Author's Note: Thanks, Mselisabeth! You're the first one to favorite or review the story. :)
Apologies—I worked on the plot a little more, and I'm going to change the rating to M for upcoming chapters. It looks like a substantial amount of readers dropped off after Ch 1, so hopefully this doesn't affect many readers. First chapters aren't my strong suit, so any feedback about why you think readers quit would be appreciated so I can rewrite it. :)
She must have slept deeply because the sun streamed into the bedroom when she opened her eyes again. Trudy had prepared bacon, pancakes and, of course, tapioca for breakfast. She scraped the bowl of tapioca clean.
Trudy sat in a chair beside the bed hand sewing something. "You cleaned up that tapioca like a cat with a lick of milk, don'tcha know. I told Mr. Port you'd like it. You must be from around Minnesota." She nodded to herself. "These Colorado people don't like their tapioca. It sticks to the ribs right tight in the winter. Keeps a body hearty."
She laughed. "I take it Mr. Port isn't so fond of it?"
Trudy snorted and gave her a look before resuming her sewing. "He says it's like sour milk. Sour milk indeed! I make him eat a cup of it a day; he has yet to fall ill. It's those probiotisos in there that do good."
"Probiotics, you mean?"
"That's what I said." She set the garment in her lap and leaned forward as if to tell a secret. "He fusses, like a baby on Groundhog Day, so I slip it into his pancake batter." Trudy nodded, seeming proud of herself and sat back.
Smothering a laugh, she had learned not to question Trudy's odd metaphors. "Quite clever of you. Have you been in Mr. Port's employment for long?" That didn't sound too obvious, yet it'd tell her more about the mysterious man.
Pursing her lips, Trudy appeared to think for a minute. "I'd say three years."
"Do you live here in the house?" She popped the last bit of pancakes and bacon in her mouth.
Trudy kept her eyes on the item she sewed. "I do. Never found myself a husband, so it suits me well to dote on Mr. Port. He's a good man and a generous employer, like a turkey on Thanksgiving. I have my own room and sitting room. He doesn't require me on weekends or holidays, so I either go visit my sister in Minnesota or go down to a small town at the bottom of this mountain."
"That must be a lot of driving to go to Minnesota in a weekend," she frowned. "Does he not give you more time off than that?"
Trudy smiled. "For tom cat's sakes, I take a plane. Mr. Port gives me ten plane tickets at Christmas to use when I want, don'tcha know. My sister's husband had a heart attack a couple months ago. Mr. Port had a large business deal going on and lots of work, but he kicked me out the door to go help my sister take care of the kids." She swallowed hard and dabbed at her eyes. "He even gave me a large sum of money to take to her for the medical bills."
Her eyebrows rose. "He must think very highly of you to be so generous."
"Pish posh. It's his way, don'tcha know." Before she could ask what Trudy meant, the woman continued. "I shouldn't be gossiping about him so. Where are you from, Ms. Hoplin?"
"Emma. I'm from Chicago, but I moved to Colorado on the other side of the Rockies a couple years ago. I took a job as a financial adviser after grad school, but I hated it."
"Is that your degree?" Trudy's eyes remained on her sewing, but she seemed very curious.
"No. I actually have a master's in medical writing, but it's harder to get started in the field than I thought."
Trudy smiled, as if very pleased with her answer.
"I've been unemployed for two weeks." She sighed. "I was on my way to Chicago for a family Christmas this weekend. Not anymore now with my car totaled. What is it you're sewing?" The item looked small and black.
"Nothin'." Trudy tucked it into her sewing basket on the floor and then stood. "I'll take the tray. Then what say you about a bath?"
She sighed wistfully. "That would be marvelous."
"I told Mr. Port that a bath is as good as any medicine for a woman. He said you may if you don't put weight on your foot. I'll be back in a hop-skippity minute." Trudy had barely been gone a minute when she reappeared with a cell phone. "Mr. Port said before he went to bed this morning to have you try calling your family. I imagine they're climbing the walls like a cat's pajamas with worry." Trudy handed over the phone.
"Oh. Thank you. Yes, they're probably wondering why I haven't checked in." She touched the screen of the latest model of a smartphone and dialed. It didn't connect. She frowned and leaned forward a bit to try to see out the window. "Is it still snowing?"
