This Side of Heaven

her feel the way he'd made her feel last night. She had simply allowed her imagination to run rampant, she'd given herself over to the magic of moonlight, the power of an old legend and the potency of a virile man. In broad daylight, it would be dif­ferent. He was a troubled human being; she was a woman long used to giving comfort to the troubled. Indeed, Cyn couldn't remember a time in her life when someone hadn't needed her, depended on her, expected her to take care of them.

Perhaps she was being foolish. Perhaps Nate would throw her offer of friendship back in her face. But, mother-to-the-world that she was, Cynthia Porter couldn't turn her back on the loneliness and pain she'd felt in Nate Hodges. She knew, on some instinctive level, that if ever anyone had needed her, he did. * * *

Nate gulped down the last drops of strong, black coffee, then reached for the glass pot and poured his third cup for the morning. After less than three hours' sleep, he needed the caffeine boost.

His informative meeting with Nick Romero, the one-sided combat with Lazarus Jones and the ever-present knowl­edge that Ryker was alive and bent on revenge pumped adrenaline through Nate's body, preparing him for what lay ahead. A man long used to sleepless nights, Nate was sur­prised that he felt so lousy this morning. Hell, it was all her fault. That brown-eyed witch. He wasn't used to thinking about one specific woman, worrying about her, wanting her until he ached with frustration.

He had wanted her last night, more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life—and he could have taken her. Even though she'd been repulsed by the idea of his past, she had still wanted him. He knew she had felt exactly what he had. Life wasn't fair, he thought. It offered you the fulfillment of a dream, then changed that dream into a nightmare. He couldn't have Cyn Porter. Making her his woman would put her life in jeopardy.

Through the dense fog of his thoughts, Nate heard a loud rapping on his front door. Who the hell? No one knew where he was, except Romero and John Mason.

Within minutes he opened the heavy wooden door and glared at his unexpected visitor who, holding a small wicker basket in her hands, flashed him a brilliant, cheerful smile. Looking like springtime sunshine in her pale yellow slacks and matching cotton sweater, Cyn was beautiful—neat, clean and flowery-sweet. Her hair was knotted in a large loose bun at the nape of her neck, and a pair of tiny dia­mond studs glimmered at her ears.

'Good morning,' Cyn said, reaching deep down inside herself to find the courage not to run from his scowling ex­pression. He needs you, she reminded herself. Just like the kids at Tomorrow House. He's a wounded soul. 'It's a glorious day, isn't it?'

Nate stared at her, wondering why she was here and puz­zled by her warm, friendly attitude. After last night, he had been fairly sure she'd never want to see him again. After all, he'd hardly gone out of his way to be charming.

When he didn't reply, she laughed, the sound a forced show of bravado. 'Aren't you going to invite me in?' she asked. 'I've brought breakfast.'

He gave her a quizzical look, then glanced down at the basket she held out in front of her. 'You've brought —'

'Breakfast. I baked fresh bran muffins, and I've got some homemade orange marmalade.' She took a tentative step forward, and when he didn't speak or make any at­tempt to allow her entrance into his home, she shoved the basket at his midsection. 'Here, take this and show me to the kitchen. Have you made coffee yet? I've brought some vanilla nut coffee. It's a new blend I tried, and it's deli­cious.'

Without thinking, Nate reached out and took the wicker basket, stepped backward, just enough for her to move past him, then turned to watch her prance into his home. Dam­mit, she was like a steamroller—a velvet steamroller, but a steamroller none the less. It was quite obvious that Cyn Porter was a woman used to taking charge, accustomed to issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed. A hint of a smile curved the corner of his mouth as he thought that it was one thing they had in common.

'You haven't done much in here, have you?' Cyn wasn't sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't this dreary expanse of hallway. She glanced around at the open double doors on each side of the entrance. One room was empty, void of any furniture, and the windows were cov­ered with dusty shutters that blocked out the vibrant morn­ing sunshine.

