Читать книгу When Bruce Met Cyn - Lori Foster - Страница 9

Cyn could hear the awful soughing of her own breath in her ears as she slapped past branches and bramble and twigs. Damn, but she’d been such an idiot.

A preacher! Few things took her by surprise anymore, but she sure hadn’t seen that one coming. She’d have believed almost anything else, but not that. The man was too rugged and sexy and handsome to be a preacher. No, she wasn’t buying it. He had to be lying.

And why would he lie, unless it was to lull her, pull her in? That’s what scared her.

Even as she thought it, she recalled how he’d come dashing to her rescue when no one else would have. He’d taken her blow to the chest without retaliation, and he’d even apologized for eyeing her boobs.

Other than that one slight, he hadn’t leered as other men usually did. Mostly, he’d been watching her with gentle, concerned brown eyes….

But she’d sure never seen a preacher who looked like him. Streaked blond hair that touched his collar, deep brown eyes framed by black lashes and low brows. Wide shoulders, trim hips. He was deeply tanned, physically fit. Muscular, sexy…In no way did he look like a man of great moral rectitude. A sinner, sure, but not a man of God.

Her foot caught on a gnarled root and she pitched forward, hitting the ground hard and getting several scratches and a mouthful of dirt. Pain shot up her leg. Reflexively, she curled into a small ball and held still, straining to hear. Nothing.

Odds were, he’d given up and gone on. Who wanted a looney tunes broad to deal with? Her reaction was nothing short of insane, she knew that, but even though Palmer Oaks was long dead, old memories were deeply inbred and impossible to shed.

She struggled to calm the wild drumming of her heartbeat so she could concentrate. She was safe from her past—had been safe since that night she’d left long ago.

However, her current predicament was not safe. She hurt from her toes to her ears, she’d left her suitcase behind, and she was all alone in the woods, as Bruce had said, hours from reaching a town.

She’d screwed up big time, so now what should she do?

Very slowly, every movement as silent as she could make it, she pulled into a crouch.

“Cyn.”

The scream was startled right out of her. She flailed around and landed on her ass. Eyes wide, she stared in the darkness at the hulking shadow of his body standing a few feet away.

He made no move toward her, which was a good thing considering she’d probably scream again and she felt idiotic enough as it was. She didn’t need to add to the drama.

Bruce let out a long sigh. “Don’t run, okay? I swear I’m not going to hurt you.” He took two steps back. She heard—and felt—his retreat more than saw it. “Are you all right?”

Her thoughts ran this way and that, making it impossible to speak. How the hell had he crept up on her like that? How did a man his size, easily six feet tall and she’d be willing to bet he weighed at least two hundred pounds, move without making a sound?

“You fell hard,” he continued in that calm, gentle voice—a voice she realized was a lot like the Reverend Thorne’s, the man Arlene and Palmer had taken her to see.

Cyn pulled back more, and hated herself for showing that much weakness.

Still, Bruce held himself immobile. “Did you hurt anything?”

She shook her head, then felt even more moronic because he couldn’t possibly see her. Well, she’d quit acting dumb and cowardly right now. “No.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Jesus, what type of man was he?

He knelt down too, and Cyn felt her spine collide with the rough bark of a massive tree.

Determined to brazen it out, she straightened her back and shoulders. It was unfortunate, but while he remained so close, she totally forgot the different ways that she knew to defend herself. She could have maced him. She could have drawn her knife.

Instead, she glared at him in the darkness, buried in confusion and exasperation and yeah, still some healthy fear. “What the hell do you want, anyway?”

“I just want to help you.”

Yeah, right. And then he’d sell her a bridge. He didn’t know her, had no vested interest in her—unless he hoped to get laid. Ha! Fat chance. He looked like he was poor, driving that old rattrap car and dressed in faded jeans.

She clenched her hands into fists. “I’m not screwing you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” And then, with some sort of warped amusement, he added, “I’m not that easy.”

“Oh, give me a break,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“That’s what I’m trying to do. I offered to drive you into Visitation. But if that won’t do, then at least let me get you to a gas station.” She started to shake her head, and he continued. “But if you don’t want to do that, either, then I’ll leave your suitcase on the road for you.”

She wasn’t buying it. “You’d really do that?”

“Yes. But I’ll also call the deputy of Visitation. His name is Scott Royal and he can come by and give you a ride.”

Worse and worse. No way in hell did she want the law involved. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Why?”

Was he an idiot? “I don’t want any trouble with the law.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, then asked quietly, “Why would there be trouble?”

Because she’d killed a man.

Only, Bruce didn’t know that, and she wasn’t about to tell him. In five years, no one had come after her. She’d hidden her trail as best she could, but she knew, if the law had been after her, they’d have found her.

