She took her flower and returned to her room to get dressed. At half past eight, she looked in the mirror of her bathroom. Puffy, slightly red eyes were hard to conceal even with makeup. Even her brown hair looked dull. Exhaustion made her not want to do anything. She simply stared blankly into her own vacant eyes.
Trudy flew into the bedroom and looked around in a panic. Then the woman shot into the bathroom and crushed her in a fierce hug. "Heavens to bits, I slept through it. Mr. Port told me what happened. I said he shoulda woke me, don'tcha know. You poor thing. Where are you hurt?" She stepped back and held her by the shoulders.
It felt good to have Trudy's energy around. "Is there aspirin? My ankle hurts." She was too exhausted to cry anymore, but her voice sounded dull.
Trudy studied her intently, her face falling. "I'll get some. I have a remedy for your eyes. Then we're going to go sit in the arboretum under the sunshine, don'tcha know. There's no sitting in here and getting depressed like a monkey in hay."
Mr. Port knocked on the open bedroom door after Trudy had worked miracles on her puffy eyes with some poultice. She sat on the bed in a tank top and shorts, with ice on her ankle. Trudy had applied the poultice to her aching thigh muscles and the massive neck bruise from the bite mark.
He walked in with a big gooey cinnamon roll on a plate and a glass of juice. "I didn't expect you up yet. Here's some breakfast." He set it down on the nightstand and then sat on the far side of the bed, turning to face her. "How are you feeling?"
She gave a one-shouldered shrug.
"She hasn't said much," Trudy spoke up from where she laid out an outfit on the bed. "We're going to the arboretum after breakfast, don'tcha know."
He delivered Trudy a harsh look. "You aren't going to force her to do anything, Ms. Van Hoodie."
Trudy stopped and looked at him. "She can't sit in here all day. I've seen sheep in trees after a tornado look happier than her." She jutted her chin out.
This was a first seeing anyone challenge Mr. Port.
As calm as could be, he turned his attention to her. "What do you want to do today, Ms. Hoplin?"
She folded her arms over her chest, a little chilly. "I think I prefer to work."
"Then you shall work. For a bit." He took a blanket from the foot of the bed and then stood. Folding the thin mink in half to be the size of a shawl, he draped it over her shoulders without disturbing the poultice. "May I?" He gestured to her shoulder.
She nodded.
He lifted the rag and frowned. His fingers grazed over the dark red bruise without causin an inkling of pain. "Does it hurt?" He looked into her eyes.
The sunlight glinted in his eye. Flecks of green glistened amid the sea of blue. What made it so gorgeous, though, was the kindness shining out. Her heart pulsed a little faster.
"It hurts to turn her head much," Trudy's voice cut in, breaking the spell.
He sighed. "Excuse us for a moment, Ms. Van Hoodie." The huskiness of his voice danced over her ears.
"But-"
Tearing his gaze away, he looked at Trudy. "You have time to smother her later."
Trudy frowned, as protective as a mother hen of her chick, and stomped out.
She couldn't suppress a smile.
His gaze returned, and he reached up to stroke her jaw with the pad of his thumb. "There's that smile," he whispered and leaned in slightly closer.
Her heart beat faster. It felt so safe having him close. His aroma assaulted her, intoxicated her.
"Are you scared? Your heart's racing."
Shivers ran down her spine from the huskiness of his voice. She bit her lip and shook her head, falling into his tender gaze.
His thumb traveled to run over her lips. He leaned in with the good side of his face toward her. Warm, soft lips brushed the unbruised side of her neck.
Electricity jolted through her, and her head instinctively tilted to the side to grant him better access. She arched into him like an invisible string drawing her closer. He leaned his hands on the bed on each side of her hips without touching her. But she wanted those gentle hands to wash away the nightmares. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, begging for more.
Warm kisses followed the pulse of her heartbeat down her throat, but the kisses deepened when she pulled him closer. His lips parted. His hot tongue tasted and nibbled her skin. Those strong arms embraced her, crushing her breasts against his chest. His hot pants puffed against her skin, fueling the embers sparking between them.
She sighed softly in pleasure. His hands. They kneaded her upper and lower back, as if they itched to explore. Heat coiled low in her belly until she throbbed, each heartbeat bringing pleasure. She needed those hands to wander, to touch. The restlessness built until she grabbed his white dress shirt tucked in at the waist. Pull it free. Feel his delicious skin. She needed to taste him, to feel the pressure of his urgent kisses against her lips. She tilted her head to try to capture his mouth and started to tug free his shirt.
He released her and pulled back. "My apologies. I took liberties." He shot up and backed up a step, his eye wide and startled. Then he walked out.
She stared at the empty doorway, her blood still on fire, her panting filling the silence. Her skin still burned from his touch, still throbbed between her thighs. She wanted him to push her down into the bed and rip off her clothes. To take her in the wild frenzy of passion. Why, then, had the same thing terrified her with Gaston? Because she trusted Mr. Port. Because she loved him.
