This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

  "Have a seat." Cyn pointed to one of the metal chairs.

  Nate sat down, never once taking his eyes off Cyn. "How can you afford to work here without pay and to donate equipment for a game room?"

  Cyn seated herself behind her desk. Not knowing how he'd take the news that she was independently wealthy, she hesitated. "Well, I—"

  "Your husband leave you a bundle?" Nate asked. "What were you two doing with this place, playing social work­ers?"

  Cyn straightened in her chair, took a calming breath and placed her clasped hands on top of her desk. "My husband wasn't wealthy. He was a dedicated man of God, a man who gave all his time and love to Tomorrow House."

  "That must have been difficult for you, being the wife of a man who put you second in his life." Nate watched as her face paled, and knew he had struck a nerve.

  Damn him! Cyn thought. But as much as she wanted to lash out at him and deny his accusations, she couldn't deny the truth. She decided it was best to make no comment on her marriage to Evan. "I was born into a wealthy family. My father is Senator Denton Wellington of Georgia. My mother was a St. Augustine Phillips. My grandfather pro­vided me with a substantial trust fund."

  "La-di-da." He should have known. A woman didn't have the poise and strength and self-assurance Cyn Porter possessed without having had it bred into her. She had the kind of classy looks and dominating personality that only comes from having been raised with money. "Did your rich parents give you your nickname?"

  "I beg your pardon?" Cyn glared at him.

  "Oh, it's a cute nickname, but I just wondered if your family thought it suitable for someone so...so pure and sweet and virtuous. I mean, how many ministers' wives do you think are called Cyn? And how many work at a church shelter?"

  "For your information, my younger brother gave me the nickname when he was only three and couldn't pronounce Cynthia. My rich parents thought the name was adorable. And my minister husband found it a constant source of amusement. Evan had a wonderful sense of humor."

  "I imagine Evan was just about perfect in every way."

  "I think we should confine our discussion to the little girl you brought here. Otherwise we're liable to exchange blows... verbal blows." Cyn leaned back in her chair, praying that her voice sounded more composed than she felt. She had no intention of discussing Evan with this man. She would not allow him to force her to admit that her marriage had been less than perfect, that often she had longed for a husband as dedicated to her as he'd been to his work—that she had needed a man with whom she could share life's burdens and not try to shoulder them all by her­self.

  "I'm listening." Nate decided right then and there that the sooner he could get the hell away from Cyn and her blasted shelter full of emotionally starved kids, the better off he'd be. He didn't need to care about this woman or her damned bunch of hooligans. So what if his body craved her the way an alcoholic craves liquor. So what if he felt the deepest empathy for these kids because he'd once been one of them.

  "A friend of mine, Dr. Reynolds, will check the child and see if she needs medical treatment. I can offer her a place to stay, get our volunteer psychologist to talk to her, try to persuade her to let us locate her parents."

  "No police, remember," Nate said. "She'll run like hell if you push her too hard."

  "I know. Believe me, we'll do all that we can to help her, but in the end, we can only do so much."

  "Yeah." He stood up, walked to the door, then turned and faced her. "How much longer are you going to be stay­ing at your family's cottage?"

  "Eager to get rid of your only neighbor?" she asked.

  "Look, Cyn, this thing between us can't go any fur­ther." He grasped the doorknob in his big hand.

  "Exactly what is between us?" She stood up, meeting his stare head-on.

  "Cut the act, lady. We want each other. Badly." He noted that her cheeks were turning pink. "Now isn't the right time for me. I've never had anyone special, never wanted or needed anyone, and I sure as hell don't want to get in­volved with you, especially not now."

  "Why not now?" she asked, then averted her gaze from his perusal, glancing down at the wooden floor.

  "Like I've told you, I'm a dangerous man," he said, wishing that he didn't have to frighten her away. "And I have dangerous friends."

  "You're not a criminal, are you?" she blurted out before thinking how the question would sound.

  "No, Brown Eyes, believe it or not, I've always consid­ered myself one of the good guys."

  Cyn walked around the desk, moving quickly toward Nate. Just as he opened the door, she placed her hand on his arm. His muscles hardened under her touch. "Nate?"

