The Heart of a Hero

by Janet Chapman

  And he still couldn’t figure out what was bugging him. It wasn’t anything she was saying or not saying, just that something was . . . off. Not that it was any of his business, since he was only making sure one of their employees made it home without getting run over by a snowplow.

  She really was as quiet as a cat, and just as . . . That was it; Julia Campbell wasn’t moving. She didn’t fidget, hadn’t pushed back her hood or even wiped the melting snow off her face, and had managed to avoid any real eye contact with him. Nor had she questioned his showing up to give her a ride or protested his manhandling.

  Nicholas knew that the first defense an abused woman learned was how not to draw attention to herself—especially unsolicited male attention. For the love of Zeus, she’d let a virtual stranger toss her in his truck without even so much as a scowl.

  Granted, everyone who had anything to do with Nova Mare knew him on sight, and Julia probably figured that if she couldn’t trust her employer’s chief security guard then she couldn’t trust anyone, but she should have at least questioned why he’d intervened in the parking lot today and taken her home without even asking.

  So, did Julia Campbell simply pick her battles or was she afraid of men?

  Not that it was any of his business.

  He finally spotted the house sitting two miles off the main road, and pulled up behind a fairly new pickup that was as muddy as her brother’s. He shut off the engine when he saw the porch light come on, then quickly reached over when Julia opened her door. “Wait and let me help you down,” he said, getting out and walking around the front of the truck, not surprised when she didn’t protest. “I’ve been meaning to have a set of running boards installed,” he continued, guiding her to the ground. “Careful, there’s ice under the snow. Let me get your bicycle out and I’ll walk you—”

  “Julia! That you, girl?” a heavyset man called out as he came down the porch steps wearing slippers and no coat and carrying a tall glass in his hand. “Who’s that with you? You send him away and tell the fool we close at noon on Fri—”

  “Daddy, be careful!” Julia cried, bolting for the house when the man missed the bottom step.

  Nicholas dropped the bicycle and ran after Julia as her father stumbled toward a tree only to end up sprawled facedown in the snow—pulling Julia down with him when she tried to break his fall.

  In what was starting to feel like a comedy of errors, Nicholas found himself in a small tug-of-war when the man tried using her to pull himself up before Nicholas finally wrestled Julia free and stood her out of the way. “Let me help you,” he said, catching the man under the arms and lifting him to his feet.

  “I told that Christless girl to spread the stove ashes out here this morning,” the man grumbled, staggering forward to hug the tree he’d missed earlier. “And where in hell is she, anyway? She’s supposed to come straight home from school and cook me supper.” He pointed at Julia as she straightened from picking up her purse. “It’s your fault. Ever since you gave her that truck, she ain’t never home.”

  Julia shot an uneasy glance toward Nicholas, then walked to her father. “Trisha told you she had band practice this afternoon,” she explained just as a small SUV pulled up beside Nicholas’s truck. “There she is now. Come on, Daddy, let’s go inside and I’ll cook you some eggs and pork.”

  Her father batted her away. “I spilt my drink,” he growled, pointing at the empty plastic tumbler on the ground. He then glared up at Nicholas. “And I ain’t going nowhere ’til I meet your boyfriend.”

  “Jules,” a young woman said, rushing up only to grab Julia’s arm when she slipped on the ice. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  “Both you girls are due for an attitude adjustment,” their father snarled, his eyes narrowed against the swirling snow as he pointed an unsteady finger at them. “And don’t you think I won’t do it, neither, just ’cause it’s been a while.”

  Nicholas forced himself to unball his fists as he stepped up to the obviously inebriated man. “Let me help you to the house, Mr. Campbell,” he offered, his grip—and likely his size—squelching any protest.

  “I expect a man wanting to date my daughter to ask me first,” he muttered as Nicholas maneuvered him up the steps.

  “I’m not dating Julia, sir. I just gave her a ride home from work.”

  The man yanked to a stop at the door and pulled free, the porch light revealing his bloodshot glare. “You think you’re too good for my Julia, is that it?”

