This Side of Heaven

'What did you say?' How dare he issue her orders.

'Coming into this part of town alone was a stupid thing to do. You were asking for trouble. You were damned lucky that I was here tonight.'

'I've lived thirty-five years without your help, and I think I'll make it another thirty-five. Just who do you think you are, my guardian angel?'

He took her chin in his big hand, tilting it upward so that she was forced to look into his eyes. 'Tonight, that's ex­actly what I was.'

His words sent a tremor racing through her. This man was a dominant, protective male, and for some reason she felt as if he'd staked his claim on her. 'Then thank you, Mr. Hodges and... and goodbye.'

Cyn stepped up into the van, inserted the key into the ig­nition and started the motor.

'Don't come back to this part of town even if Bobby and Casey don't show up at the shelter.' Nate leaned down into the van, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath.

'Has anyone ever told you that you're—'

'I'm used to giving orders and having them obeyed,' he said.

'That's obvious.'

'Go straight home.'

'Yes, sir!' Cyn slammed the door, then maneuvered the minivan out of the parking space.

Nate watched until the van's taillights disappeared into the traffic. He turned, walking in the opposite direction where his Jeep Cherokee was parked. When he passed the front entrance of the Brazen Hussy, he noticed Nick Romero coming out the door.

'She's quite a woman, isn't she?' Romero slapped his old friend on the back.

'Stay away from her,' Nate warned.

'Well, well. I've never seen you so proprietary when it came to a woman. What is it with you and her?'

'Nothing, absolutely nothing.' Nate began walking away, moving toward his car.

Nate neither wanted nor needed Cynthia Porter in his life, especially not now when just being his friend was poten­tially dangerous. All he wanted was peace. Blessed peace. He had longed to put the past behind him. He wanted to forget the memories of a war that still haunted him, and to come to terms with the man he had been, the man who had served his country for twenty years.

Romero followed. 'You said you'd met her before?'

Nate slowed his quick strides and turned to face his old SEAL comrade. 'There's a cottage across the road from the house I bought. It's the only other house within a mile. She's staying there. She was there last night and again this morn­ing, and I've got to find a way to make her leave. She's in danger.'

'Hey, pal, Ryker's coming after you, not after Cynthia Porter.'

Nate tried to erase the scene forming in his mind, the vi­sion of his woman's lifeless body in Ryker's arms. 'Any­one near me when Ryker shows up will be in danger.'

'Whatever your feelings are for Ms. Porter, they're mu­tual. I saw the way she looked at you.' Romero put his hand on Nate's shoulder.

'I have no feelings for her, and if you think she has any for me, then you're mistaken.' Nate unlocked his car. 'She isn't going to be in my life long enough for Ryker to know of her existence.'

Cynthia Porter wasn't the woman in his dreams. She couldn't be. Ryker was going to kill that woman—and de­stroy Nate's soul.

Chapter 3

The drive from Jacksonville to Sweet Haven seemed end­less to Cyn. Her mind was racked with utter confusion, and her heart rioted with a mixture of far too many emotions. She had never experienced a night quite like this one, and she'd certainly never met a man like Nate Hodges.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Cyn turned east off Interstate 1. She glanced in her rearview mirror to see if he was still following her. He was. Damn him. She tried to tell herself that if he was staying somewhere in the state park he was on his way home, too, and not actually following her. But her feminine instincts told her that his Jeep would still be behind her van when she left the highway in Sweet Ha­ven and drove down the narrow road to the beach.

While keeping her eyes glued to the road, she rummaged around in the cassette holder between the bucket seats, counted the tapes until she reached the fourth one, then pulled it out and slipped it into the player. Within seconds, fifties sound filled the inside of the very nineties van.

Cyn loved the music from the period just before and af­ter her birth, the romantic, sentimental songs that prom­ised love and happiness no matter how many times your heart had been broken. The song playing on the tape was 'True Love,' and Cyn found herself humming, then mouthing the lyrics along with the singer.

No one seeing her now would believe that the trim, at­tractive, mature Cynthia Porter had once been a plump, naive teenager who had lived in a world of romantic fanta­sies, listening to dreamy songs like the ones Johnny Mathis sang and watching movies like Love Story and Dr. Zhi­ vago.

The songs on the tape changed again and again as Cyn raced through the dark night, her speed ten miles over the limit, as if she thought she could outrun the feelings that the man driving so close behind her had created. Nate Hodges's eyes might remind her of the man in her dreams, but he wasn't him. Nate was too big, too mysterious... too dan­gerous to be the gentle, protective guardian who had al­ways come to her to offer her comfort and hope in times of greatest loss and deepest sorrow. But why, then, did she sense that she knew Nate, that it was inevitable that their lives would be joined, that sometime, somewhere, she had belonged to him?

The bright headlights of an oncoming car nearly blinded Cyn. She slowed the van to several miles below the speed limit just in time to see the turnoff to the beach. Taking a right, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw that Nate had turned directly behind her.

She was tempted to pull off on the side of the road, wait until he stopped, then get out and demand that he quit fol­lowing her. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to see her safely home, that there was no danger for her in Sweet Haven. But she didn't stop until she pulled into the drive­way at her cottage.

Jerking the keys from the ignition, she opened the door and hopped down onto the stone walkway. Expecting Nate to drive his Jeep in beside her van, Cyn turned around to greet him, the words 'thank you and goodbye' on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes widened in surprise when she watched him pass her cottage. Where is he going? she won­dered. Didn't he realize she lived on a dead-end road, and even though he probably lived nearby, there was no way out except the way he'd come in?

He turned into the overgrown drive across the road. She sighed with relief, assuming he was going to turn around. When his Jeep disappeared behind the old shell-rock and wooden house that had stood deserted since its last owner had died nearly two years ago, Cyn planted her hands on her hips, shaking her head in bewilderment. What did he think he was doing?

She waited for a few minutes, thinking his Jeep would reappear. It didn't. Well, whatever kind of game he was playing, she wasn't going to cooperate. With an exasper­ated groan, Cyn went into her cottage.

Stumbling over a footstool in the living room, she cursed herself for not leaving on a light when she'd left. She kicked off her heels, then reached out to turn on a nearby table lamp. Hopping around on one foot, she massaged the throbbing toes that had collided with the footstool. She headed toward the kitchen, flipping on light switches as she went. She opened the freezer, pulled out a half-gallon con­tainer of chocolate-marshmallow ice cream and set it on the table.

'Where is he?' she said aloud. Was it possible that he planned to stay the night in the abandoned house across the road so he could watch over her? 'You're fantasizing again, Cynthia Ellen. Nate Hodges is not your protector. He's a ruthless, deadly man. Tonight, you saw what he's capable of doing.'

Cyn retrieved a long-handled spoon from a nearby drawer, sat down at the table and opened the ice cream car­ton. Sticking the spoon into the frozen dessert, she lifted a huge bite to her mouth.

Think about something besides him, she told herself. You've got enough problems without borrowing trouble. You took a dangerous chance tonight hoping to help Bobby, and maybe even Casey, and where did it get you? Into trou­ble—trouble spelled N-A-T-E. Stop that now! Concentrate on finding a way to help Bobby. There was no telling where the boy was right now. She only prayed that he wasn't with