With her fear all but gone, Cyn looked around the murky interior of the woods. Bugs scurried by, owls hooted, leaves rustled. She’d been in some strange situations in her lifetime, but sitting here now, with a hunk claiming to be a preacher, no less, and carrying on a whispered conversation, had to take the cake.

Again, her lack of a reply prompted him to more discussion. “Scott’s a friend, and more than that, he’s a good man, a man who cares about people. He’ll make sure you get someplace safe.”

“You expect me to believe that all these saints are just running loose, waiting to help little ol’ me?”

Bruce’s dark shadow stretched out and then he was standing over her, tall, strong, and she sensed, oddly protective. “I understand you have reason for cynicism.”

“Do you?” She was deliberately sarcastic, but damn it…he did sound understanding. Something about his voice, the emotion behind it, was beginning to reel her in.

She could feel his consideration, his acute attention on her, before he asked, “Do you need some money?”

Anger saved her. Using the tree for support, Cyn pulled herself upright. Her right ankle protested the movement, but she ignored it. “Why in hell would you want to give me money?”

“Because I’m concerned about you.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, then finally said, “You’re young.”

“Twenty-two, buddy boy. Plenty old enough to have earned a living for five years now.”

That surprised him, she could tell. “You look younger.”

“Not to most men.” Shut up, Cyn. She bit her bottom lip and held herself still.

“Twenty-two is definitely young to a thirty-five-year-old.” His white teeth shone in a smile that didn’t reassure her one bit, and he gave up. “You’re also small, and female. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound sexist, but you’re vulnerable here alone. You’re vulnerable just about anywhere alone right now.”

Never in her entire life had she known anyone like him. She felt so damned confused her head hurt as much as her ankle.

His exasperation was expressed in a long, exaggerated sigh. “Look, Cyn, it’s obvious that you’re running away from something or someone. You’re afraid.”

She tried to square her shoulders again, but she was just too tired. “Maybe I’m running to something. Did you think of that?”

Rather than scoff, he asked, “Visitation?”

“And why not?” Did he think his little Podunk town was too good for her?

His sympathy washed over her like a gentle, warm wave. It was the weirdest sensation, as if she were being drawn to him, as if she knew him, even though they’d just met. He wasn’t the man in the recurring dream, but still, she was started to believe him.

How stupid could she be?

Okay, so he wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill guy. He sure as certain wasn’t a run-of-the-mill preacher, either. But he did seem genuinely kind. And caring, and sincere.

“You left your luggage in my car.”

“I know.” She rubbed her face tiredly. “It was stupid of me.” Because she’d always prided herself on not being dumb, it hurt to make that admission. But everything she really needed was in her purse anyway. She wore the strap across her body and over her neck. No one would be able to yank it off her shoulder, not without taking her head off, too.

“You’re afraid of me now,” Bruce pointed out, “but you weren’t. Not until I mentioned I was a preacher.”

There was an unasked question there, and she supposed, given her behavior, he deserved an explanation or two. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t add up. You and church pews…nope. It feels suspicious.”

Incredulity rang in his tone when he said, “Suspicious enough to make you leap out of a running car?”

Though he couldn’t possibly see, Cyn made a face. “You weren’t going that fast and you refused to let me out.”

“If you asked to jump off a bridge, I’d refuse to let you do that, too.” He waited, huffed at her continued silence. “All right. You think I’m lying? Why?”

“Preachers don’t look like you.”

She saw his teeth again, and felt his amusement. “Is that so? Are you giving me a compliment or an insult?”

Cyn snorted. In some respects, men were all the same. Little by little, the sense of threat had entirely evaporated. She’d overreacted—she knew that now. But she wouldn’t keep feeling foolish because of it. Better to make too much of something than to be caught with deceit.

She pushed away from the tree and dusted off her bottom. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you have to know you’re gorgeous.”

He continued to grin. “Thank you.” Casual as you please, he produced a hanky and used it to wipe her face. “You’re a mess.”

The gesture so took her by surprise, she froze. His touch was light, gentle, as if he worried he might hurt her.

Some strange, exceptional sensation expanded inside her. It was a dangerous feeling, stealing her breath, making her heart race. It made her weak—and so she rejected it.

She shoved his hand away. “How the hell can you see?” She narrowed her eyes and strained, but could only see the dark shadows of his body.

“You’re very white,” he said in a near whisper. Then louder, with a smile, “Except for all that long black hair.”

“Witchy hair, I know.” She turned her head and spit. “Ugh, I ate so much dirt, I shouldn’t be hungry anymore.”

Again, with unfamiliar tenderness, he smoothed her hair back, handed her the hanky, and then took her arm to start her back toward the car.

