This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

  Cyn slipped on her aqua robe, belting it tightly. Before leaving the bedroom, she gave Nate's sleeping body a lov­ing glance. Quietly, she made her way to the kitchen, seek­ing out the coffeemaker. As she went about preparing morning coffee, she thought about the past two weeks since Ramon's funeral. It had not been an easy time—for Nate or for her.

  Although Nate had spoken to her very little, preferring to keep his emotions bottled up inside him, Cyn had not left his side. Determined to carve out a future with the man she loved, Cynthia Ellen Wellington Porter was willing to wait it out, to give Nate all the time and space he needed to come to terms with his past.

  She knew that Nate had already come to terms with Ry­ker's death, but not with her kidnapping. He still blamed himself for not being able to protect her. She realized that he probably always would. Even the fact that Art Bedford had been apprehended in flight to South America had not lessened Nate's self-imposed guilt.

  Dealing with the knowledge that Ramon Carranza had been his father was difficult for a man like Nate, a man who'd spent twenty years dedicated to fighting for his country, to putting his life on the line for the principles of freedom and justice. His own father had been a part of the deadly cancer that had been eating away at the moral val­ues of the United States for decades. And he was a part of that man, blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh. He could not deny the bitter legacy Ramon Carranza had left him any more than he could deny the vast fortune he had inherited.

  Cyn's own attitudes had changed gradually since she'd fallen in love with Nate and had been thrust into the middle of his savage fight with Ian Ryker. Finally, she had come to terms with not only her own past, her husband's death and the murder of Darren Kilbrew, but she had come to terms with Nate's past. She did not condone violence, and yet she accepted the fact that violence had its place in mankind's never-ending struggle to survive. She realized that when vi­olence is brought into your life, you inevitably have only two choices. The strong choose to fight back, to live, and hope­fully restore peace. Nate was one of the strong ones, and now, she too, shared his strength.

  More than anything, she wanted Nate to accept her com­fort, to be receptive to the loving sanctuary she could give him. But all he had taken from her was the comfort of her body, the solace of hot, wild, frequent matings, as if mak­ing love to her could purge his soul of its torment.

  Just as she poured herself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Cyn heard the knock at the front door. Setting her mug on the table, she walked down the hall. Opening the door, she half expected to see Mimi, who had become a frequent vis­itor during the last two weeks. Instead of Mimi's smiling face, Cyn encountered Emilio's scowling expression.

  "Good morning. May I come in, please?" Always polite and formal. That was Emilio.

  Cyn stepped back and, with a gracious sweep of her hand, invited him inside. She noticed that he carried a small gray box under his arm. "Want some coffee?" she asked. "There's a fresh pot out in the kitchen."

  "No, thank you. I am here to see Nathan." Emilio stood rigidly, though his expression softened when he looked at Cyn. "I have something for him. Something I found when we were packing away Señor Carranza's personal belong­ings."

  "I see." Cyn glanced down at the small box, wondering about its contents. "I'm afraid Nate is still asleep, and I hate to wake him. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since Ra­mon died."

  "I'm not asleep." Nate stood at the end of the hallway, his body bare except for unsnapped cutoff jeans, his long black hair disheveled, and two weeks' worth of beard covering his face. "Too much damned racket. What the hell are you do­ing here?" he asked, glaring at their guest.

  Emilio lifted the box and held it out toward Nate. "These were your father's. They are something I know he would want you to have."

  "I told you and I told his lawyers that I don't want a damned thing from him. Not one dime of his dirty, bloody money!" Nate said, his eyes burning with the conviction of his words.

  Emilio handed the box to Cyn, who took it just in time to keep it from dropping to the floor. "These are letters Grace Hodges sent Señor Carranza. The dates indicate she wrote him regularly from the time of Nate's birth until shortly be­fore she died."

  Not waiting for a reply or a response of any kind, Emilio nodded to Cyn, then turned and let himself out. Cyn held the small box against her bosom, almost feeling the warmth and love contained within the wooden box.

  Letters. Love letters. Cyn looked up at Nate who had grabbed her by the shoulders. He whipped her around to face him.

  "Come back to bed," he said, running his hand along the side of her leg, raising her gown and robe up to her hip.

  She stepped away and thrust the box out toward him. "I think you should read these."

  Nate glared at her. "I don't want to read any damn let­ters my mother wrote to her lover."

  "To your father," Cyn reminded him. "To the man she loved."

  Clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes, Nate reached out and took the wooden box. Dammit, he didn't want to know any more about his mother's love affair with Ramon Carranza. Wasn't it enough that he had to live with the knowledge that the man who had fathered him had been a criminal, and not just any criminal, but an underworld leader? * * *

  Two hours later, Nate found Cyn walking on the beach. He knew she'd been waiting for him to come to her, giving him the time alone he needed to decide his future—their fu­ture.

