Beverly Barton - This Side of Heaven

Standing on the stone walkway, she scrutinized the Span­ish-style mansion. It was exactly what she had expected. A two-story cream stucco house with a red tile roof, arched windows and doors, and a lawn filled with palm trees.

Stepping up, she hesitated briefly as she studied the beautifully carved wooden door. She had to make a good impression. She had to convince this man to help Tomor­row House. Of course, he wasn't her last hope, but he was her best chance. A man with enough money to donate ten thousand dollars a year to a small shelter for runaway teens had enough money to solve her problems, at least tempo­rarily.

Cyn rang the doorbell. Instantly, a young woman opened the door and smiled a friendly greeting.

"Señora Porter?"

"Yes." Cyn walked inside the enormous foyer. If she hadn't been raised in her father's ancestral home in Savannah, she would have been awestruck by the grandeur of Ramon Carranza's home. But Cyn was quite accustomed to fine antiques, impeccable decorating, homes with mu­seum-style quality.

"Please follow me," the maid said in slightly accented English as she led Cyn down the hallway and out onto a back patio.

Spring flowers, in large concrete pots, surrounded the wide expanse of open courtyard just beyond the patio. A glass table had been set with pristine white linen, sparkling china and heavy crystal.

"Please be seated," the maid said. "Señor Carranza re­ceived an important telephone call only moments ago. He will join you shortly."

"Thank you." Cyn sat down when the maid went back into the house.

She was grateful to the person who had called Ramon Carranza. Perhaps he wouldn't even be aware that she had arrived late.

The day was beautiful, she decided, looking up at the clear blue sky. Everything was fresh and crisp and caressed with Florida sunshine. The day should be perfect, but it wasn't. Not for her. She was in love with a man who didn't love her, a man totally unsuitable for her.

She remembered the first time she had awakened this morning. Nate had been awake and lying beside her, propped on his elbow while he watched her. He had kissed her, held her, and made slow, sweet love to her. How could a man give of himself to a woman the way Nate had given to her and not love her?

"Señora Porter," a deep, throaty voice said. "I hope you don't mind eating outside. I know it is only the first day of May, but after last night's rain, the world is so clean and fresh and bathed in the sun's warmth."

Cyn glanced up at the tall, elegantly dressed man who had just stepped out onto the patio.

He took her hand, kissing it with Continental flair. "You are even more beautiful than I had imagined."

"Why, thank you, Señor Carranza. I'm flattered." Cyn felt awed at the sight of the elderly gentleman. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this handsome man, so tall, so broad-shouldered, so incredibly suave with his mane of white hair and his thick white mustache. His black eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity.

"You must call me Ramon, as all my friends do." He sat, taking the chair opposite her. "And you and I are going to be good friends, si? "

"Yes, I hope so." Cyn thought there was something fa­miliar about this man. Perhaps she had seen his picture in the paper.

"I hope you like seafood, Señora Porter." Ramon waved his hand, and as if on cue, a plump, dark-haired woman appeared carrying a huge serving tray.

"I love seafood." Cyn's mouth watered at the sight of the scrumptious shrimp cocktail the woman set before her. "And please call me Cyn."

When he widened his eyes in surprise, an amused look on his face, Cyn laughed, then said, "My name is Cynthia, but all my friends call me Cyn."

"What a perfectly delightful nickname."

All through brunch, they discussed a variety of things. Everything from music to wine, but somehow the discus­sion kept coming back around to the fact that Cyn was liv­ing alone in Sweet Haven with only one close neighbor. It seemed of great interest to Ramon Carranza that Nate Hodges was a man Cyn could count on for protection. She simply didn't understand Señor Carranza's interest in her personal life.

"I came here to ask you for money, and yet we seem to have discussed everything except Tomorrow House." Cyn had enjoyed her meal and the charming old man's com­pany, but there was something in his persistent questions about Nate that bothered her. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Ah, but it is a foregone conclusion that I will give you the money you need. I will give you a check to cover the expenses of your shelter for the next six months." Ramon sipped his wine, eyeing Cyn over the rim of his crystal glass.

"You will?" Cyn gasped. "But...but how did you know that I needed enough money for six months' expenses?"

With a toss of his hand, indicating that it was nothing for him to know the closest, most-guarded secrets of others, he smiled at Cyn. "I am sure you are aware of the fact that not only am I a very rich man, I am a powerful man with many powerful friends. My friends know many things, and what I want to know, they find out for me."

A cold chill raced along Cyn's spine, reminding her that no matter how charming Ramon Carranza was now at nearly eighty, it was reputed that he had once been a part of the Cuban mafia.

"Why does my shelter interest you so much, Señor Car...Ramon?"

He took another sip of his wine. "May I be perfectly honest with you, Cyn?" His wide smile displayed his spar­kling teeth against the background of his white mustache and leathery brown skin.

Uncertain how to reply, she simply nodded as she re­turned his smile. A tight knot formed in the pit of Cyn's stomach, as niggling little doubts wafted through her mind.

"I could say that it is because I consider myself a philan­thropist, but I am not. I could say that I was once a boy without a home who needed a place like Tomorrow House, but it would be a lie." His smile widened. "You have heard rumors about me, have you not?"

How was she supposed to answer a question like that? she wondered. "People always like to gossip about the wealthy."

Ramon laughed hardily, the sound deep and husky. "Such a diplomatic reply. But I would expect no less from a politician's daughter."

"You know who my father is?"

"Senator Denton Wellington of Georgia."

"But how—"

"I give to charity, my dear little Cyn, for two reasons. As a tax write-off, first and foremost. And, I am an old man, reared in the Catholic faith. In case there is a hereafter, it would not hurt for me to make some small recompense be­fore I die." He looked down into his almost empty wine­glass as if it were a pool reflecting his past.

"Do you know my father?" She couldn't shake the no­tion that perhaps Ramon Carranza was generous to To­morrow House in particular because he was one of her father's acquaintances. But surely her father wasn't foolish enough to accept campaign contributions from a reputed crime boss.

"Do not worry yourself." He tilted the glass to his lips and swallowed the last drops of wine, then set the goblet on the table. "Your father and I have never met. He is not in­debted to me in any way."

Cyn hoped the relief she felt wasn't visible on her face. As debonairly charming as Ramon Carranza was, there was something about the man that disturbed her. There had to be a reason why he'd gathered so much information about her personal life, why he seemed so interested in the fact that she was living alone in Sweet Haven. "I enjoyed brunch very much, Señor Carranza—" When he widened his eyes as a reminder, she quickly corrected herself, "Ramon. I'm very grateful for your offer to help us. I simply can't let the church close down Tomorrow House. You are aware of how much money it will take?"