Because I’ve always thought they were pretty gentle. I wouldn’t mind a stronger wind. I like going to new places. When I’m finished here in Minnesota, I’m on to Romania. I’ve already put in for an apartment. I’ll be shooting pictures for their department of tourism.”
“Romania is beautiful country. But for a woman alone? You don’t go wandering about in the woods all by yourself, do you? You do take along a friend or guide?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t had the need or the desire.” Though it was something to consider. She wasn’t worldly-wise yet. And if vampires were real, she should definitely bring along a guide or a protector. Or a vampire slayer. Did they hire out? “I’m careful. Besides, now I know how to fight off a vampire. That should count for something.”
He smirked, and she wanted to reach across the table and trace her finger over the crinkled lines at the corner of his eye. And stroke his beard. It was thick along the jaw, dark and—now the idea of testing out a kiss from a bearded man popped into her brain. And then she wanted to stand in his arms again and release her worries into his strong hold and fall into him. That hug had been awesome. And much needed.
“That hit the spot,” he said and pushed his plate to the table’s edge.
Kizzy startled out of her daydream. Her father had always said her biggest problem was that she was a daydreamer. She had never considered daydreaming a detriment. It had gotten her this far. She hoped to follow the reverie all the way to the end.
So long as that end didn’t come about because of a missing heart. Plucked out by a werewolf.
The waitress appeared to retrieve their plates and leave them a fresh pot of coffee.
“Thanks,” Bron said. “Have you pie?”
“Cherry, apple and boysenberry,” the waitress supplied cheerfully.
“How about a thin slice of each?”
The waitress bristled gleefully and headed off to the kitchen.
“You must really like pie,” Kizzy said.
“I do intend to share.”
“Thanks. That must not come easily to you.”
“What? Sharing?”
She nodded.
“Just because I’m a lone man making my way through the world doesn’t mean I’ve not the capacity to empathize with others. Besides, I have a theory. Pie is a universal means to friendship. And, I’m hoping, an olive branch necessary to make up for the past twelve hours. I didn’t mean to bring all this into your life.”
“I think that tracking thing was the culprit.”
“Yes.” He patted his jeans pocket and then pulled the device from his pocket. With a crisp snap, it broke in two in his hand. “Should have done that as soon as I figured out you were the target. Still might have some residual magic attached to it. I’ll ditch it in the garbage bin out back when we leave. Another cup of coffee and then I’ll be fueled up.”
“Where to next?”
“Perhaps keep driving. With the tracker destroyed, it shouldn’t take long to notice if it’s effective. If we don’t run into anything wanting to rip out your heart today, I’d say you could be safe to return to Thief River Falls.”
A day didn’t seem like a good bet, but Kizzy wouldn’t argue. Besides, spending the day with this guy would give her time to learn about him. And he about her. Which reminded her...
“I need to tell you something, Bron. It could be important to your mission. It’s about my heart.”
The waitress delivered three pie plates and two forks and offered extra ice cream. All they had to do was call for Alice. Bron said they’d be fine and thanked her.
Kizzy pulled the apple pie toward her, and, sitting up on one folded leg, she leaned over the table and teased at the warm apple slices swimming in cinnamon beneath a crispy crust. “I think I can verify my heart is what you’re seeking. At least, my dreams do.”
“Dreams?”
She sighed and set down the fork. “I’ve been having a recurring dream since the surgery. I wake up feeling a pressure in my chest and remember the feel of a hand clutching my heart.”
Did she need to tell him it was a werewolf clutching her heart? It didn’t matter, did it?
Bron paused before taking a bite of the cherry pie.
“The open-heart surgery I had? I was in a car accident eight months ago. It was my boyfriend’s fault. Keith. He uh... No, it was my fault, really. We were arguing.”
She bowed her head and swallowed. If they hadn’t been arguing, Keith may have never felt compelled to drive them off the road. And he would still be alive. Much as she had wanted to get away from him at the time, she had never wished for his death. For that she would always have regrets. And guilt.
“I wanted to break it off with him,” she said, swallowing down the lump in her throat, “and had been biding my time for the right moment. We’d dated for six months. He was very possessive. And obsessed with me to the point that I’d find him going through the messages on my cell phone and telling my friends when they were allowed to call me. He didn’t beat me, but he had begun to be verbally abusive. Always saying he’d never let me go, no matter what.”
“Doesn’t sound very loving.”
“I think it was his way of expressing love. Loud and in my face. He grew up with an alcoholic father and no mother. I always wondered if that was why he was so possessive.”
She forked in a slice of pie. It was warm and sweet. But she couldn’t enjoy it, because she had to put it all out there before she chickened out.
“But anyway, for the last four to six weeks of our relationship, as Keith’s verbal abuse increased, I could only think about how to break it off. I let it go on too long. I should have walked away sooner. I have a tendency to either put things off forever or to just dive in without thought. So I sort of did both.
“I told him one night when he was driving us home from the casino. Bad idea. It was January and raining, which instantly froze to ice. He got so angry. Accused me of being a whacko. I had shared with him my belief in the paranormal, and he’d always thought it was cute. And he knew about the blog. But he accused me of being a tinfoil-wearing maniac. Then he shouted that if he couldn’t have me, no one could, and he swerved the car off the road while driving eighty miles an hour.”
Bron blew out a breath and set down his fork. In that moment their eyes met, and she saw something in the blue depths. Compassion? Understanding? It felt tangible and almost as needed as that warm hug had been. He didn’t say anything, and she was thankful that he didn’t feel the need to reassure her or offer her condolences.
“I was told he died instantly,” she said, finding her voice didn’t tremble, but it had softened to a whisper. “When I came to in the ditch, I felt as though my chest had deflated, and I couldn’t get out of the car. An ambulance rushed me into the Grand Forks ER, and my heart stopped on the operating-room table.
