-Still the One-

Chapter 1

"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. 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-chairper- sons, 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.

Chapter 2

Kathryn and her little group of supporters left the hotel ballroom on foot and walked the three blocks to the old brick building that served as both her clinic and her home.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me that he was your husband," her partner, Dr. Stephano Alario, said angrily.

"It doesn't matter," she told him plainly again, just as she had for the last three blocks since he'd found out who her co-chairperson was for the charity. "It's only semantics because the papers haven't been signed."

"How can you say that?" he demanded, staring at her while their two companions yawned and told them good night, leaving for their own homes.

Kathryn thanked them both for being there for her that night, ignoring Stephano.

"Does that mean I can come in later tomorrow?" Angela asked hopefully.

"Yes," Kathryn said, hugging the young woman. "You can come in at five-thirty instead of five-fifteen."

Angela and Marcy both laughed and said good night again. They'd already heard the beginnings of the argument that was about to ensue. There was nothing to keep them from their own beds. They'd hear it all tomorrow.

Stephano continued as though there hadn't been a pause between them. "How can you say that it doesn't matter?"

"I can say that because Michael and I haven't been together for five years. We've been apart longer than we were married," she responded tiredly. "He's not really my husband."

He shook his head and began to pace the plain gray tile floor. "When we talked about coming here, you said you wanted to set up this clinic for your home town, for the people who needed it. You wanted to model it after the clinic I started. You came to me with your dream and I agreed to help you try to realize it."

"I know," she said, sitting down on a hard chair in the clinic waiting room. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop him until he got it all out.

"Since we got here, there's been nothing but problems. We've both worked too hard to jeopardize everything because of your feelings for this man."

"I don't have feelings for him, Stephano," she returned wearily. "And you know how much your help means to me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you'd think I couldn't handle it. And we need the publicity. You said so yourself. Once people know about the clinic -- "

Stephano slammed his fist down hard on the desk near the wall. "You didn't see the two of you dancing tonight! I saw the way you looked at him! The way he looked at you! Nothing's forgotten or forgiven between you! No matter what you say, you aren't going to be able to handle that!"

Kathryn stood up slowly, her purse and her shawl in her hands. "I know I cried on your shoulder too many times for you to believe this, Stephano, but he doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize anything. Have some faith in me."

"Kathryn -- "

She shook her head resolutely. "I'm grateful that you came here with me. Your help and support has kept me going for the last six months. But this charity campaign is an opportunity to make people notice what we're doing here. I'm not going to pass it up because Michael was dancing with me tonight -- or because you saw me dance with Michael tonight."

Stephano studied her carefully. "I think you're underestimating what you felt for each other. Emotions like that don't just fade away. Especially when there's bad blood between you."

"What we had between us died when Cetta died. There's nothing left but memories and most of them aren't good ones. I'm not going to fall apart because I have to dance with him a few times."

He was moved by the anguish he saw in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Kathryn. I know you're right about the publicity. It's what we've talked about since we got here. I just don't want you to let him hurt you again. I'd rather close the clinic and start somewhere else."

She turned away from him, trying to keep from losing control. The evening had become much more emotional than she'd planned.

She had returned to Olympia after five years to build a clinic in her mother's name. It would serve the poor and the people who worked the mills but couldn't afford insurance for their medical problems. It had been a struggle, but she was surviving; and when the opportunity had come forward to chair the Azalea Charity, she had grabbed it with both hands. The exposure for the clinic would be more in two weeks than she could muster for a year.

The one catch had been Michael. When she'd heard that he was going to be her co-chair for the two weeks, she'd almost refused. But it had been a long time; she'd consoled herself with that. She didn't care for him anymore. She had seen him only once in the six months that she had been back and that had been from a distance.

She had steeled herself for that moment in the hotel ballroom. Yet when she'd moved into his arms, there was still fire there between them. The fire of anger and pain that had separated them but there was also that fire that had brought them together. She could feel it course through her veins when she'd looked into his face and seen the new lines that time had etched there. It had made her respond to his touch when her mind was telling her that it wasn't possible.

"I admit that I'm nervous," Stephano said, putting his hands on Kathryn's thin shoulders. "I know you, Kathryn. And I think that you may be hiding the truth from yourself."

"What truth?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"That he still means something to you. That you didn't tell me that it was Michael because you wanted to see him again, to be close to him, even for a few weeks, without sacrificing your pride."

Was there any truth in that? she wondered, staring into Stephano's dark face.

"No!" She refused to even consider the possibility. "What I've done, I've done for the clinic. The next two weeks, I'll be working for the clinic and bringing awareness to the people of Olympia. That's all."

He sighed. "I won't argue anymore with you tonight. We both have early appointments tomorrow." He kissed her cheek lightly. "I care for you. I don't want to see you hurt."

Kathryn nodded mutely and shivered in the damp cold of the musty old building.

"Good night, Kathryn," he said, starting up the stairs.

"Good night, Stephano," she spoke quietly. "And if I haven't said it enough, thanks for being here."

He shrugged. "As if I have somewhere else to be!"

Kathryn went to bed in the sparse little closet that she'd been able to claim as her own. It was the best they could do with the money she had raised to start the clinic. Even combined with her own money that she had saved during the course of the last five years, it was barely enough.

The old building was cold and the plumbing whistled during the night but it was a place to start. She had already treated hundreds of people who otherwise would have gone without medical care.

The sacrifice of her personal comfort meant nothing to her. The clinic was her life and her heart. She had worked hard to be there. Michael might be back in her life but he wouldn't stop her.

And that's what will get me through the next two weeks, she told herself tiredly, glancing at the red dress hanging on the wall. The light came in from the street outside, flashing a green and yellow 'POOL' sign across it. She had come too far to turn back. She closed her eyes on the thought, asleep at once after being on her feet steadily since six AM the previous morning.

But Michael's face and the sound of a crying child followed her into her dreams and when dawn paled the darkness over the city, she was already up, looking over her schedule for that day, a strong cup of coffee in her hand.

"He's very busy, Mr. Helms," his secretary told him with a dimpled smile. "If you'd like to wait -- "

Michael leaned down closer to her. "Tell him I'm here and I want to see him. He'll see me."

The secretary fluttered up from her desk, looking back at him with worried eyes before she opened the door to the inner office and spoke quietly to her employer.

"Send him in!" Michael heard him say and he wasted no time walking past the startled secretary.

"Mornin' Mike," Ross greeted him jovially. "Some blast last night, huh?"

"What's going on, Ross?" Michael demanded an explanation. "What were you thinking?"

"It was brilliant, wasn't it?" Ross acknowledged excitedly. "The lady doctor who's stirred up such a ruckus. And Michael Helms, the best thing to ever be raised up in this town! What a pair! What publicity!"

Michael's face clearly denied this jaundiced view. "What part did Charlie play in all of this?"

"I don't know what you mean, Mike. You know Charlie and I are old friends but that has nothing to do with the charity! I do what I think will bring in the most money. Add a touch of excitement. Make people want to attend each and every event so as not to miss a thing!" He chuckled and lounged back in his seventeen- year-old office chair. "In this case, it's you and Dr. Richards. It's as good as a soap opera!"

Michael glared at him. "You're ruining my life to sell tickets?"

Ross smiled at him. "Is that little lady ruining your life?"

Michael shook his head, refusing to be baited. "We both know my father would like to see Kathryn and me back together. He's wanted it since she left."

"Michael, I didn't know. I swear it!"

The younger man held up his hand. "Save it," he told him. "And tell my father not to try to screw around with my life!"

"Mike," Ross reminded him, a grin on his hang-jowl face. "You live with the man! I only see him once or twice a week for checkers or pinochle. Maybe the two of you should talk!"

"We talk everyday. But this needs to come from me, through you. I know what's going on and it won't work. You can tell him that."

Ross Honeycutt watched Michael leave his office, thinking about the day when he had helped him build a doghouse. He had been six years old and convinced that his dog could find a secret entrance with a hidden passage into the house.

"You didn't know what was good for you then, young 'un." Ross sighed with a shake of his head. "You don't know now." He grinned and dialed Charlie Helms' number.

Kathryn watched Michael leave the old red brick building but didn't hail him. He took off quickly in a work-worn vehicle, a few pieces of lumber sticking out from the back. He looked angry. She glanced up at the building, curiously, wondering what had gone on inside. With a shrug, deciding that it didn't matter to her, she started walking again. She was headed back to the clinic after visiting a patient in the hospital. Her old black bag weighed heavily on her arm.

It had been a long day and it was only slightly past noon. She knew the clinic would be filled with people and she was glad for their trust, but she was exhausted. It was hard being back home. She smiled slightly as she considered that well used word. Home. 'The place where you grew up. The house where your parents lived.' Hot summer nights and giggling at school. The countless little feelings that made one place full of memories.

And regrets, she sighed, trudging down the sidewalk in her white running shoes.

Olympia was where she grew up. Her parents had moved there when she was about two. The house on Tulip Court, the place she remembered living the longest, was still standing.

It was amazing, really. She and her sister had pretended that the sagging old roof was a cave collapsing in on them. They had to get the jewels -- usually their mother's earrings and an assortment of spoons -- out of the cave. There had been holes in the walls big enough for a cat to climb through, that her mother had covered with cardboard and painted over.

It should have been torn down when she was a child. It was unthinkable that people still lived there. She knew the family that was renting it from the mill. She had treated their little boy for nausea. She'd gone to the house and looked at the tire swing, still in the yard. Her parents had been gone for what felt like a lifetime. Her only sister had moved to New York years ago then died in a car accident on a crowded city street. She'd left no children of her own behind.

Sometimes, late in the night, she asked herself why she had come back. After her marriage had broken up, she had nothing holding her there. She'd left gladly, not looking back on the century old textile town with its shaded streets and tiny shops, its prejudice and greed. She hadn't planned on ever coming back again.

It was after meeting Stephano and working with him that she had started thinking about coming back. When she saw what wonders his clinic had created in the poor farming towns outside of St. Louis, she had begun to think about her own home town.

If there had been a clinic like hers, she thought, squinting into the sunlight, perhaps her own mother would still be alive.

"Dr. Richards!"

Kathryn turned and saw a woman running towards her, waving and yelling her name.

"Dr. Richards!"

She recognized her as the woman in the sparkling, low cut white gown from the charity ball Friday night. She had been sitting at Michael's table. When Kathryn had left the dance, they had been sitting with their blond heads close together, talking intimately.

"Hello! I'm Susan Allison. I know you don't know me but I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?"

Kathryn looked at the pink-cheeked blond, her wide blue eyes dancing with health and exertion. And something else.

A perverse imp inside of her wanted to hear what Michael's latest 'woman' wanted to say to her. It might be interesting, she decided, sitting down on a bench stationed on the corner. For both of them.

"Thanks," Susan began, sitting next to her.

"What can I do for you, Susan?" Kathryn asked. "You seem to be in very good health."

"Oh, I am," Susan gushed. "I am. Perfect health. I play tennis a few times a week. I run on the weekends." She stopped and looked at Kathryn, her eyes fixed on her face. "I wanted to talk to you about Michael."

Kathryn smiled slowly. How had she known?

