This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

  "What happened?" Cyn asked as she neared the group of gawking kids.

  "I think a bomb exploded in the attic," one freckle-faced boy said.

  "Naw," a black girl said, laughing, "I think Reverend Tomlinson cut that hole so his prayers could get past the ceiling."

  Cyn clamped her teeth together in an effort not to laugh. Bruce Tomlinson was a very nice man, and quite dedicated to his work, but his overly pious attitude did little to endear him to the kids he encountered at Tomorrow House.

  A tall, robust woman with graying red hair stepped out of a room at the end of the hall. Wiping her hands on her large purple apron, she grinned when she saw Cyn.

  "Welcome back," Mimi Burnside said, giving Cyn a bear hug. "I see you've noticed our skylight. Lets in the sun­shine, the moonlight, the cool breeze, and if it rains, it'll let that in, too. Of course a real bonus is that it's created an extra entrance for insects."

  "When did this happen?" Cyn asked as she started to­ward her office, Mimi following.

  "Yesterday. Luckily, nobody was standing directly in the line of fire, but we had one heck of a mess to clean up." Mimi closed Cyn's office door behind them.

  Cyn picked up a stack of mail from the edge of her green metal desk, an army surplus purchase. "That roof has needed repairs for the past three years, but we simply hav­en't had the money. Has Bruce called someone to come out and give us an estimate?"

  "What do you think?" Mimi settled her hefty frame onto one of the three metal folding chairs lined up across the back wall in the office.

  "Let me guess." Cyn grabbed the back of her swivel chair, pulling it away from the desk. "He expects me to take care of it this morning. And he also expects me to come up with the money."

  "Right on both counts." Mimi cocked her head to one side and gave Cyn a long speculative look. "You seem to be back to your normal self, but I sense something's wrong, Cynthia Ellen Porter. Are you sure you're ready to come back to work?"

  "I'm fine."

  Mimi puckered her lips, squinted her hazel eyes and shook her head. "No, you're not."

  "I haven't been sleeping much."

  "If you've been worrying about Bobby, then I can set your mind to rest. He came back last night."

  "Thank goodness."

  "He told me about what happened at the Brazen Hussy. He was worried about you." Mimi crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "I assured him that you were fine."

  Cyn felt her cheeks sting with the beginnings of a blush. No doubt Bobby had told Mimi about Nate Hodges. "I never should have gone to the Brazen Hussy."

  "Who was he, this one-man army that rescued you?"

  "Nathan Hodges, a former navy SEAL, and... and my new neighbor." Cyn knew she might as well be honest with Mimi, because sooner or later the woman would worm every detail out of her.

  "New neighbor?"

  "He bought Miss Carstairs's old house."

  "Well, well." Mimi got up, rubbed her chin and walked to the door. "So a warrior has finally come to the old mis­sion, to the haunted beach."

  Cyn snapped her head around, her brown eyes focusing directly on Mimi's Cheshire cat grin. "I should never have told you about that legend."

  "What's the matter? Something change your mind about how romantic that old legend is?"

  "It was a beautiful story, tragically romantic... as long as it remained just an ancient legend. But now..."

  "Now what?" Mimi asked, laughing. "Are you afraid you and your warrior are destined to fulfill the prophecy?"

  "Sounds crazy, doesn't it?" Cyn had tried not to think about the parallel between the ancient lovers and Nate and herself. "Who's to say that Nate's the first warrior to come to the Sweet Haven beach? And I'm certainly no maiden."

  "Nate, huh? Already on a first-name basis?" Mimi opened the door, hesitated momentarily, then turned around.

  "We're so completely wrong for each other. His whole life is the total opposite of mine. For heaven's sake, Mimi, the man collects knives."

  "If it's meant to be, there's nothing you or this Nate can do to stop it."

  "We're never going to see each other again." Cyn raised her voice, wanting to make sure Mimi heard her, hoping her adamant tone would convince the other woman of her sin­cerity.

