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half out of her mind, and then grateful and then... Well, now she was mostly breathless, the blood just humming through her veins in the oddest of ways.
    "I'm sorry. I..." And then she frowned once more. "Come inside, okay? Just come inside."
    He bent over and picked up the phone, which she must have dropped, and handed it to her, then came inside. She clicked off the phone and put it down on the table by the door, then shut the door firmly behind them and locked it.
    He stood in the foyer staring at her. It was cold outside. She just realized that, and they'd been out there for a while, and now she was freezing. She was also tired from lack of sleep and probably had her hair sticking out every which way.
    He leaned toward her, his hand against the side of her face gently fingering the bruise on her cheek once more. "The guy backhanded you, huh?"
    "Yes." It looked worse this morning, redness and puffy giving way to a blackish/brownish swash of color she hadn't yet attempted to hide.
    "I don't suppose you reported him?"
    "No." His look told her he didn't think that was the smartest thing she'd ever done. "It's the first time anyone knocked me down. I wasn't quite up on the proper procedures. I just got the hell away from him."
    Rye backed up once again, and she realized she'd been short with him, when all he'd done was try to help her.
    "I'm sorry," she said again. "That was the last thing I should have said to you. You've done nothing but try to help."
    It wasn't quite true that this was the first time something like this had happened to her, either. Did she really have to tell him about that? Every damned thing?
    "It's all right," he said. "The guy's got you shaken and scared, but... Is that all he did, Emma? Knock you down and then start calling here wanting you back? Because if it's anything else... I know it's not easy to talk about things like this, but, did you see a doctor?"
    "I didn't need a doctor." And then she realized what Rye was getting at. She sagged against the wall at her back, so very tired now, hating this. "He just hit me. I know I'm falling apart here. I know you're looking at me and thinking it must have been a lot more than one guy hitting me one time, but it's not so much about this as... My mother was a battered wife, okay?"
    "You're mother?" He frowned. "You mean...?"
    "Not Rachel. Not Sam. My other mother. I don't even know what to call them at times, and I really don't like calling him my father. But he beat up my mother. Quite often. He beat her up, and when I was ten we left him, and then... It's a long story."
    "Okay," he said gently.
    "I think I'm reacting now as much to what happened in the past as I am with what really happened with Mark."
    She studied his reaction, waiting for the way he looked at her to change. People tended to do that, look at her differently once they knew, and she hadn't told anyone about this in the longest time. But his gaze remained steady, reassuring, calming, as if he could handle whatever came along. Which was exactly what she needed now.
    "Pretty ugly story, huh?" she said finally.
    "I've heard ugly stories before."
    Which actually made her smile. "Yeah, well... That's mine."
    She'd told him, and it was okay. Maybe it was easier because he was a complete stranger. He didn't know the Ever-So-Capable Emma McRae, the one who tried so hard to do everything right, to never worry anyone, to never cause any trouble. This was so unlike her.
    "So," he said matter-of-factly, "what are we going to do with you now, Emma?"
    "I don't know." She smiled again, thinking the really hard part was over. He was here, and she wasn't so scared. "I was thinking maybe you'd stay awhile. I think I'd like it if you stayed."
    "Then I'll stay," he agreed.
    "Thank you."
    And then she was back to shaking. It just wouldn't stop.
    He must think she was a basket case, a crazy person who let her boyfriend hit her. A wimp. Someone with lousy judgment in men. Someone who couldn't be trusted to look