Like a zombie, Cyn found herself following. But really, what other option did she have? She didn’t want to walk miles and miles in the dark, in the cold, in her skimpy sandals. She was already beat. And sleeping in the woods with the threat of wild animals didn’t sound all that great, either.

Bruce propelled her forward with gentle, concerned insistence. His hand was big and hot, like the man himself. He didn’t hold her tight, but rather just as a gentlemanly gesture.

He continued to chat as if he weren’t retrieving her from the woods. “My twin brother is, or rather used to be, a bounty hunter. Is that more the type of occupation you had in mind for my mug?”

Amazed at such a disclosure, Cyn stared toward him. “Yeah. That’d work.” God knew he was big and solid enough to chase down criminals. His nearness was somehow comforting and secure, not threatening. Then, just because she wanted to keep him talking so he wouldn’t ask more questions, she said, “So you have a twin?”

“Married not too long ago. He and his wife, Shay, just settled in their new house in Visitation. We all used to live in Ohio. I ran a safe house there for prostitutes.”

Cyn tripped over her own feet, and gasped as pain shot up her leg. “The hell you say?” Now that was just too damn much coincidence.

Bruce hauled her upright, then slipped his arm around her waist when she almost collapsed again. “Okay?”

“Quit asking me that.” She shoved him back a safer distance. When he got too close, her heart did funny little flips and her stomach curled in an odd, unfamiliar way. “I’m fine.” At least physically, she wasn’t hurt. But mentally, she was reeling. “You want me to believe that you housed hookers?”

“When they needed a safe place to go, yes. I was able to help many of them start new lives.”

As far as hints went, he wasn’t all that subtle. Cyn tucked in her chin. “What if they didn’t want to start a new life?”

Her challenging tone didn’t faze him one bit. “Then I helped them deal with the life they had.”

Unbelievable. It almost sounded like he truly cared, like he didn’t judge them as the sludge of humanity. She peeked at his heavily shadowed form, and couldn’t quite dredge up an image of him beating the evilness out of a woman.

“Shay also did some community work,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “She opened a bigger, nicer safe house in the same area where I had mine. A dear friend of hers runs it now, and things are going great, so I thought I’d try my hand at something else.”

Like saving recently retired hookers from annoyed truckers? She shook her head at herself. “Like what?”

“Easy there, watch your feet. There are sticker bushes.”

His gallant consideration got on her nerves. It wasn’t what she was used to. It sure as heck wasn’t what she expected. “You can see pretty good in the dark, can’t you?” The cold tried to sink into her bones, making her entire body shiver, but Bruce pulled her closer and his warmth settled over her, as comforting as a heated blanket.

“Well enough.” And with tons of innuendo:

“Being a preacher doesn’t make me blind.”

He led her over the bushes, and then she could see his car on the road, the headlights still on, sending scant illumination around the area. He stopped and turned her to face him. For a long moment, she got lost in the dark mystery of his eyes, until he said, “So, what’ll it be?”

He wanted to know if she’d ride with him. But he’d already told her he wouldn’t just leave her alone, and she’d been dumb enough for one night.

She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

An increasing breeze, damp with the threat of rain, lifted a long tress of her hair, sending it past her face and against Bruce’s throat. She watched him draw in a deep breath, then mentally shake himself. He smoothed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear. The moon shone down on him, giving his masculine form an almost divine aura.

Damn, but he took her breath away.

His warm fingertips grazed her cheek, and then he dropped his hand. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Odd, but what she wanted most at that moment was to curl into him and beg to be held. No one had ever really held her, not without expectations. No one had ever really cared about her, about what she wanted and needed, and suddenly, she craved his comfort.

But she hadn’t begged for anything in years, not since she’d gone off on her own, and she sure as certain wouldn’t start now.

Besides, she’d known since she was sixteen that her looks presented her as a sexual being, not merely a female. If her mother and Palmer Oaks hadn’t made that clear, the Reverend certainly had. He blamed her for the way Palmer reacted to her. He told her that her soul was carnal.

Reverend Thorne was wrong, she knew that now, but men did look at her and get ideas. She wouldn’t encourage those ideas with too much touching. Not anymore. Not even a man who seemed genuinely kind. She just didn’t know enough about honesty to judge him.

“Naw, I’d rather ride than walk.” And to dismiss the moments past, she laughed. “Sorry I freaked on you.”

Bruce accepted her decision with a nod and they continued on toward the car. When she limped again, he asked, “Are you sure your leg’s okay?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re limping.”

Her laugh sounded loud in the otherwise quiet area. “I’ve limped worse after being on my back all day.”

His gaze zeroed in on her like a homing beacon. “Meaning?”

He knew damn good and well what she meant, but she said only, “You’re a preacher, right? So I better not melt your ears with my sordid tales of debauchery.”

