When Bruce Met Cyn (12 page)

She continued to gaze out the side window. “Who says I don't?”

So much antagonism laced her words that Bruce had to fight a smile. Cyn was jealous, and he wasn't above enjoying the possessive show of emotion. It meant she cared, that she was starting to trust him.

At least, that's what he chose to believe.

He was considering whether or not he should reassure her, when she spied the bank, and straightened in her seat. “Do you use that bank?”

Bruce blinked twice to clear his head. His brain had been so far away from finances that it took him a moment to make the switch. “Yes.” What was she up to now? “I think I mentioned that it's the only one. Most everyone in Visitation uses it.”

“I'd like to open an account.”

“Okay.” He frowned in thought as he considered what would have to be done. “What type of account?”

“Savings.” She bit her lip, then with a look of nonchalance, she opened her purse and dumped it on the seat between them.

“Cyn?”

“I want to show you something. Hang on.”

Bruce glanced at the hodgepodge of items on the seat. Because her purse never left her, he'd expected…he didn't know what he'd expected. A photo of a loved one. A remarkable memento of some sort. Not a brush and dental floss, candy and lotion.

Then Cyn yanked at the lining on the bottom of her bag, tore it free, and removed a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. Bruce quickly pulled off to the side of the road before he wrecked.

“How much?” he asked with a dry throat.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars.” Her gaze was direct, beseeching. “It's mine. I earned it. I saved for years…”

Bruce thought of how easily she could have been mugged, how easily she could have been hurt if anyone had known—

His temper shot through the roof and before he could even think of reining himself in, he shoved the car in
PARK
and shouted, “Are you out of your mind?”

Her eyes went glassy and hard. “No. That's why I saved it.”

“And you carry it around your neck, just waiting for someone to rob you blind?”

“Where, exactly, do you think I should have left it?”

“A
bank?”

“Stop yelling at me!” She angrily gathered up her belongings and dropped them back in her purse, along with the money.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce said, in only slightly less-provoked tones. “It's dangerous to have that much cash on you, especially in the life you've led.”

“I had no choice. You know damn good and well I couldn't put it in a bank, because opening an account required ID.”

With an effort, Bruce got a handle on his anger. It was born mostly of fear anyway, and he knew, from here on out, she'd be okay. He'd see to it.

He made a sudden decision. “We'll go to the bank first.”

“I thought you needed glass block.”

“I do. But if we stop at the bank first, we can find out what you'll need. With any luck, we can get it taken care of in a day or two.” He glanced at her, saw she was still peeved, and sighed. “You don't have a driver's license, do you?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“You'll probably need a photo ID to open the account. We can get that in the city. Do you have a birth certificate, social security card, or—”

“Both.”

“Really?”

She lifted one shoulder, still not looking at him.

“I was taking Driver's Ed right before I ran off. I had to have them for that.”

And she'd had the good sense to take them with her. Amazing. “Does Mary expect you home any certain time tonight?”

Now Cyn eyed him. “She doesn't keep tabs on me. As long as I'm there to tend the horses in the morning, she won't know or care when I get back. Why?”

“It's possible this could take all day. And no, I'm not complaining.”

A very female smile curling her lips, Cyn opened her door and climbed out. “Then get a move on.”

Framed by the open door, Bruce stared at her. Her now raggedy purse was again slung around her neck. Her jeans were snug, her T-shirt loose, and for once she hadn't braided her hair.

Bruce seldom lost his temper with women, but then Cyn seemed to bring out all his emotions, from worry to fear to heated awareness. With a grin, he got out of the car to follow her. Bryan was right. She needed to know how he felt about her.

He'd tell her today—after he got her to tell him how she felt first.

It was nearing eight o'clock when they finished their business and headed back toward Visitation. They were both quiet—not an uneasy quiet, but one of pure contentment. As usual, Cyn had removed her sandals and stretched out her legs. Her head was back against the seat, her body relaxed. Bruce reached across the seat and took her hand. Cyn didn't object; after a searching look, she laced her fingers in his.

