When Bruce Met Cyn Read online

  Bruce couldn't hear the argument, but he could tell by their postures that emotions were high and driven by anger. The young lady practically bounced on her toes in provocation, amusing Bruce even as he feared for her safety.

  From one second to the next, things escalated from a verbal confrontation to physical combat. The trucker grabbed her by the arms, jerking her forward and into his chest The woman's mouth opened on a silent cry.

  And Bruce bolted for the door.

  He'd seen plenty of violence against women, but it hadn't made him immune. Just the opposite—more than ever, it infuriated him.

  With all the recent changes in his vocation, protecting women was no longer his job. Yet, the instinct remained as strong as ever.

  Ignoring the other customers who watched him curiously, Bruce shoved the glass door open and was halfway across the lot before his mind registered the scene before him.

  The trucker had dropped to his knees with his hands cupped around his testicles, his face a twisted mask of excruciating pain. Surprise didn't slow Bruce's stride, and he reached the woman just as she drew back her foot to kick the trucker in the chin.

  Catching her from behind, Bruce swung her up and away from the other man, then set her back down out of striking range.

  The second her feet touched the ground, she rounded on him, drew back a bent arm to plant her elbow in his face—and paused with a look of mute surprise. Their gazes clashed and locked for long seconds that to Bruce, felt like an eternity.

  He was captivated.

  She appeared more than a little wary.

  Blinking away his astonishment, Bruce came to his senses first. He felt like a fool, and no wonder since he was acting like one. "Are you all right?"

  Breathing hard, she shook back her long black hair and demanded, "Who are you?"

  Many of the bulbs in the diner's outdoor lighting had burned out, but they still provided enough illumination for Bruce to fall headlong into her exotic features. Pale, icy blue eyes were tilted on the outside corners, heavily lashed and direct. Never in his life had he seen eyes like that.

  Her petite body had generous curves enhanced by snug jeans and a soft cotton top. Long limbed, delicate but lush, she was a male fantasy come to life. Because the night air was cool, her nipples had stiffened. Bruce felt his stomach muscles clench as he watched her chest, now rising and falling in agitation—and suddenly her elbow connected.

  Not on his nose, thank God, but against his solar plexus, stealing his wind and making him gasp while staggering back a step. "That hurt."

  She tossed her hair again. "The first ten seconds of ogling were free. But you went way past that."

  Pressing a fist to the ache she'd caused, Bruce swallowed, cautiously drew two more painful breaths, then rasped, "My sincerest apologies."

  Her incredible eyes narrowed. "Are you for real?"

  He almost smiled at the irony of the situation. "I saw your predicament from the diner and had some vague notion that you might need assistance."

  "Yeah?" She glanced behind her at the trucker, who was making noises of renewed life. "I still might."

  The trucker staggered to his feet with a lot of grunting and grimacing. With his right hand, he pointed a short, meaty finger at her. "Fucking whore," he spat. His left hand continued massaging his crotch.

  Offended, Bruce said, "That language is unnecessary."

  The trucker snarled. "She promised to—"

  "I didn't make any promises." The young lady didn't raise her chin, but instead nicked it in and looked down her narrow nose at the trucker with icy disdain. "I was nice, and you made assumptions."

  "I gave you a ride and even bought you lunch!"

  Her rosy lips curled in a taunting way. "And you thought a hamburger and fries got you special favors? Get real."

  "They sure as hell weren't free."

  "Perv."

  Fuming, the trucker reached for her again; she physically prepared herself, and Bruce, feeling like the biggest idiot alive, got between them.

  Quickly, before the trucker tried to take him apart, Bruce asked, "How much does she owe you?" Then he held up a hand. "And don't mention sex, because that's obviously out of the question. And besides, prostitution is illegal here and there's a cop sitting right inside the diner."

  The trucker, with one worried glance at the restaurant, subsided. He pushed his ball cap back on his head and scratched at his ear. He seemed undecided, but finally said, "Forty bucks oughta cover it."

  Bristling indignation brought the woman to her toes. "Forty bucks! Are you out of your friggin'—"

  "Fine." Bruce located two twenties. "Here. Now go. We're drawing a lot of attention."

  Hearing that, the woman looked over her shoulder, and grinned. The front window of the diner had at least ten noses pressed to it. "So we are. Probably the most excitement any of them have had in a decade. Oh and look. There is a cop." She waggled her fingers at the mostly disinterested officer before turning back to the trucker. "Get lost, Tarzan."

  The trucker folded the bills Bruce had given him into his wallet, then tucked it into his back pocket. "Cock tease," he muttered with pure venom and headed for his idling semi.

  In saccharine-sweet tones, she shot back, "Buffoon." But the trucker wasted no more time in throwing the big rig into gear and grinding his way out of the lot.

  Bruce exhaled his relief, gave himself a few seconds to prepare for her impact, then returned his attention to the young lady. Her features were as devastating now as they had been moments before, but at least this time he wasn't taken unawares. "You're okay?"

  "Fine and dandy." One arched brow lifted. "You?"

  "I'll live." But his chest still hurt from the blow she'd delivered. She might be small, but she wasn't helpless.

  She looked around her with interest. "I don't suppose you'd want to buy me something to eat? That hamburger was hours ago and I'm starving."

  Her brazenness might have put another man off, but Bruce had spent most of his adult life in the company of brazen women. His mouth twitched and he said gently, "Not here, no."

  She took that on the chin. "Sure, Gallahad, whatever." Readjusting the satchel-type purse she carried, and grabbing up the handle to her suitcase, she started for the diner. "Maybe some other Good Samaritan will feel differently."

  Bruce stopped her. "They have cockroaches."

  She twisted to look at him over her shoulder. Her grin made his stomach knot with unheard-of sensations. "No problem. Most of the people I know are probably related."

  Sympathy saved him, brought out his more pro-fessional persona. If she didn't mind eating with bugs, she must truly be hungry. And he knew from experience that her joking attitude was no more than bravado, anyway. "I'm heading to Visitation."

  She paused.

  "It's an hour south, but at the next gas station, I can buy you something prepackaged."

  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 oflfering 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, longtime."

  "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 be 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 wind-breaker 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 dunking."

  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 mere. "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 mere?"

  "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. Gendy, 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 die 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