“You have a colorful way of putting things.”

“I’m a colorful kind of gal.”

“I’ll take a look at it if you want.”

“No.”

“Okay, then.”

The idle chitchat distracted her. She needed to plan out the rest of the evening.

“I’m building a church,” he said, as if the last fifteen minutes hadn’t happened.

He treated her like any other woman he might have encountered, not as a crazy ex-hooker who leaped out of cars, not as a woman who looked like the original temptation.

It was…nice. “You mean in Visitation?”

“Yes. The closest one is almost two hours away, and a lot of the locals use that as an excuse not to attend service. Because I always liked working in the streets, I haven’t limited myself to a single church in a very long time. But now, I don’t know. It feels right to build a church right in the town proper. I feel the…pull to be there again, addressing a congregation, delivering a sermon. Do you know what I mean?”

He opened Cyn’s door for her and she sat down, but kept her legs out. The interior lights spilled out in a soft arc, exaggerating Bruce’s features, sharpening his bone structure, making his hair lighter, his eyes darker.

So many contrasts the preacher had.

“Sure. I felt the pull to come to Visitation.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

It was probably past midnight. By the minute, the air grew heavier with the scent of an approaching storm. But Bruce seemed in no real hurry to be on their way.

Cyn wasn’t sure what to think of that. “Yeah. Like you with your church, I’m ready to change my life, too.”

“And you chose to do that in Visitation?”

“Visitation was the place that chose me.”

He smiled again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe fate is lending a hand. For both of us.”

Cyn licked her dry lips. All things aside, a girl couldn’t be too careful. “I’ve gotta ask you something, Bruce.”

She’d kept her tone light, but his look was full of serious regard as he stared down at her. “Of course. Anything.”

She nodded, thought about how to put her question, then just blurted it out. “You into hitting women or kids? For any reason?” She watched him closely, waiting for any telltale sign that might give him away as a liar or a fraud.

There was no hesitation. “Never.” His fingers touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. His thumb brushed at a little dirt on her jaw. “And I’d do anything in my power to stop anyone who did.”

Cyn wasn’t sure about that. No one had ever really intervened on her behalf before—but then again, she remembered the trucker and how Bruce had rushed out to defend her.

Just as he had before, he dropped his hand the moment he realized that he touched her. “Good men don’t abuse others, and I wouldn’t want to think of myself as less than a good man. Not perfect, mind you, because God knows I have my flaws.”

Cyn nodded. “Picking up strangers is one of them.”

He grinned at her quip. “I have nothing but disdain for anyone who deliberately hurts another person.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That someone will hurt you?”

She shrugged, wary of dredging up the past and the ugliness of it. It was incredible that she’d told him so much already. She’d never shared her awful secrets with anyone. “If a man thinks he’s justified, then who’s to stop him?”

Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets. The fact that they were alone on a deserted road in the middle of the night didn’t disturb him. “There is no excuse, none, for ever hurting a woman or child. Unfortunately, bad people are everywhere, hiding behind occupations, wealth, social standing, and fanatical convictions. A mean spirit isn’t something exclusive to the ugly or the poor—it’s not something you can easily see in a person’s eyes.”

He’d be good at delivering the sermons, she decided. He had a real passionate way of sharing his opinions and beliefs. “I can sometimes tell.”

He stared down at her so intently, she felt it like a tactile touch. He looked big and imposing, but she wasn’t afraid. Not now.

“You couldn’t tell with me.”

“You just took me by surprise, that’s all.” She tried a halfhearted smile. “If you say you’re a saintly sort, then who am I to argue?”

He wasn’t appeased. Just the opposite—her words seemed to set him off. “Tell me something, Cyn. You’re obviously an intelligent woman. Why are you taking so many chances? When you know the risks, why are you hitchhiking and—”

“I don’t have a car.” She felt like saying, “Duh,” but didn’t.

He gave her a look of incomprehension.

By necessity, her view of such things was philosophical. “I needed to travel.”

“But it scares you.”

“Most times, fear is a luxury, so it doesn’t matter if you’re afraid.” She shared with him what she’d always known. “And I don’t really have a choice.”

Bruce rubbed his face, stared up at the heavens, and muttered something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch. Then, in an almost angry stride, he headed to his side of the car.

Cyn had learned to read people, especially men, and Bruce Kelly was as sincere as a man could be. She would have seen that before, if his odd vocation hadn’t taken her by surprise.

He slammed his door and started the engine. “Ready?”

“Ready is my middle name.” She swung her legs into the car, shut the door, and let out a long breath. She’d been up for too many hours to count, which maybe had contributed to her earlier panic. As she fastened her seat belt, she asked, “I think I’ll sleep while you drive. I’m pooped.”