  He walked along beside her for quite some time before he spoke. She accepted his silent presence, as she had accepted his anger and frustration and unforgivably selfish behavior during the last two weeks. Dear God, what had he ever done to deserve a woman like Cynthia Porter, a woman who loved him enough to stand by him, giving him her support and strength while she willingly submitted her body for his pleasure?

  And he had almost lost her. His hideous nightmare had almost come true. Ryker had come very close to killing her. But he hadn't. Ramon Carranza had died to save both Cyn and Nate. No matter what sort of life the man had led, no matter how sordid and sinful his past, he had atoned for some of his transgressions in one final act of love.

  "She loved him a great deal," Nate said. "She wrote him regularly from the time I was a week old until shortly be­fore her death. She sent him pictures of me, told him about my first tooth, my first word..." Nate's voice trembled.

  "It's sad that they couldn't be together." She could feel the warm May sun caressing her arms and face. She felt so alive, so beautifully, joyously alive.

  "He came to see her the day she died." Nate reached down and took Cyn's hand, entwining their fingers.

  "He wasn't all bad. There was a private side to him that had nothing to do with his business dealings." Cyn stopped walking, tugged on Nate's hand and raised it to her lips. "You inherited his good looks, his strength, his damn macho pride... but you are your own man and you have noth­ing to do with the dark side of his life."

  "I have a dark side to my life, too, Cyn. Perhaps just as dark as his." Nate pulled her to him, trapping their clasped hands between his chest and her breasts. "Can you accept a man with such flaws? Can you spend your life with a bat­tle-scarred warrior whose past sins put you in danger, put you at the mercy of a madman?"

  "I've accepted the fact that terrible things happen in life. The strong survive by fighting back when they're given no other choice."

  "I want us to be strong and survive together," Nate said.

  "Are you asking me to marry you, Nate Hodges?" she asked, smiling at him, her heart swelling with the wonder of love.

  Swinging her off her feet and up into his arms, Nate laughed. "Damn right, I'm asking you to marry me. I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I've got sense enough not to lose the best thing that ever happened to me."

  Clutching him around the neck, Cyn laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Nate. You're all I'll ever want."

  Holding her up against his chest, Nate began walking back toward the house. "I may be all you wa
nt, but would you be interested in my father's millions?"

  "What?"

  "I've decided that Ramon Carranza's money could do a lot of good in this old world. I'm going to accept my inher­itance and let you help me choose what charities need it the most. Needless to say, Tomorrow House will never have to close its doors."

  "Oh, Nate, that's wonderful."

  When they reached the porch, he slid her body slowly down the length of his until her feet touched the warm stone floor. Lowering his head, he brushed her lips with his in a tender, carefree kiss.

  "I think Ramon would be pleased," she said.

  Pressing his body against hers, letting her feel the throb­bing strength of his arousal, he nipped at her earlobe. "Besides me and my father's money, I'd like to offer you something else."

  Cyn laughed, swatting playfully at his chest. "You wicked man, offering me sex in broad daylight."

  Rubbing his maleness into her femininity, he grinned. "The sex goes without saying, but that's not what I was talking about."

  "Well, what else were you offering me?" Cyn asked.

  "I think you and I would make awfully good foster par­ents, don't you?"

  "Foster parents?"

  "Bobby and Aleta. I think they need us. Bobby has no parents, and Aleta's mother has signed papers giving up any legal right to her in exchange for not bringing her up on abuse charges."

  "I think," Cyn whispered into his chest, her tongue flicking over one distended male nipple, "that you will make a wonderful father."

  Images of Cyn big with his child flashed through Nate's mind. The thought pleased him greatly. "Let's go inside and work on making you a natural mother." * * *

  Sunset in the western Florida sky, a melange of colors, like the iridescent shades of a crimson-tinted rainbow. Eve­ning of a hot summer day, the stirrings of a warm tropical breeze as purple shadows forecast the night. The ocean's heartbeat echoing along the shore as a sweet soprano voice sang, a cappella, the lyrics to "True Love."

  Nathan Hodges dressed in a black tuxedo watched while the bridal procession made its way up the beach. At his side, Nick Romero, well on the road to recovery, sat in a wheel­chair while John Mason and Bobby stood.

  Laurel Drew Mason, wearing a tea-length dress of pale yellow satin, approached the groom, his best man and groomsmen. Aleta followed in a matching dress of a less mature design, and last but never least, Mimi Burnside, the matron of honor, strolled along the beach, unable to hide her wide smile.