  “Dad,” the woman under discussion protested as she opened the door.

  “Come on, Daddy,” her sister said, pushing on her father as Julia pulled. “Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill.”

  Mr. Campbell shrugged off both girls, then grabbed Julia’s arm and gave her a shake. “This is why you can’t get another man,” he growled. “And why you lost the good one you had. How many times I gotta tell you to show some gratitude when a man’s nice to you?” He pushed her in front of Nicholas. “I say driving you home in a snowstorm deserves a kiss.”

  Julia and her sister gasped in unison, and Nicholas stiffened at the realization the man was serious. And if Julia’s father had placed her in an untenable position, he’d put Nicholas in a quandary. If he simply turned and walked away, the drunken idiot would likely get angry at her.

  “And not some shy peck on the cheek, either,” Mr. Campbell continued, nudging his frozen daughter hard enough that she stumbled forward.

  “Daddy,” her sister growled, grabbing Julia’s jacket to tug her back.

  Well, hell. Nicholas pulled Julia into his arms, lowered his head as he lifted her onto her toes, and kissed her—making sure to linger just long enough to satisfy the bastard that she was properly grateful. “You’re welcome,” he murmured as he released her and straightened away. He gave a slight bow, then turned and walked down the steps, got in his truck, backed around, and drove out the road.

  Definitely not his business, he decided as he touched his tongue to his lips—which he noticed now held a taste of peppermint.

  Chapter Two

  His expression effectively conveying that he wasn’t in the mood for conversation while he washed down his supper with a couple of beers, Nicholas sat at a small table with his back to the wall, watching the eclectic assortment of patrons enjoying the only bar in Spellbound Falls. Vanetta Quintana, proprietor of the family restaurant next door named the Drunken Moose, had opened the livelier and definitely louder Bottoms Up six months ago, hoping to wring a little more money out of the tourists visiting what was being referred to as the ninth natural wonder of the world.

  The Bottomless Sea had formed three and a half years ago when an earthquake of epic proportions had brought a subterranean river surging in from the Gulf of Maine, surfacing in six lakes in Maine and one in Canada before spilling back into the Atlantic via the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. Having been the state’s second largest freshwater lake at forty miles long and nine miles across at its widest point, Bottomless had become an inland sea complete with tides and all manner of marine life, its length added to when several mountains had shifted to create a twelve-mile-long fiord at its northern end.

  Well, the earthquake was considered epic by mere mortals and baffled scientists, but Nicholas knew it had been only a minor miracle for Maximilian Oceanus, a powerful wizard who also happened to be married to Nicholas’s boss. Although Mac had turned the state of Maine on its ear simply to satisfy his need to be near salt water, it was Olivia who actually owned and ran the five-star resort on the summit of Whisper Mountain named Nova Mare—which, appropriately, was Latin for New Sea.

  And so, looking forward to some peace and tranquility and many lazy days fishing in his boat, Nicholas had become Olivia’s head of security just over a year ago. It was a far cry from his former life as a mythological warrior, but it was past time that he settled down and started a family. Now all he had to do was find a lovely lady who enjoyed long stretches of silence, who liked cats, and who had
the physical as well as mental energy, and the courage, to love him.

  Thinking of cats—and feline eyes in particular—the problem with staying out of other people’s business, Nicholas knew from experience, was that he inevitably got right in the middle of it anyway. And if there happened to be a woman involved . . . well, he’d like to blame the Oceanuses for instilling in him a sense of duty to champion the weak, but suspected his love of a good rousing battle had more to do with his genetics than upbringing.

  Not that anyone seemed to know what those genetics were, since he’d been only a few days old when a crusty old whale named Leviathan had spewed him onto a beach on the equally mythical island of Atlantis. He’d been taken in by the island midwife and her husband, and shortly after Nicholas’s seventh birthday, Titus Oceanus had moved him and his parents into the palace, with Maude becoming the Oceanuses’ family healer and Mathew their royal gardener, while Nicholas had been given the questionable honor of becoming baby Carolina’s personal bodyguard.

