Blind-Date Bride. Jillian Hart

A guy emerged from between the cars wearing a Montana State University sweatshirt and a backpack. He walked toward her.

      She swallowed hard. She was fine. Nothing was going to happen. Good thing the sun hadn’t gone all the way down. She was in full view of the bakery’s wide picture windows where all sorts of people could see her. She trembled, unable to shake the fear that had taken root in her bones.

      Nothing bad is going to happen, she reminded herself, fighting for calm. The counselor had warned this would simply take time. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. She needed only to have the courage to face it. One day, the fear and the residual trauma would be gone.

      That was the plan, anyway. She cut between a pickup and an SUV and froze at the empty parking spot. Where had her car gone? This was the correct place, right? She turned around, scanning the small lot, already knowing the truth in her gut. Someone had stolen her car. She shivered deep inside.

      It’s just a car, she told herself. No one was hurt. She was safe.

      Then why was adrenaline crackling through her? She trembled, fighting the pull of fear. The past was right there—the trauma she hadn’t completely dealt with—and she wasn’t going to let it pull her down. There wasn’t a gunman holding a semi-automatic to her temple. There wasn’t anyone critically hurt and crying out with terror echoing in her memory. She gave thanks that this wasn’t the same at all.

      “Do you always hang out in parking lots?” a familiar baritone rumbled behind her.

      She whipped around, relieved to see Max standing in the golden slant of light. He appeared trustworthy standing there with his hands on his hips, emphasizing the dependable line of his shoulders. He looked like someone she could trust. “I left my car here, but I guess it took off without me.”

      “You mean someone stole it?”

      “Incredibly. I can’t imagine anyone would want it.” While she was grateful for a working car, the fourteen-year-old Chevy had seen better days. “I know I locked it. I’m compulsive about that sort of thing.”

      “Locks won’t stop a car thief.” Max pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “I’ll get a uniform over here to take your statement.”

      “The police?” Brianna gulped in air, fighting to keep calm. They would come with their flashing lights and their badges. It would remind her of that night. She shivered.

      This wasn’t the same thing, she told herself. This was a case of a missing car, nothing more. It didn’t mean her foundation had to be rattled. It didn’t mean she had to be catapulted back in time.

      “Brianna?” Max’s voice came as if from far away. “Hey, are you all right?”

      “F-fine.” Any minute now he was probably going to think she was loony tunes. A real nut bar. Shame crashed through her like a cold wave. “I’m just a little shocked.”

      “No, this is more than shock.” His palm curved over her shoulder, his grip strong and comforting. “You’re shaking. Come with me.”

      His grip remained, holding her emotions steady as she put one foot in front of the other. She thought of all the ways this evening was different from the one her mind would not let go of. She carefully catalogued them. It was nearly sunset now and bold colors stained the sky. She was outside, breathing in the crisp evening breeze instead of the heated, food-scented air in the kitchen of the restaurant where she’d been working last summer. So much was different right now, but that didn’t seem to matter to her brain.

      The images came anyway, flashes of chaos and agony and panic. She blinked away the pictures of violence and blood and concentrated on the pavement solid beneath her shoes, the traffic whipping by on the nearby street and the gleaming neon sign from the dry cleaner in the next building over.

      Tonight was not the same, she thought as Max guided her down the row of parked cars. Her foundation hadn’t crumbled. She didn’t have to flash back to that terror-filled kitchen. The ground felt more solid beneath her feet with every step she took. Her shoes tapped on the blacktop and she concentrated on the straight broad line of Max’s back and his reassuring presence a half a step ahead of her. The past faded, she felt whole again. Thank heavens there had been no full-fledged panic attack.

      Cool wind fanned her hot face. She waited while he opened the passenger door to a shiny white truck. It felt nice standing beside him. He towered over her, and for all his strength he felt kind, not intimidating. His grip on her elbow was firm and caring all at once as he helped her onto the comfy leather seat.

      “Better?” He shrugged out of his coat.

      She nodded. “And here you’re thinking, she looked so normal sitting in the bakery.”

      “What you’re going through is normal.” He leaned close, bringing with him the scents of coffee and cake and the masculine pine scent of his aftershave. His breath was warm against her neck as he draped his coat over her shoulders.

      The garment’s weight hugged her and its heat soothed. Bree studied the man in front of her, the man she knew nothing about other than the blind date disaster story. “Normal? You mean lots of people shake like this after finding their cars missing?”

      “Sure, but I was referring to the aftereffects of the robbery.” His rugged voice softened, and the unmistakable gentleness she heard made her heart suspend beating.

      “You know about what happened?” She shook harder. There were the images again, piercing like sharpened blades into her thoughts, cutting through the present and making her remember. The ear-spitting thunder of gunfire, the rapid pop-pop-pop and the echoes resounding against the tile walls of the kitchen. The crash to the floor of a tub of dishes as Juanita dropped, falling like a rag doll.

      Don’t remember. She closed her eyes, drew in cold fresh air and thought of the passage from her morning’s devotional. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you. The words calmed her. She let go of the images too painful to face.

      “I’m a detective with the city police department,” he explained, his hand gently settling on hers. His touch calmed her. “I was on the backdoor burglar case. I was assigned halfway through the investigation.”

      “You’re a cop.” When she opened her eyes, she saw understanding on his handsome, rugged face and more sympathy than she could accept. “I never would have guessed it.”

      “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Up close, his eyes were the truest blue she had ever seen. The tight grip in her stomach eased, the one that had been there since that fateful night when her world changed. For the first time in a long while she felt her muscles relax.

      She looked at Max as if she’d never seen him before. In the shadowy light he looked surreal, more dream than flesh and blood. His essence shone through, with a noble heart and trustworthy goodness even she could believe in. “If you’re a detective, then you must see a lot of the bad stuff. The dark side of humanity.”

      “I have.” His hand on hers felt like a lifeline. “Sometimes, now and then, I see the bright side, too.”

      His smile made it seem as if he thought she was one of those bright sides. Warmth filled her until the cold, bad pieces lodged in her memories faded and she felt like the girl she used to be, full of wishes for the future without shadows. She breathed in the sweet evening air, made sweeter for the scent of his aftershave, and savored the sun on her face. It was good to be herself again before tragedy changed who she was.

      She managed a carefree smile. “Mister, you are trying to charm the wrong woman.”

      “Hey, I’m not trying to charm you.” He was pure innocence with a dash of trouble crooking his grin.

      “You’re just naturally charming?” she joked, but she was serious, too. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, but you should return to waiting for your date. I’m fine. I can take it from here.”

      “I’m sure you can, but the truth is my date isn’t