  Mimi didn't turn around or acknowledge Cyn's remark in any way. Dammit, Cyn thought. That's all I need, Mimi Burnside trying to pair me off with a man determined to keep me out of his life, a man who, by his own admission, isn't even interested in a brief affair. * * *

  Nate heard the noise again. There was something in the storeroom, something making a whimpering sound. Could it be an injured animal that had taken shelter? Even though the door was closed, it was possible that a stray cat or dog could have crawled in through one of the partially boarded windows.

  Nate opened the door and stepped inside, moving cau­tiously, just in case the animal might attack. It took a few minutes for his eyes to focus in the semidarkness. Glancing around, he noticed nothing changed from the day before, but then he heard the sound again. God, whatever it was, it sounded almost human.

  Suddenly, a small dark shadow in the far corner moved. Nate took several tentative steps toward the movement. Without warning, a skinny kid hurled herself from behind a tall chest and, running past Nate, made a mad dash for the door.

  "What the—" Turning quickly, Nate reached out, grab­bing the little hooligan by the neck.

  The child let out a frightened scream and began strug­gling. Thrashing arms and legs pelted Nate as he dragged the scrappy kid outside.

  "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "Stop your squirming!"

  "Please..." Gradually, the child ceased struggling.

  Nate took a good look at the intruder. Damn, it was a brown-eyed little girl with dirty, stringy black hair. Had this child been hiding in his storage rooms, eating candy and drinking cola? Probably. But that would hardly explain the cigarette butt.

  "Hey, honey, it's all right." The child broke into tears. Nate released her, but kept a restraining hand on her back.

  "I...I didn't do nothing wrong." She gulped and looked up at him, fear in her eyes.

  That's when Nate noticed the fresh purple bruises on the side of her pretty face. His gaze traveled the length of the child's scrawny body, noting that her shorts and blouse were faded and dirty and that a line of fading bruises covered her left arm and the backs of both legs. Nausea rose in Nate's throat. If he could get his hands on the person who'd beaten this child, he would make sure that animal never touched her again.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  She looked at him, her eyes wide and wild with fright. "Just let me go, okay? I didn't know somebody lived here."

  "Did your mother or father do this to you?" Nate asked, pointing to her battered face.

  "I won't go back. You can't make me," she screamed and started to balk.

  Nate placed a restraining hand at her waist, then cursed himself when she cried out in pain. Dear God, he needed to get this child to the hospital. "Look, honey, I think we need to get you to a doctor."

  "No!"

  "You're hurt."

  "It ain't so bad. I don't want no doctor, no police. They'll make me go back, and I'd rather die than go back." She curled up, dropping to her knees, her whole body trem­bling.

  "No doctor. No police," Nate assured her. "I know a lady who helps kids like you. She works at a place called Tomorrow House in Jacksonville."

  "She'll call the police."

  "No. She'll help you. Give you a place to stay, some food and a doctor who won't report you to the police." Nate picked the child up in his arms. She trembled as if she were in the throes of a seizure.

  This abused little girl needed help, and he intended to see that she got it. He also intended to make sure he got her away from Sweet Haven, away from him, as quickly as possible. She couldn't come back. If she did, she, too, would be in danger from Ryker. If the cigarette butt had been left by one of Ryker's cronies, then it was a miracle the chi
ld hadn't already been faced with the unspeakable. Dear God, what if she had? What if the bruises... ? No, Ryker's type didn't just abuse, they killed. The Marquez family and Ra­mon Carranza were people who left behind no witnesses.

  Nate headed toward Cyn's cottage, got halfway across the road, then remembered that she'd told him she was return­ing to work today. Making a hasty turn, he carried the little girl into his house. He eased her fragile body down on the sofa in his den.

  "I promise that no one will hurt you. My friend is a nice lady. She'll take care of you."

  Damn, this was one more complication he didn't need in his life. He was fast reaching the breaking point. And that's exactly what Ryker wanted. No doubt his old enemy was delaying the inevitable because he was enjoying the game, savoring each new torment, loving the idea of making Nate wait and watch and agonize.

  Nate dug a ragged phone book from the desk drawer and searched through the tattered pages until he found the list­ing for Tomorrow House. Dialing the number, he watched the child, who had curled into a fetal position, her arms crossed over her chest.