Trudy came back in a bit later. "Mr. Port had to leave. He said your parents called him when you didn't answer your phone." She set down a tray of cookies and other comfort foods.
"I think it's in my suitcase at the police station. Will Mr. Port return tonight?"
"In a week. Stevens went to retrieve your bag, don'tcha know."
She stared at Trudy, her heart dropping to her feet. He knew the strange noises of the house frightened her yet, and that the nightmares were cut fresh last night all over again. And he'd left, not even twelve hours after the attack. She angrily brushed away a tear. He's a boss, nothing more. He had no obligation to stay. Not even an obligation to come along with Stevens last night. It was better this way; better to not rely on someone other than herself.
"Your parents will be here in two days. I've got a lot of cleanin' to do, for hootin' May Day's sakes. Come, we're going for a walk in the arboretum." Trudy grabbed her crutches.
"No, my thighs hurt something terrible to move this morning, even with the ibuprofen."
Trudy sighed in disappointment and looked at her. "Ashame. Someone very much wanted to meet you." She failed miserably in a scowl and broke into a smile. Then she whistled.
A big, fluffy golden retriever came lopping in, his tongue lolling with each bound. The bushy tail wagged so fast he nearly fell over. Then he plopped his bottom at Trudy's feet and looked at her expectantly, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
"You're as much of a pig as a pig, don'tcha know," she laughed and pulled a cookie crumb from her pocket.
He gobbled it up, licked his lips, and waited for more.
"Is this Mr. Port's dog?" She smiled and patted the bed.
The big beast cocked his head and thumped his tail.
"Yours. And he ain't allowed on the furniture, don'tcha know. Mr. Port would have a heart attack."
Her eyes flew to Trudy. "Mine?"
The dog scooted closer and nudged his wet nose under her hand, demanding a petting.
She scratched his ears, and he moaned with delight. A rolled up paper was tucked in his collar. She opened it to see Mr. Port's elegant scrawl.
I could not delay my business trip any more. An urgent matter came up that required Stevens to fly me to my private jet immediately. My apologies for the blatant lack of manners this morning. I won't be so reckless again.
Did he regret the kissing? It certainly sounded like it.
This is Prince. He's approximately three years old and belonged to an older woman in town, who passed away two days ago. He's very well behaved-a therapy dog of sorts, although his waistline has been spoiled by sweets. Prince is known for his loud bark and takes guard duty seriously. He's in need of a home, Ms. Hoplin. He told me that he prefers a younger woman who won't mind him sleeping at her feet at night but who might slip him a cookie now and then. My only rule: no dog on the furniture and covering it with dog hair. I do not fancy having my suits turned into furs.
JP
She smiled, touched by the gift. Folding up the paper, she looked at Prince, who rested his head on the side of the bed and looked up with big brown puppy eyes. "No," she laughed. "He'll do us both in if you start coming up on furniture." He thumped his tail.
Mr. Port probably had an agenda for giving the dog, and it worked. Despite the pain, she got up that afternoon and played fetch with Prince down the hall. Lacking a dog toy or stick, she balled up a sock.
He was quick, despite his large belly. He charged down the hall and opened his mouth to dive for the sock without breaking pace. He did a flyby, snatching up his new toy. Stevens came up the stairs, and Prince darted around him at the last second before circling around and charging back toward her at full speed. He dropped his hind legs and skidded to a halt a foot away. Then he spit out the wet sock ball and waited, panting happily.
"He likes you, Ms. Hoplin," Stevens said as he approached.
"He likes my slimy sock," she laughed and picked up the soggy thing to throw it again. Prince tore after it.
He stopped with a pad and pen in hand. "Are there things you require for him?" He read the paper. "Mr. Port said to get him a license, call the vet to see if he needs shots, get him food and water bowls, two brushes because he will probably break them with all his hair, a leash, and a shovel for his messes outside. Shall I add a ball?"
Prince dropped the sock, so she bent down and then threw it again. "Food."
"He has a 25-pound bag you inherited. Krunchie Munchie Puppie," he said, trying to look dignified saying it.
She laughed. "He isn't a puppy anymore, and I'm not feeding him some junk brand. I've heard a lot of recalls on that one. I'll call the vet and ask what's a healthy one. That might be part of his weight problem."
"Yes, ma'm."
"Emma. You make me feel so old with 'ma'm.'" Prince returned and dropped the sock.
"I don't know that Mr. Port would approve," he frowned.
"Well, Mr. Port isn't here. What's your name?" Prince grew impatient and barked for her to toss the sock, so she did.
He looked flustered. "Peter, but I've gone by Stevens for so long I probably wouldn't answer."
She studied him. "How long have you been with Mr. Port?"
"Almost four years, Ms. Hoplin." He folded his hands behind him, seemingly pleased.
So the house staff had come together almost at the same time. "May I ask how you came to be here?"
Holding his head high, he looked her in the eye. "An alcoholic, ma'm. Never laid a hand on them, but my wife and boy couldn't take it anymore. They left and found a good man. I was going to kill myself from depression. I met Mr. Port that night. I owe him a great deal, Ms. Hoplin, and plan to serve him for many years."
