us.”

“Aye, it is,” he said, setting his half-eaten dessert on the table and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together. “I’m sorely tired of going through housekeepers,” he said with a crooked grin. “And since you seem more than able to handle the boys and you cook like a five-star chef, I have no intention of losing you. Who is your ex-husband?”

Catherine took a deep, shuddering breath. It had been ten years since she had dared to trust anyone, since her parents had died and Ron had strode into her life and swept her off her young, naive feet with the promise of taking care of her. But didn’t her new boss deserve to understand why she was so frightened? And why she was so sure Ron would come after her?

“He’s a monster,” she quietly told him. “He has a terrible temper, and he expects his children to be perfect, automated robots—quiet, obedient, respectful, disciplined. You’

ve seen them around people; they’re scared of their own shadow. Nora was still quite young when Ron went to prison,” she continued. “But Nathan,” she softly hissed. “In order to win his father’s approval, he was beginning to act just like him.”

“Why did you stay with him?”

“I tried to leave several times,” she said, looking down at her sewing. “But Ron was a well-respected, decorated police officer, and no matter who I went to for help, he always convinced them he was a model husband and father. But the day I saw Nathan slap Nora,” she told him, looking back up, “I knew I had to do something drastic, so there wouldn’t be any question what kind of man Ron really was.”

“What did you do?”

She lifted her chin. “I set him up. I made sure I had witnesses I trusted, I sent my children to a friend’s house, and I waited until Ron got home from work.”

“And then?”

“I calmly told him I had found a judge willing to give me a restraining order against him and that he had to move out that night.”

Catherine flinched when Robbie suddenly stood up and walked to the hearth, grabbed the poker, and started prodding the fire. She took another deep breath and continued, deciding that he had started this, he could darn well hear the whole of it.

“Ron reacted just as I expected. But the police didn’t arrive until he had almost killed me.”

“And your witnesses?” he asked in a harsh whisper, staring down at the fire, his arm resting on the mantel and his fist clenched around the poker. “Where were they while you were fighting for your life?”