  That should teach him to fall in love with a screaming minutes-old princess, seeing how his devotion to Lina had involved thirty-one years of traveling across time to more centuries and countries than he cared to count. But the Oceanuses weren’t exactly ordinary royalty, as Titus and his son, Maximilian, were actually theurgists—more accurately known as divine agents of human affairs.

  Titus had built Atlantis upon which to cultivate his Trees of Life—which contained all of mankind’s knowledge—in order to protect earthbound mortals from the warring mythical gods. But when the gods had discovered that mankind’s champion had also trained a small army of drùidhs to protect the Trees, Titus had been forced to scatter his mystical Trees and drùidhs all over the world, then sink his little kingdom into the sea before the gods could destroy it—and him.

  Funny, Nicholas thought as he downed the last of his beer, how Titus and Mac had complete access to all that knowledge, yet the wizards couldn’t seem to find out where the mysterious babe on the beach had come from. Or rather, they claimed they couldn’t, which Nicholas had always suspected was only half the truth. Not that the circumstances of his birth mattered all that much to him, since he’d experienced nothing but love and generosity from his adoptive parents and the Oceanuses. Still, when you’re five years old and nearly a foot taller than your buddies, as well as the only blue-eyed person on the entire island, it would be nice to know why.

  By the age of fourteen, when seven-year-old Princess Carolina had finally been allowed to run wild outside the palace walls, Nicholas had stood six feet tall, weighed a good hundred and eighty pounds, and rode a horse and wielded a sword with the skill of a battle-hardened warrior. But just last year, at age thirty-seven, he’d suddenly found himself unemployed when he’d happily handed Lina over to Alec MacKeage—may the gods have mercy on the brave bastard’s soul.

  So having decided he liked all the amenities of the twenty-first century, as well as this rugged corner of the world, Nicholas had promised Olivia that he would keep her guests and employees as safe and happy as he’d kept her sister-in-law. He’d so far upheld that promise with some fancy technology and two dozen men, four of whom were elite warriors he’d brought from Atlantis. And come spring he’d be adding several more guards when Inglenook—a family-oriented resort sitting right on the shore of Bottomless—finished being refurbished and started taking guests.

  Nicholas had found this last year pleasantly relaxing compared to keeping a headstrong princess safe and happy, but his new job was still exciting enough to get him out of bed every morning, since some of Nova Mare’s patrons actually hailed from past centuries as they came seeking Mac’s magical services. And twice now the theurgist had asked Nicholas to do a little time-traveling for him; once to squelch a senseless war before it really got started, and another time to right a perceived wrong between a jilted bride and a drunken idiot king.

  So considering all he’d lived through—and survived—Nicholas figured he couldn’t complain that it was taking him a while to find a lovely lady he’d be interested in sharing the rest of his natural life with. But Zeus’s teeth, at this point he’d be happy to find one he liked well enough to bed. Preferably a woman who didn’t talk incessantly about nothing, who didn’t view him only as a titillating prize, and who thought waking up to find a few cats burrowed under the covers with them was endearing.

  He wondered if Julia Campbell liked cats.

  Nicholas placed enough money on the table to pay his bill as well as a generous tip, then stood up, slipped into his jacket, and settled his wide-brimmed hat on his head of short dark hair. He gave a nod to the harried waitress as he headed for the door, feeling somewhat disheartened that Julia probably wasn’t the lady for him. If she truly did fear men, then she’d likely run screaming in terror if she found herself being romantically pursued by a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-and-thirty-pound former warrior.

  Nicholas stepped outside and turned up his collar against the rain with a sigh. Such was the fickleness of early November weather in Maine in the mountains, he guessed as he walked along the slush-covered road to his truck parked in front of the church. He’d just reached the driver’s door when he spotted the two women coming out of the woods on the far side of the building and immediately recognized Julia’s red jacket. Her sister—Trisha, he believed her name was—was wearing a bulky backpack and had her arm wrapped around Julia’s shoulders as if supporting her.