Bruce knew that Cyn wasn’t really asleep. With his jacket pulled up over her chest and shoulders like a blanket, she dozed. But anytime he moved—to adjust the radio, to turn down the heater—she opened those pale eyes just enough to watch him.

It broke his heart to see such a young woman so vigilant and fearful. She was stretched out as much as a person could be in a car while still sitting upright. She kept her purse looped across her neck, with the purse tucked securely under her arm, but otherwise her limbs were loose and relaxed.

Her face was half turned toward him, her long, silky hair teasing her breasts, hanging almost to her elbows. Her nails were short and blunt, unpainted. Her feet were small and narrow. She wore no makeup at all.

And she was so incredibly sexy she made his heart race. Half asleep, she should have looked like a child.

Instead, she looked…wanton.

Her features were exotic, so delectably carnal and earthy that she needed to do nothing at all to make a man think of rumpled sheets and sweat-damp bodies straining together. Bruce had no doubt that she’d had more than a few men anxious to bed her.

In all likelihood, she’d sold them the privilege on a regular basis. He also knew, given her reserve and probable background, that some of those men had hurt her.

Yet, they hadn’t broken her spirit. That bespoke an uncommon inner strength, and gave him hope.

Despite her fortitude, the exhaustion was plain in her boneless posture and the weariness etched in her face, so Bruce drove straight home. After parking on the gravel road in front of the half-finished church, he turned off the headlights and cut the engine. “Cynthia.”

Her eyes opened and she straightened with a luxuriant stretch and a lusty yawn. “Where are we?” Curious, she glanced around, saw that everything was dark and empty, and gave him a suspicious frown.

“My place.” He got out and circled the hood to open her door.

Eyes wide, she scampered from the car so fast, she forgot her shoes. She faltered a moment on her hurt ankle, then breathed deeply of the cold night air. Bruce watched her toes curl against the chilly, dew-wet grass.

“This is Visitation?” She looked around with a sort of silent awe.

Bruce felt his lips twitch. She said “Visitation” with the same reverence one might give heaven. “It is. Part of it, at least.”

He reached in the car for his jacket and wrapped it around her, then fetched her sandals. She braced a hand on his shoulder as she slipped them on her feet, saying a distracted, “Thanks.” She was too busy soaking in the sights to pay much attention to her feet.

He pointed down the street. “There’s a nice diner where you can catch breakfast in the morning, but they’re closed for the night now. Around the block, about two minutes from here, is a small motel. The town’s small, with one strip mall, a few small businesses, and a factory farther out. Fact is, you can drive completely through town in under ten minutes, but if you go back about an hour from where we came and take the exit into—”

“No.” She closed her arms around herself to ward off the April chill and favored him with a bright smile that made everything masculine in him stand at attention. “I’m here and I’m staying. In Visitation. Nowhere else.”

Bruce cocked a brow at her quick insistence.

Her smile turned whimsical. “I’ve dreamed about this place so many times. I want to see if I recognize it in daylight, if it feels as good as it did in my imagination.”

“All right.” Bruce had learned long ago when to push and when to let things ride. “I can take you to the motel after you eat.”

She gave him a calculated look. “If the restaurant’s closed, how do you plan to feed me?”

Because he couldn’t help himself, he flicked the end of her nose. “I can cook.”

“No kidding? I mean, I didn’t expect you to do that, but a starving woman doesn’t quibble.” She nodded toward the building. “So these are your digs?”

Bruce relaxed. Finding herself alone with him in a less-than-public place didn’t seem to alarm her at all. Other than her brief, overwhelming fear on the road, she’d been as at ease as a long acquaintance.

“This will eventually be my church.” Pride filled him as he gestured to the two-story, red brick house now sporting a very large, not-quite-complete addition. Because he’d been gone overnight, he’d left the porch light on and it showed the destroyed lawn typical of new construction. The building wasn’t fancy, but he loved it.

God didn’t need fancy, and neither did Bruce.

“It doesn’t look like a church.”

He watched her smooth her unruly curls, tossed by the wind. It distracted him, and made him think of things he shouldn’t. He shook his head. “In the same way that I don’t look like a preacher?”

“Just the opposite. It’s too plain to be a church.” She lightly elbowed him. “And you’re too hunky to be a preacher.”

Plenty of women had teased and flirted with him, but he’d never paid much attention, never lost sight of the fact that they needed him and depended on him. With Cyn, it was different and he had to deliberately keep his mind off taboo speculation. With her, he didn’t just see the bravado of a woman covering past hurts. He saw long, silky hair and warm, smooth skin. He smelled her—the scent of woman, more provocative than any manufactured perfume. He enjoyed her bold gaze, the tilt of her sexy mouth…“Did I mention that my father was a preacher, too?”