  "Look, honey, if you're so hungry to get laid, why don't you ask Bruce? I'm sure he'd be delighted. Me, I don't have time to play house." He saw the startled expression on her face change to one of hurt, and he hated himself for having to say something so totally demeaning to her. But he had to make her stay away from him.

  She dropped her hand from his arm and stood staring at him, willing herself not to cry as he turned and walked away. Suddenly tears gathered in her eyes. With the tips of her fingers, she swatted at them as if they were pesky flies.

  While Cyn was trying to curb her tears and make some sense out of Nate's brutally insulting statement, she heard footsteps. Turning, she saw Nate's little ragamuffin coming toward her.

  "Did he hurt you?" the child asked.

  "Who, honey? What are you talking about?"

  "That man. Nate. Did he hurt you? You're crying." The child walked over to Cyn, looking up at her with sympathy in her eyes.

  "Oh, no, honey, he didn't hurt me." Cyn dropped to her knees, longing to reach out, take the child in her arms and offer her comfort.

  "But you're crying." She reached out and wiped away a tear from Cyn's eye.

  "We had a little disagreement, and he said something that hurt my feelings. That's all." That wasn't all, Cyn thought. Nate Hodges had been deliberately cruel. He'd wanted to make sure she left him alone. His ploy had been so obvi­ous, she'd have to be an utter fool to think he'd meant what he'd said. Something bad was going on in Nate's life, something so horrible that he didn't want Cyn involved. Didn't he realize that she was akeady involved, whether she wanted to be or not? Didn't he have sense enough to know that neither of them had any control over the way they felt?

  The little girl stroked Cyn's cheek. "My name is Aleta."

  Cyn smiled, reached out and gave Aleta a gentle hug. The child hugged her back. "Well, Aleta, how about lunch? I think I smell Mimi's apple cobbler."

  She took Aleta's hand, led her toward the dining hall, then sat down beside her. Within a few minutes the room filled with children from the smallest eight-year-old to the biggest eighteen-year-old. Bruce joined them, said a prayer, then retreated to his office to eat lunch alone. Cyn knew that if Nate had stayed, he would have shared lunch with the kids.

  Oh, Nathan Hodges, if you think you've seen the last of me, then you 'd better think again. On some instinctive level, Cyn realized that no matter how hard she and Nate might fight the attraction they felt for each other, neither of them could control it.

  Chapter 7

  Cyn sat at her desk, absentmindedly rubbing a pencil back and forth between her hands. Three days after returning to work half days, here she was still at Tomorrow House at three-thirty in the afternoon. Although there was more work to do than time to accomplish it all, she should have been out of here by noon, but she hadn't been able to concen­trate all morning. Indeed, she'd had difficulty keeping her mind on her job since her last unpleasant confrontation with Nate.

  Mimi had offered a motherly shoulder to cry on, but even talking to Mimi hadn't solved her problem. She'd gone and fallen in love with a man totally unsuitable for her, a man who epitomized the one element she despised most in this world—violence. If she knew what was good for her, she would listen to Nate's warnings to stay away from him.

  How had she allowed something like this to happe
n? She wasn't the type to do stupid, irresponsible things like fall­ing in love with a man she barely knew. Of course, she had to admit that she had always been susceptible to romantic fantasies—a real sucker for legends and myths and fairy tales. But, dear Lord in heaven, Nate Hodges was hardly a romantic hero. Far from it. He was no Sir Lancelot. No Romeo. And certainly no Cary Grant, Robert Redford or Kevin Costner. He was more the Genghis Khan-Jesse James type. A man like the bad-guy heroes so often portrayed by Humphrey Bogart, Clint Eastwood and Charles Branson.

  Damn! Stop thinking about him. Cyn threw the pencil down on her desk, scooted back her chair and stood up. Gazing outside, she watched as people scurried along the sidewalks and the beginnings of afternoon work traffic clogged the street. Momentarily closing her eyes, she lis­tened to the soft, constant drizzle that dampened the cool April day.

