"If we could have a spotlight, please!"
The crowd in the ballroom glanced around themselves as the overhead lights went low, and a bright spotlight panned the tables.
"The name of our first co-chairperson for the annual Azalea Children's Charity Drive is someone well known to all of us. His tireless efforts in this community have provided beautiful, lasting works of architecture for us all and hundreds of homes for those less fortunate. Michael Helms." The room was swamped by applause, a thunderous wave that sent one man to his feet from a front table, to the podium beside the speaker.
Michael Helms was tall, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He was a man who exercised more than his mind for a living. He'd grown up working in his father's construction company then continued a hands-on policy with his own firm. Long hours in the hot sun had tanned his skin and bleached his already fair hair nearly white.
He looked uncomfortable in the harsh spotlight but only two women in the audience looked beyond his name and his handsome face to notice that he fidgeted in his tuxedo. And one of them looked away, pretending not to have seen it.
"Michael, we're pleased to have you here with us!" Ross Honeycutt shook his hand. He was president of the town's local Chapter of the Better Business Bureau, shook his hand. He smiled for the flurry of camera flashes with the practiced face of a politician.
"Thank you, Ross," Michael replied in his deep voice. “I’m happy to be here.”
Ross smiled again for the cameras then turned back to the podium. "And for the name of our second co-chairperson. This lady has only been back in town for six months but she's set us all on our ears. She has done more than her share to help the good people of this town. I’m sure you all agree that she's earned her spot on the charity drive. Please welcome Dr. Kathryn Richards."
There was a distinct difference in the applause. Some of the sequin-gowned women and well-dressed men actually sat back in their elegant chairs and didn't clap their hands. Instead, they murmured among themselves and frowned, watching in disapproval as the woman in the bright red dress slowly made her way from the rear of the ballroom to the front.
The three people who were left at her table whistled and got to their feet, trying to make a difference in the obvious lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the crowd.
Dr. Kathryn Richards held her shoulders back and her head high. Her curly black hair was held in place by a glittering clasp that allowed some of the curls to escape across her pale shoulders. The bright red dress, a flag of courage and bravado, clung lightly to her too slender form. Her attitude said, ‘I know you don’t want me here but I don’t care.’
She walked to the podium, not looking at the man who had been designated her co-chairperson. By the time she shook hands with Ross Honeycutt, the applause had died to nothing and whispers buzzed around the ballroom from the interested spectators. The huge room fell strangely silent as she turned to them. "Thank you, Ross," she said, then adjusted the microphone on the podium to match her slightly smaller height. "I just want to say that this would indeed be an honor if I hadn't spent the last six months fighting all of you tooth and nail just to survive in this town."
Ross Honeycutt swallowed hard and smiled brilliantly as the cameras flashed on the colorful woman at the podium, condemning them all.
Michael smiled and shook his head, keeping his place beside the podium. Time had made Kathryn more beautiful than he'd remembered but it hadn't dulled her tongue or changed her tactics. She had all the finesse of a steam roller.
"But I accept this obligation because I believe in the Azalea Children's Charity. I will do my best to help with the fund-raising as well as continue my fight to raise Olympia's awareness of the need that exists for compassion. Thank you."
There was a riot of approval; whistles and foot stomping, from the back table where her friends sat, as well as a polite, if less enthusiastic, smattering of applause from the rest of the audience.
The co-chairpersons stood at the podium together for the photographers. Ross Honeycutt wedged himself between them. They all smiled and were blinded by the flashes of light.
Ross congratulated both of the recipients, then took the microphone again, smiling at the crowd. "Okay, folks, there's plenty of music and dancing left. The night is young. Remember to buy your tickets for the events happening over the next two weeks. This year's drive is sure to be exciting."
No one disagreed with that statement. Anyone who'd lived in Olympia for more than five years waited in breathless anticipation to see what would happen next. Sparks were sure to fly. No one wanted to miss a thing.
It was tradition at the opening ball of the Azalea Charity for the co-chairpersons, always a man and a woman, to dance the first dance after being named to their positions. The tradition dated back to the first Azalea Charity Ball in 1853 when the waltz was danced for the first time in Olympia. Not since 1902, when Miss Annabelle Wilson curtly refused to take Mr. Ralph Simpson’s hand for the dance, had a crowd watched with such expectation.
The crowd hesitated to take to the floor, an obvious undercurrent of watchful curiosity. All eyes were trained on the couple coming down from the podium.
Was his hand on her back to guide her down the stairs? Or push her?
Had Amy Washington really seen Dr. Richards kick Michael Helms in the shin before they walked around the podium?
