by Lori Foster
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.
Chapter Two
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 He, 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 eye...
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 sa/e 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 gende, concerned insistence. His hand was big and hot, like the man himself. He didn't hold her tight, but rather just as a gendemanly 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 crirninals. 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 subde. 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 an-noyed 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?"