Thank God, she’d been unaware of his intimate perusal. She smiled without a care. “Does he look like you?”

Mentioning his family would hopefully help him keep his head. “Not really. He’s darker. My brother and I got our fair hair from our mother, but our brown eyes from Dad.”

“Dad’s gotta love the bounty hunter, huh?”

Bruce enjoyed her teasing. “We’re very proud of Bryan. He helps people, same as we try to do. It’s just that his methods are…a little different.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” She winked at him. “So, where are we going to eat?”

“The construction crew’s managed to leave most of my living quarters around back untouched. It’s small, but then I’m only one person. I don’t need much space.”

“Lead the way.” But when Cyn went to take a step, she stumbled, and Bruce saw a grimace on her face.

She was hurt more than she wanted to admit, stubborn woman. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you inside.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

Even though she held herself stiffly—due more to pride than discomfort at his closeness, he was sure—he was very aware of her softness, of how slight she felt against his side, the heat of her small body. The top of her head aligned with his mouth, and he fought the instinct to plant a small kiss on her forehead.

She was dead tired, had probably been on the road for hours, but she still smelled fresh and spicy and so much like a woman that Bruce almost stumbled, too.

As they passed the side of the church, she noticed the crumbled wall where plastic had been tacked up to protect against the weather. “You sleep in there with your house open?”

“Visitation isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime, and it’s not for long. They’re saying within a month, but it’ll probably take longer. I’m learning that in construction, a month often means three months. A very nice glass block niche will go there. Shay, my sister-in-law, donated the money for it. We’ll use it as a sunny play area for the little ones who come to church with their parents.”

“She donated that, huh?”

“Did I mention that Shay was filthy rich?” He grinned. “She could probably buy the whole town, but instead, she’s been running amuck making improvements everywhere. Thanks to her, we’ve been able to hold services in the basement of the only local bank. She’s paying the rental fee until the church is complete.”

Bruce unlocked the door that led into his kitchen. Warmth greeted them, along with the scents of sawdust and drywall. He flipped on the inside light. “Here we are. Why don’t you sit down and rest your ankle.”

He glanced at her, winced at the dirt still on her face and clothes, and pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “You’re a mess, young lady. Sit still and let me get you a few damp cloths.”

“Thanks.” Once Cyn was seated, she kicked off her sandals again and bent to look at her ankle, while saying, “You’re a man who housed hookers, with a preacher for a father, a bounty hunter for a brother, and a wealthy sister-in-law. Your life must never be boring.”

What an understatement. Much of the past year had been chaotic, sometimes frightening, and full of change. “You should meet some of my friends here in Visitation.” He returned to her with two damp dishcloths. “Hold still.”

She held up her hands. “See these? They make it easy for me to do my own bathing.”

Bruce winced. “There’s no mirror down here, and I doubt you’re up to climbing the stairs. As to these hands…” He laid the cloths down and caught both her wrists, examining her palms. In places, they were scraped raw, probably from her fall in the woods. She had dirt under her nails, scratches and scrapes.

Bruce pulled her upright and practically carried her to the kitchen sink a few feet away. Her bulky purse was between them. “You can leave your purse on the table.”

“It goes where I go.”

“What about when you sleep?”

She patted it. “Makes a nice pillow.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. She must have something mighty important inside that she thought to protect with her person. “Suit yourself, but it pains me to be thought a thief.”

“Yeah, well, it’d pain me more to lose it.”

Did she have her entire life in that bag? It was possible, so Bruce let it drop. Trust would come in time.

Feeling bedeviled by his own wayward musings, he stood beside her, supervising while she washed away the dirt and small streaks of dried blood on her tender palms.

When she saw his frown, she said, “Relax, Lancelot. It’s no biggie.”

How many hurts in her life had she dismissed as no biggie? Her stomach rumbled, breaking his troubled thoughts enough that Bruce laughed. “I can take a hint.”

While she finished washing, he opened the refrigerator and took out a covered container. “Leftover chicken, broiled potatoes, and string beans sound good?”

“Like heaven.” She returned to the table, pulled a chair around, and propped up her legs, making herself at home. “So tell me about your friends.”

Bruce began preparing a plate to go in the microwave. “There’s Joe Winston. Now, you want to talk about a man with a colorful past, Joe fits the bill. He’s been a police officer, a PI, a bounty hunter, and a bodyguard. Now he’s married to Luna, and together they run a recreational lake here in Visitation. It’s further out, very private and very beautiful.” He turned and watched her running her fingers through her hair, attempting to untangle it.

Wishing he could do that for her, he cleared his throat. “You remember the deputy I told you about? Scott Royal.”

“Cops tend to stick in my mind.”