"It's nothing serious." Susan went on to explain. The sun glinted off the gold in her bouncing curls. The new spring leaves on the dogwoods formed a perfect background for her pretty face.

"Michael really wanted to be the chairperson this year. The Azalea Charity means a lot to him. He built ten houses last year for families who wouldn't have been able to afford their own homes. Families with children."

Kathryn nodded, and added sarcastically, "Isn't he a wonderful man?"

"He is," Susan agreed with a wide smile. "Really."

"I know," Kathryn answered, wishing she would get to the point.

Susan stared at her intently. "You aren't still in love with him, are you? I mean, that would be tragic!"

"Tragic seems a harsh word for it," Kathryn mused. "Perhaps naive or ridiculous. But no, I haven't been in love with him for a very long time."

Susan relaxed visibly. "I'm so relieved! I know he used to care a great deal about you. He's talked about you. And I know he still has feelings for you. Not love, of course. But you do still make him a little crazy. And that's why it's impossible for the two of you to share responsibility for the Azalea Charity Drive."

"Impossible?" Kathryn wondered. So, she made him crazy?

"That's why I've come," Susan explained. "To ask you to give up your spot. Before something embarrassing happens between you. Michael is very angry."

"Is he?" Kathryn inquired politely.

"He'd really like for you to step down -- but, well, you know him."

Kathryn surged to her feet, taking her doctor's bag with her. Her eyes blazed on the other woman's face. "Tell him I don't care. I won't step down but he's certainly welcome to leave."

"He just wants to have this over between you." Susan pleaded her case as Kathryn walked away. "Is that so much to ask?"

"If that's true," Kathryn began, pausing to look back at her, "ask him why he's refused to sign the final divorce papers."

Susan looked as though someone had struck her. "What?"

"You didn't know?" Kathryn smiled maliciously. "I've been trying to get a divorce from him for a year. Tell him that if he'll sign those papers, I'll step down." She turned and walked away, leaving the other woman on the sidewalk, her china blue eyes wide with disbelief.

Chapter 3

Kathryn spent the remainder of the time walking back to the clinic chastising herself. Hurting Susan Allison had been like kicking a puppy. The other woman probably wasn't that much younger but she made Kathryn feel ancient.

Was I ever that young? she wondered, kicking at a rock that was on the sidewalk in front of her.

It wasn't Susan's fault that she believed Michael's lies. Certainly it wasn't the first time those blue eyes had fooled a woman. Hadn't she succumbed to them herself?

When they'd met in college, it was like a Cinderella story.

Michael was young and handsome, a football player with a wealthy father and a host of friends who hung on his every word. He drove a shiny new car and had plenty of money to spend. He knew all the right people, went to all the cool places. All of the girls knew who he was and they all wanted him.

Kathryn's mother had died the summer before she'd started college. Two years into her education, she was living on campus by working in the school library and the cafeteria. She had two pairs of jeans and three t-shirts to her name. Everything else had gone for expenses: for her mother's funeral, for books and tuition.

She rounded the corner in the library one day with an armful of books and walked straight into Michael Helms. It was like running into a wall. She bounced back and hit the floor, the books she held scattering around her like flower petals.

He smiled at her and helped her to her feet. He asked her if she was hurt. He apologized for being in the way and offered to help her pick up the books.

She knew his type at once. She'd been at school long enough to have seen him around with his flashy car. A dozen others like him had offered to 'help' her if she would 'help' them. She waved aside his apology and hoped he would go away.

His friends had laughed but he had patiently helped her pick up her books and looked down at her with that those devastating eyes and that wonderful smile. A look from him had chased away the other guys. He had asked her about her major and taken the books she'd had to the shelf for her.

She was impressed by his actions but when he'd asked her out, she'd refused. Flatly. She knew what came next and she didn't have the time or the energy for it. She'd only dated a few men since she'd started college. The dates had been disasters.

What she hadn't bargained for was Michael Helms' persistence. When it came to getting his way, he had no equal. He spent every day after that in the library. Everywhere she went, he was there. He managed to find her when she walked out of her classes and when she stopped for lunch.

After the first day, his friends stopped coming with him. Before she knew it, she was talking to him as though they had known each other forever. It seemed a natural progression that she should go out for pizza with him one evening after the library closed.

They walked to a small restaurant just off campus. That had surprised Kathryn and thrown her off guard. Maybe she'd been wrong about him. She'd expected him to show off with his car and his friends.

Instead, it was just him in a pair of worn jeans and a soft blue sweater. He was funny and charming. His eyes never left her face and he really listened when she told him about her plans to be a doctor and work with the poor. He didn't laugh at her or act like he was smarter than she was.

Michael wanted to build big houses with interesting designs and make enough money to build good houses for people who weren't able to afford them. He and his father had a dream about building a replica of a French village with smaller, picturesque houses and winding streets.

The evening was over too quickly. She had a curfew, besides having to get up early to help serve breakfast at the cafeteria in the morning.

She remembered that it had been a warm autumn night. There had been a sliver of a crescent moon at the horizon. He had kissed her lightly when he'd left her at Ramsey Hall but he hadn't tried to push her any further.

Michael was nothing, she sighed, if not patient. He had just waited quietly for her to start thinking his way. In between, he had devastated her with his kisses and drawn her out of herself with his understanding. When he'd finally proposed to her, she had been lost.

She pushed open the clinic door, lost in her thoughts. Angela met her, clipboard and white jacket in hand.

"We're swamped," the girl told her. "It's this 'flu thing. Dr. Alario has seen three pneumonia patients already."

Kathryn stripped off her cardigan and pulled on the white jacket, glancing at the faces of the people who were waiting patiently to see a doctor. A little girl was crying at her mother's side, her pretty face flushed and eyes fever-bright.

Kathryn nodded, taking the clipboard. "Let's do it!"

She saw the little girl as her second patient. Her mother said that she was only four and that she'd been coughing for a few days.

"She got so hot this morning that my husband said I should bring her in."

"It was the right thing to do," Kathryn assured the woman. She turned to the child. "What's your name?"

"Cindy," the little girl said quietly.

"Hello, Cindy. I'm Kathryn. Would you like to sit up on this table so that I can see you better?"

The little girl nodded and Kathryn lifted her small form to the table. She was hot to the touch.

"Cindy, I'm going to listen to your heart and look in your ears and at your throat, okay? Then maybe we can help you feel better."

The little girl nodded and Kathryn examined her, telling her what she was doing and asking her questions about her family and her life. She let Cindy listen to her heart with the stethoscope and the little girl smiled.

Cindy clearly didn't feel well but she answered quietly that she had two brothers and a sister and a dog named Fred. She didn't like the pre-school where she went when her Mommy was working and she was looking forward to starting real school later that year.

When she was finished with the examination, Kathryn told her mother that the little girl had an ear infection and some congestion in her lungs. Her fever was high but not dangerously so and she explained that it was part of her body fighting the infection.

"I'm going to give you this prescription for antibiotics. You make sure she takes all of it, even if she starts to feel better. If she has any other problems, bring her back."

Cindy's mother nodded. "I don't have any money right now but when I get paid -- "

Kathryn touched the girl's pale face with a gentle hand. "Let's worry about getting her well. We'll worry about the rest later."

The woman bit her lower lip as she looked at her little girl. "I had insurance but it just got too expensive."

Kathryn's mouth tightened. "Do you work for one of the mills?"

The woman nodded. "For almost fifteen years."

Kathryn put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "When it comes up, vote for the union. For now, it's going to be all right. Don't worry."

"Bless you, Doctor." The woman touched Kathryn's hand with tears in her eyes.

"Take care of Cindy," Kathryn said finally. Then she looked down at the little girl. "I'll see you later. Get well!"

"Okay. Bye."

Angela took them to the front desk for a lollipop and a voucher for the medicine.

Kathryn saw six other patients, all with 'flu symptoms. Most of them worked at the mill. None of them had insurance or could afford the plan the mill offered on their salaries. Yet none of them had enough education to go out and find other jobs.

Kathryn treated their symptoms and listened to their fears. She changed the dressings on burns and sent an older woman, who was showing symptoms of Alzheimer's, to the hospital for tests.

She knew she had been fortunate in her relationship with the newly appointed hospital director. Aleese Simpson was a stickler for the rules but she was a good person.

The hospital was a county hospital that received funds for treating the indigent and those without health insurance. Aleese had confided to Kathryn that the hospital had never been able to reach into the community and draw out those people until it was too late for medicine to help. Between them, they were finding free insulin programs for diabetics and had collaborated on the beginning of a private fund for expensive medical equipment for home health care. With any luck, by summer, they would have a mobile health clinic.

It was a partnership Kathryn relished even while she condemned the community at large for their lack of financial support for the program. The mill owners still refused to upgrade the worker's houses. Insurance was still out of reach for most workers.

Angela popped her head around the corner and reminded her that it was nearly six.

"Six?" Kathryn asked, bewildered as she washed her hands after her last patient.

"You have that charity dance, remember? Seven thirty!"

She drew in a deep breath. She'd forgotten! And her dress --

"Mrs. Markland dropped off your dress about an hour ago. She said she'll see you at the dance."

"Thanks." Kathryn closed her eyes and said a silent thank you to her friend. She looked at her watch and decided there was just enough time for a quick shower before she changed and left for the dance.

The water in the building was temperamental. Sometimes there wasn't any hot and sometimes there wasn't any cold. Just like the heat. That evening, there wasn't any hot water for the first few minutes then there wasn't any cold. Then it shut off for a few minutes. When it came back on, Kathryn showered rapidly and dried off, wondering for the millionth time if there wasn't anything to do about the situation and coming to the same conclusion.

There wasn't enough money for anything except the patients. Maybe if they could get some donations flowing in, that would change, but they were limited by their contributions and grants. Some of the people of Olympia had been more than generous, including her friend Meg and her husband, Travis Markland. There were some paying patients. But so much more was needed. Drugs were expensive and even used equipment was hard to find at rates they could afford. They had rented some machines but they still ended up sending too many patients to the hospital. The problem was, many wouldn't go.

Kathryn looked at herself in the faded, full-length mirror that was pinned to the back of the door. Her mother had always told her that she had good bones. When she was a child, she wasn't really sure what she meant. Even as an adult, she was still puzzled.

She did have high cheekbones and a long neck. But her lips were a little too wide for beauty, in her opinion, and her eyes were a flat color, not quite brown and not quite black.

She knew she was lucky that she and Meg were the same size. Borrowing Meg's clothes was what had decided her on undertaking the charity drive. Without her friend, she would have had to decline the honor.

Which may have been for the best, she considered, thinking about the sparks she and Michael had created. She hadn't wanted to create sparks or anything else with him. Yet when she looked at herself in the dress Meg had brought for her, she wasn't sure anyone would believe her. If the vultures had thought Meg's red dress was eye catching, she decided, looking at the stunning black dress she wore, they were in for a surprise.

The bodice of the dress was covered with tiny little black beads and dipped low across her breasts. The skirt hung in shimmering folds to end at her ankle. It was a romantic dress, a dress meant for dancing. She knew that was exactly what she'd be doing the rest of the evening. Her feet hurt and her head ached, but she knew the program. The first charity dance was set up with contributors paying for dances with the two chairpersons as well as other charity officials.