  "I need to speak to Cynthia Porter," he said. "And hurry, it's an emergency." * * *

  Nate had tried talking to the child on the drive from Sweet Haven to Jacksonville, but he'd finally given up when he realized she wasn't going to reply. She sat, huddled on the front seat of his Jeep, her eyes red and puffy, the bruises on her face vividly apparent in the bright Florida sun.

  She couldn't possibly know how well he related to her, how completely he understood her withdrawal. How many times had he run from his abusive Uncle Collum? How many times had the police returned him to that vicious man's clutches?

  God, how he wished there had been a Tomorrow House in his past, and a caring, giving woman like Cyn Porter. But there had been neither. No one had given a damn about a wild and rebellious boy. No one had wanted him, least of all his mother's older half brother. No one, except Uncle Sam. The U.S. Navy had wanted him, and they'd had him, body and soul, for twenty years. He'd given the SEALs the ded­ication and loyalty many men gave their families. The navy had been his salvation as surely as it had been his damna­tion.

  The only decent thing Collum Hodges ever did for his nephew was sign the enlistment papers allowing him to join the navy at seventeen. He'd never forget his uncle's parting words.

  "Maybe they'll ship your worthless butt off to Nam and let those gooks use you for target practice. God knows, you're no good for anything else."

  Nate had never fully understood his uncle or the man's unrelenting hatred. Collum Hodges had been a bigoted, embittered man, and an ambitious one. His sister's illegiti­mate child had been a social embarrassment to him, and the fact that the boy quite obviously had Hispanic blood in him outraged Collum, whose conservative Anglo friends were less than accepting of Grace's mix-breed child.

  Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Nate pulled his Jeep into the only empty parking space available, a half block down from Tomorrow House. He got out, walked around the car, opened the door and lifted his passenger up and into his arms.

  Cyn stood in the open doorway, watching Nate walk up the sidewalk. He carried a small, unmoving child. When he'd told her that the little girl needed to see a doctor, Cyn had placed a call to her friend, Callie Reynolds, who did a great deal of volunteer work for the shelter. Callie, a suc­cessful St. Augustine pediatrician, promised to drive up on her lunch break.

  Nate took the steps up to Tomorrow House's entrance two at a time. "Have you gotten in touch with a doctor?" he asked.

  "One will be here around twelve-thirty." Cyn winced when she noticed the purple bruises on the child's face. Even though she'd seen this sort of thing more times than she cared to remember, she hadn't hardened herself to the re­ality that there were people in this world capable of brutal­izing children. "Bring her on inside. Mimi has fixed her something to eat.''

  Nate followed Cyn down the hallway and into the kitchen. A big redheaded woman, busy stirring some delicious-smelling concoction in an enormous kettle atop an old stove, turned and smiled at him. He nodded an acknowledgment, then set the little girl down at the table.

  The child stared at the bowl of cereal and the glasses of milk and orange juice, then looked up at Cyn with ques­tioning eyes. "He said you wouldn't make me go back. You won't, will you?"

  Cyn clutched the top of the chair opposite the one in which the child sat. "No one is going to make you do any­thing. All we want to do here at Tomorrow House is help you. Would you tell me your name?"

  The little girl shook her head. "Can I still have the food, even if I don't tell you my name?"

  With tears trapped in her throat, Cyn couldn't respond immediately. She glanced over at Mimi.

  "You eat up, honey child," Mimi said. "And if you're still hungry, it won't be long until lunch. I'm working on some good old chicken stew."

  The child picked up her spoon, dug into the cereal and ate as if she were starving. After finishing the last bite, she gulped down the orange juice.

  "Mimi, would you let our young visitor keep you com­pany here in the kitchen while I give Nate a tour of Tomor­row House?" Cyn asked.

  "You ain't calling the police, are you?" The little girl jumped up, her eyes wide with fear.

  "No," Nate told her. "Stay here and help Miss Mimi with lunch and I'll come say goodbye before I leave."

  "I'll see if Bobby wants to come give me a hand, too," Mimi said. "That boy's good at helping."

  "Who's Bobby?" the little girl asked.