Michael held out his hand to the woman beside him, ignoring the buzz. "Shall we?"
"Only to disappoint them," Kathryn replied with a glittering smile as she swept her dark gaze across the waiting crowd. Vultures.
"Of course,” he agreed pleasantly.
She went into his arms and the bright ballroom was quiet around them as the music began to play. She held her back as stiff as any board and kept her distance from his chest. They moved together, silently at first, while the strains of the traditional waltz floated across the room. Disappointment was audible. It came as a great sigh that swept through the glittering room. People turned away and began to talk. A few couples started to dance.
"Sharp and deadly as ever, Kathryn," he observed without missing a beat.
"Thank you," she responded politely. "You know I don't believe in illusions, Michael. But I thought I was gentle with them tonight. I could have said so much more."
"And I'm sure you will," he murmured, nodding to several friends who congratulated him as they passed each other during the dance.
"I think I know an opportunity when I see one," she rallied. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here tonight."
Michael hadn't been looking at her. He hadn't allowed himself to really look at her since she'd arrived that night with her friends. It didn’t make his awareness of her any less.
He looked at her then, his eyes following the flawless oval of her face, the determined line of her lips and her angry dark eyes. The cascade of glossy black curls touched his hand where it rested on her silky dress, whispering against his skin. It drew his attention to her delicate shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts.
Time had been more than kind to her. She looked as though it had only been yesterday that he had held her in his arms. But there were dark circles under her eyes. She was too fragile, too thin.
"You look beautiful, Kathryn. But tired. You haven't been taking care of yourself."
"You look the same as always.” She returned the favor, looking into his striking blue eyes beneath the mane of white blonde hair. "Healthy, handsome, and strong. Nothing changes, does it?"
He swept her into a quick turn, taking pleasure in erasing the smug smile from her face. She caught her breath and his shoulder in surprise. Her eyes flew open wide and she glared at him.
"Everything changes."
They stared a moment longer, eyes locked on one another as they tried to fathom what the other one was thinking. They knew each other so well. Yet they were like strangers.
Intimate strangers, Kathryn reflected sharply, wanting nothing more than to come down hard on his instep and have the satisfaction of seeing him gasp in pain. But she had her own dignity to consider. And he knew it.
Another of Michael's friends stopped to congratulate him and glare at Kathryn.
“If looks could kill,” Kathryn quoted when he had left them.
Michael laughed harshly. “Lucky for you that your armor is thick enough to repel rockets.”
"I didn't think you'd go through with this," she said quickly, beginning to feel uneasy. Her eyes rested on the pearl button at the top of his shirt near his brown throat.
"You mean back out when I saw your name?" He asked, amazed that they still moved so well together. The dance was effortless between them, fluid and sweet. As their lovemaking had been. As their lives together should have been.
"I thought about it," she continued without hesitation. "I didn't know if I wanted to spend two weeks chained to your side."
"But the opportunity was too good to pass up."
"Exactly," she admitted without shame. Her dark eyes narrowed on his face. "What was it for you, Michael? I know you can't want to be with me anymore than I want to be with you."
That much was true, he agreed silently, glancing away from the beautiful woman in his arms. The memories were fresh and painful when he looked at her. It would never be long enough to forget everything.
"I do what I can to support the work the Azalea Charity does in town. I wouldn't back out of it because of...an inconvenience."
She laughed. "Is that what I am? An inconvenience?"
"No," he answered steadily, his eyes darkening painfully on hers. "But the memories are."
The laughter died from her face as she stared at him. It was too much, seeing the anguish in his bright eyes. How many times had she seen it in her own? Suddenly, it wasn’t a game anymore. She wouldn’t have thought that her heart could break again.
She would have turned and walked away from him but his grip on her waist and hand tightened. “Let me go!”
"If you walk away now, they'll all think you can't handle the next two weeks. They'll think you're a coward. Or worse. They'll think you're still in love with me."
"I don't care what they think." she snapped.
Michael laughed. "I know better."
She looked up at him angrily but kept dancing. "You think you know me so well?"
"I think I know you well enough to understand what you're trying to do. And I know that you don't like to lose."
"You're right," she agreed. "I don't enter a fight lightly. And I do play to win. This is a perfect opportunity to rally support for the clinic."
"You'll have plenty of occasion to tell everyone about your clinic in the next two weeks. The press will be a captive audience."
"But you don't approve?" She goaded him under her breath. "Help all the downtrodden in theory but in practice, try not to see their ugly, dirty faces."
"I don't have anything against what you're doing," Michael replied, his eyes intent on her face. "Unless it takes away from the charity drive."
