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Relieved at the news, Callista offered a smile of her own. "I'm thankful he feels well enough to fuss over his clothes. When I first spotted him on the ground, I feared the worst." She rubbed her arms, the chill returning to her bones as she recalled that heart-stopping moment.

"I did, too." Mr. Griffin gestured for her to accompany him to the settee positioned near the chair where he liked to read. "In light of what happened, I think we need to discuss some things. If that is all right with you?"

"Of course."

She moved to the small sofa and sat down, surprised when he sat beside her instead of in his chair.

The moment he sat, the warmth emanating from him wrapped around her like a blanket on a cold night.

His nearness offered the comfort she hadn't known she'd been craving.

She twisted inward to see him better, her knees accidentally brushing against his.

As a gentleman would, he immediately shifted to remove his legs from touching hers.

The urge to chase him and resume the contact surprised her with its strength, but her comfort wasn't worth his dis comfort, so she refrained from violating the small buffer separating them.

"The shooter was gone by the time Spartacus led me to his location, so we don't know who he was or what his motive might be for firing upon the manor. However, I'm fairly certain that the shot was not an accident."

Someone was targeting the good people of Manticore Manor? How dreadful! A fire lit in Callista's belly, one flaming with the need to protect the people she cared about. Straightening her posture like a soldier reporting for duty, she looked Mr. Griffin in the eye. "What can I do to help?"

His brow arched. "What can you do . . .?" He wagged his head, that half smile making another appearance. "I thought this discussion would frighten you. I should have known better. You're not one to back away from trouble. I saw that for myself the day you arrived."

"Nothing is more important to me than family, Mr. Griffin, and while you might find me terribly sentimental, I'm not ashamed to say that I've come to think of all of you here as a second family.

You've opened your home to me, treated me with kindness and respect, and practically adopted me as one of your own.

I've come to care about all of you a great deal, and I'll do whatever I can to help. "

He stared at her without blinking. Then, after a nerve-wracking set of heartbeats, his lashes closed over his magnificent blue eye and raised again as if clearing away his shock.

Had her talk of family really been so extraordinary? She'd noticed definite familial tones in the way he interacted with his staff, especially Mr. Lightfoot. But then, he'd been with them for years. He'd only known her for a few weeks. Perhaps he found her statement presumptuous.

"I've overstepped, haven't I?" She hung her head. "I do tend to lead with my heart, I'm afraid. I apologize for making you uncomfortable."

"Don't apologize." His voice rumbled with raw ferocity.

"Please." He softened his tone as she lifted her head.

"You've done nothing wrong. In fact, you've given me a great gift.

There are very few people in this world who have treated me with the kind of loyalty and honor you've just demonstrated.

Your comments merely took me by surprise. That's all."

Callista smiled as relief coursed through her. "I'm glad I didn't cause offense."

"Not at all. I assure you."

"Good." She raised her chin and gave him her best ready-for-action nod. "Now. What can I do to help?"

His expression turned serious. "Until we know that it is safe, I would prefer that you not spend any time outdoors."

"Will you be spending time outdoors?"

He leaned back, his brow arching. "Yes, but I'll be armed."

Callista fought not to roll her eyes. "If you think carrying a weapon will prevent a bullet from ripping through you, you're less intelligent than I gave you credit for."

That expressive eyebrow of his slashed downward in a tight line. "I am responsible for the safety of the people in this household. Including you. I will not cower inside these walls and wait to be attacked a second time."

"No, you'll just go out there and make yourself an easy target." Callista pushed to her feet, too upset at the idea of him being struck down to sit in comfort. "Don't you see that the people of this house care about you? You speak of protecting us, but who will protect you ?"

"I suppose I'll have to depend on the Lord for that." He'd risen from the sofa the moment she had, and now stood barely a foot from her. So close, she swore she could feel him breathe.

"God doesn't always protect those we love," she murmured, her voice cracking as she remembered her mother.

"I used to blame him for not protecting me, too.

The day . . . this . . . happened." He gestured to his face, and Callista's heart throbbed in her chest. He'd never discussed his scars openly with her.

"But as time passed, and the freshness of the betrayal faded, I began to see that God had protected me, just not in the way I expected.

He'd spared my life, yes, but he'd also spared me from a lifetime of misery being married to a woman incapable of love.

And if I'm completely honest, he protected me from my own arrogance and pride. "

Callista couldn't look away from him. He was opening himself to her, and she couldn't bear the idea of that door closing again. So she gave a gentle push to the invisible boundary between them, and delved into personal territory. "That's what the rose represents, isn't it?"

She'd caught a glimpse of a couple of his paintings when she'd fetched him from the attic, but the rose . . . the rose had arrested her.

He nodded slowly. No anger evident on his face.

Dare she ask? She longed to learn more of his heart, to see it reflected in his art. To share that piece of him that he kept locked away. Grasping a surge of impulsive courage, she found her voice. "Would you show me someday?"

His throat worked up and down as his gaze locked on hers. She saw the struggle reflected in his gaze, ingrained caution battling a burgeoning trust.

Let me in , she silently pleaded.