The gratitude and deep loyalty came through in his tone. It obviously took him courage to not be ashamed of his past, something that Mr. Port also probably had a lot to do with.
"And Trudy?"
"That is Ms. Van Hoodie's story to tell, Ms. Hoplin. I should be on my way down the mountain before dark, if you'll be so kind as to call the vet and select a food."
She nodded and spotted Prince asleep in the middle of the hall with the sock in his mouth. Then she turned back to Stevens. "May I call you 'Peter?'"
He shook his head. "My wife used to call me by it. I prefer 'Pete' or 'Stevens.'"
"Alright. Pete, would you carry me downstairs before you go? I should get some work done. Then maybe we can work on those cookies when you get back?"
He smiled. "Yes, Ms. Hoplin."
Trudy was attacking every dust bunny in the study when she entered for work.
"I did this last week, don'tcha know? That dog is going to be a thorn in my side." She climbed around a chair with the vacuum.
Prince stumbled in, sleepy from his exercise. He dropped onto the large oriental rug with the sock in his mouth and sprawled out to twice his width, somehow.
"Don'tcha go there. I have to do that rug." Trudy waved the hose attachment at him. "Up, ya beast! Up!" She nudged a foot under him.
Loud snores answered.
She sat at the desk and suppressed a smile. It might be good to have someone around to stir Trudy's blood. "I don't think he's going to move."
Trudy knelt and tried to slide Prince across the rug, barely moving him an inch. He just groaned.
Ducking behind the laptop screen, she smothered a laugh.
"I heard that! He's interfering with my job, don'tcha know. He's as stubborn as a salmon in the river on Friday."
"Prince!" She whistled, feeling an inkling of remorse for Trudy's frustration.
Prince just rolled over onto his other side.
She couldn't help it and burst out laughing. "He's tired, Trudy. The rug looks fine."
Trudy got to her feet, mumbling about Jesus making stubborn beasts. She pulled the sock out of Prince's mouth. "And he's adding to my laundry."
Prince lifted his head and whimpered, staring at the sock.
"Oh no, you don't. I'm not washin' and darnin' socks daily because you took to them, dont'cha know."
"Ohhh, but he wants it. Just that one. I'll train him to leave socks alone."
Trudy sighed and dropped it back at Prince's feet. Prince snatched it up and flopped his head down, snoring with the sock in his mouth a minute later.
"Trudy?" She typed in the password to unlock the computer. "How did you come to work here?" Silence. She looked over at the woman to see a fond look come over her features.
"I was out of a job in Minnesota. The factory there laid a bunch of us off with no more thought than a firefly eating grass. My sister hadn't been living in Minnesota at the time and met Mr. Port one night when she'd gotten hurt. Weeks later when she was out of the hospital, she told me about Mr. Port needing a housekeeper here." She smiled softly. "I wouldn't dream of workin' for another soul." Then she took the vacuum and started working in the next room.
Pete returned a moment later. "A fallen tree is blocking the road. I called the town's crew. They said they'll get to it tomorrow."
"Looks like Krunchie Munchie Puppies for another day, Prince." She got up from the desk, not feeling like working anymore anyways. "How about those cookies, Pete?"
Prince's head shot up, and he perked his ears.
Pete smiled. "I think he knows that word."
Prince beat them out to the kitchen.
A man as large as Pete in a tiny cooking apron was a sight to see. Trudy and him got along far better than she'd realized too. They teased and bantered like old friends, even calling each other by their first names.
Trudy beat the counter with her hand and crossed her legs, almost ready to wet herself as Pete told the story.
"So I go outside to get Trudy's purse she'd forgotten in the car," he said. "This is the second day we knew each other, and I wasn't going to take any orders from a woman."
Trudy gasped for air, tears running down her face. "It was thirty below outside, and my hair was wet. I said a gentleman goes outside for a lady, and if he didn't, he could make his own meals and do his own laundry because I wasn't goin' ta take orders from the likes of an arrogant man."
He laughed, having a hard time getting words out. "Mr. Port heard us arguing and said we had thirty seconds to work it out or we were both fired. So I step out the door, and my feet slide right out on ice in the drive."
Trudy threw up an arm to mimic his feet.
"I slid, I slid..." He started crying from laughing so hard.
She started laughing seeing them so hysterical.
"He shot down the drive like..." Trudy gasped for air. "Like butter on ice, his feet sticking up in the air and screamin' like a girl!" she roared.
"I didn't scream like a girl!" he protested, wiping away the tears.
"I never heard a girl scream that high," Trudy countered. "The town asked the next day if a siren had gone off."
She held her belly and had to sit before she wet herself too.
It took until after dark to get the cookies made because they kept having to stop from rolling on the floor with laughter. They ended up having cookies and milk for dinner at nine o'clock.
Sitting with them at the far end of the dining table, she watched their animated chatter. Both Trudy and Pete came to work for Mr. Port because he'd help them or someone dearly loved. She had a sense that something more, something deeper, tied those three together.