And it was always a big success, she recalled, groaning at the thought, as she put the finishing touches on her hair and make up, despite the overhead light flickering.

And Michael?

Unlike the opening ball at the hotel, Kathryn was worried about seeing him again. She wouldn't dance with him. She wouldn't get close to him. And she was going to give him a hard time for sending his girlfriend to ask her to resign from the charity.

What had he been thinking? She tried to guess, feeling he should know her better than to try something that obvious. It wasn't like him to send someone to do the job for him. He was always straight-forward. She had chided him once about being too good to be true. Years later, her words had come back to haunt her.

She glanced down into the dark street through the cracked upstairs window. Michael was just getting out of his car, staring up at the building. The light from the overhead street lamp clearly detailed his face. He looked up, as though he could feel her eyes on him. She hid behind the pretty yellow curtain she'd hung on the side of the window and looked down at him through it like a silly school-girl.

Stephano would have loved that response. She goaded herself into looking at the street again. Michael was gone. Think of the devil, she decided, and then hurried to finish getting ready.

It wasn't hard for Michael to make inquiries about his wife and her troublesome clinic. She hadn't wasted any of her precious six months back making both friends and enemies. He'd fielded a dozen phone calls that day from businessmen in the community. Wasn't there anything he could do to stop that hell-raiser? She was his wife!

Wife. The word was like ashes in his mouth, clouding his brain. Unbidden images of them together in the park; making love, standing at Cetta's crib, made him stand in the street an extra minute or two. He wasn't in a hurry to see her again that night. Yet, there he was, picking her up so that she wouldn't have to ride the bus. He was an idiot. If she tore him to pieces, he deserved it.

He knew her clinic was in one of the areas of the city that hadn't seen any rebuilding since the turn of the century. He hadn't realized how run down it had become until he went there to pick her up that night. The dark hulks of aging wrecks closed in on each other. Sidewalks were cracked and littered with debris. Most of the streetlights were knocked out. People were lying in doorways. There were foraging sounds coming from the alley next door that made him glad for the darkness.

"We're...closed," Angela greeted him as he walked in through the front door. She took a look at his immaculate tuxedo. "Oh, I bet you're not here to see the doctor."

He smiled. "As a matter of fact, I am," he corrected her. "I came to pick up Dr. Richards."

Angela drew in a sharp breath as she saw Dr. Alario from the corner of her eye. Not sure if she should leave them alone together, she hesitated to go and tell Kathryn that her ride was there.

"Angela," Stephano instructed in a quiet voice. "Go and tell Dr. Richards that Mr. Helms is here."

Angela looked quickly between them then fled from the room. Whatever was going to happen, she didn't want to be there.

"Mr. Helms." Stephano held out his hand to the other man. "Dr. Stephano Alario."

Michael shook his hand. "I've heard your name. You do an important job here."

"Thank you. Kathryn and I both work very hard to maintain this." He glanced around himself at the peeling yellow walls and the rotting door-frames. "Such as it is. It's not much but it is our dream."

Michael didn't miss the emphasis on the word our. He looked closely at the other man's dark face, seeing the enmity in his black eyes. There was only one reason Dr. Stephano Alario would look at him that way.

"Maybe the exposure from the charity drive will help you pick up some supporters," he suggested.

"That's what we're hoping." Stephano shrugged, his dark eyes glittering into Michael's narrowed blue ones. "We'll have to see how it goes."

Michael nodded. "Kathryn is the right person for the job."

Dr. Alario smiled, his teeth even and white. "Kathryn is Kathryn. Who would know that better than you and I?"

"She does move pretty much her own way," Michael admitted ruefully.

"That's true," Stephano agreed shortly, his eyes intent on Michael's face. "Although, now we move together. I wouldn't like to see her hurt because of it."

"I'm sure no one would, Doctor," Michael agreed hesitantly.

"I won't allow it!"

His meaning was clear but before Michael could say another word, Kathryn appeared, breathless from her sprint down the stairs, putting on her shoes as she reached the ground floor.

"Michael," she said as she glanced at Stephano. "I wasn't expecting you."

He shrugged. "I thought I'd swing by and pick you up. It's a long walk to the country club."

"I was going to take the bus." She wrapped the dress's glittering black shawl around her shoulders. "But this is fine. Thank you."

"Sure." He regarded Dr. Alario thoughtfully. "No problem."

The two men stood on opposite sides of the room, watching each other wordlessly, until Kathryn took a deep breath and broke the silence.

"I think we should go then. We're probably going to be late anyway."

Michael nodded his head and smiled at her. "Whenever you're ready."

Kathryn turned to Stephano. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He kissed her quickly on the lips. "Kathryn, you don't have to do this."

"Stephano," she entreated. "Don't."

He took a step back, moving his hand as though he'd been scalded, staring at her soft mouth. "I'll see you later then."

"Good night, Angela," Kathryn said to her assistant. "Get some rest."

Chapter 4

Michael helped her into his car. The early spring air had turned brisk with the wind that raced up and down the dark streets. A man with no shoes slept in one corner of the clinic's wall, his heavy coat wrapped around him for protection.

"Kathryn -- " Michael began as he got in and turned the key in the ignition.

"Don't start!" She guessed at his words. "If you want to contribute to the clinic, in a reasonable way, that's fine. I don't want your personal charity."

"Personal charity," he mimicked thoughtfully as he drove away from the curb. "That's an interesting phrase."

She glared at him. "You know what I mean."

"I know." He ventured a look at her. "This is something you have to do on your own. Something that you don't want to be tainted by my interference."

"It has nothing to do with you," she told him sweetly. "Just leave it alone and go out and build your houses."

"Five years," he mused, keeping his eyes on the road though his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel from the strain of remaining calm. "Nothing's changed between us, has it?"

"As you said to me," she pointed out, "everything changes."

They were silent for a few minutes as the car sped quickly and effortlessly through the evening traffic.

Kathryn sat at the farthest side of her seat, pressed against the door, not looking at her companion.

"This isn't going to work if you act like I have the plague or we argue all the time," he warned.

"I don't act like you have the plague."

"But you aren't comfortable being around me."

"Can you say that you're comfortable being around me?" she demanded.

He studied her face in the dimly lit interior. "No," he admitted finally with a twisted smile.

"You're just better at hiding it," she accused. "But you were always good at hiding things, weren't you?"

"Kathryn!"

"Don't worry, Michael. I'll be smiling when the pictures are being taken and no one who sees us together will think we're anything but thrilled to be together. At least on my part."

"You do that," he ground out. "And I'll handle my part."

"But when we're alone, don't expect anything from me."

"Not even common civility?" he inquired.

"Don't push it," she answered, looking out her window.

Neither of them spoke another word until they reached the country club at the outskirts of town. Then, true to her word, Kathryn emerged from the car with a smile on her face and confidence in her walk. She took her partner's arm as the photographer took their picture. She looked up into Michael's face with adoring eyes and leaned close against him.

"I'd like to stick a pin in you to see if you're real," he remarked as they walked up the sidewalk to the entrance together.

"Too good to be true?" she quipped.

"I guess I don't remember you being such a good actress," he answered truthfully.

"I learned from you," she assured him between shaking hands with members of the Azalea Children's Charity. "All those years, I never guessed what you were really like."

They were separated before Michael could reply. Ross Honeycutt claimed the first dance with Kathryn and with a wink at her friend, Meg Markland claimed the first dance with Michael.

"Well, I see you still have eyes left," she remarked when she and Michael moved into the crowd already on the dance floor.

Meg and her husband, Travis, had gone to college with Michael and Kathryn. Meg had been Kathryn's maid of honor at their wedding. The two couples had spent a lot of time together in those early, carefree days.

Michael glanced across the room at Kathryn's black hair and arrogant cheekbones. "Only because I held my hands up when she went for my face."

"Well, you knew it wasn't going to be easy. She won't ever forget seeing you and Carrie together."

"There was nothing to see," he repeated for the millionth time.

"That doesn't matter," Meg counseled him, patting his shoulder. "She knows what she thinks she saw. And she's had five years to steam over it."

"If it wouldn't have happened so soon after Cetta's death," he whispered, his blue eyes clouding over. "She could have had a little faith in me."

Meg shrugged. "Maybe the two of you can at least be friends by the time this is over."

"If one of us isn't dead," he returned without much hope.

Meg searched through the crowd for Kathryn and saw her arguing with Ross Honeycutt as they were dancing. The man was looking around the room as though he wanted to escape and Kathryn's face was alive with her cause.

"That looks like a check for the clinic." Meg nodded towards the couple.

Michael, recalling his initial impression about why they had been picked for the charity drive, decided that a hefty check to Kathryn's clinic might make Ross think twice before he tried to interfere again. He certainly felt no pity for the man.

Michael had done as Ross had suggested and talked with his father that evening as he was getting ready for the dance. But talking with the wily Charlie Helms was like talking to a wall. Whatever was going on between the two men, his father was denying any knowledge of it.

He watched as the dance ended and Ross smiled and fiddled with his collar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He walked Kathryn to the table where his wife was seated and as Michael looked on, Leona Honeycutt wrote out a check and placed it in Kathryn's hand.

"Kathryn, ten," Meg whispered, watching eagerly at his side. "Olympia, one."

"I think I paid for this dance," Travis Markland approached them with a wink at Kathryn and a smile for Ross. "You understand."

"Of course." Ross glanced around himself and grinned. "Please, dance. Have a good time. That's what we're here for."

Meg frowned at her husband as he took Kathryn in his arms on the dance floor.

"I have to go and save my children's educations," she said to Michael. She looked at the line of middle aged women who were lined up and anxious to dance with the town's most eligible bachelor. "Good luck, Michael."

"Thanks," he replied, confronting the line himself. "Ladies!" He smiled and nodded to them. "Who's first?"

Kathryn tucked the hefty check into the tiny beaded purse she carried then turned to her new partner with a pleased smile.

"Don't look at me like that," Travis said in a teasing, pathetic voice. "My wife is here somewhere. She's protecting me from the checkbook."

Kathryn looked up at him and smiled. "Of course she is. I wouldn't ask you for money anyway."

"Thank God!" He wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. "Rumor has it that you're ruthless with men who don't contribute."

"Only when their wives aren't supplying the clothes I'm wearing," she retorted.

Travis glanced down at the sparkling black dress. "I thought that looked familiar."

They danced past the line of sighing females waiting to dance with Michael.

"It looks like he has his hands full for the night," Travis remarked.

"So does Meg." Kathryn nodded in his wife's direction. The other woman was dancing with a tall, handsome lawyer and her pretty face was lightly flushed.

Travis watched them and frowned. "Mind if I cut out on you early? I forgot she was dancing for tickets tonight, too. I think I better go and buy a few hundred."

Kathryn laughed. She had always liked Travis and had always admired his devotion to Meg. "Go," she advised, seeing her own line of ticket holders. "I think I can find something to do."

He left her and Kathryn walked over to her next partner, putting the ticket into a jar that would be counted at the end of the night to tally up the proceeds from the dance.

She talked a little with her partner and laughed lightly when he accidentally stepped on one of her feet. She noticed Susan Allison with a handful of tickets, just turning to dance with Michael.