They'd spent a good part of the day getting her account set up before driving into the city. All through the shopping and dinner, she was like a proud peahen, and it pleased Bruce to know that something so simple could make her so happy. What others took for granted, Cyn cherished.

Before dinner, they'd picked up the supplies he needed and stored them in the back of the car. After dinner, at his urging, Cyn had done some of her own shopping. She'd bought new socks and gloves and a fat pillow. The one Mary had supplied was too flat, she said.

Bruce pictured her cuddling into that fluffy pillow at night, and he wanted to kiss her. Later, he reminded himself. When they were alone.

While they were in the mall, Bruce noticed her gazing toward the bookstore, and he insisted they go in. This bookstore was enormous compared to the scant book section offered at their local strip mall in Visitation. There was a wider variety, more color, more displays.

Cyn was like a kid in a candy store, perusing the aisles for almost an hour.

He bought a new mystery, but to his surprise, Cyn chose a cookbook. She didn't have a kitchen, but she said she didn't care. Bruce vowed to invite her over that weekend to prepare dinner with him.

The sun had turned deep red, hidden behind the tall trees and giving the area the peaceful shadows of dusk, when he rounded a sharp bend in the road. It might not be wise to test his restraint, but still Bruce said, “Want to come to my place for coffee?”

Her fingers tightened in his, and her eyes grew alert to nuances in the offer.

“Unless you're too tired,” he added.

“No.” She shook her head. Her voice was soft, uncertain. “I'm not too tired.”

Her words, said in that special low, mellow tone, sank into him. “You had a good time?”

“I had the best time.”

Bruce glanced between her and the road. He wouldn't rush her, he vowed, but he wanted her to have more good times. He wanted her whole life to be filled with fun. “Maybe we could take in a movie sometime?”

Her lips parted—and something moved in the road. Bruce jerked his attention back to his driving just in time to see Jamie Creed step away from a tree.

No. Dread immediately swamped him. Jamie only showed himself when something wasn't right.

He didn't socialize.

He didn't indulge friendships.

He only tried to help others when he felt he had no choice—when someone was in danger.

Tension gripped him, making his shoulders rigid, his eyes narrow. Bruce released Cyn's hand and slowed the car. “Prepare yourself,” he muttered. “You're about to meet the one and only Jamie Creed.”

“What…?” Cyn twisted in her seat, spotted Jamie on Bruce's side of the road, and went still with fascination. “It's him,” she breathed.

Bruce didn't question her recognition. In her dreams, maybe by God's design, she'd seen Visitation and she'd seen Jamie. Somehow, Bruce was sure the two were tied together. He brought the car to the side of the road.

As if she thought Jamie might disappear, Cyn refused to blink. “What do you suppose he wants?”

Bruce understood her apprehension. Jamie was strong and healthy, but he looked like a cross between a human and a wraith, if such a thing were possible. He was there, but so motionless, so self-contained, that he might have been a figment of the collective imagination.

Since the last time Bruce saw him, Jamie's beard had gotten bushier, his hair longer, his clothes more ragged. Jamie didn't concern himself with style or the opinions of others. Bruce had no idea what he did concern himself with, other than offering cryptic information when he could.

Bruce rolled down his window. “Jamie,” he said by way of greeting.

Jamie's fathomless black eyes never left Cyn. His expression seemed more severe than ever in his concentration. His mouth was flat. He circled the car toward her.

Alarmed, Bruce hastily opened his door and got out, following Jamie. “Hey, are you okay, Jamie? Is something wrong?”

Jamie didn't answer.

Cyn, too, released her seat belt and opened her door. She stood there, her lips caught in her teeth, her breaths uneven. Waiting.

Bruce almost ran into Jamie when the man stopped dead, not more than two feet from Cyn.

Bruce gathered his wits. “Jamie, this is Cyn Potter. Cyn, Jamie Creed.”

“Hello,” Jamie said in his gentlest voice. He searched her face, slowly nodded in satisfaction.

“You came.”

