There were dozens of questions about her mysterious rescuer from the relatives that Friday night until she left with her parents on Sunday. Thankfully, the fading bruising discolored her face enough to help hide blushing when one of the cousins asked if he was sexy.

On Monday, the doorbell rang. A few minutes later, her mom walked into the living room with a vase of rainbow daisies and a Get Well Soon balloon. "This is nice. I wonder who sent it." She set down the vase and handed over a card in an envelope.

Her face flamed. It wasn't an overly elaborate bouquet, but one guess as to who had sent it. "Thanks, Mom. Probably one of the relatives or something." She opened the card. Her mom didn't look like she'd be leaving her alone anytime soon. Great. Time to explain this.

So busy with blizzard, didn't think to bring you get well wishes at hospital.

JP

Pushing aside the warm feelings at getting flowers from him, she'd wring his neck for cornering her like this with her parents. It was probably a ploy to remind her about the job. As if she could stop agonizing over whether to take it or not. "Just from the man who found me in the accident." She shrugged and handed over the card to show it wasn't a romantic note or anything. Part of her was disappointed it wasn't, which only irritated her more.

"He has elegant handwriting."

"Everything about him is elegant," she mumbled.

"Hm? What was that?" Her mom handed over the note.

"Nothing. Um, being I'm unemployed, he offered me a three-month position to look over his business books. He suspects embezeling." She glanced to see how her mom took the news.

"That's nice of him. But does he know it's not your degree?" She sat on the edge of the couch.

She mentally sighed. Could she omit living at his home? "Yes. I explained, and apparently my background impressed him. I don't know if I want to get involved if it could go to court, though."

"You did plenty of cases at your previous job." Her mom frowned in confusion.

Honestly, she half wanted an excuse from someone as to why she shouldn't return, because she wanted to return too much. Luckily the conversation cut short when Nana called.

The next week passed quickly at her parents' house, and Christmas came and went. She got rid of the crutches and moved into a walking cast, thankfully. And Mr. Port only crossed her mind a dozen times a day.

The phone rang one afternoon a few days before New Years. Her dad got to the phone. "Emma, it's a lady asking for you."

"Thanks." She took the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, there! It's Trudy."

She slipped into her childhood bedroom and shut the door. "Trudy? Is everything alright?" Surely Trudy wouldn't sound so happy if something had happened to Mr. Port.

"Fish on a hook, yes. Mr. Port is away on business, but he asked me to check in if you've decided about the job. I hope you want it, don'tcha know. Oh, heavens to bits, I shouldn't say that. He said not to talk you into it. Even if you don't, I'll send you my recipe for tapioca. And nobody has my recipe, don'tcha know. It'd be a hootin' day in July before I'd give it to anyone else."

She smiled. "Thank you, Trudy. I do love your tapioca, and I'd guard your recipe with my life." Her smile faded. "Would you mind passing along this message to Mr. Port?"

"Okie dokie. Here, I've got a pen ready."

"Would you tell him that instead of having someone else make employment calls for him, he can pick up the phone. And I didn't appreciate him sending the flowers and putting me on the spot with my parents. If he wants me to come work there in his home and live 'in sin,' as my parents would see it, he can call them and explain it to them himself. Thank you, Trudy."

"Oh dear. Are ya sure I should tell him all of that? Maybe I should leave out the 'in sin'? That term won't sit well with him."

"No, you can feel free to relay the entire message. Frankly, I don't care if it sits well with him. Call me if he blames you for any of it, though." Dang, she sounded surely. Well, she felt like it because of him.

"Sweet Jesus..."

She could envision Trudy making the sign of the cross.

"He'll be mighty upset you're so angry, but I'll tell him. Should I say it all mad like you did?"

Smothering a laugh, she tried not to laugh at Trudy's sweet heart. "Say it however you feel comfortable. He'll get the jist. Thank you, Trudy. Maybe on one of your weekends you can come over to my apartment."

"Oh, that's as sweet as a lamb. I'd like that, don'tcha know. I'll teach ya how to make tapioca."

"Sounds like a deal. I have your cell number. I'll call you in a couple weeks."

"Righty'o. Take care of yourself. Bye bye, now."

"You too. Bye." She hung up, a thousand pounds lifted off her chest. Then she went back into the kitchen, with a lighter spring in her step.

About thirty minutes later, the phone rang.

"Who is calling during dinner?" Her mom frowned from the table.

"Probably a telemarketer. I'll kick them off." Her dad got up and answered. "Hello? Oh, hello, Mr. Port...Alright, Jason." He smiled at her mom and wandered into the living room.

She felt faint. Seriously? He was going to explain to her parents why her living in a strange man's house was a good idea?

Her mom jumped up. "Oh! I'll grab the extension in the bedroom and thank him!"

She sat at an empty table and stared, with her jaw on the floor. Dropping her head onto the table, she waited for her parents to start hyperventilating.

Her parents came out minutes later, all grins. "Such a nice young man. He invited us to come out there and see his house next week. He has some unused plane tickets that are going to expire soon. Said we can use them to come see you whenever we like. It sounds like an amazing job." Her mom sat at the table.