Susan looked at Kathryn and smiled knowingly from across the room then she took Michael's hand. "I missed you this morning when I woke up," she whispered to him seductively as they started to dance. "I was cold."

Michael's mind was seething with Stephano's possessive attitude towards Kathryn as well as their conversation in the car. The doctor was obviously more than just her partner.

In the first few months after she'd gone, he'd imagined her coming back to him. He'd been hurt and angry. Yet he'd still had dreams where she'd come back. She had touched his face and it had all been right between them again.

After a few years, he'd given up on the idea that she would come back and life would ever be the same. He never imagined that she'd come back and they would be at each other's throats! He never imagined meeting the new man in her life.

He was staring at Susan's face and didn't realize that she'd spoken until she called his name. He blinked his eyes and focused on her. "Sorry."

"That's okay," she told him. "You looked pretty fierce for a minute there."

"I'm hungry," he said quietly, his mind on the dark haired menace that had come back into his life. "Why don't we find something to eat?"

"But I paid for this dance," Susan protested leaving his arms, wanting his body moving against hers. She held out her string of tickets.

"You can use one of them to sit and eat with me," he told her. "Then we'll dance."

True to her word, and unlike any of the other dancers, Kathryn danced every dance for four-and-a-half hours. People admired her stamina and her grace on the dance floor. A long line of men in tuxedos waited with tickets in hand for her to finish each dance.

She smiled and talked with all of her partners, the cascade of black ringlets and the sexy black dress always on the floor with a new man.

Michael watched between his own dances until ten PM when he was either ready to strangle her or her next partner.

Kathryn's shoulders were slumped and her red lipstick made her face even more unnaturally white. The shadows under her eyes had become more pronounced. She was exhausted. She looked like a rag-doll being pushed around the floor.

He wanted to yell at her. And he wanted to yell at himself for caring. Why couldn't he just turn away?

Michael intervened at the start of the next dance, before her partner could claim her. He held a plate of food in one hand and took her arm in the other.

"I said I thought we should keep up appearances," he growled at her, "not dance ourselves to death."

"What are you doing?" she wondered, looking back at the man who should have been her next partner.

"Making you have time out, I guess," he replied, marching her towards the French doors that were open to the terrace.

"Hey, this is my dance," the tall, thin account executive spoke up. "Where are you going?"

Michael stared at him balefully. "Back off. She needs a break."

The man stepped back, eyeing Michael's tall, muscular form with alarm. He wanted to dance with the sexy lady, not fight.

"Who appointed you my keeper?" She wanted to know as he kept her moving. They reached the doors and walked outside into the garden.

"As your nearest living relative, I'm taking the responsibility."

She jerked her arm free and stopped abruptly, looking up at him in the dim glow from the outside lights that ringed the terrace.

Michael stopped as well, barely managing to hold on to the plate. "Look, I know you're trying to prove something to me, Kathryn. But you're not going to prove anything if you collapse on the dance floor! You probably haven't eaten since noon, you're dead on your feet and you're starting to look like a poster person for nervous exhaustion."

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing on his handsome face, wondering what difference it made to him what happened to her. She wouldn't have cared, she promised herself, if he'd been flat out on the dance floor! But then he didn't have the reason to hate her that she had to hate him.

Still, when he looked down at her that way, like some Norse God painfully aware that His creation was kicking Him in the groin, she had to smile. "Actually it's been since this morning."

"What?" he asked, confused by her sudden change in manner and the flash of a smile on her lips.

"I haven't eaten since nine this morning. Just before hospital rounds. I forgot."

He smiled in return, wondering if she were just lightheaded from exhaustion and lack of food. Whatever the reason, he fully intended to take advantage of that momentary weakness. "Sit down for a few minutes," he urged as he moved her closer to a bench at the side of the terrace. "They can wait for you to prove how much you can do for the charity."

"My feet are killing me." She groaned as she sank down gratefully on the wrought iron bench. "Meg's shoes are a size smaller than mine."

The thought of her having to wear someone else's clothes and shoes made him irritable and he didn't want to know why. She wasn't his responsibility anymore. "Here." He put the plate in her lap and the fork in her hand. "Eat."

She did as she was told, not offering any resistance, a fact that he noted and kept to himself for fear she'd realize and storm back into the overheated room.

"I got this from the kitchen," he said, pulling a sealed container of orange juice from his pocket and handing it to her.

"It's good," she remarked, sipping at the juice. "Thanks."

He crouched down before her, sitting back on his heels, watching her. Scared to do or say anything to disturb that one moment of peace between them.

Her eyes were as black and shiny as the river in the darkness. She put a small piece of bread between her lips. Her clever, healing hands were pale and tapered in the dim light.

"Can't we find some common ground?" he asked finally when she had eaten and finished her juice. "Surely there must be some where that we can go on from here. Our marriage is over, Kathryn, but can't we get past that and move on to something else?"

She surveyed his face dispassionately. In the subdued light from the terrace, his hair was the color of moonlight. The angles of his face were shadowed, his eyes exaggerated, as they looked up into hers. He looked like a statue, carved there to protect the garden. Great beauty and great pain were etched into his features. The hands that rested together in front of him were strong and callused from long hours working with wood and brick.

There was no 'five o'clock shadow' to that face. She knew that, when his beard did grow out, it was as blond as his hair. She glanced down his body and felt her face heat up. She knew so many things about him, good and bad. Too many things.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Think about it," he replied, a little confident that she didn't reject him off hand. Angry that he cared. "It could work for both of us. Will you?" It was for the good of the charity, he argued with himself.

"Think about it?" she asked, arching one delicate brow in her pale face. "Yes, I will. I think we should go back inside now."

He agreed reluctantly. "I guess so." He stood up straight and waited for her to dispose of the plate and fork in the trash can near the end of the terrace.

"Thanks," she said simply. "I was starving."

He nodded. "Next time, I won't take any chances. I'll feed you on the way to where we're going."

"I don't want you to come and pick me up again, Michael," she insisted in a gentle voice. "I can get there on my own."

"I know," he answered carefully. "I've never doubted it."

She shivered in the cool breeze, looking at him carefully. "I know," she murmured so quietly that he could barely hear her. It was true. He had never doubted her or thought less of her abilities. That hadn't been their problem.

The dance was still going strong when they walked back into the room. The music was loud and the light made them both blink.

"Smile!" Someone called out and they both complied as the photographers took several pictures.

"We can't be this interesting," he muttered before they separated.

"Speak for yourself." She smiled, taking one young reporter's arm. "I'm infinitely fascinating!"

Returning to their separate groups of admirers waiting with dance tickets, Kathryn glanced over her partner's shoulder as they moved together on the dance floor. Michael's pale head was visible through most of the crowd. She watched him as he danced or stood on the sidelines, talking with friends. Awareness of him, of his movements and his close proximity, crept into her slowly. Before she realized what she was doing, she was looking for a glimpse of him amidst the sparkling finery of the women and the somber black of most of the men.

Once she realized, she made a conscious effort to stop. She could feel herself respond to him, to his kindness, and that inexplicable fire between them.

How could it still be that way between them? She'd lived without him for five years, she told herself rationally, changing partners with a smile and a warm hello for the new one. She didn't need him. She didn't even want him. Yet there she was, looking over her partner's shoulder again for that mane of blond hair and those animated blue eyes.

It was nearly midnight when Travis and Meg told her that they were ready to leave. Their sitter had to go home by twelve-thirty. Kathryn, who'd fought a losing battle with exhaustion and trying to curb herself from watching Michael, was ready and eager to go.

Ross Honeycutt had announced that the charity had made two thousand dollars that night and urged everyone to attend the picnic the following day. Baskets of food would be auctioned off by the co-chairs of the drive.

"The flowers are blooming and it's goin' to be a great day, folks!" He guaranteed. "And for the last dance this evening, we'd like for all our married partners and our co-chairpersons to take the floor for free."

The lights were lowered and Kathryn watched Meg slip into Travis' arms. The music began to play, softly at first, then becoming louder and more recognizable.

It was their song, she realized. Her heart felt as though it were being ripped from her chest. It was the song they'd danced to right after their wedding ceremony eight years ago.

Michael was coming towards her, the tiny colored spotlights glancing across his shoulders, glinting in his hair.

Aware of the speculative gazes and the whispers, Kathryn moved into his arms with an impatient sigh. Not looking at one another, they started moving across the highly polished dance floor.

"You didn't have to do this," she murmured tiredly, wanting to rest her head against his shoulder. She didn't dare.

"Do what?" he wondered, closing his eyes and inhaling her perfume.

She looked at him, pulling back a little to see his face. "Are you trying to tell me that it's a coincidence that they're playing our song?"

"I can't believe you'd admit that you remember our song."

"And you don't?" she demanded, peeved.

"One song in particular?" he continued, one eyebrow lifting lazily as he looked down at her. "I remember dancing with you and that song you liked on the jukebox at school. What was that?"

She glared at him. "You know that's not the song I'm talking about! I'm talking about this song!"

"Is there something special about this song?"

"Michael!" she cried out in exasperation. "We danced to this song just after we were married!"

He thought about it, listening to the swell of the music for a moment or two then shrugged. "If you say so. I don't recognize it."

"You know you had them play it," she accused.

"You might as well know the truth," he explained. "It's Ross Honeycutt and my father. Well, actually, it's my father. Ross is just his legs."

"What are you talking about?"

"Charlie lost the use of his legs when he had his last heart attack. The doctor says he doesn't have more than six months to a year. He's in a wheelchair."

"Charlie's dying?"

He nodded somberly. "He's never believed we would stay apart. And now with you back in town, he'd do anything to get us back together. Including getting Ross to choose us as co-chairpersons for the charity drive."

Kathryn smiled and shook her head. "Are you saying that he thinks spending a little time together can make us a couple again?"

"I'm afraid so." He listened to the music. "And he has a long memory."

The dance was over as he finished speaking. The music whispered away and the lights came up. All around them, couples blinked their eyes and started walking off the dance floor together.

"I have to go," Kathryn said, seeing Meg and Travis waiting for her. "I'm sorry about Charlie, Michael."

"Me, too," he answered with a shake of his head, not looking at her.

She started to walk away from him, thinking about Charlie Helms who'd been like a father to her.

"I will always love you," Michael said plainly.

She turned back to him. "What?"

His eyes were intent on her face. "I Will Always Love You. The name of the song."

"You didn't forget the song," she discerned, her voice gentle but sad. "I wish you would've remembered it five years ago. Good night, Michael."

He watched her walk away until Susan joined him, taking his arm and smiling into his face.

Chapter 5

"Everything went well, I think," Meg speculated as they rode back to the clinic together.

"I think so." Kathryn sighed, lost in her thoughts.

Meg glanced at her husband, a sparkle in her eyes. "What was so important earlier that Michael had to drag you out to the terrace?"

Kathryn laughed. "He wanted to feed me."

"Feed you?" Meg questioned, then laughed. "I guess you were looking a little pasty-faced."

"You know he always wanted to take care of me. It was one of our problems."

Travis nodded. "I remember. The two of you were always arguing about it. Especially when you were pregnant."

Meg punched him in the side but it was too late, the words were out.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn. I didn't mean anything."

"That's okay," she assured him with a smile. "What is it about me that everyone thinks I have to be protected?"

