When Bruce Met Cyn (2 page)

Slowly, she turned to face him. Her lush lips pursed, and then formed the word, “Yummy.”

Bruce's stomach took a free fall. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to ignore her blatant sex appeal. “Once we hit town, if you can wait that long, I can get you some real food.”

She cocked out her hip and crossed her arms under her plump breasts. “You offering me a ride?”

“As far as Visitation, yes.”

“Well, what about that?” Her wide smile left twin dimples in her soft cheeks and had her eyes warming with surprise. She shifted the handle of her suitcase into her left hand, and held out her right.

“I'm Cyn, Cyn Potter.”

His automatic “nice to meet you” froze on his tongue.
Sin?
What was her middle name?
Temptation?

As if she'd read his thoughts, she smirked. “Short for Cynthia, though I haven't used that name in a long, long time.”

“I see.” He needed to get his thoughts in order, fast. He folded her slender fingers into his. “Bruce Kelly.”

Her hand was small and warm and her handshake held no reservation, no uncertainty. Bruce gestured to the side lot. “My car is over here.”

She'd been rolling her suitcase along, but the uneven lot, littered with rocks and other debris, made it difficult. Bruce took it from her, lifted it with ease, and led the way. He knew she'd follow.

Where else did she have to go?

He started to put the luggage in the back of the aged station wagon, but Cyn stopped him. “Put it in the backseat. Not that I don't trust you, but if I have to make a fast exit, I don't want to leave my stuff behind.”

Bruce didn't question that, he just did as she asked. “This thing weighs a ton.”

“Books.” She shrugged. “I like to read.”

“Me, too.”

Her mouth quirked. “Somehow I doubt we share the same interest in topics.”

Bruce was well used to untrusting women and he always did his best to reassure them. He opened her door for her, and without a word, she checked to make sure the lock hadn't been tampered with.

He was wondering how many cars she'd been trapped in when she explained. “I read in a book that some sickos fix the door locks so once you're in, you can't get out.” Her eyes slanted his way. “Hope you don't mind me checking.”

“Not at all. I think it's smart.”

“Yeah—me, too.”

He wanted, needed, to know more about her. But he'd learned patience and wouldn't push her. Simple questions seemed the best, and he'd ask them whenever the opportunity arose. “You ever find yourself in that situation?”

“Nope. And I don't plan to, either.” She fastened her seat belt, kicked off her sandals, and slouched down comfortably. Bruce watched her a moment more before closing her door and circling the hood. He dug his keys out of his pocket.

Before seating himself, he pulled off his windbreaker and offered it to her. “I noticed you were chilled.”

She laughed and accepted the jacket. “I noticed you noticing.” She pulled it up over her like a blanket. “Man, you must be like a furnace. It's still hot from your body.” She gave a soft, contented groan. “Feels good.”

The things that tripped out of her delectable mouth would set a man on fire. He merely nodded and gave his attention to the car.

Once he'd left the lot and entered the main road, he asked, “So what do you like to read?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Where I'm at, what I'm doing. I've read books on self-defense, on psychology, safety, and on self-help.” She turned her face toward him. “What about you?”

Her choices surprised him, but he hoped he'd hidden his reaction. He didn't know what he'd expected, but heavy reading about serious issues never entered his mind.

In comparison, his genre reading seemed almost silly, and he smiled when he said, “I'm partial to mysteries.” He meant her as much as the stories he read. “Where are you headed?”

“Visitation, with you.” The night was dark and quiet. The lights of the console barely limned her face.

He shook his head. “I meant ultimately—where are you going?”

“Now that's the funny part.” She idly coiled and recoiled a long, ebony tress around her finger. In nervousness or out of habit?

Or because she knew it was a feminine, sexy gesture and it turned him on?

He cleared his throat and divided his attention between her and the road. “Funny—in what way?”

“Fated, maybe. Like destiny or karma. Whatever you want to call it.” She turned her head to face him. “Believe it or not, I was going to Visitation.”

“Really?” Bruce didn't look at her again, but with every fiber of his masculine being, he was aware of her. Her scent, soft and warm, stirred the air in the closed confines of the car. “Why?”

“If I tell you, you'll laugh and I'll be pissed and our peaceful time together will be ruined.”

Cyn in a teasing mood was almost more than his libido could take. “I won't laugh, I promise.”

Still, she hesitated, playing with her hair, watching him…making him twitchy. “I have a vision of it in my mind.”

“And what does your vision tell you?”

“That it's beautiful. A good place to be.” Her thick lashes lowered and she smiled. “I see wide open spaces and wildlife and I can almost smell the fresh air…” Suddenly she twisted her mouth, making a face. “That sounds pretty lame, doesn't it?”

“Actually, it sounds like Visitation.”

“Really?” She half twisted in her seat to face him. “So tell me more about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I don't care. Anything.”

How could she be going to a place she didn't know? “Do you have relatives there? Or a new job?”