  Soon the view outside blurred as Cyn's mind focused on her memories of Nate Hodges, of the sight of him running along the beach. Every day for the past three days, she'd stood on her patio and watched him, waiting and hoping he would stop and talk to her. Once, on the first day, she had run out to him, calling his name. He'd stopped briefly, given her a hard look, and left her standing on the beach, feeling like an utter fool.

  If he didn't want her, then why was she so certain that he did? She knew that Nate needed her, more than anyone had ever needed her. Why wouldn't he let her love him?

  Don't do this to yourself. Concentrate on Tomorrow House, on the kids who so desperately need you. Think about Bobby and Aleta and the dozens of others who de­pend on you.

  She wasn't sure what would become of Bobby. Since his return to Tomorrow House, he'd spent only one night, the other two he'd spent on the streets, doing God only knew what with boys like Casey. She'd tried everything she knew. Nothing worked. He was a good kid in a bad situation.

  Aleta. Poor little Aleta. She was twelve years old, but didn't look it. She was a small, frail child, a little girl afraid of everything and everyone. After Callie had examined Aleta and assured Cyn that there was no permanent dam­age and her outward wounds would heal in a few days, Cyn's relief was short-lived. What on earth was she going to do with Aleta? If she called the police, Aleta would only run away again, so great was her fear of being returned to her abusive mother, a woman, Aleta had confided in Cyn, who stayed drunk almost all the time.

  Tomorrow House was only a temporary solution to the ever-growing problem of runaway children. The institution had been founded to provide temporary food, shelter and assistance to the boys and girls who had no other place to go, no other safe haven, no other sanctuary from the hor­rid existence found on the streets.

  A slight knock sounded on her door seconds before Bruce Tomlinson entered, a forlorn expression on his round face.

  "I need to speak to you," he said. "I'm afraid the news isn't good."

  "Then sit down, Bruce, and tell me what's wrong." Cyn motioned toward one of the folding chairs.

  "No, no. Sit down if you'd like, but I'd rather stand." He moved nervously around the room, wringing his hands to­gether as his round head bobbed up and down. "Cyn, I just got off the phone with Reverend Lockwood. The council met this morning and... and, well, things don't look good for Tomorrow House."

  She knew what he was going to say, had known it was in­evitable and had been dreading this day. "How bad is it?"

  "Church funds are limited. They can't give us an in­crease of any kind this year. If.. .if we can't raise enough to cover the deficit, then the church will close Tomorrow House." Beads of perspiration dotted his pink forehead.

  "How long?"

  "If we can't raise enough to cover expenses for the next six months, the church will officially close Tomorrow House at the end of May." Bruce shook his head. "It's a terrible shame, Cyn. I know how much this place means to you, how much work and love you and Evan put into it."

  Cyn leaned back against her desk, resting her hip on the edge. "Evan and I came here as newlyweds. Tomorrow House had just opened. Evan was the very first director."

  Bruce came over and put a comforting arm around Cyn's shoulders. "Do you want to tell Mimi and the volunteers, or do you want me to? And what about the kids?"

  She straightened her shoulders, tilted up her chin and gave Bruce a defiant look. "I'll explain the situation to Mimi and the others, but I don't want one word of this getting back to the kids. I'm not going to let the church close us down. I've invested ten years of my life in this shelter."

  "But how on earth do you think you can raise that kind of money in a little over a month?" Bruce gave her a quick hug, then released her.

  Cyn moved around her desk, sat down and began rum­maging through the bottom drawer. "More donations. We've got some millionaires who've contributed big money to this place. I'll just make a few phone calls and see if they don't want to be even more generous."

  "Cyn, I think you're kidding yourself."

  "Why don't you go on and do whatever it is you do this time of day," Cyn said. "And leave this problem to me. I promise you that Tomorrow House is not going to close its doors at the end of May or the end of this year or any other year."

  "Very well." Bruce walked to the door. "If there's any­thing I can do to help, you'll let me know?"

  "Of course." Wimp! Cyn thought, then chastised her­self for expecting more from Bruce than he was capable of giving. How often in the past four years had she wished that Bruce Tomlinson was half the man Evan Porter had been? If Evan was here, he'd be fighting the church's callous de­cision. Evan would have found a way to keep Tomorrow House open. But Evan wasn't here, so it was up to her to keep his dream alive.

