The Secret Life Of Bryan. Lori Foster
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the same. It shouldn’t have mattered, but knowing she hadn’t been selling herself long filled him with immense relief.
It also made sense, because a woman like her couldn’t be easily ignored. If she’d been around long, Bruce would have already found her and brought her to the shelter.
And that thought really perturbed him.
Bruce wasn’t like him. Bruce was a hell of a lot nicer and therefore more susceptible to female wiles. She would have had Bruce wrapped around her little finger in no time.
With his own humorless smile, Bryan said, “I’m glad I happened along when I did, then.”
“Happened along? I had the feeling you were patrolling the area.”
“I watch out for trouble,” he told her. And for once, he gave the undiluted truth. He sought out criminals, brought them to justice—but usually with a nine-millimeter in hand. Not a Bible. “In this neighborhood, I can usually find it.”
Hell, he’d found her, hadn’t he?
“What kind of trouble?”
A few truths about her newly chosen profession wouldn’t hurt. It might even set her back on the straight and narrow, where she’d be safer. “Sometimes the women refuse help because they’re supporting a boyfriend’s habit, or children, and they figure they can’t make enough in a conventional job, not with their backgrounds.”
“Meaning?”
He shrugged. “They lack acceptable work experience and education.” He hoped she would disclose her own reasoning for being here, but she disappointed him.
“I like how you say that, how inoffensive it is. You go to great pains with your wording, don’t you?”
Bruce did—and Bruce had coached him on what to say. Bryan studied her. She didn’t squirm, didn’t pose or posture herself—just remained lounged back in that stiff little kitchen chair, at her leisure, perfectly comfortable with the conversation, with the situation, with him and with herself.
“Why would I want to insult or offend anyone?”
“I don’t know.” And then with a crooked grin: “You have the look of someone who normally wouldn’t care.”
That’s because normally he wouldn’t.
“But you’re actually pretty good at this.” She took another sip of tea. “So go on. Some of the women refuse your help…?”
Her prompt made him want to reach out and shake her. He wasn’t used to being led around verbally or otherwise. And he wasn’t comfortable giving control, even of a simple conversation, to someone else. Especially not a woman. Especially not a hooker. “They go back on the streets. Sometimes they end up hurt, beaten…”
He drew a breath. In this, at least, he and Bruce were alike. Neither of them could stomach brutality against women or children.
Their methods for dealing with it, though, varied by a mile. He told her Bruce’s method. “I try to watch out for them, see that they get help if they need it, when they need it. But it isn’t always possible. Some of the women’s pimps cause trouble. Sometimes I’m not there when I should be.”
Avoiding his gaze, her eyes on her teacup, Shay said, “A person can’t be everywhere at once.” Then her lashes lifted and she caught him with her innocent gaze. “I think you could use some assistance here.”
Didn’t he know it. Bruce left himself vulnerable far too many times. “That’s asking for the impossible. Most of society wants to write off this area and pretend the problems don’t exist. If they ignore it, it’ll go away. They’re not interested in finding solutions.”
Shay nodded, very introspective for the moment. Then she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “You said I seem different from the other women here. Well, you’re certainly unlike any preacher I’ve ever met.”
Not good. Back up, Bryan. “Because I work in the field, instead of a church?”
“Working in the field,” she repeated. “I like that. But no, I meant because you don’t preach about the evils of the flesh.”
“No.” Their father preached, endlessly, on everything under the sun. He was good at it, both effective and entertaining. People who would normally doze in the pews would be alert and engrossed when his dad got started.
His sons didn’t seem to have the same charisma when it came to relating, though Bruce was certainly heads and tails ahead of Bryan, who, according to his dad, tried to communicate with grunts.
Bryan grinned, thinking of how his dad and Bruce always harassed him about his lack of social skills. Then he caught Shay watching him and pulled himself back to the present.
What was it Bruce always told him? Oh, yeah. In righteous tones, Bryan repeated, “These women won’t accept words, so instead I try to offer options. Maybe a few solutions.”
“Like what?”
Because he was familiar with Bruce’s operation, he could answer without hesitation. “Safety and physical comfort have to come before they can be spiritually content.”
Shay reached out and touched him, her fingertips light against his wrist.
Yeah, she was asking for it. But for the time being, he’d have to refuse her. He slowly pulled away.
“What happened to you, Bryan? Why aren’t you in a nice little church somewhere?”
If he hung out in a church, the roof would probably cave in. He snorted. “Why should I be?”
She raised a brow.
“Everyone deserves a safe place to go for spiritual guidance. It’s just that…” Damn it, Bruce, I’m going to kick your ass when I see you. He sighed, locked his jaw, and murmured, “I want to do more.”
She stared at him, her expression rapt. “Why here? Why this cause?”
Good question. Why couldn’t Bruce have taken in stray dogs, or assisted the elderly? Why did he have to enmesh himself in overly sexual floozies who all wanted to torment him, this one more than the others?
He drummed up the last speech Bruce had given him. “There’s a lot of misery in the world. But this is in my own backyard. I want to change things and I can’t do that from a safe distance in a safe little church, with safe people. To put out a fire, you have to get close to the flames.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to live in them.”
Damn. He’d told Bruce that exact thing many times, and always gotten the same answer. “Maybe not, but it’s difficult to survive in both worlds, the tidy little communities and the crumbling ones. It scares people on both sides. They’re afraid you’ll carry something back with you, that you’ll somehow spread a disease they won’t be able to run away from.”
Shay nibbled at her bottom lip before nodding. “I suppose you’re right. People fear things they don’t understand. Maybe if they were aware of how the problems originated, that no one chooses to be born into poverty, then maybe they wouldn’t fear it so much.”
Her forthright speech threw him. She sounded just like Bruce. “Maybe,” he said, conceding the possibility of truth in her words.
“It’s difficult to teach ethereal ideas like morality and pride when you have no electricity and no food on the table.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a lengthy, meaningful discussion with a woman. And damned if she didn’t have an uncanny insight into the obstacles Bruce faced every day.
“An awareness program is real low on the list of priorities, with so many other things to be done.”
“So what’s high on your list?”
He tried a smile that fell flat. “Right