“Scott’s a deputy, but you seldom see the sheriff, so if you need the law, odds are it’ll be Scott. He’s a nice guy, but he goes bonkers whenever Joe’s sister, Alyx, is in town.”

“How come?”

“They rub each other the wrong way. Or maybe the right way—with those two it’s hard to tell.” He laughed, remembering their last encounter. “The Winstons are pretty outrageous, and they have a lot of presence. When one is around, you know it. But watching Alyx and Scott spark off each other is entertaining.”

“Alyx doesn’t live here?”

“Not yet, but I expect her to move to Visitation any day now. So far she’s restricted herself to monthly visits, which is probably all that’s saved Scott’s sanity.” Bruce put the plate in the microwave and turned it on. “I can’t tell you about Visitation without mentioning Jamie Creed.”

Cyn cocked her head to the side. Curiosity shone from her light eyes. “Jamie Creed?”

He opened the refrigerator and surveyed drinks. “Jamie has never come right out and said it, but he’s a psychic of some sort. Or maybe more specifically an empath.”

“He picks up on others’ emotions?”

Bruce frowned at himself. “Yes, but actually, it goes beyond even that. Jamie somehow knows things, even before they happen. And he knows how they’ll happen, how to manipulate events so they work out the way he wants them to.”

“Sounds spooky.”

“Not really. The women in town see him as a dark, romantic mystery. The men, from my observations, are both jealous and leery of him.”

“Why would they be leery?”

Bruce poured her iced tea, which was about all he had to offer other than water, then joined her at the small oak table. “Jamie has this habit of only showing himself long enough to shake things up. He lives up on the mountain—where, exactly, I’m not sure. One minute he’ll be here, then he’ll be gone, and he only comes back when it suits him to do so.”

Cyn’s expression became pinched. “He lives in the middle of tall trees with no one else around?”

Because he watched her so closely, with so much fascination, Bruce noticed how the mention of Jamie affected her. “As I said, I don’t really know. I suppose so, though. The mountains here are so thick with trees, they’re almost impenetrable.”

Cyn slowly licked her lips. “He’s tall. Dark hair, a beard. Trim but muscular.”

Bruce leaned toward her. “You’ve met Jamie?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But he has the darkest brown eyes, not sexy like yours, but almost black and empty and sort of eerie…”

The microwave dinged, and Cyn nearly jumped out of her chair.

Bruce reached for her hand. “You haven’t met him, but you’ve seen him?”

She avoided his gaze. “This’ll clinch it. You’ll definitely think I’m nuts.”

“I know Jamie, who fades in and out, and I don’t think he’s nuts. Trust me, nothing you can say will shock me after meeting him.”

“All right, you asked for it.” She gave him a crooked smile. “It’s this strange dream that I keep having. Remember I said Visitation pulled at me? Well, I didn’t know it was Visitation, I just knew what it looked like and how it felt. I’d see this big, clean lake and so many trees that sometimes you couldn’t see the sky and I saw…Jamie Creed. I didn’t know his name, I just saw him. But unlike the other things, like the lake and the trees, he was always vague. There, but not real defined.”

Beyond fascinated, Bruce rose from his seat to get her plate, giving himself a moment to think. Was it possible that she knew Jamie from somewhere? Maybe Jamie’s mysterious past was somehow tied in with hers. “What did he say to you in this dream?”

“Nothing. He was just there. Quiet and not really frowning, but not smiling, either.”

“No, Jamie doesn’t smile much.” Too many times to count, Bruce had pondered Jamie and his too serious, too sober outlook on life. Jamie seemed to feel responsible for everyone, even though it was plain he wanted to keep himself separate from others.

But now Cyn had some sort of connection to him.

“Will I get to meet Jamie, do you think?”

He set her plate in front of her and watched her inhale the scent of roast chicken with great anticipation. “That’s up to Jamie. If he wants to meet you, he’ll show up.”

She accepted that with a nod. Before Bruce realized what she was doing, she’d dug a small pill bottle out of her purse and had two round tablets ready to toss in her mouth.

He caught her wrist. “What are you taking?”

She stared at his restraining hand, and slowly, her gaze moved up to his face. They had a visual standoff, but Bruce didn’t relent, so finally she said, “It’s aspirin. For my ankle.”

“Let me see.”

She stiffened and her chin tucked in. “You’re calling me a liar?”

Her wrist felt slender, almost fragile, with his fingers wrapped around it. “I don’t like drugs.”

She jerked away from him. “And I don’t like pain.”

“What pain?”

Her foot got thrust in his face. “You saw me limping. You even kept harping about it. Remember?”

Bruce wrapped his fingers around the arch of her small foot. He lowered it to his lap so he could inspect her ankle. It was swollen and bruised and she sucked in her breath when he touched it. “I don’t think you broke anything or you wouldn’t have been able to walk at all, but it’s probably sprained.”