  "What's the matter with Brucie?" Mimi Burnside asked as she walked into the office carrying a tray, which she placed on Cyn's desk. "Expecting you to come up with the solutions to all our problems here at Tomorrow House?"

  Cyn retrieved a thin manila folder from the bottom drawer, slammed the drawer shut and sat up in her chair, clutching the folder in her right hand. "Close the door, will you, Mimi?"

  The big redhead walked over, closed the door, then pulled a folding chair up to the desk. "This is serious, isn't it? Mary Alice told me Bruce had been on the phone with Rev­erend Lockwood. Money problems again, huh?"

  "Unless we can come up with enough money to cover the next six months' expenses, the church plans to close To-morrowHouse at the end of May." Cyn laid the folder down on her desk. "I've got to come up with some pretty hefty donations. And soon."

  "I've seen this coming." Mimi handed Cyn a cup from the tray. "Here, drink some tea and we'll talk. And eat that sandwich. You didn't even take time out to have lunch to­day, and that's not like you. You usually have a healthy ap­petite."

  "Too healthy." Cyn accepted the cup of tea. "I've had a lot on my mind today. Besides, I've been raiding the refrig­erator too much at night lately.''

  "Well, it must be bad, whatever it is, to make you turn to food. Dare I tell you what I think you should do?"

  "What are you babbling about?" Cyn sipped the tea, enjoying the warm sweet taste.

  "That man, that Nate Hodges, he's got you running around in circles, honey child. And I say, if you want him, then go get him."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Mimi, that man is a total bar­barian. He's... he's in some kind of terrible trouble. All he wants is for me to stay away from him, and, believe me, that's just what I intend to do." Cyn knew she had lied to Mimi, but she couldn't lie to herself. If Nate Hodges called her this very minute, she would go to him.

  "Easier said than done. 'Cause I think this thing is big­ger than the both of you. I think it's completely out of your hands." Mimi picked up her cup of tea and took a healthy swallow.

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "Am I? Look, honey child, I've lived a lot of years and known my share of men. Lust and love are two things folks just don't have no control over."

  Cyn crinkled up her nose as if she'd suddenly smelled something unpleasant. "He isn't the sort of man I could
build a future with. He's too... too—"

  "Too much of a man?" Mimi asked. "Not the sweet, gentle, turn-the-other-cheek type you're so used to. But my guess is that when a man like Nate Hodges loves a woman, she's the most important thing in his life."

  Groaning, Cyn cast her gaze heavenward. "Why did I ever trust you with so many of my deepest, darkest secrets? I should have known you'd use them against me when I was at my weakest. You're the only person I ever told about my jealousy of Evan's dedication to Tomorrow House."

  Mimi took another hearty sip of tea, then set her cup down on the tray. "Because, like you, I'm the mother-to-the-world type. Even strangers tell us their problems. Be­sides, we're friends who can trust each other. There's noth­ing wrong with a woman wanting to come first in her man's life. We all need to be loved."

  "Even Nate?" Cyn asked, clutching her cup in both hands.

  "That man definitely needs you, honey child."

  "He thinks he doesn't need anyone. He's so strong, so capable of taking care of himself. Maybe he doesn't need me. Besides, it doesn't matter. We're all wrong for each other. He's nothing like Evan."

  "I like him," Mimi said. "He's more man than Evan ever was. Just the kind of man a strong, caring woman like you needs. I'd say you two are perfect for each other."

  "Mimi—"

  "He's gone wanting for a long time. It shows in his eyes. He's like the kids that come here. Ain't nobody ever loved him the way he needs to be loved. And you, Cynthia Ellen Porter, have got the kind of heart that could heal that man's soul."

  Cyn didn't like the thoughts that Mimi's words created in her mind. The legend said that someday a warrior in need of peace would come to the beach, to the old mission, and would find solace in the arms of a woman, the only woman on earth capable of giving his heart and soul sanctuary.

  "I want to change the subject. I don't have time to try to figure out why Nate and I met now, when he's involved in something he won't talk about and I've got Evan's dream to save."