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