"The charity drive doesn't help everyone in this town," she argued. "Not everyone in need is a child. There are many who need help that people like you, people who have so much, are unwilling to give."
He would have spoken, reacting to her clever taunt that dug under his skin and lodged in his chest, but he caught himself. He wasn’t going to defend himself to her.
As always, she knew just where to push. He spent nearly all of his free time building houses for those who couldn't afford to buy them just to make up for his 'little rich boy' heritage. But it was never enough. And she still knew him well enough to see it.
"We aren't going to be helping the charity like this," he stated in disgust, starting to pull away from her. "If we're arguing for the next two weeks, we won't be able to function. It might be better to withdraw and let them find you another partner."
They stopped moving in the midst of the couples on the dance floor. Kathryn felt speculative eyes on her and heard a ripple of whispers beginning in the crowd around them.
Waiting to see if we'll strangle each other, no doubt, she guessed.
She sighed, knowing she couldn't let that happen. She'd decided from the start that she could handle the fact that she would be working with her soon-to-be ex-husband. Her pride wouldn't let her back down.
It was her turn to tighten her grip. She pulled herself closer to him. Their bodies were a perfect match; a bright splash of red against the somber black of his tuxedo. “Are you going to be the one to give them what they want?”
Michael looked at the bright red nails that tipped her long fingers as they caught on his shoulder. He raised one pale brow, his eyes questioning hers, then he relaxed and they started dancing again.
The whispering around them increased. They looked so good together. Did anyone recall why she’d walked out on him?
He looked at her, speculating on her motives. "Why would you care if it’s me? No matter who your partner is, you'll have your moment in the spotlight."
She raised her head and smiled at him, her eyes measuring the planes and angles of his face. There was very little left of the young man she'd met and fallen in love with in college. He'd changed. Learned to hide his feelings behind those too blue eyes and that striking face. He'd grown into a man whose business flourished and whose past had returned to haunt him.
She had pushed herself against him to keep him dancing. Michael brought her closer. His hand splayed possessively across her hip. Her hand was cold in his. He could feel her heart beating in her chest, see the tiny pulse moving in her throat.
They were both tall, almost at the same height. They looked each other in the eye and saw the pain and anger that was left in their partner's soul.
She shouldn’t have come back.
Kathryn looked away first, trying to put a little space between them. Her mouth was dry and she felt light headed. She didn’t know him anymore. Anger and loss had made him harder, tougher. It was in the cool mockery of his eyes and the casual strength of his body as he held her. He wasn’t the same man she’d left five years ago. She didn’t know how far she could push him. Or herself.
"You want to prove that I don't mean anything to you, is that it?" he whispered, his face only a few inches from her own.
The music stopped. Kathryn tried to move away from him but he was stronger than she remembered. She could smell the clean male smell of him and feel his heart beating into her chest. Heat soared through her body and blossomed in her cheeks.
She looked up at him again and panicked, forgetting the crowd and the watchful eyes. Feeling only the heat building between them. Despite the friction and the time they'd been apart. Despite everything.
"Let me go," she growled.
"Is that it?" he demanded in turn, not allowing himself to soften at the plea in her eyes. "Is that what you want to prove?"
"Yes!" She exhaled the word on a raspy breath. "Yes!"
A shadow passed over his face and he let her go.
She stepped back from him, hoping her smile was in place and her heart would stop pounding. Her face was hot and the noise from the crowd was intolerable, crashing down on her like a wave.
"Good luck," he retorted, his eyes roaming freely over her face and body as though they meant nothing to him. "Let me know when it happens." He turned his back on her and walked away. But he’d held her too long, looked at her too closely. He took a deep breath and returned to his table.
Michael had only held Kathryn a moment too long. But it was long enough for the woman waiting at his table to take notice. "Was there a problem, Mike?" Susan asked as he sat down beside her and drank a large gulp of champagne.
"No," he denied. "No problem."
She studied him closely then glanced carefully at the woman he'd been dancing with as she gathered her friends and prepared to leave the ballroom. "Do you know the infamous Dr. Richards?" She asked.
He nodded, his face shuttered. "A long time ago. We were married."
“Married?!”
Ross Honeycutt stopped Kathryn from leaving and signaled to Michael to join them.
"One more shot of the happy couple," he enticed, putting the two together, their arms around each other's waists, their smiles held in place for the cameras.
The camera flashes were blinding and the crowd applauded as they smiled at each other then smiled again for the papers and television.
"Was there anything more you wanted to say, Dr. Richards?" one reporter asked, knowing who to watch for the next two weeks of the charity drive.
Kathryn glanced at Michael, as she had in the old days, when she might have said, What do you think?
