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hadn't given a damn whether he lived or died.
    He was sober now; he hadn't had anything stronger than a beer in four months. And for the first time in five years, he had a steady job, he ate three square meals a day—and he hadn't had sex since he'd done some nameless, faceless little blonde back in
Kentucky
.
    When Mitch turned to go inside the cottage and finish dressing before leaving for work, he noticed Emily Jordan standing on the porch of her cottage. He'd seen her numerous times over the past month. Sometimes she'd be on the porch the way she was this Friday morning; other times she'd be sitting on the beach under a huge umbrella, a sketch pad in her hand. Zed had called him a fool when he'd told his old friend that he intended to rent a cottage next door to Emily Jordan. He'd tried to explain to Zed why he needed to be near Emily, why he needed to get to know her, to make sure she was all right, to find a way to help her if he could. He didn't think Zed understood. Hell, he wasn't sure he really understood his motives himself. All he knew was that without Emily Jordan's forgiveness, he'd never be able to forgive himself and truly move forward with a new life.
    Zed had warned him that he was playing a dangerous game. Zed was right. If he had a lick of sense, he'd stay as far away from Emily as he could. But that was the problem. He couldn't stay away from her. In the years since the collapse of the Ocean Breeze Apartments, Emily had become a symbol of his guilt, an obsession in his heart. She was a stranger to him, and he to her, and yet not one day in five years had gone by that he hadn't thought of her, wondered about her, worried about her.
    Since his breakup with Loin, there hadn't been a woman in his life he'd cared about and certainly no one who'd really cared about him. Hell, there never had been a woman who had truly loved him. Loni had used him, betrayed him and left him high and dry.
    But this woman—the sad and lovely Emily Jordan—was as different from Loni as diamonds are from cut glass. There was a certain genteel air about his neighbor, a casual elegance. He knew that she'd been raised with money, the kind that had been in the family for generations. Yeah, that's what this woman reminded him of. Good breeding. A Southern lady. She somehow seemed out of place in this modern world, a woman in her ankle-length, flowing skirts, her wide-brimmed straw hats and her long, dark hair secured with satin ribbons.
    He didn't want to find Emily attractive, but he did. The sorrow in her life had slowed her pace and changed her youth into maturity before its time. But there was a strength in her that had helped her survive a tragedy that would have destroyed a weaker woman.
    He had been living beside her for a month and still hadn't worked up the courage to face her, to tell her who he was. He needed her forgiveness. But more than anything he needed to do something—anything—to help make amends for the havoc Styles and Hayden Construction Company had created in her life.
    Somehow, someway, he would make atonement to Emily Jordan. If she asked for his head on a silver platter, he would kneel at her feet and hand her the sword.

----
    Chapter 3
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    H e had made up his mind to speak to her. Today. It would be so simple. All he had to do was walk out on the beach and say hello. But what would she say, what would she do, when he told her he was M. R. Hayden? Common sense warned him to stay away from her, not to ask for the impossible. His own gut instincts told him he was a fool. Emily Jordan didn't need him in her life.
    But he needed her.
    He needed to hear her say that she forgave him, that he should stop punishing himself, that it was time for him to move ahead and let go of the past.
    Mitch was restless and lonely today, more so than most days. Sunday was his only off day. The Banning Construction Company worked six days a week on the
Gulf
Shores
resort project. He should be taking it easy on his one off