Cyn shrugged. “You wanted me to?”

Jamie's piercing gaze moved over her from head to toes. “It was a solution.”

Feeling very much like an outsider, Bruce raised his voice and asked, “A solution to what?”

Jamie remembered Bruce and looked at him over his shoulder. In an absurdly matter-of-fact tone, Jamie replied, “She's in trouble.”

“No,” Cyn corrected. “Things are finally going right since I came here.” Her hands twisted together. “I have a job. I have a savings account.”

Jamie softened more. “I'm sorry, but you need to see Scott.”

“Scott who?”

“Why?” Bruce asked at almost the same time.

“What's the law have to do with Cyn?” The second he asked that question, he saw Cyn go pale.

“The law?”

Jamie took her hands, tilted his face to look at her. He was silent for a lifetime before he continued in his explanations. “Scott's a good man. The deputy of Visitation. Go with Bruce. Talk to Scott.”

For the very first time, Bruce understood how the other men felt when dealing with Jamie, especially with a woman involved. Jamie was so much larger than life, so purposeful and yet so obscure, that mortal men faded when near him.

A frantic pulse fluttered in Cyn's throat. Bruce could see the wide-eyed fascination in her unusual eyes as she stared at Jamie—

“It's her eyes that distinguish her,” Jamie remarked, as if he'd known Bruce's every thought.

“They give her away. Take her to see Scott.”

“You keep saying that,” Bruce barked.

“I have to make sure you're listening,” Jamie told him. “Scott wants to see her.”

Bruce had just about had enough.
“Why?”

Jamie released Cyn, moved back a step, but still stared at her, keeping her pinned in place with the force of his attention. “Things aren't what you thought they were.”

Bemused, Cyn looked between Bruce and Jamie. With a helpless, near hysterical laugh, she asked, “What does that mean?”

“I'm sorry, but you didn't kill him.”

She staggered back with a raw cry, coming up hard against the side of the car.
“No.”
She shook her head hard, then lurched back forward, driven by anger. “You can't know anything about that!”

Jamie wasn't deterred by her distress. “You hurt him, but you didn't kill him.”

Her hands knotted into fists. Her voice was a rasping, horrified whisper. “You don't even know me.”

As if much struck, Jamie said, “You're afraid of me.” He locked his hands behind his back, bent his head and paced. More to himself than anyone else, he said, “I didn't think you would be.”

Ignoring Jamie and his strange mutterings, Bruce moved to stand in front of Cyn. Not once since he'd met her had he seen her this upset. She faced the world with brash bravado, not panicked fear. “Who did you think you killed?”

Her back stiffened, her face white and pinched with uncertainty. “No one.”

“The man her mother moved in,” Jamie answered. “Only he didn't die.”

Cyn covered her mouth and looked ready to faint.

“Damn it, Jamie, you're scaring her.”

Without changing expressions, Jamie managed to look annoyed. “She should be afraid. You should be afraid for her.” Jamie stopped pacing and speared Bruce with his ebony gaze. “It's up to you to protect her.”

Oddly enough, that statement calmed Bruce. He
would
protect her, he'd—

“Oh, no. No way.” In a sudden burst of anger, Cyn pushed her way past Bruce. “No, damn you. You don't know what you're talking about, so don't you dare stick that responsibility on Bruce.”

Brows raised, Jamie glanced at Bruce, who remained silent, and then shrugged. “He wants the responsibility.”

Cyn whipped around to face Bruce. She looked horrified by that possibility.
“No.”

It nettled him, but Bruce had to admit the truth. “Jamie's always right, Cyn.”

That brought a touch of surprise to Jamie's normally enigmatic features. “Thank you.”

Bruce shrugged. “No problem.”

“Damn it,”
Cyn yelled, sending birds to take flight in screeching excitement. “Don't you understand? You can't pretend this is nothing.”

“I'm not pretending anything.” Bruce decided she'd have to trust him now, not later. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Cyn.”