The animated curiosity left her. She turned away to watch the blackness beyond the passenger window, and though she answered, Bruce still felt shut out, as if she'd slammed a steel door in his face. “Nope, no relatives, and no job. But I'll find work after I get there.”

“Work?”

Her laugh was nasty, hurt. “I don't mean working the streets, so don't get your hopes up.”

“You're assuming you know my thoughts when you don't.”

“Bull. You're a guy. I know what you're thinking.”

God, he hoped not. It was bad enough that
he
knew the way his imagination had gone. “I only meant to inquire about your skills.”

She laughed again. Worse and worse. He was never this rattled with women in need. He just had to remember that Cyn was a needy woman—despite the protestations she'd no doubt make.

Ready to groan, or bite off his own tongue, Bruce said, “Forget all that. Let me start over.”

“Good idea.”

He drew a breath, getting a grip on himself.

“You're awfully young to take off on your own. So I was naturally concerned.” Bruce was a good judge of age, but Cyn could have been sixteen or twenty-six. Her confident air was that of a mature woman, but something else about her, some indefinable nuance, told him that she had the same insecurities as a child might.

“I've been on my own for five years now.” Her fingertips touched the window, exploring her own reflection there. “And what's it to you anyway?”

So defensive, Bruce thought sadly, but he'd already suspected as much. She must have been alone when she was still a child. “What do you think that trucker might have done to you tonight if I hadn't been there?”

“Nothing that hasn't been done to me before.”

It pained him to know that much. “Cyn…”

Her fragile shoulder lifted. “You
were
there, so it's a dumb question. Forget it.”

“You could still run into more problems, you know.” And once they parted ways, she'd be on her own. He didn't like that idea much at all.

She pulled her bare feet up onto the seat and put her chin on her knees. “You believe in destiny, Bruce Kelly?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm thinking maybe we were destined to meet, that's why.”

He liked that idea. “I'm a preacher. I believe God has a plan for all of us.”

Her eyes widened like saucers. “No way.”

He grinned at her shock. “I also believe we hold responsibility for our own lives, and for those who come into our lives.”

His statement angered her. He felt her temper crackling in the air. “I'm responsible for myself, so don't start getting any ideas.”

Bruce ventured forth carefully. “You could use my help.”

“Right. I've had all the help I can stomach from your kind, so forget it.”

“My kind?”

“You said you're a preacher.”

Her words were issued as an accusation. “That's right.” Absurd as it seemed, Bruce thought she might be afraid. He'd told her his vocation in the hopes it would reassure her, but the opposite had happened. She'd become more disgruntled and defensive than ever. “Why does it bother you?”

“I've changed my mind.”

Bruce lifted a brow. “About what?” Her moods were jumping all over the place, and he had to go slowly until he figured her out, until he could understand the way her mind worked.

“I don't want to go to Visitation.” Her piercing gaze never left his face. “Not with you. You can let me out here.”

“Here?” They were in the middle of nowhere. Literally. The moon was bright, the sky filled with stars, but they weren't enough to combat the thick, heavy shadows of the night. The car headlights shone into endless darkness. There was nothing but mountains and trees and more trees.

Bruce had slowed the car in deference to the black night. The road was so twisted, winding this way and that, anyone with a weak stomach would probably get carsick. “That doesn't make any sense.”

Slowly, she pushed her feet back into her sandals and hefted the strap of her purse back up on her shoulder. “Just let me out, okay?”

No way could he do that. “Calm down. Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong.”

Her anger sizzled between them. “You won't let me out?”

Her escalating temper forced him to plain speaking. “No, I won't. I can't. I'm sorry, but it's too dangerous. You'd have hours and hours of walking before you even came close to reaching a town. There are critters of all sorts, and the occasional coyote or bear sometimes shows up—”

Bruce heard a click, and knew it was her seat belt opening.

“Cyn, stop it.” Impatience made his voice sharp. What in the world was wrong with her? She'd been cocky only moments ago, confident in her ability to control the trucker, the situation, and him. Now she acted as if she'd found a bloody ax in his backseat.

He slowed for a sharp bend in the road. Gently, hoping to reassure her, Bruce said, “It's all right, you're safe with me—”

And her door swung open.

Bruce slammed on the brakes. The smell of burning rubber and the squeal of tires filled the quiet night. The old car jerked hard and came to a grinding halt.

Cyn had already rolled out.

“Oh, my God.” Bruce twisted to look over the back of the seat. His brake lights left a red glow on the narrow road, and plainly showed the small body curled there.

His heart shot into his throat, his muscles clamped in alarm, and then he saw her push to her feet and take off in a hobbling, hurt run—into the thick woods at the side of the road.

Dear God, he'd worked with a lot of emotionally wounded women, but none who had ever feared him like this. She tried to hide the fear—she was brassy and bossy and full of obnoxious command. But he saw through that.

He couldn't let her get lost. He couldn't let her go.

Bruce opened his door, and silent as a ghost, went after her.

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.