He smiled slowly, surprised and pleased, despite himself, by the unexpected gesture.
Angry when she realized what she had done, Kathryn started to step away from his side to answer the reporter's question but Michael moved with her.
"Dr. Richards and I are both committed to using this opportunity to raise the awareness of the good people of Olympia to the needs of the less fortunate around them."
"Thanks," the reporter added, surprised at the joint statement. Seeing the look of annoyance on the pretty doctor's face, he knew there would be more fireworks from that department. The Azalea Children's Charity might actually be interesting this year!
Ross Honeycutt began to direct the reporters and photographers towards the other important members of the assembly, leaving Kathryn and Michael free to leave.
"I can handle my own affairs," she hissed as they turned away. “Don’t help me.”
"It seems, in this case, that your affairs have become my affairs," he retorted softly.
"Not in this lifetime!" she rebuked flatly, not caring who heard or what they thought. “Just play your part and I’ll play mine.”
Michael smiled but didn't reply. He walked away from her, returning to his table, knowing the fat had only just begun to hit the fire.
Susan was waiting anxiously for him. "You were married to her?! And you didn't tell me?" She had only lived in Olympia for the last three years. While she knew that Michael had been married, that his wife had left him, she never dreamed that his wife was Dr. Richards.
"It was a long time ago, Susan," he assured her with a sigh. He caught the movement of Kathryn's bright dress out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t look at her.
"Maybe you should ask them to choose someone else," Susan suggested, thinking about the beautiful woman he'd held in his arms for that single dance. "You could do that, Mike. They'd listen to you."
"That's not necessary," he answered with a shake of his head. "I can handle it."
Having seen the long, intense looks between them and wondering if their conversation was going to resort to fighting, Susan doubted it. But she was a tactful woman. It had taken her months to get the owner of Helms' Builders to notice her, despite the fact that she had worked side by side with him decorating houses that he'd built.
Maybe there was another way around the problem, she decided, changing the subject and attempting to get him back on the dance floor...this time with her.
He obliged but his heart wasn't in it. He was unusually quiet and they left the first ball of the charity season before it was over, Michael pleading an early morning.
"I'm sorry I wasn't much fun tonight," he said when they'd reached her apartment.
"Don't worry about it," she whispered then kissed his ear, winding her arms around his neck. "Stay with me? I'll make you breakfast in the morning before you have to go."
"I don't want to leave my father alone," he lied kindly, knowing Kathryn and the past would be haunting his thoughts all night. Not sure if he wanted to share those ghosts with her.
"I understand," she responded slowly, seeing more than he thought. "Will I see you over the weekend?"
"I'll call you when I get home tomorrow," he promised, looking into her big blue eyes, his hand stroking her curly blond hair.
"Promise?" She asked, playfully tugging at his tie.
He saw the real question in her eyes but didn't want to discuss it with her.
Does she still mean something to you?
"I promise," he answered, dealing with the part he could handle. "As soon as I'm finished on the Randolph house."
"Okay," she relented, kissing his lips quickly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then."
She kissed him passionately at the door, winding her trim body around his, inviting him to stay again with her eyes and her mouth. But there was no need for a reply.
He waited while she opened her front door and walked inside, then he walked back to his car. There was no moon and the night was dark. The skies had threatened rain all day and the clouds still obscured the stars.
Tomorrow, if the weather held, he would be putting a roof on a house for Amos Randolph and his family with the help of sixty or so high school seniors who had been with the project from the start. They'd done a good job and the house was almost finished. Amos and Sophie Randolph and their five children would realize their dream of owning a home. Their children would have a yard to play in with green grass and a basketball hoop on the garage. It was something he believed passionately that every family had the right to expect, no matter what their income.
Yet, it was still a sore point for him that so many people had so little and he had been raised with so much. It was a mark that Kathryn found on her first try. How was he supposed to get through the next two weeks?
Does she still mean something to you?
He asked himself the same question that he knew Susan wanted to ask him. He started the car's engine and pulled away from the curb.
Before he'd seen Kathryn, before he'd held her in his arms again, he would have said 'no'. It had been a long time ago. The memories were too painful. He didn't want to think about that time in his life. Or the woman who'd shared it with him. He had vowed that he would never forgive her when he had screamed his grief at the moon. She was gone. He didn’t want her back again.
Yet there was something there between them as they'd danced. Something that had stirred his senses in the old way and made him think about the good times. A specter of their fiery passion whose embers had refused to die.
He shook his head as though to clear it of that lingering trace of her perfume and put his foot down hard on the accelerator, heading for the edge of town.
Back
to Joyce and Jim's Main Page