“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to settle for two out of three.”

“I could stop you by telling your father.”

“Aye, but you won’t. It’s not adventure that takes me up the mountain, Catherine, but duty. And the one thing you must never do is interfere in my duty.”

“Your duty,” she repeated, glaring at him. “What kind of duty compels a man to get beat up and nearly killed? That’s not duty, that’s foolishness.” She waved her hand in frustration. “And if you know you’re going to get in a fight, why in heck don’t you carry something better than that stupid sword you had when I found you?”

He softly chuckled. “That stupid sword is my weapon of choice, just as that stick will be yours once I’ve instructed you. Go in the house, Catherine. You’ve dealt with enough for one day. In time, you’ll come to understand why I do what I do, but not tonight.”

She stared down the long aisle of the softly lit barn; he stood with his feet planted firmly, his arms crossed over his chest, and his piercing gray eyes focused directly on hers.

Catherine turned and quietly walked out of the barn.

Chapter Fifteen

He didn’t knowwhy he was surprised that when Catherine Daniels set her mind to something, she approached it with the fierceness of a lion protecting her cubs. But as she again tried to split open his head with her stick, Robbie wondered if he was creating a monster or merely providing an outlet for six married years of abuse.

He robbed Catherine of her target by simply ducking her impressively vicious swing.

“You’re letting your emotions rule your actions,” he pointed out as she turned to face him, her stick raised for another strike.

He held up his hand to stop her. “This is what I was trying to explain earlier, Cat. You started with calculated moves, but now you’re just taking wild swings out of sheer frustration. If you become emotionally involved, you’ve lost the fight.”

She stood the stick on the ground and leaned against it as she wiped a shaky hand over her brow. “When someone’s trying to knock your teeth out, itdoes get emotional,” she said, her face red with exertion.

He walked up and disarmed her, then balanced the stick on one of his fingers. “Nay, it’s about control. Your weapon is your lever, you’re the fulcrum, and your strength is multiplied when you power your swing through your body.”

“My high-school physics is rusty.”

“But you still use it every day. You pry the stubborn lid off a jar or displace your weight when you lift a twenty-pound roast out of the oven. Use your body, Cat,” he said, positioning her hands, putting one in the middle of the stick and one about eighteen inches off center. He moved to stand behind her and placed his own hands over hers.

“Don’t swing it like a baseball bat.Push the stick away from yourself,” he instructed, thrusting her right hand forward.

He followed that move by pushing her left hand in a downward arc and then up, stopping with the shorter end of the stick about level with a man’s jaw.

“There,” he said. “You smack him on the shoulder first and quickly follow through by using the momentum of his reaction—which will be to push the stick away—and come up and strike him under the chin. Or here,” he suggested, jabbing the short end forward again. “You can aim for either his throat or his sternum. One quick, powerful thrust, and he’ll be gasping for breath.”

“But what if the person I’m fighting knows how to fight?” she asked, stepping out from his embrace and turning to face him. “What if he’s someone like you and knows all the tricks?”

Robbie gestured toward the pasture. “Then you revert to your trusty old standby. You run like hell.”

“And if I can’t run? If I’m cornered?”

He nodded at the stick in her hand. “You’ll at least be able to fight your way out of a corner by the time we’re done. But Cat, most of the people you encounter won’t be trained in hand-to-hand combat.”

“And they’ll think I don’t pose a threat, because of my size and gender,” she repeated from his earlier lecture.

“Aye. Surprise is your greatest weapon.”

She looked down at the stick, then back up at him, and broke into a brilliant smile.

“Thank you. I never thought violence could have a bright side, but being able to defend myself sure beats the heck out of spending three weeks in the hospital.”

“Aye. But it’s only violence if you allow your emotions to get involved. Properly used, a weapon is nothing more than a tool. You don’t want to kill anyone but protect yourself.

And you accomplish that by being the one who is in control.”

She twirled the stick in her hand like a baton and shot him a smug smile. “I rather like that idea. What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”

Aye, he was creating a monster, all right. But at least she would be a prepared monster from now on. “How do you feel about knives?” he asked.

Her smile left as quickly as it had come. “You have to get close to someone to use a knife.”

He dismissed her concern with a shake of his head and leaned over and pulled his small dagger from his boot. “But it’s still better than a stick,” he said, holding out the dagger for her to take. “And can be handy for other things as well.”

She examined the sharp, tiny knife. “This looks old.”

“Aye. It’s about the same age as my sword.”

She canted her head at him. “Where is your sword, by the way?” she asked, lifting a brow. “And the two plaids I washed and mended and put in your closet?”

“Stashed on the mountain.”

She stared at him, obviously weighing her chances of getting him to elaborate. She must have decided he wouldn’t, because she dropped her gaze to the two weapons in her hands.

She gave the dagger back to him. “I think I’ll learn how to use the stick first,” she said, placing her hands where he’d positioned them before. “It’s much more scary-looking and will be more intimidating.”

Robbie slid the dagger in his boot with a chuckle, then planted his feet and crouched, holding his arms out and waggling his fingers at her. “Come on, then, little Cat. Let’s see if you can’t take my breath away.”

She eyed him, eyed her stick, then looked back up, her fierce expression broken only by her determined smile. But she didn’t go for his shoulder first and then his jugular as he had showed her. No, the little monster feigned the expected attack, then aimed her first strike at his knees—just as a green Suburban pulled into the driveway.

Distracted by both the arrival of company and her deception, Robbie misjudged Cat’s swing, and the solid maple stick connected with his left knee. He was only able to keep his head from being cracked open as she followed through by speeding up his unexpected journey to the ground.

He heard Cat’s gasp at about the same time he hit the dirt. Aye, Dr. Frankenstein had nothing on him when it came to creating monsters.

“Ohmygod! You let me hit you!” She grabbed his shoulder and tried to lift him up.

“You’re supposed to pay attention!”

He let her roll him over and lay with his eyes closed, hiding his smile as she continued to scold.

“This is why you come home all beat up,” she muttered, brushing the dirt off his cheek.

“You allow yourself to get distracted.”

Robbie heard four truck doors slam, quickly followed by approaching male laughter he would recognize from his grave, and femaletsk-tsk -ing.

He finally released his smile and opened his eyes. “My papa’s about to praise you for your trick and probably give you a hug for bringing me to my knees.”

“Th-That’s your father?” she groaned, looking toward the driveway, her face turning a lovely shade of red. “Ohmygod,” she whispered, glaring at Robbie just before closing her eyes. “He’s going to think I’m more crazy in person than on the phone.”

Robbie sat up and brought his nose inches from hers. “I’m impressed, little Cat.”