Beverly Barton - This Side of Heaven

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 happen? 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."