  The standing crowd of well-wishers held their breaths when Cyn, escorted by her father, passed by in her flowing gown of antique white satin, with Batenburg lace accenting the sweetheart neckline and butterfly sleeves. A Juliet cap covered with baby's breath sat on the back of her head and a short gathered veil covered her long golden hair, which was secured in a bun at the base of her neck. The bride carried an enormous bouquet of white orchids.

  Hand in hand, Cynthia Ellen Wellington Porter and Na­than Rafael Hodges faced the minister and repeated their vows of love and lifetime commitment. Before God, their family and friends, they became one.

  Nate kissed his bride so long and hard that his best man poked him in the ribs. And then the party began. Hours of food and champagne and music. Denton Wellington had spared no expense in giving his daughter the unorthodox wedding of her dreams on the Sweet Haven beach.

  All the present residents and volunteer workers of To­morrow House were in attendance as were Cyn's brother David, Bruce Tomlinson and Emilio Rivera.

  While the crowd continued the revelry long after the sun had set and stars appeared in the black night sky, Nate swooped his bride up into his arms and carried her away... all the way across the street to his house.

  Snuggling in her husband's arms, Cyn didn't even realize that Nate was carrying her straight to the storage rooms, to the old mission part of the house.

  When he felt her tense, Nate hugged her to his chest. "All the bad memories, the pain, the ghosts of the past, will vanish tonight. From now on, these rooms will hold only happy memories."

  The huge wooden door stood wide open. Cyn held her breath as Nate carried her across the threshold. The outer room was empty, swept clean, the windows unboarded and open. She clung to him, her heart beating wildly as he stepped inside the inner room. Cyn gasped at the sight.

  Moonlight streamed down through the unrepaired open­ing in the roof and hundreds of candles glowed like flaming eyes all over the room. They flickered on the floor, in wall sconces, on a table filled with flowers, a table set with champagne and food, and they perched in the open win­dows like Titian-haired little guards illuminating the dark night. An old wooden bed, placed in the middle of the room, gained all of Cyn's attention. Cream satin sheets edged with delicate lace shimmered in the warm candle­light.

  Nate set his bride on her feet, gazing at her with loving adoration as he drew her into his arms. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

  "Am I as beautiful as you?" she asked teasingly, re­membering how he'd sworn she'd never get him to wear a damned monkey suit.

  "This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal, lady. You'll never see me in one of these blasted tuxedos again." He released her, pulled off his jacket and tossed it across a nearby chair.

  Cyn began unbuttoning his pleated-front shirt. "You'll have to wear one when your daughter gets married."

  "Aleta is only twelve, and since I'm not going to let her date until she's thirty, I won't worry about her wedding." Nate reached around and released the top button of Cyn's wedding gown.

  Slowly, sensuously, with their gazes locked in the heat of a smoldering passion, Cyn and Nate undressed each other. With each garment removed, each new inch of flesh ex­posed, the desire within them increased until their hands trembled when they stood naked.

  Nate picked her up, the feel of her bare skin exciting him, hardening his throbbing arousal. Lowering her tenderly upon the bed, he followed her down, covering her, his lips taking hers in a frenzy of wild abandon as his manhood pressed against her waiting femininity.

  He had never known with any woman what he had found with Cyn, the passion, the uncontrollable thirst that could be quenched only with their heated mating, and a love that went beyond the here and now to stretch the boundaries of eternity.

  She flung her arms around his neck, beckoning him to come to her. With his lips burning hotly against her neck, he buried himself deep within her. Cyn cried out from the pleasure of their joining.

  With each touch, each kiss, each forceful thrust, Nate gave himself into her safekeeping, trusting her with his very soul.

  "Ah, querida, yo te amo." Nate spoke the words, but the sentiments belonged to an ancient conquistador as well as the modern warrior.

  "And I love you," Cyn told him, her heart beating with the love of two women. "I'll love you forever."

  Epilogue

  As the last candle flame flickered into oblivion, dawn broke over the Atlantic Ocean. The first faint light of morning seeped through the windows of the old mission, covering the entwined bodies of two lovers lost in a pas­sionate mating dance that united them for all eternity.

  When fulfillment claimed them and their cries of plea­sure shattered the tender silence, Nate planted within Cyn's receptive body the seeds of their immortality.

  Outside, two spirits walked together along the isolated beach, their hearts rejoicing, their souls preparing for a fi­nal journey.

  "It is time," she said.

  "Yes, querida. They have set us free."

  After four hundred years of waiting, the small Timucuan maiden and her big Spanish conquistador left the Florida beach where they had met and loved and died so long ago. On the day that Rafael Wellington Hodges was conceived, the souls of two ancient lovers entered paradise.

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  Beverly Barton

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