“So do I have Your Majesty’s permission to pop some aspirin?”

Leaving her foot balanced on his thigh, Bruce again caught her wrist and pried her fingers open. Two small, chalky-white pills were on her palm. He recognized them as brand-name aspirin.

She started to jerk her foot away, but Bruce held her still. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t soften one bit. “I’m not a drug head.”

He’d already apologized, and by her comment, he knew she understood his concern. “I’m glad.”

His simple but sincere sentiment took the heat from her eyes. She licked her lips. “I know a lot of the other girls took drugs, but I never did.”

“Other girls?” She made sarcastic comments, but hadn’t outright admitted to being a prostitute yet.

She met his gaze without flinching. “From the time I was seventeen, until now, I was a hooker. But you already knew that.”

“I thought it was possible.” It took all his resolve to keep his expression impassive, when inside his emotions churned. Seventeen. It hurt him to even consider it. “Why?”

“The usual reason—I needed money.”

“Why prostitution? Why not some other job?”

“Whoring is easier?”

He chastised her with a frown. “No, it’s not.”

She laughed. “You’re right, it isn’t.” She turned her head, giving him a long look, then shrugged.

“I tried to get other jobs, but I was young, dumb as dirt when it came to skills, and even the most basic job wanted some sort of ID.”

It was a typical story for runaways, one he’d heard many times. “You couldn’t give any ID?”

“Nope.”

“Because you didn’t want to be taken back?”

“That’s about it.”

He closed his eyes, pained for her. “And so you sold yourself.”

“I didn’t have much else to sell. And it wasn’t like I wanted to do it.” She half laughed, showing no signs of real humor. “But I got hungry, ya know?”

“Yes. I know.”

“I’d watched some girls turning tricks. I saw what they were doing and how they dressed and the stuff they said. Guys are notoriously easy. You stand there, smile, show a little leg or cleavage…”

“I understand.” But he couldn’t bear to visualize it.

“Anyway, I watched them, what the drugs and the flesh peddling did to them, and I knew I never wanted to be like that. So I was more careful and I stayed away from the pushers.”

Her idea of caution would make most people faint in fright. Still, he understood her—and he admired her. “Good for you.”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that drugs mess up your head. And like you said, being a small woman puts you at a disadvantage from jump. I didn’t need to be loopy on top of it. Besides, I wanted to save all my money, not waste it on getting high.” After saying that, she popped the aspirin in her mouth and washed them down with tea, the topic dead by her decree.

Bruce accepted that. He patted her hand. “I’ll get you some ice for your ankle. Use my chair to keep it elevated while you eat.”

“Yes, oh-mighty-one.”

The variety of names she called him weren’t exactly complimentary, but they weren’t outright insults, either, and Bruce was too relieved to have her good humor restored to say anything about it.

The rain started not two minutes later. The sky opened up and the storm hit as an angry torrent, accompanied by wailing winds and a spattering of hail. The lights in the kitchen flickered, but didn’t go out.

He was glad. Never before had he felt so entertained watching a woman eat. Cyn was small, but she had a hearty appetite. He’d realized while watching her that her manners were surprisingly refined. In his past experience, hookers were deliberately crass and uncouth. If Cyn tempered what she said, no one would ever suspect her of being anything other than an exceptionally appealing young lady with a middle-class background.

She ate every bite on her plate, but refused seconds when Bruce offered them. “Any more and my jeans will pop a snap. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She pushed her plate back and slouched in her seat with her hands laced over her flat belly. “There’s nothing in this world like home-cooked food.”

Bruce was good at picking up on clues to a person’s background, but as clues went, that one was pretty in-your-face. “You normally eat at restaurants?”

“I’ve never had a kitchen, so yeah.”

“Never?”

She met his surprise with an expression of negligence. “Not since I was a kid, and my mother sure as hell wasn’t Suzy-homemaker, you know?” She stood up and stretched, flexed her ankle experimentally, and frowned. “I’d better be on my way. I don’t want to abuse your hospitality.”

It was three in the morning, it was storming, and she looked exhausted as well as hurt.

After giving her a long, thoughtful look, Bruce came to a sudden decision. Only moments ago, he’d had his intentions all planned out. He’d told himself it’d be for the best for her to go the motel. He’d told himself it wouldn’t look right, for her, if she stayed with him. He’d check in on her, offer her assistance, and keep in touch. A good plan. A solid, typical plan.

But suddenly, things felt different.

He didn’t want her to go.

He stood in front of her, hating the way she abruptly turned defensive and watchful. “I’ll drive you to the motel,” he told her, holding her gaze with his own. “But if you’d prefer, you can sleep here for the night.”