Chapter 20

Scarlett feltas if she'd been punched in the gut by a hammer. Not just any hammer, but the one that superhero guy with all the muscles had. The big one. The one that hurt.

She couldn't breathe. And she wanted to cry. More than anything she wanted to yell and scream and throw some things. But she did none of that. In fact, she was frozen. Her feet were like iron balls stuck in cement and her brain was off the rails, going places she hadn't visited in a very long time.

What was Malcom doing here? How was Malcom here?

"What the fuck does he want?" Taz took a step forward, and she grabbed his arm.

"Please, let me." He looked angry and so did her brothers. This would escalate quickly if she didn't get the situation under control. "I'll deal with him," she said to all three men.

Scarlett took a moment to compose herself, then turned and crossed the yard. She came to a stop a few feet from Malcom, and her stomach turned as he watched her silently.

Slowly he removed his mirrored glasses, like he was an actor on cue, and smiled. There was a time that smile did funny things to her, because man, he was handsome. More than handsome. Malcom David was like a Greek God, with perfect bone structure, dark mysterious eyes, and a mouth that could make a nun fantasize.

But he was also poison. Selfish. A narcissist with the ability to manipulate.

And he'd hurt her. Terribly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, watching him closely. His expression was shuttered and that was dangerous because it meant he was hiding something.

"Why I came to see you, luv."

"Don't call me that." The anger was back and she let it settle, there in the same spot where he'd pulled her heart from her chest, tossed it on the ground and stomped all over it.

He was silent for a few moments and then he sighed. "Sorry. Old habits." The low Irish lilt was heavy, and there was a time the sound of his voice made her heart speed up, but now, all she wanted to do was smash her fist into his perfect face.

He shifted his gaze. "I see you have a protection detail. Do I need to be afraid?" His tone was teasing.

"Yes," she replied. "All three of them would tear you apart if I asked."

He laughed, though his eyes remained fixed. Dark and dangerous. "The one on the end looks particularly menacing. Is that one your new man?"

"What do you want, Malcom? How did you find me?"

"Not here," he said softly.

Something took root inside Scarlett. It twisted and she found it hard to focus. Things were going to change. She knew that now. Malcom wouldn't have come this far unless he wanted something. It wasn't her. He'd made that quite clear, so the only thing left was…Hank.

The fear inside her was a big old knot that nearly had Scarlett on her knees, but she raised her chin and stared him down. No way was she going to show him that.

He took a step closer, and she flinched. "I won't hurt you, Scarlett."

"You can't hurt me anymore."

Malcom's eyes narrowed; his full mouth thinned. He offered her a piece of paper. "Take it."

Scarlett grabbed the paper and glanced down.

"It's a hotel in Bozeman."

"I know what it is," she snapped, glaring at him. "What do you want?" she repeated.

"You, luv." He cracked a smile and her skin crawled. "Come and see me tomorrow. We need to chat.

She shook her head, an automatic "no" on her lips but he didn't give her a chance to reply.

"There are things we need to discuss. Things we need to settle, so to speak. I don't want to ruin what looks like a lovely family gathering by getting into all that right now." He paused. "But if you leave me no choice, I'm willing to give it a go."

Malcom put his aviators on and took a step back. "I'll see you tomorrow, luv." And with a slight nod he left the way he'd come.

Scarlett stared down at the paper in her hand, every instinct yelling at her to rip it up and toss it on the grill. But she didn't. Instead, she slipped it inside the front pocket of her shorts and whirled around, her only thought was Hank. She needed him.

She ran past her brothers and Taz and didn't stop until she made it inside the house. Rosie had Hank in her arms, cleaning food from his sweet face, but stopped when Scarlett appeared. The woman's smile slowly faded, and she frowned.

"Are you all right?" Her concern was heavy, and rightly so.

"Give him to me," Scarlett said walking toward them.

"Scarlett, what's happened?"

"Give him to me," she said again, voice loud and agitated. Hank took one look at her, and his bottom lip started to quiver. "It's okay, my boy," she whispered, suddenly and utterly defeated.

Scarlett took her child and ran upstairs, leaving Rosie stunned and confused. When she was safe in her room with the door closed and the lock pulled, the tears came and she could do nothing but let them fall.

Scarlett collapsed onto the chair and rocked back and forth, holding Hank, whispering soothing words of love, and willing her mind to clear. He finally relaxed, and with a full belly it didn't take long for her son to fall asleep. His dark lashes were long and nearly swept the top of his cheeks. She gently touched his face, his nose, and the dimple in his chin.

