When Bruce Met Cyn. Lori Foster

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