They reached the clinic. It looked shabby and old in the street light. The curb was littered with trash and an old shopping cart had been discarded just a few feet away.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Kathryn said, getting out of the car. "Are you bringing Erin and John?"

"They wouldn't miss a chance to fly their kites," Travis told her, hating to leave her there on that empty street corner. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," she told him confidently. "Really."

"Do you want us to come by tomorrow?" Meg asked quickly.

"No, I'll walk. The park isn't that far."

"Are you sure?" Travis queried. "We can -- "

"I'll meet you there," Kathryn replied in a little huff of exasperation. "Thanks anyway." She knew they would wait for her to enter the clinic before they left, so she hurried with her key. The lock stuck, it always did. She finally got it open and waved to them as she stepped inside.

It was dark and cold in the lobby. The stairs to the second floor were a blacker passage yet. She sighed heavily, not wanting to go up to her cold, lonely bed after the light and warmth of the party.

"I was wondering if you would ever get home." Stephano startled her as he came out of the darkness. He switched on a light and she blinked, adjusting her eyes.

"You didn't have to wait up," she told him quietly.

"I didn't have to," he agreed. "I wanted to."

"Everything went well," she said as though he had asked the question. "They raised two thousand dollars for the charity tonight."

"That's wonderful," he acknowledged. "But in the meantime, we can't pay our electric bill that's due at the end of next week. And the medical supply house is threatening to stop shipments of supplies without a payment on our account."

She nodded. She knew their financial status. "I was on television tonight. Maybe that will bring in some funds."

He drew a deep breath. "And what about Michael Helms?"

"What about him?"

"He looks at you as though he owns you!"

Kathryn heard the anger in Stephano's voice and closed her eyes. "This isn't going to work," she repeated the words that Michael had said to her earlier that night. "There is nothing between us. I can handle this. You just have to trust me."

He nodded, patently unconvinced. "I hope so, Kathryn."

She lost her patience. "What's the worst that could happen? I make a fool of myself? As long as the clinic gets the attention it needs, that's all that matters."

"No, that's not the worst thing!" he argued. "The worst thing is that you break your heart. You let him in again and he ruins your life."

"If I'm that stupid, I deserve whatever I get," she replied, raising her head and confronting both their fears.

"I'm sorry," he relented, hugging her closely. "You know me. I worry when it rains that the sun may never shine again. I won't say anything else about it. You'll have to take care of yourself."

She smiled slowly. "Thanks."

He looked into her face. "Kathryn, there's so much you don't understand." He held her hand as he switched off the light on the reception desk and they started up the stairs together.

"What was all that stuff with the two of you tonight?" she asked, glancing at him.

He shrugged. "I was trying to make him feel like there was someone protecting you. That you weren't alone."

"Thank goodness!" She whistled beneath her breath. "I thought you had rabies or something. The way the two of you were staring at each other, I was afraid you might start foaming at the mouth!"

He puffed out his chest. "That was machismo, Querida. Testosterone. Have a care!"

She laughed and he pretended to be angry then laughed as well. He pulled her close, his gaze catching on her lips, then he shook his head and rumpled her hair. He wished her good night and left her at her door.

She undressed slowly, thinking less about Stephano and more about Michael and the charity drive. Michael was right about them getting along, as much as she hated to admit it. They had to be pleasant to one another. The press was everywhere and it was as important to her as it was to the children's fund. Could she put aside her grievances with him and act as though they were friends?

He was also right that she was never much of an actress. Usually whatever she felt boiled to the surface and the words came out of her mouth.

But Michael was different. Her grievance with him was private and had nothing to do with the charity drive or the clinic. She couldn't let it stand in her way when she was so close to accomplishing her objective.

Yet, she didn't know if she could ever look at him without seeing Carrie, naked in his office, the two of them standing at his desk as they had been that day when she had left him forever.

The devastation she'd felt at his perfidy had been shattering. Without her parents or her sister, he and Charlie were all the family she'd had left.

Only three months after Cetta had died...

The pain curled in her, fresh and alive, at the thought of her lost daughter. Born too early and with a heart deformity that couldn't be corrected by surgery, they had simply stood there and watched her die, hours after her birth.

Her little face had been beautiful, as though she were asleep. The dark fluff of hair on her head was like a shadow. Tiny hands and feet that would never curl around her fingers or kick off their blanket, lay still and limp.

They had named her Concepcion for Kathryn's mother and when they had buried her tiny coffin in the cold ground, Kathryn had felt as though a piece of her had died as well.

She and Michael had turned to each other for comfort and Michael had begun to talk about having another child. He had said that they could put Cetta behind them and try again for a healthy baby. They had argued. Kathryn hadn't been ready or willing to think about another baby. She spent her hours grieving for the little girl she would never know. She stayed in their house, in the darkness. She didn't go to the hospital. She didn't want to speak or eat. She and Michael slept apart.

Michael, always the builder, the believer in what was new and real, hadn't understood her reluctance. He had pushed her to think about the future, about their lives together. He had forced her to look outside at the sunshine again.

Then she had gone to his office and found her husband with his secretary.

Kathryn lay in her bed that night, pulling on an extra blanket for warmth, and stared at the ceiling. When she thought about Cetta, even five years later, she still grieved.

It was a private grief that she had refused to share with anyone, even Stephano and Meg. She hugged it to her as she would have hugged her little lost daughter. The idea of having another child, of loving another child, was still too painful to contemplate. It would be as though she had turned her back on Cetta and devalued her memory.

What had hurt the most about Michael's abandonment was that she had depended on him, despite the arguments and the disagreement. She had always believed that they would come through the experience on the other side and that they would be happy together again. When she saw that he couldn't wait for her, even a few months, she lost faith in everything except her work. She'd left Olympia that day with only a few clothes and a bus ticket. She'd left everything and everyone behind and had looked for her future alone.

After meeting Stephano and working in his clinic, she had been able to see her own future clearly. The people of Olympia needed good health care that everyone could afford. She began to make plans to return to her hometown and set up a clinic of her own.

Stephano had been enthusiastic from the start, surprising her by offering to go with her and set up the new clinic.

Kathryn sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She felt cornered between the two men. Stephano, who wanted to protect her from Michael -- and Michael, who'd always wanted to protect her from the world. She wasn't sure if she could get through the next two weeks without killing one of them.

Her last thought before she drifted to sleep was of her mother, laughing and teasing her father as she hung clothes on the clothesline on a windy April day.

"Men!" She had huffed. "Always too much or not enough!"

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. The morning temperatures were cool but the afternoon was supposed to be warm and breezy. Perfect for kite flying.

Kathryn walked quickly towards the hospital to make her rounds. One of her patients was being released that morning and his family was eager to have him back at home. Not to mention working.

Halfway there, a black Jeep pulled up beside her and rolled to a stop.

"Hi," Michael said simply.

"Hi," she replied, stopping. She looked at his face, freshly shaved and unseasonably tan. His eyes were the blue of the morning sky and his smile was contagious.

"Going to the hospital?"

She nodded. "Ernie Tabor is being released today."

He thought a minute. "I don't think I know the name."

"You probably wouldn't. He works for the mill and has four kids and lives in one of the old mill houses over on Princeton Street."

"Meaning he wouldn't be someone I would come in contact with because I only hobnob with the rich and titled?" he quipped.

"Something like that," she agreed without rancor.

"I'm going by the hospital," he offered, surprised at her amiability. "I could give you a lift." He fully expected her to say no, was prepared to smile and drive away. No big deal. It was just a casual gesture of friendship. It didn't really mean anything to him.

"Thanks." She smiled.

It nearly took his breath away. He swallowed hard and thought about the first time he saw her in the college library. She might have been the one who'd actually fallen to the floor in the collision. He was the one who'd been devastated.

She was beside him in the Jeep, clutching her black bag as though it were a lifeline. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face emphasizing the classic lines of her cheek and chin. She was still a beautiful woman. For a moment he just sat and looked at her in surprise.

She looked back at him and laughed self-consciously. "You weren't expecting me to say yes, were you?"

"Not really," he replied. "You always manage to surprise me, Kit."

In her new spirit of trying to get along, she ignored the old nickname. "Well, despite your attempt to get me to resign the charity drive, I've decided that you're right and we might try being friends. Or at least acquaintances. Until the drive is over, anyway."

"My attempt? What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Michael," she urged. "Your pretty blond friend didn't come to me on her own and tell me that you wanted me to stay out of the way!"

"Pretty blond...you mean Susan asked you to resign?"

Kathryn looked at him skeptically. "You don't have to pretend! I might have done the same thing if I'd had someone to do it."

Michael's mouth tightened. "What about your doctor friend? I got the impression that he'd do anything for you."

Kathryn felt her temper start to rise. "Stephano just doesn't want me to be hurt."

Michael looked at his hands on the steering wheel. "I know you don't believe me but I would never do anything to hurt you. And I didn't know anything about Susan asking you to resign. I would have said it myself if I'd wanted to say it."

Kathryn was sorry she brought it up. "It doesn't matter. You said you could give me a ride to the hospital?"

He shook his head but he started the Jeep and kept his eyes on the road. "Do you always have to think the worst of me?"

She swallowed hard on rising anger she felt building inside of her, trying not to feel suffocated by sitting beside him in the Jeep.

"Let's not talk about it. It doesn't matter. Who's making your picnic lunches for today? Meg is slaving away at mine. I don't know what she's putting in them but I hope it's not something people are going to buy from me then wish they hadn't."

"I didn't send Susan to talk to you about resigning," he told her.

"She's very pretty, Michael," she answered, not listening to his words. "She seems very nice."

He pulled up in front of the hospital staff entrance. "What is that makes you believe other people and never me? Was I always such a liar? It was the same thing with Carrie! I -- "

Kathryn wrenched open the door and ran from the Jeep to the hospital entrance without looking back. Safe inside the cool confines of the medical facility, she waited with a rapidly beating heart for him to follow her but she saw the Jeep drive away and relaxed against the door. So much for being friends, she thought, grasping her bag a little tighter.

Even when she was willing to ignore something, he had to make a big deal over it. She couldn't understand him. One minute he was calling a truce and the next he was bringing up the memory of seeing Carrie with him. What did he want from her?

The entire Tabor clan was waiting for Kathryn to sign the release papers so that Ernie could go home. The lengthy hospital stay had been a drain on their resources and their energies.

Ernie had been close to death from kidney failure when she'd admitted him. It was remarkable that he'd survived and recovered at all. But it wasn't the happy group she'd expected to find that morning. Ernie's wife was tight lipped and Kathryn could see from her red rimmed eyes that she'd been crying. The two oldest children sat with the two youngest while Ernie held his wife's hand at his bedside, his pale face engraved with new lines of worry.

"Good morning," Kathryn greeted them, coming into the sullen room.

No one spoke.

"Is there a problem? I thought all of you would be thrilled that Ernie's going home today."

Ernie's wife turned away, her work worn hand going to her trembling lips. Ernie glanced at her but she moved away from him.

"I've lost my job," he explained to Kathryn. "The letter came yesterday. I've had too much time off for sickness. They let me go after fifteen years."

"With hardly a day missed!" His wife suddenly found her voice. "And his job means our house as well!"

"You mean they'll take your house and job because you almost died?"