Her dad sat too. "He said the housekeeper and driver will be there at all times, if we're worried about chaperones. Some incredibly impressive personal references for us to call, if we want too. One is-"

"I don't really care who, Dad." She rested her head in her hands on the table.

"Aren't you excited? It's a large salary, and a really honorable business he has there too. Why didn't you tell us about it?" Her mom looked at her quizzically.

"I don't know," she sighed. "I thought maybe I shouldn't being he's kinda a stranger and everything." She had no idea what the business was, but she wasn't about to admit her parents knew more about it because then they'd ask why she didn't ask him. Frankly, she didn't want to know any more. "I have to make a call."

She grabbed the phone and hobbled into the bedroom. Dialing the number on caller ID, she jammed her finger into the Call button.

"Hello. Jason Port." He said it so politely that she wanted to throw the phone.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Silence for a moment. "I expected your parents. Hello to you, too." He sounded more annoyed. "Trudy gave me your message. I did what you asked. Are you one of those women who says one thing but means another?" He sounded truly perplexed.

"I said it to get my point across! I didn't want you to actually call them! You're so, so, so...ugh! I don't know what I'm trying to say!"

He sighed into the phone. "This is your decision, not anyone else's. I gave references and numbers to your parents. You can call them yourself. The business is—"

"I don't really care what the business is—"

Another long-winded sigh. "What is it you're worried about?" Now he sounded truly concerned.

What was she worried about?

"I'll have a locksmith come install a deadbolt on your bedroom door the day you get here. You can have the sole key. I promise you're safe here."

The gentleness in his voice made tears well. She sank onto the bed, the fight draining away. She sniffled.

"Emma?"

She couldn't stop the tears for some reason, the anger melting into embarrassment and humiliation. This wasn't her, to be so hostile.

"Forget about the job. I didn't mean to make you this upset. You're free to come visit Ms. Van Hoodie whenever you wish without interference from me. She mentioned your offer to visit a weekend, and she's so excited."

Guilt tugged over him being so kind. He deserved honesty. "No, I just...I've avoided men like the plague for the past two years..."

"And you're scared of living under the same roof as Stevens and I, who are practically strangers. Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable with lodging in the town at the bottom of the mountain. Some days the roads won't be passable for Stevens, but he can bring you up on the days it is. If you can start after New Years, I'll be gone that week on business. You can see how the week goes and if you want to continue after I return. We can take it day by day." He sounded upset that he couldn't offer more.

"Thank you. I'm sorry—"

"It's not anything to be sorry about," he cut in quickly, as if relieved to have some understanding into her reaction. "But, Emma? I don't believe that an almost attack from your ex would leave you this scared. If he's still a threat, everyone in the house needs to know to keep you safe."

She hesitated. "He has three years left on his jail sentence."

He was silent, probably thinking about the four-inch scar on her upper thigh he must've seen when undressing her from the accident. When she didn't offer anything more, he said gently, "Alright. Emma? I know we're strangers to you and this carries no weight yet, but...I hope you'll come to realize that you're safe here."

Safe. For some irrational reason, it already felt safe with him. A flush of embarrassment rose. "Apparently I do, to yell at my boss. I'm so embarrassed at how irritable I've been. I just..." Now was the time to be honest to build trust in this work relationship. "Mr. Port, I do better with space to come out of my shell on my own."

"Irritability can be a side effect of a concussion, and you've been in a stressful situation the past few days. I appreciate your candidness and honesty. We'll do our best to not press, but I fear that you've already made a lifelong friend in Ms. Van Hoodie, who doesn't understand personal boundaries," he chuckled. "Call me when you're ready, and Stevens or I will pick you up at the airport."

She didn't feel as safe with Stevens, not to say he was a bad man. Something about Mr. Port just seemed more comforting. "Mr. Port?" God, her voice sounded small to her own ears. She hated feeling so scared and powerless all the time.

"Jason."

"You don't speak with Mr. Stevens or Trudy so informally."

"Alright. Yes, Ms. Hoplin?"

How could the warmth of his voice be as comforting as a hug? "Would you be available?" Then she remembered. "Oh, nevermind. I forgot you said you're gone-"

"I'll be there," he said in a heartbeat. "Should we make it Monday, January 3? Nine-thirty?"

"Thank you. And for the flowers. And I'm sorry I was short with you." Now she felt sheepish after they'd worked out the misunderstanding.

He chuckled. "Not at all. You're right that I put you on the spot and shouldn't have had Ms. Van Hoodie call in my stead. My apologies. You aren't afraid to call me on it."

That was a quick way to get herself fired with the boss. She opened her mouth.

"I like that about you. See you in a week. Happy New Years."

Butterflies flitted in her stomach. "Happy New Years."

She hung up and slowly set down the phone. How could she tell him that it wasn't so much about being afraid of him, but afraid he'd break her heart? Because she was inexplicably drawn him and felt safe with him. A man whose face she'd never seen.