She backed up two steps, then two more. “You're a good man, Bruce.” Her voice was raw with determination. “I'm not about to let you get involved in my problems. If Palmer is alive, then he knows I tried to kill him.”

“He knows,” Jamie said.

Cyn fried Jamie with a killing look. “You're egging him on.”

Unconcerned, Jamie explained, “It is what it is. Bruce isn't walking away.”

“No, I'm not.” Bruce understood that Palmer could be out for revenge, and no way was he going to let him hurt Cyn. Not again.

Jamie seemed mostly unmoved by the drama unfolding in front of him. “Don't run. You've nowhere to go.”

Bruce hadn't realized she was thinking of running until Jamie said it, then he noticed that she'd backed up a good distance from him. He gave her a hard stare. “Try it, and I'll just catch you.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Afraid so.”

She gazed at Jamie with a look so lost, it made Bruce's stomach cramp. “I don't know what to do,” she whispered.

Jamie gazed back. “Go with Bruce to see Scott.” Then he added with philosophical insouciance, “You have no choice.”

By small degrees, Cyn wilted. Her shoulders slumped, her spine bowed. She covered her face and if Bruce hadn't been so attuned to her, if he hadn't been hurting for her, he wouldn't have heard her whispered words.

“I never do.”

He reached her in three long strides. “You listen to me, Cynthia Potter.”

She dropped her hands.

“It's different now.” Bruce pulled her against his chest. “I'm with you.”

Her laugh was watery with suppressed tears. “Great. That only makes it worse.”

Bruce didn't think about his reaction, he simply gave in to it. Sinking his fingers into the thick, warm silk of her hair, he tipped her head back and kissed her hard.

She didn't fight him. She crawled closer, as close as two people could get. She bit his bottom lip, licked his tongue. Her hands locked around his neck as if she'd never let him go, when moments before she'd tried to deny him.

Knowing it was the wrong time and place, and his motivations were skewed, Bruce gently eased her away.

“Bruce?” she whispered against his mouth.

He pressed her head to his shoulder. “Take a few deep breaths. Get yourself together. And then let's go see Scott.”

“I don't want to.”

“But you will?”

She stepped away from him. “Do I have a choice?”

He shook his head.

“Then I guess I have to trust Jamie, don't I?”

That wasn't what Bruce wanted to hear. He needed her to trust
him,
but he was willing to fight one battle at a time.

She smoothed her hair back, composing herself and donning a ridiculously cheerful smile. Bruce shook his head. “Forget it.”

“What?”

“You don't have to buck up for Jamie, honey. He's already gone.”

“No way!” Cyn jerked around, searched the area, and blinked in disbelief. Just as Bruce had suspected, there was no sign of Jamie Creed. “Was he really here at all?”

“Oh yeah, he was here.” Bruce took her hand and led her back to the car. He glanced at his watch. “It's getting late, but with any luck, Scott will still be at the station. I'd like to see him tonight, so we can get this out of the way.”

“And then?”

“We'll take it one day at a time.”

 

Bruce called ahead to make certain Scott was at the station. Cyn sat tucked as tight to the passenger door as she could get, barely listening as he spoke to Scott in hushed tones. Still, she realized from Bruce's side of the conversation that Scott wasn't too keen on having Jamie call the shots.

She was even less keen about it. How could he know what she'd done to Palmer? How could he know that Palmer was alive? Her stomach cramped and churned and her eyes burned. All this time, she'd thought him dead.

She hated being a murderess. She hated even more for Palmer to be alive.

Just moments before, she'd been so stupidly content. Her life had seemed to be on a definite upswing, but now—

Bruce caught her elbow and pulled her toward him. “Stop it, Cyn.”

Feeling lethargic, sick at heart, she asked without much interest, “Stop what?”

“Expecting the worse. You heard Jamie. He said for me to take care of you, and I will.”

“I'm taking care of myself, just like I always have.”

“With my help.” He gave her a pat. “Jamie said so.”

It was almost ironic that the one man who seemed to give credence to Jamie's dire predictions was a man of strong faith. “Jamie also told you that I tried to kill a man.”