Ernie nodded. "It happened to my friend, Emilio, last year. He broke his hip and couldn't walk for a few weeks. We don't have sick days. So now I'm out."

"You could take this to the labor board," Kathryn told him, trying to stay calm.

"They couldn't help Emilio." Ernie shrugged. "In this town, you have to take what you can get."

There was a knock at the door and Kathryn looked up as Michael put his head around the door. She saw the Tabor family look up at him as well.

"Mr. and Mrs. Tabor, this is my-uh -- "

"Husband," he supplied harshly.

"H-husband," she acknowledged, not wanting to cause a scene in front of her patient.

"You dropped this," he told her, holding up her hospital badge. "I thought you might need it. Sweetheart."

Kathryn clenched her fists. "If you'll excuse me for a minute."

The Tabors nodded, glad that she was not only a wonderful doctor but also had a loving husband.

She pushed him back into the hallway and took the badge. "Thanks. I didn't notice that it was gone."

He nodded. "You were too busy trying to escape from the devil."

"Or his near acquaintance," she agreed quietly.

"Or yourself," he suggested angrily. "Keep running, Kit. You haven't run far enough or hard enough to get away from that."

Kathryn watched him walk down the hall, wishing she could take some of that swagger out of his stride. She went back into the room.

There was nothing else Kathryn could say about Ernie losing his job. She examined him, pronounced him fit to leave though he needed at least another week at home without working. "You'll have to stay on this medication for a while to make sure your kidneys continue on their own. Then we'll try taking you off a little at a time."

"Thank you, Dr. Richards." Ernie's wife, extended her hand to Kathryn. "You've saved my husband's life. We can find some way to make the rest of it work out with him alive."

Anger seethed through Kathryn like a raging torrent, recalling the times her own father had lost jobs and they had been forced to move. With no education and no job skills, both of her parents had to do whatever came to hand. Sometimes, life had been very bad for them.

She shook their hands and gave instructions to the nurse for Ernie's release. Then she left the hospital, her mind racing ahead to the picnic in the park and some way to help the Tabor family. Surely, with all those well to do business owners, there would be someone she could impress with Ernie's plight. Someone who would be willing to hire a laborer and find a place for his family to live.

With the warm weather and the first of the spring flowers in bloom, Potter's Park was packed. Families walked down the new green grass on the hillsides and strolled beneath the bright green of new leaves on the huge spreading oak trees.

Meg and Travis waved to Kathryn when they saw her, a stack of picnic baskets wrapped in pink and green cellophane stacked before them on two picnic tables. Their son, four year old John, and their daughter, two year old Erin, both ran to greet her.

"Auntie Katy! Auntie Katy!" They both yelled when they saw her.

Kathryn stooped and hugged dark haired John, who looked so much like his mother, and red haired Erin, who was a miniature version of her father.

"Mommy made picnic baskets," John told her.

"Nic-Nic basset." Erin joined, nodding.

"We helped," John announced proudly.

"Yes!" Erin yelled and ran back to her mother.

Kathryn hugged John again, then took his hand. "I'll bet you were a big help."

"I was," he told her solemnly.

"You sure were," Meg said with a laugh. "You and Erin ate all of the peanuts!"

John rolled his eyes and frowned and Erin put her little hands across her face to hide.

They all laughed, then Kathryn looked at the baskets. "I really appreciate you doing all this, Meg. If I would've had to make this -- "

"They'd be inedible!" Meg declared with a short laugh. "Don't thank me! I just wanted to have a decent lunch!"

Travis hugged Kathryn quickly. "I'd trust you with my life, Doctor. But not my stomach!"

Kathryn laughed. She was about to reply when she caught sight of Ross Honeycutt and his wife coming into the park. A group of reporters followed them in, setting up cameras and getting ready for interviews.

"Excuse me for just a minute," she said, starting in his direction.

"She has that look," Meg told her husband.

Travis shook his head. "At least she's not looking at me."

By the time Kathryn had reached the group, several other prominent members of the business community had joined Ross and his wife. In their golf shirts and leisure suits, their wives laughing and talking like pretty multicolored birds. They were unprepared for the storm that was about to drench them.

"Dr. Richards!" One reporter, the man who'd interviewed her on television during the dance, approached her.

"Jack." She remembered him as well and her smile was charming and compelling. "Just the man I wanted to see."

It only took a few moments to set up for the interview. Kathryn was seated on a wrought iron park bench under the shade of a massive old dogwood tree, the white blossoms tumbling down around her with each errant breeze.

Michael watched her as she started to explain to Jack about Ernie Tabor and his family. The man who was losing his job and his house because he'd been sick.

If Kathryn wanted attention, she was getting it, he concluded, thinking about the interview she'd given during the dance last night. The local television station had replayed it that morning while he was drinking his coffee. She was sincere and fiery in her denunciation of the local business leaders. Several of them managed to walk past her at just the right moment to make themselves look like fools.

The owner of three of the mills in the city stammered when confronted by the press and the dark-eyed angel of the working class poor. He wasn't sure if Ernie Tabor worked for him "I'll certainly look into the matter," the man finally muttered and walked on, glaring at a triumphant Kathryn as soon as the cameras were focused on the next man.

Jack winked at Kathryn. "Let's make some waves, Doc!"

They confronted a few others coming into the park but no one would confirm or deny that it was their policy to take away the jobs of people who'd been legitimately sick.

"I think they're beginning to auction off the picnic baskets," Michael said pleasantly, walking over to his wife and taking her arm. "We wouldn't want to miss it."

She smiled up into his eyes. "Of course not."

"Hey! Are you two for real?" Jack asked, the camera still going behind him. "Any chance of a reconciliation?"

Kathryn took Michael's hand. "We're just good friends, Jack. Thanks for your help."

They left the camera crew behind, walking down the hill and into the park. Kathryn dropped his hand quickly and Michael walked quietly beside her on the new green grass.

"You're never going to get anywhere beating them up like that," he told her plainly.

She looked at him, glancing lightly across his hands in the pockets of his jeans and the faded gray shirt he wore that emphasized the width of his shoulders.

"At least I'm honest with them. They know how I feel and what I stand for. I'm not trying to pretend I'm someone else, and then while they're not looking take everything away from them!"

Michael stopped, ignoring the countless eyes on them from around every green bush and across every brightly painted picnic table. "This is a discussion I've been waiting five years to have with you, Kit. But now isn't the time or the place."

"Don't call me that," she objected strongly, her eyes angry on his lean face. "My name is Kathryn!"

Some imp of perversity took hold of his brain. Michael glared back at her. "Sorry, Kit! Men like me don't care about what our womenfolk don't like! We just do what we want."

Kathryn's eyes flew open wide then narrowed harshly. She opened her mouth to reply then turned her back on him and trudged down the rest of the hill without him.

Michael stared after her for a moment before following, wondering how she could make him so mad with so little effort.

Chapter 6

The auction of the picnic baskets went smoothly. Stephano stayed for lunch then returned to the clinic with Marcy while Angela stayed and gave out brochures about the clinic to the crowd.

Kathryn smiled and spoke with reporters and the members of the Azalea Charity, all the while keeping an eye out for Michael, intending not to speak with him again that day.

Yet, like the dance the night before, she chastised herself for spending too much time looking for his smiling face as he moved through the crowds. Self- preservation, she justified. She just wanted to stay out of his way. She was angry, she told herself. Angrier than she had been after catching him with his secretary. It made her blood pound and her face flush. Her hands trembled from the strong emotion when she was near him. That was why she couldn't get too close again.

Michael felt Kathryn's eyes on him as he sat beside Susan, sharing their picnic lunch. Time hadn't lessened that impact on him. It may have been five years since they'd separated, but seeing her again was like turning a corner and finding something that he'd lost. Hearing her acknowledge him as her husband had been remarkably satisfying. Even though it was only to annoy her.

"It's a wonderful day for this, don't you think?" Susan continued to try to pry a few words out of her companion.

For the most part, Michael had been silent and withdrawn during the picnic basket auction and their lunch afterward. "Susan," he began finally. "Did you tell Kathryn I wanted her to resign the charity drive?"

Susan's mind raced, her blue eyes widening. "I might have mentioned that I thought there could be a problem. I ran into her the other day on the street and we were talking."

"Talking?" he asked skeptically.

Susan smiled, looking up into his face. "Women do talk, you know? I recognized her from the ball last weekend and we were talking about the charity drive. I mentioned how much it meant to you and said that I hoped it wouldn't be a problem for the two of you to handle it together."

Michael shook his head and looked down at the plate on the table in front of him. "I can fight my own battles, Susan."

"I know you can -- and I wouldn't dream of interfering."

"Whatever happened between Kathryn and me was a long time ago. We'll work it out without anyone else's help. Okay?"

Susan nodded silently. Michael hadn't spent time with her, serious time, since he'd agreed to chair the event with his estranged wife. She'd asked, but he hadn't been interested.

And while they were on the subject. She swallowed hard and traced lines on her plate with her fork. "She said she'd give up her half of the chair if you'd sign those divorce papers." She looked up at him with accusation and hurt in her eyes. "You never told me that she had asked you for a divorce."

Michael looked at her squarely. "I've never seen a divorce paper from her. If she sent it, it must have been lost in the mail. We've been separated for five years. I didn't think she was ever going to come back or I would have divorced her myself."

"Really?" she questioned, a new light in her eyes. "Then there could still be some hope for us?"

He looked away. "You told me that you weren't looking for a serious relationship."

"I know." She smiled bleakly. "Things change, don't they? Well, anyway, the two of you should talk it over. After all, you might want to get on with your life now. And she did tell me that she had sent you divorce papers."

Michael stood up and put his plastic plate and fork into the trash receptacle near the table. "I guess I've always known we wouldn't be together again. But she was gone. I just didn't think about the legal aspect of it."

"Apparently, she did," Susan added tartly.

"I'm going to walk over and watch the kite flying." He changed the subject. "Want to come?"

It wasn't the invitation Susan had been waiting for; but if she wasn't so frustrated with him, she would have taken it anyway. "No, I think I'll stay here in the shade for a while," she told him with a smile. "I'll meet you over there."

He smiled but the effort didn't reach his eyes. "Okay." He looked away first, facing into the sun as he followed the trail to the other end of the park. Motes of sunlight filtered through the new leaves over his head to form pools of light on the ground.

He was in a section of the park that was shielded from the other areas by heavy groups of bushes lining the slightly muddy paths. It was quiet except for the birds chirping in the trees and the sounds of muted laughter from the children playing in the park. When he came upon Kathryn walking in the same direction, alone, he walked a little faster until he caught up with her.

"You!" she said when she realized that he'd reached her side. "What do you want now?"

"I want to talk to you. Alone." He tailored his strides to match hers.

Kathryn moved a strand of hair that blew into her face. "I don't have anything to say to you, Michael."

He looked at her intently. "I think there's been a few things left unsaid between us."

"Not anything I want to talk about," she persisted, wishing they would reach the other side of the high bushes. She was uncomfortable being alone with him.

Michael grabbed her hand and stopped walking, forcing her to do the same. He faced her on the cool, shadowed path. "Five years, Kathryn! You just walked out the door. No goodbye. No attempt to try to make it better. Do you know how I found out that you were gone?"