  Cyn and Nate left the kitchen. He followed her into the hallway. Children of various ages, sexes and races moved freely around the building, some passing Cyn and Nate in the hall, others busy watching television, playing Nintendo and shooting pool, as well as sweeping, mopping and dust­ing.

  "You said on the phone that you found her in the old mission." Cyn nodded to several smiling youngsters.

  "The storage room," Nate said. "And yeah, she's prob­ably the one who left the cola can and candy bar that we found yesterday."

  "How about the cigarette butt?"

  "Possibly. But I doubt it." He knew the chances were good that the cigarette butt had been left by one of Ryker's friends, but there was no point in trying to explain that to Cyn. "What can you do for the kid? She doesn't look a day over eight or nine." Nate glanced around at the boy who stood in an open doorway across the hall. Recognizing him, Nate nodded. Bobby slipped back into the game room, si­lently disappearing.

  "He came back last night." Cyn nodded toward where the boy had been standing. "More than likely, he's afraid of you after seeing your macho demonstration at the Brazen Hussy." She reached out, placing her hand on Nate's arm. "Why don't we go into my office and I'll tell you what our options are as far as your little waif is concerned."

  The moment she touched him, he wanted to drag her out of this place and back to the beach. He wanted to be alone with her, to explore where that one simple touch could lead.

  He followed her the few yards to her office, but just as they started in, a short, stocky man, wearing a suit and tie, approached them.

  "Hello, Cyn. I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you on your return this morning, but I had a breakfast appointment with the Reverend Lockwood," Bruce Tomlinson said, placing his hand on Cyn's shoulder.

  The moment the other man touched her, Nate wanted to knock his pale, immaculately clean hand off her. He wanted to issue a warning. But he didn't. Instead, he glared at the man.

  "Bruce, I'd like you to meet Nate Hodges. He found a badly beaten little girl this morning and brought her to us." Cyn squeezed Nate's arm, smiling at him.

  "Unfortunate. Unfortunate." Bruce made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

  "Nate, this is Tomorrow House's director, Reverend Bruce Tomlinson." Cyn wasn't surprised at the tension she felt as she introduced the two men. It was only natural that two such opposite extremes of the male species would be wary of each other. The gentle, weak, c
ondescending Bruce and the fierce, strong, proud Nate.

  Bruce, ever the gentleman, held out his hand. Nate merely nodded, completely ignoring the other man's cordial ges­ture. "Mr. Hodges, I wonder if you'd mind giving me a few minutes alone with Mrs. Porter. I have an urgent business matter to discuss with her."

  Beneath her hand, she felt Nate's arm tense. She couldn't take a chance on what response he might make. "Bruce, if you want to ask me if I've done anything about the ceiling, then I can tell you that a roofer will be here tomorrow." Cyn pointed toward the hole in the ceiling near the front en­trance.

  Nate's gaze wandered over the gaping hollow. "What happened?"

  "An old roof, rotting wood and too much rain this past winter," Cyn said. "We've needed a new roof for years, but just couldn't afford one."

  "Then how are we going to pay a roofer now?" Bruce asked. "We don't even have enough money to pay this month's bills. Reverend Lockwood is very concerned. He says that it's a real possibility that the church will have to close us down."

  "They've been saying that for the last six months," Cyn reminded him. "Look, Bruce, I'll find a way to cover the cost of roof repair, even if I have to pay for it myself."

  "Oh, my dear girl, we couldn't allow it. You do too much already. Working here without a salary, donating every­thing for the game room—"

  "Hush, Bruce! Go...go do some paperwork, and quit worrying so much. Everything will work out. Remember, the Lord helps those who help themselves. And I have every intention of finding a way to help us."

  "Very well." Bruce gave Nate a cold, silent look. "Goodbye, Mr. Hodges." Then he walked away.

  "Prissy little guy," Nate said, laughing. "I don't think he likes me."

  "Probably not. Did you like him?" Cyn pulled on Nate's arm. "Let's go in my office so none of the kids will over­hear more than they already have."

  Nate followed her into the surprisingly pleasant room. All the furniture was old, the metal desk, file cabinets and chairs were an army green. The walls had been painted a lighter shade of green, a very soothing hue. Open blinds covered the long narrow windows facing the street.