"I love you so much," she whispered.

Sadness, an old familiar friend, blanketed Scarlett as she gazed down at the perfect little human who'd claimed her heart before he was even born. Hank was everything to her. He was already such a little man, with a bubbly personality, obvious likes and dislikes, and a giggle that would make the coldest heart thaw. Yet, Malcom hadn't asked about him. He'd come across the ocean and he hadn't asked about his son. Did he even know the sex of his child?

What was he up to? What could he possible want?

She rested her head back, mentally exhausted, and after a while, fell asleep, Hank tucked into her arms. The shadows were long when she woke up, and with her son still deep under, Scarlett got up and placed him in his crib. She stood back and watched him, not wanting to leave, but with a soft knock at the door, she finally crossed the room and unlocked it. Taz stood there, and wordlessly she walked into his embrace.

He was warm and strong and, in that moment, all she needed. But reality has a way of breaking apart the things we need the most and as her thoughts turned once again to Malcom, she pulled away and took a step back.

"Hank's asleep?"

She nodded.

Taz ran his hand over his chin, his expression as serious as she'd ever seen it. "We're all worried about you."

"I know."

"Just say the word and I'll take care of him." The threat was real and, alarmed, she looked at Taz.

"No. I can't—" She swore under her breath. "I can't talk about him with you. Not now. I need to wrap my head around a few things."

For a moment Taz studied her in silence. "Do you still have feelings for him?" he asked quietly.

"No," she replied, "not like you think, but…" She saw his surprise and knew she was screwing this up. How to explain the confusion inside her? The fear? "I just need to figure some things out." Tears poked the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"Hey, it's okay." Taz's voice was soothing. He grabbed her chin, and she looked up at him. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

"I just need a bit of time."

"I can give you that." He cracked a smile, though his eyes looked sad, or something close to it. "I was looking forward to our night together.'

"I know." She bowed her head. Their plan had been to leave the barbecue together and spend the night at his place. As a couple. "I can't tonight, I..."

His finger was on her mouth, and he leaned closer. "It's okay." Taz dropped a kiss to her forehead and pulled her back into his arms. She would have stayed that way forever if she could have. After a while he moved away, and she heard Hank fussing about in his crib.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, voice low and serious.

"No, I…I don't think so. I mean…" She heaved a sigh and met his gaze. "No."

His expression was unreadable. A heartbeat passed. "You know where I am."

Then he was gone. And she was empty. Scared. And more confused than she'd ever been. She hadn't lied to Taz. She didn't have romantic feelings toward Malcom. But there was something there. And it was enough of a something to feed that confusion. Was it the sting of rejection? Or something more.

"Stop it," she muttered, knowing she had to shake off the blackness.

Scarlett picked up her boy and changed his diaper. She made her way downstairs and was grateful to find the kitchen empty. Everyone was still outside. She fed Hank, and watching him eat and smile and chatter in his baby-talk should have lifted her spirits. Instead, it fed the dread inside her.

"I've got a plate for you." Benton walked into the kitchen and motioned toward the table.

"I'm not hungry."

"That's why you need to eat. Let me." He grabbed the cloth from her hands and waited until she sat at the table. While she pushed her food around the plate, Bent cleaned up Hank's face and hands and then lifted him out of the highchair.

"Did Taz leave?" she asked watching her brother.

Benton nodded. "The girls were getting tired." Her brother set Hank on his hip. "I'm not going to ask any questions. Your business is yours. But I want you to know we're all here for you. This family does what it takes to protect their own."

The threat was subtle, and she nodded. Couldn't answer because her throat didn't seem to be working. Eventually she loosened up the knot and managed to eat a bit of potato salad.

"I have to go see him tomorrow. Can you watch Hank for me."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"No need for thanks." Benton crossed the kitchen and plunked Hank down on the floor at her feet. Immediately the little guy started playing with the edge of her chair. "We've got your back." He was serious as hell. "Your man Taz is made of the same stuff. So don't go feeling you're in this alone. If this Malcom wants a fight, we're more than happy to give it to him."

And that, in a nutshell, was exactly what Scarlett was afraid of.

She said nothing and when Benton left her alone with Hank, she scooped him up and headed back to the sanctuary of her room. She knew Malcom had a plan. No way had he come all the way from Ireland to Montana because he wanted to share a mimosa over pancakes and apologize.

"I'll worry about that tomorrow," she muttered, falling onto her bed, exhausted.

And that's exactly what she did.