  He shifted to stay hidden behind his truck as he watched them suddenly scurry into the bushes when someone exited the Bottoms Up and crossed the road. Nicholas waited while the person drove off, his patience rewarded when the two women, still huddled together against the wind-driven rain, emerged from the shadows and hurried down the driveway leading to a parking lot at the rear of the church.

  He silently followed, more concerned than curious as to why they were skulking around town in the pouring rain—every scenario he came up with darkening his mood. He stopped at the corner of the church when they reached the back basement door of the building, and decided Julia definitely was hurt when he saw her slouch against the granite foundation while Trisha yanked on the door.

  “It’s locked,” he heard Trisha say.

  “No, it’s just stuck,” Julia said, awkwardly adding her own efforts. “Reverend Peter never locks anything, not even the poor box.”

  The door suddenly popped open, making Trisha bump into Julia, which in turn made Julia hiss in pain. “I’m sorry,” Trisha said, wrapping her arm around her sister and ushering her inside. “What if your ribs are cracked? Maybe we should go . . .”

  Nicholas lost the rest of the conversation when the door closed. With a look back to make sure no one else was around, he walked over and took off his hat, then pressed his ear against the door to hear their footsteps retreating up a set of stairs. He straightened and put on his hat, grasped the knob, and splayed his other hand on the swollen wooden door, then simply imagined it silently opening. He stepped inside and gently pulled the door closed. He attuned his senses to the century-old wood beneath his feet to avoid any creaks as he silently walked up the stairs and once again picked up the thread of the women’s conversation.

  “I swear, I don’t know who was more surprised,” Julia said, “me or Dad that he actually hit his target.” Nicholas heard her groan at the same time wood squeaked. “It’s been years since he’s caught me off guard like that.”

  “I heard the crash all the way out in the driveway,” Trisha said, “and dropped the ash pan and ran inside just as he was taking another swing at you. No, let me help you take off your coat.”

  “I’m okay, only sore. I told you, the crash was the microwave falling when I knocked it over trying to get—ohh.”

  “I’m sorry,” Trisha said, just as Nicholas moved into the shadowed hallway to see the two women at a front pew—Julia sitting turned sideways with Trisha standing and helping her out of her jacket. “Maybe we should have gone to Tom’s instead.”

  Jul
ia sighed and started unbuttoning her blouse. “He’d just find some reason it’s our fault Dad’s gone off on another bender.”

  Trisha dug in the backpack, pulled out a flashlight and sat down, then carefully slid Julia’s blouse off her shoulders.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, Jules,” Trisha murmured, aiming the light at her sister’s back. “No blood, but you’ve got a nasty welt. Are you sure your ribs aren’t cracked?”

  Nicholas silently shifted, then stiffened at the sight of the angry-looking mark.

  “I can breathe okay, and it only hurts if I move too quickly.”

  Trisha set down the flashlight and unhooked Julia’s bra. “I’ll call Nova Mare first thing in the morning and tell them you won’t be in.”

  Julia carefully slid her arms out of her sleeves, then gathered the blouse to her chest. “I’m not calling in sick tomorrow. Saturday is when most everyone is checking out, and I don’t want someone else scoffing up the tips I spent all week earning.”

  “But I thought whoever cleans on your days off has to give you your share, because they can’t keep seven days’ worth of tips after working only two days.”

  Julia snorted. “Like they’d be honest about how much they find. And I don’t want them to realize I get tipped almost twice what the other housekeepers do.” She looked back at Trisha. “Can you hand me that heavy fleece you packed?”

  “They still haven’t found out you give the guests in your cabins your employee cell number?” Trisha asked, digging through the pack. She stood up to slip the fleece over Julia’s head. “Didn’t you say when you were given that little phone that they told you it was only for employees to communicate and for emergencies?”