Sea Haven 02 - Spirit Bound by authors_sort Page B

think too closely about what this man had seen in his own eyes.
    Bill shook his head, shrinking back as if the idea of a clinic was far worse than facing the devil, and maybe for him it was.
    “Have you eaten today?”
    Bill nodded. “Still got credits at the store and coffeehouse.”
    Judith smiled at him. “Have a nice evening, Bill.”
    “You too, Miss Judith,” the old man mumbled.
    It was obvious to Stefan that Bill felt genuine affection for Judith. It had taken a concentrated effort over time to get the old man to even speak with him briefly, exchanging only pleasantries. The occasional hot coffee and pastry hadn’t been enough to loosen his tongue.
    “I’m sorry for what he said about you,” Judith said. “He gets confused sometimes. He’s been on the street for years. Everyone contributes, even the high school students. They put money on a tab for him at the local stores. He won’t take much in the way of help, though. He has several places he sleeps and won’t go to a shelter, not like we have anything like a shelter around here.” She sighed. “There isn’t a lot of help for the mentally ill.”
    “He doesn’t want help,” Stefan replied honestly. “He’s free. He lives the way he wants to live.”
    She fell silent for a moment, walking a few steps before she looked at him again. “Do you think so? He’s been around for as long as I’ve been here, and Inez says for twenty years before that. He actually went to school here and then left for a while. When he came back . . .” She shrugged.
    “He has the right to choose. He fought for that right and he’s entitled to do what he wants. If he chooses to sit in the sun for two days without moving, he feels that’s his right.”
    Judith swept her hair over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. Once again he experienced that strange, unsettling reaction in the pit of his stomach.
    “I never thought of it that way. I always think he’s sad and I feel bad, wishing I could find a way to make his life better.”
    Stefan couldn’t help himself, his hand slipped to the small of her back in a gesture that would be natural to anyone but him. His left hand. The one with the itching palm. The moment he touched her, the itch subsided. But the fact remained he had no business tying up one of his weapons. He didn’t touch people and they didn’t touch him. The irrational compulsion irritated him. He didn’t do things that could get him killed.
    He clenched his teeth but didn’t deny himself the contact with her. This was a nightmare. She’d sounded so forlorn. Lost. In need. What the hell was he thinking? If anyone was in need, it would be him. He’d lost his soul a long time ago, shed everything human and yet here he was, thinking he was going to be that man. The one to take that note out of her voice and remove the sorrow from her eyes. The man who would provide a shield for her so that she was never afraid to express any emotion she felt.
    He wanted to be the man who gave her freedom—the man she turned to in the middle of the night. The one who had the right to touch her, to hold her, to keep her safe. He would kiss that look off her face and make love to her until she couldn’t move, only look at him with her glorious eyes and be genuinely happy, not pretending, or finding moments, just little pockets of happiness. He would be that man for her.
    He swore under his breath as they continued down the street. She hadn’t moved away from him, nor had she given him a look of censure. Just where the hell was her sense of self-preservation?
    “You’re not doing a very good job of saving us,” he accused.
    Those dark eyes drifted over him and then her long lashes swept down. “I know,” she admitted in a low tone. “I’m pretending. Just this once.”
    His heart leapt. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. He was pretending too. He swept his hand down that waterfall of silk. It was a long way down, all the way to the curve of her buttocks.