"Like a babe's pa-tooty."
That must be a 'yes.' She set the phone down on the bed with a sigh. "Well, perhaps it'll quit soon."
Dear Trudy made a great effort, but the degree of soreness required strength beyond Trudy's. They made it as far as a sit on the edge of the bed. "Let me fetch Mr. Port. He's probably waking up by now. Not one for sleeping."
She flushed. "No, don't trouble him. I'm sure I just need to sit up and stretch a bit."
"Hot water is what will do a world of good. He said to fetch him if we needed." She bustled around the room drawing the curtains closed.
"Trudy, please," she pleaded. "He was up all night waking me up. Let him sleep; I'll keep."
"He'd have my head knowing I let you sit here aching when he could help us get you to the tub." Then she swept out of the room.
Her face burned with embarrassment. She hadn't showered in over a day, the flannel nightgown was Trudy's and far too big and short, and her hair probably looked like a rat's nest. Plus, she probably had a massive bruise smack in the middle of her forehead. She sensed that Mr. Port was a man with more power than she yet knew, and these had not been good first impressions. Adding to the pile of bad impressions wasn't at the top of her list. Thank heavens the room was dim, at least.
A heavy tread hit the hardwood floor. He appeared in the doorway. Her heart flip-flopped and skipped a beat.
He wore black shoes. Black slacks clung to his long legs and trim hips. Again he wore a white dress shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing arms much more muscled than she had realized last night. The shirt stretched taught over broad shoulders. The top couple buttons were undone, as if he hadn't quite finished dressing when he'd been interrupted. She flushed when he came closer, revealing a sprinkling of chest hair peeking out. He wore a black ski mask again, only this time instead of sunglasses, the right eye hole was sewn shut. The right side of the mouth opening had been sewn shut too. His left eye stood out, a vibrant blue. She swallowed hard and tilted her head up to meet his eye at his substantial height.
"I'm honestly fine," she said, her voice softer than intended. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
He stood there, his eye traveling down her and back up.
She wrapped an arm around herself, feeling naked under his gaze.
"You're sore."
She blinked.
"Your breathing is shallow, and you're slouched a bit as if it pains your back to straighten." He bent and scooped her up without any effort.
Her breath caught in her throat. His body heat penetrated straight through their clothes and burned her skin. Every muscle of his chest that touched her was perfectly hard and outlined. Her mouth went dry. She tried to lift her right arm to wrap around his neck to help take her weight.
"Be still, and don't aggravate your collarbone. I won't drop you." His voice was patient and a hint deeper than a moment ago.
His shoulder was right beside her cheek, begging her head to rest on it. She felt so safe and calm in his arms. He carried her across the room with ease.
Trudy ran ahead to the washroom and darkened the room.
She'd forgotten about Trudy the moment he'd stepped into the room. Glancing up at him, she found him looking down at her. His eye seemed to pierce right into her heart. She flushed and looked away.
The washroom housed a large marble soaking tub to the right. He didn't set her to her feet but walked over to the tub. He slowly eased her down into it. While carefully withdrawing his arm from behind her, the large collar of the nightgown slipped off her left shoulder. His gaze landed on it, and his hand lightly brushed over bare skin.
Surely he could hear the rapid beating of her heart.
His fingers grazed over her collarbone, moving toward her neck. Then he slowly began undoing her top button.
She met his eye, almost wanting more. She bit her bottom lip.
"Your shoulder is badly bruised," he said, his voice husky. Then he undid the button and bared her other shoulder. His eye dropped to her neck, and his hand slid over her right collarbone. "It's not swollen. Perhaps simply bruised, not fractured." Both of his hands glided from each shoulder to meet in the middle at the hollow spot of her throat. "Your heart is beating fast." His voice fell to nearly a whisper, and a warm finger stroked the pulse at her throat.
"I'd like to take my bath now," she said softly.
The corner of his eye crinkled and perfect, pearly white teeth showed, as if smiling. "Of course. Summon me when you're decent again, and I'll get you out of the tub." He let his hand sweep away from her throat as he stood, making her ache with desire.
Her eyes followed him out, and she released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Trudy stepped in and chattered while getting everything ready for the bath. Staring blindly at the empty doorway, she cupped her cheeks to cool the flush. She didn't hear a word Trudy said.