Her head shot up at his tone. "I don't care! That's why I left. I didn't want to hear your explanation. There wasn't any reason to try to make it better. I was tired of your games."

"My games?"

She jerked her hand away from him and faced him with white-hot rage in her heart. "First you acted like it was wrong for me to grieve for Cetta. Like we should go out and get a new puppy to replace the one that was gone. Then I found out why. All the time that I was grieving, you were with that -- that slut!"

"I wasn't with anyone," he ground out harshly. "Including you! You shut me out from the minute Cetta died. No one was grieving the way you were grieving. No one's life was ripped away except for yours. You acted like I was a stranger who was suggesting something horrible when I said I thought we should have another baby."

"So you turned to Carrie," she stated, lips pinched and daring him to deny it.

"Carrie walked into my office just a minute before you walked in. I had nothing to do with it," he explained, cursing himself for explaining after he swore he'd never do it again.

Kathryn looked up into his eyes and faltered at the sincerity she saw there. Then she bolstered her anger. The man was a liar and a cheat. No amount of fake sincerity could change that fact.

"If you could have had a little trust in me -- "

"Not again," she denied fervently. "Never again!" She started to stalk away.

An angry hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, bringing her back to him. "That's been the problem the whole time," he replied evenly though she could see how angry he was and what an effort control was costing him. "We couldn't sit down and talk about Cetta. Or Carrie. All we could do was yell at each other and walk away."

"Let go of me!" She jerked her arm away with a sudden surge of violence, her free hand flying towards his face.

Michael reached for her hand, stopping it in mid flight before it could reach him. His arm went around her waist. He brought her up against him, their faces close together. "There's something I've wanted to do for five years," he said in a deep voice, his eyes sweeping over her even as his hand came up to touch her face.

"Let me go, Michael!"

He smiled grimly. "When I've done it."

She opened her mouth to protest and his lips came down on hers. The anger and violence flared between them. Kathryn brought up her arm to demand her release with her fist. But his hold on her gentled and his mouth coaxed a response from her, wringing emotion from her soul in a wave of passion that flew white hot through her body.

His tongue teased the edges of her lips until she ground her mouth against his in frustration. Her hands slid up the front of his soft shirt without conscious thought. Her fingers dug into his shoulder and her mind went blank. His touch was terrifying and rejuvenating, electrical currents charging down her spine while his hands came up and moved through her hair.

She sighed and he whispered like the breeze, his lips moving down her neck, caressing her hot skin and leaving behind a trail of super sensitive nerves. They moved as one against each other, each touch a friction of pain and pleasure that neither could deny. His hand slid across her breast and her back arched like a spring, a shudder rippling through her slender body.

There was no denying that he felt the same. He didn't try, cupping her hips and bringing her against him so that she could feel his arousal in the heated places of her own body.

She heard herself moan and drew back from him, her passion-drowned dark eyes looking up into his in the dappled sunlight.

"This doesn't change anything," she whispered even though every inch of her body felt fractured by the emotions rushing through her. Even though she couldn't deny that she wanted him there -- on the grass -- in the shade of the old trees.

"I know." He sighed. "I just wanted to kiss you goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"When you left five years ago," he explained, "I thought I would die. I thought with you and Cetta gone, there was nothing left. I thought if I could have just kissed you goodbye, I could get on with my life but I couldn't find you."

Kathryn stared at him, not moving, his work-roughened hands still caressing her slender back.

"Now I've done it," he said, releasing her, his eyes almost violet in the shadows. "Bring on the divorce papers, Kit."

She stared at him, her mind and body frantically trying to find some semblance of control. She couldn't deal with the emotions he'd wrung from her. Not there; not then. "I think I should get up to the kite flying," she said finally, not daring to look at him. She left him there, standing on the path, with the scent of the new growth around him. He didn't follow.

Michael was not a complication in her life, she promised herself. She had left him behind five years ago. If he'd wanted to kiss her goodbye then he had done so. And she would send him those divorce papers again. Maybe this time, he'd sign them.

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. Kathryn and Michael smiled for photographers and Ross Honeycutt kept his distance. The picnic auction raised money and the children flew their kites in the cloudless blue sky.

Kathryn walked back to the clinic when the affair was starting to break up. She knew she would have to relieve Stephano when she got back since he'd been on duty most of the day. But she was tired and out of sorts from too little sleep and too much worry.

And too much reliving of the past, she reminded herself grimly.

What had started as something simple; just a need to help the people of the town who had been like her parents with not enough money and no outside help, had become a catharsis of her past. She never thought, when she returned to Olympia that there would be so much baggage that she had left behind. She'd actually thought that she'd been gone long enough, that the ghosts of that time would have gone away. Instead, they had risen on the moment of her return to haunt her.

She should have known. But she hadn't planned for that occurrence. She had planned for the headaches of starting the clinic, even for the town's apathy. And all of that had happened, but she was also battling Stephano and her terrible dreams of hearing Cetta crying and not being able to find her. She didn't need to develop feelings, even if they were only sexual feelings, for Michael.

She knew that she was impatient and sometimes flew off the handle when people didn't respond as she thought they should. She tried to hold back and just do her job but when she saw people in need, her mouth opened and the words just came out. She would be the first to agree that she was no saint. Still, she had been surprised when Michael had reacted to protect her from alienating the town. That bone of contention would always be between them.

He thought he could protect her from everything. He thought he could build a safe cocoon around her that would shield her from the rest of the world. Kathryn wasn't made that way. She'd grown up in a very different lifestyle than Michael. Her parents couldn't afford to cushion or protect her or her sister from the harsh realities of everyday life. She'd grown up a fighter and she supposed that she would be one until the day she died.

In the fading afternoon, she looked up and saw that her feet had taken her the long way back to the clinic. The house she stood before now was empty and dark, but the paint was fresh and the yard had been newly mowed and trimmed.

When she and Michael had first married, she'd told him about walking through town and admiring the older houses with their graceful lines and their gingerbread trim. The houses she'd been raised in were flat, utilitarian, with gravel instead of grass and no imagination given to their design.

Michael had wasted no time in drawing up plans for their house together. High ceilings, a gabled roof with a rounded turret in the front and a wide porch that swept around the whole house. The rooms were wide and open, big windows and arched doors. The result was the house she stood before that afternoon. He'd built it in town because it rested on the sight of a much older house built by the first mayor of Olympia back in the 1800's. The design was roughly based on that first house with modern improvements.

When he'd brought her there for the first time, it was only half finished. The walls were still open to the sunlight and the construction dust was thick on the rough wooden floors. She'd still been a med student at the hospital. Michael had left with a four-year degree after his father had his first heart attack and he needed to take over his construction business.

Kathryn had married him just before graduating from med school, realizing that while it might be difficult, she didn't want to let him go. And he had built her that beautiful white house with the red trim that stood on Main Street. He had spared no gingerbread or imagination in his design.

When he'd walked her though the house, unfinished but already starting to show signs of promise, she had looked at him and fallen in love with him all over again. He'd brought a basket with wine and little sandwiches and spread a blanket in the sheltered corner that would be their bedroom when the house was finished. And they had made love there as the sun was setting and the sounds of the street were loud around them.

Lost in his arms, in his kisses, as always, Kathryn had protested that someone might come but Michael had stroked her hair and told her that they were safe. She had let him undress her, slowly. His mouth and hands had touched her everywhere, until she was weak with need for him. When he had entered her, she had felt a hot shudder run down her spine. She was always sure afterwards that those moments had been the time of Cetta's conception.

She looked up at the empty house and thought about the happy times they'd spent there. The big tub in their master bathroom and the long, shiny rail that curved down the stairs.

There had been love, she assured herself, though she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. There had been warmth and such simple sweetness. What had gone wrong? She wondered, not for the first time. What had changed between them?

Cetta's death had been hard on them both but surely that alone hadn't caused his desertion to Carrie and their eventual break up. She shook her head slowly and wrapped her arms around herself, lost in her thoughts as she continued up the street, away from the house.

It didn't look as though anyone was living in their house, she thought, wondering who had bought it after they had separated. She already knew Michael was living with his father at their house just outside of town.

Had there been a happy family living there? Did they have children who ran through the rooms that had been designed with their footsteps and tiny hands in mind? The house had been built for a family. It seemed a shame for it to be empty.

She stopped and looked back at the house, the sun reflecting off the dark glass. There were no curtains on the windows. Nothing, in fact, that showed if anyone was living there besides the fact that it was well kept. She hadn't told Stephano about the house. It was too private, too painful to talk about with him.

She had told him about her relationship with Michael and their daughter. It had been a cursory telling, perhaps. Just enough to let him know how she felt and what had happened before he'd come back to Olympia with her. He had been sympathetic and understanding and she felt that it had strengthened their friendship. She wished fervently that she had met someone else, someone like Stephano, that she could love. She knew that she would never love anyone again as she had loved Michael -- but that was in the past.

It was a depressing thought that she dragged into the clinic with her. She had worked hard for the last five years, completed her residency, and started practicing medicine as a professional. It had taken dedication and the ability to push aside her loss and the feelings of loneliness and betrayal that she had felt when she'd left Olympia.

Yet through it all, she hadn't managed to leave behind those feelings for Michael. She couldn't love him anymore. But seeing his face made her remember small moments from their time together that she would rather not have recalled. His touch made her feel what she wasn't ready to acknowledge or think about.

There was so much of her past there. She'd been a fool to return. She could have kept going and never seen Michael or the town again. She could have found other people who needed help in other places that didn't hold the painful memories for her that Olympia held. But she wasn't made that way. When she saw what Stephano had accomplished, she knew she had to go back and help the people who lived in those squat, ugly mill houses. Every fiber of her being had been trained on that goal until she finally returned.

The reality was much different than she'd imagined. Sometimes the struggle seemed impossible but she kept her mother's face before her as she had lain in her bed that awful night that she had died and told a frightened Kathryn not to call the ambulance because they couldn't afford it.

"Estará bien," she had whispered in her native tongue.

How could it ever be all right? Kathryn had wanted to know as she had wept.

Her eyes had closed and Concepcion Richards had slipped away in her daughter's arms.

Chapter 7

Monday morning dawned bright and clear over the countryside. The town came awake sleepily and traffic started its usual grind as people tried to get to work on time.

By the time Stephano had awakened and showered half-heartedly in the icy cold water, Kathryn had already done rounds at the hospital and treated a handful of people in the clinic.

"You're up and about early," he commended, looking around the clinic.

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Those tests on Marilyn Davies were inconclusive. It could still be Alzheimer's or blocked arteries to the brain."

He nodded, looking at the chart she held out for him. "That's not unusual."

"I know," she agreed. "I spoke with her daughter this morning and explained about the last test. She wants to know what's wrong."

"That makes two of us," he replied simply then glanced at her tired face. "What's wrong, Kathryn? Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Stress," she explained offhand, as though she had rehearsed the answer. "I guess I need a vacation."

"Look!" Marcy called out as she came in from the street with their mail. "You won't believe this! Check this out!"

There were twenty-five envelopes in the mail that morning. Every one contained a check made out to the clinic.

"We're saved!" Stephano took Kathryn's arm and danced her around the floor. "You were right, Querida! The charity is working for us!"