'I've only been here a couple of months.' He closed the front door. 'The kitchen is straight back.'

He wasn't sure what sort of game she was playing, but he'd indulge her for the time being. Maybe she was as hun­gry for him as he was for her. If she was looking for a quick tumble, he would, under ordinary circumstances, be more than interested. But his life was hardly his own at the pres­ent, and the last thing he needed was a woman in his life, a woman Ryker could use against him.

Cyn headed down the long, dark corridor, her sandaled feet making loud clip-clap noises as she walked along the stone floor. 'You need to open this place up and air it out. It's awfully musty.'

He followed her into the kitchen, set the basket down on the small wooden table in the center of the room, and pointed toward the drip coffee maker. 'I've already made coffee. I'm afraid it's nothing special, just plain old high-octane Java.'

'Oh, that's all right. One cup won't hurt me. Pour us both a cup and I'll fix the muffins.' Cyn glanced around the room, trying not to let her disgust show. The plastered walls probably had once been a soft yellow; now they were a pu­trid shade of tan. A small compact refrigerator sat in the corner, like a square white dwarf in the huge room. A long, wooden table placed against the back wall held a shiny new microwave, a rusty-looking hot plate, and a coffee ma­chine. Two rickety wall shelves hung between the only win­dow, an antiquated sink sat directly below. Sunshine sparkled off the metal faucets.

Nate wanted to ask her what she was doing here. Last night they had come close to making love. Then she'd dis­covered his knife sheath and had been unable to disguise her fear and disgust. 'I'm pretty much baching it here. All I've got are some paper plates.'

He looked over at her then, and his heart stopped for a split second. Her back was to the window and the radiant sunshine turned her hair to pale gold. She smiled at him, her brown eyes warm and inviting. Whether she knew it or not, she was offering him something he badly needed. She brought light into his darkness, giving solace to his pain, happiness to his sorrow, and matching his hard strength with a gentle strength equally as powerful.

'That's fine,' she said, taking a step toward him. She had caught a glimmer of emotion in his dark green eyes, a glitch in his armor. 'Get the paper plates and napkins. You do have some napkins, don't you?'

Nate shook is head. Damn, he hadn't planned on enter­taining while he was here. 'I've got some paper towels.'

'Okay.' Glancing around, she saw no chairs. 'Where do you sit to eat?'

'In the den,' he told her, handing her a couple of paper plates and a roll of towels. 'It's the only other room in the house with furniture except for my bedroom.'

While Nate poured coffee into two clean cups, ignoring his already filled mug, Cyn placed muffins on the paper plates and set the marmalade jar on the table. 'I'll need a spoon or knife or something if you want some orange mar­malade.'

'I'll take my muffins plain,' he said, handing her a cup of coffee, then picking up a plate. 'Let's go in the den and sit down.'

Cyn watched him carefully as he turned around and headed out of the kitchen. Wearing cutoff jeans and an un­buttoned shirt, he was every bit as big and savage-looking in broad daylight as he had been in moonlight. Maybe more so, with his long hair hanging loose, almost touching his massive shoulders.

She followed him back down the dark hallway, through a set of double doors and into a huge room. Well, he isn't a total barbarian, she thought as she surveyed Nate Hodges's den. The floors were wooden, the walls a faded white plas­ter, the arched, open-shuttered windows long and un­adorned. Bright light filled every nook and cranny. Although sparsely decorated, the room held a leather sofa, three unmatched chairs, a desk, a small corner cabinet and several tables.

Her footsteps faltered, then stopped abruptly. She stood, frozen in the center of the room, her gaze riveted to the wall.

Nate realized immediately what was wrong. She was staring, transfixed, at part of his extensive knife collection hanging on the walls. Even though he'd known he would be living here only until his confrontation with Ryker, he hadn't been able to leave behind his highly prized knife collection at his house in St. Augustine. That was why the den had been the only room he'd bothered to fix up.