At what price? she wanted to ask but smiled instead and tried to join in the celebration. After all, it was what she had worked so hard for, what she dreamed.

She had been fine until she'd seen Michael again and started to relive her past. Those checks had cost her dearly in peace of mind. But she would never admit that to Stephano.

"We can pay some of those bills you were worried about," she said instead.

"And maybe you can have that vacation sooner than you thought," he rejoiced.

An older woman and a young man opened the clinic door and walked into the lobby and their celebration toned down.

"Why not take a break and have some coffee?" Stephano suggested. "You look dead on your feet. I'll take the next patients."

"I have to leave for the luncheon and ribbon cutting ceremonies at the hospital in about two hours," she told him with a glance at her watch. "I didn't want to leave you with everything."

"Don't worry so much," he admonished. "It's going to be all right now. Go and take a break and get ready for your luncheon."

Kathryn was surprised and puzzled by his sudden reversal in attitude. She wasn't fooled into believing that the money was everything to Stephano. Was it possible that he'd decided he could do more good being cooperative?

She watched him for a moment with his dark good looks and steady hands. He was caring and passionate about his work. Their interests coincided. Why wasn't she attracted to him the way she was to --

She stopped that thought, refusing to finish it with Michael's name even though her mind raced ahead of her anyway. She wasn't still attracted to Michael. Some of it was habit. Some of it was nostalgia for their good times together. Nothing more.

Another man entered the clinic and glanced around the lobby, his eyes lighting on Kathryn's face. "Excuse me," he said walking up to her. "Are you Dr. Richards?"

"Yes."

She darted a glance at Marcy who took up a protective stance at her side, folding her arms across her chest and trying her seventeen-year-old best to look belligerent. "Is there something I can do for you?"

He nodded, his grizzled face a little red and his voice a little breathy. "I have a friend who can't get here on his own. He had a heart attack."

Kathryn grabbed for her bag. "Have you called an ambulance?"

"No." He shook his head. "He wanted to see you."

"That's foolish," she returned swiftly. "I'm going," she told Marcy who nodded and recorded the time she was leaving. "If they call about the luncheon -- "

"I'll tell them," Marcy answered quietly.

Kathryn accompanied the man out to an old car. It was a well kept classic 1952 Thunderbird that he drove slowly through the busy streets.

"You might want to drive a little faster," Kathryn urged him impatiently. "Your friend's life could be at stake."

The man curled his lip disdainfully. "Nah. He'll live. He's a tough old bird."

She drummed her fingers on her bag and took a deep breath. That attitude was certainly one that had caused too much damage with the elderly. Sometimes, it was impossible to get them to take any disease seriously.

They drove out of town on the main highway, then turned off on a gravel road.

"Got to go slow here," the man, Jacob, explained. "Just finished this paint job last week. Don't want them stones to mar it up."

"Of course not," Kathryn fumed. "It'd be better for your friend to die."

"He ain't dyin'!" Jacob wheezed into laughter and wiped his mouth on a red rag he carried in his pocket. "Devil don't want him and the other side he's just too ornery for."

They drove up a long driveway with ten-foot azaleas on either side. Their red flowers were a burst of color, even in the spring landscape already dotted with flowers.

As they turned to front the house, Kathryn had the feeling that she'd been duped. "Who is your friend?" she asked suspiciously.

Jacob got out of the car slowly. "He's waitin' inside."

Kathryn noticed that Jacob went around the back of the house and didn't accompany her into the main house. The big white portico, with its grand pillars and huge double door, spoke volumes about the man inside. This wasn't a poor man who couldn't afford medical attention or didn't know how to get it.

"Kit!" Charlie Helms greeted her as soon as she was through the door. "You look great! Why haven't you come to see me since you've been back?"

"Charlie," she acknowledged coolly, setting down her bag without looking at him. She took his hand in hers and checked his pulse, silently looking at her watch. The wrist she held in her own was noticeably more frail than it had been when she'd left. The pulse was thready and a little fast.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with me, darlin'!" He laughed, taking his wrist from her. "At least nothin' that you can do something about."

"Your friend said you had a heart attack," she told him, angry that she'd fallen for the ruse and ended up at the house Michael shared with his father.

"And I did," he replied calmly. Grinning. "In fact, I had seven of them. But who's counting?"

"Why am I here?" She asked with a sigh. "Is Michael here?"

"Nah. He's not here. Workin' on some project. The boy's always workin'. How about some brunch, Kit? Marcello makes some great espresso and we've got some fruit waffles and some fresh baked shortbread. I recall how fond you were of shortbread."

He pushed the button on his wheelchair and glided away from her as he spoke, moving towards another room, expecting her to follow him.

"No brunch, Charlie," she said strongly, hating to see how thin and sallow he looked. He was always tan from being outside, like Michael, and strong as an ox.

"Did I tell you there's fresh squeezed orange juice?" He asked without glancing back, finally disappearing around a corner.

Kathryn sighed and picked up her bag. She had one of two choices. She could follow him or she could walk out the front door. She wanted to walk out the door. She didn't want to be in Michael's house or somehow involved with his father. But Charlie had always been good to her. More like her father than her father-in-law. It wasn't his fault that his son wasn't happy with one woman. And she knew that he had probably been as hurt as she was five years before when she'd left.

Only Michael hadn't suffered. Which didn't seem fair, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. She sighed again, then followed him across the cool green marble tile. Surely she had a few minutes for another innocent victim.

"You're too thin, Kit," Charlie said as she walked into the sunny room.

The French doors were open to the patio behind him where a riot of multicolored spring flowers spilled from glazed pots and long narrow boxes. He was seated in front of a small wrought iron and glass table where a white-coated young man, presumably Marcello, was pouring coffee.

"I'm fashionably slender," she corrected him, taking a seat at the table opposite him. She set her bag on the floor by her feet, then faced him across the steaming coffee and a platter of warm shortbread that smelled heavenly.

"Go on, take one," he urged, seeing her eyes follow her nose's urging towards her only vice. "Fashionably slender!" He snorted, buttering a biscuit for himself.

"I'm sure someone's already told you that you shouldn't be eating so much butter?"

He continued to put the yellow spread on his biscuit. "I'm eighty-two years old, darlin'," he said, without looking up. "I've had seven heart attacks, two knee surgeries and had some doctor take out my gall bladder and my appendix. I've been shot at and I've drank 'shine from a lead pot in a cave hiding from the Revenuers."

"Charlie -- "

"If a little butter kills me," he finished, looking up at her, butter dripping from his biscuit. "I've lived my life."

She couldn't help but smile. He was wrong, of course, and the trained professional in her told her so. But she wasn't his doctor and she was glad of it because she wouldn't have been able to convince him to be anything different than who he was anyway.

Not resisting the urge to take a piece of the shortbread, she took a bite and sighed when the buttery flavor hit her tongue.

"Good, huh?" He asked, enjoying her appreciation.

"Wonderful," she agreed. "If the espresso is half as good -- "

Marcello appeared to pour her a small cup of the hot, strong brew.

"Delicious," she complimented when she'd tasted it and the man nodded with a satisfied smile on his lean, dark face.

"So, you're back in town and givin' everybody hell, huh?" Charlie snickered, wiping his hands on a linen napkin.

"The clinic is important to me," she explained. "I've tried to make the town understand that it's important to them as well."

"Doin' one bang-up job," he commended and slid something towards her across the table. "My share."

She reached forward and picked up the check. Her eyes opened wide when she saw the amount he'd inscribed.

"Charlie, this is too much."

"Don't start that with me," he said, shaking his gray head. "I made that money. Mostly honestly." He grinned. "I can give it where I want to give it."

She stared at the check an instant longer, then swallowed her words of denial and pocketed the money. Pride wouldn't serve the needs of the community. "Thanks, Charlie."

"Only one thing I ask," he began, taking a fresh strawberry.

Kathryn braced herself.

"It's not that bad," he observed her movement. "At least, I hope not."

"What?" She questioned.

"I'd like you to come and visit occasionally. Just because you and my stupid son can't see eye to eye doesn't mean we can't have a relationship, does it?"

She smiled. "Of course not. And I would've come over but -- "

"You thought I might be angry?"

She nodded. "I did take off out of here -- "

"Like the proverbial bat out of hell?"

"Exactly."

"That's another reason why I called you over here," he recalled suddenly. "Michael was telling me about you wearing someone else's clothes the other night and I got to thinking."

"He told you that?" she murmured. Of all the things she might have expected him to tell his father, that wouldn't have been one of them.

"All of your clothes, everything, is upstairs in storage. You could take them with you."

"I couldn't!"

"Why not?" he questioned baldly. "If you would've moved out, instead of running away, you would've taken them with you. We sure as hell can't wear any of 'em."

"I can't believe Michael didn't throw all of it away when he moved here from the gingerbread house," she mused, eating another piece of shortbread.

Charlie stared at her speculatively. "I think he always hoped you'd come back, Kit. I know I've always hoped you would. I've waited a long time for grandchildren. I don't have much longer to wait."

She glanced up at him and bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Charlie. Nothing like that is going to happen between Michael and me. Not again."

"Kit -- "

"I would like to have the clothes though," she admitted brightly, taking a strawberry from the silver tray. "Meg's clothes are a little small."

"Small?" he queried, one eyebrow shooting up on his forehead. "Is the woman a toothpick? What's the matter with men today? We liked our women with some meat on their bones. Gave you somethin' to hold on to in the night."

Kathryn smiled and nibbled at her strawberry, pleased just to hear his cantankerous rambling. She had spent a good deal of time with Charlie during her pregnancy, playing cards with him and Michael on stormy summer nights when the power was off and the thunder rumbled down the farmlands around them.

He had lived in a two-story white farmhouse several miles outside of town then. It was the same house Michael had been born in, the house where his wife had later died. Charlie had never remarried, always grieving for Loretta, his first and only love.

"You've certainly moved up in the world," she remarked when he stopped long enough to sip at his strong coffee.

"Michael's idea. He thought I should be closer to that stupid doctor and the hospital. We sold the farmhouse and moved here together after you left."

Kathryn toyed with the delicate handle on the cup that held her espresso. "Did Michael sell the gingerbread house?"

Charlie snorted and shook his head. "Like he tells me anything!" The back door slammed shut. "But you can ask him yourself. That should be him now."

"Charlie!" Kathryn jumped to her feet, upsetting the espresso on the glass table. Marcello darted forward with a cloth to clean up the mess. "You told me he wasn't here!"

"He wasn't," Charlie replied innocently then grinned widely. "But he's back now."

"Dad, we're going to have do get some drainage work done on that bottom land that runs right along the river. I'll get Mark Williams. He'll do a good..." Michael paused, coming to a dead halt when he saw Kathryn. "...job."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Coffee, son?" Charlie interrupted.

"Yeah," Michael answered slowly.

"Quit starin' at each other like you've never seen one another," Charlie growled fiercely. "The two of you were married and presumably intimate at some point."

Michael smiled vaguely and nodded. "Kathryn. What brings you out here?"

Kathryn glared at Charlie, who looked deeply into his coffee cup. "I was-uh- passing by and smelled the shortbread."

Michael took a brightly colored mug. He waved away Marcello's help and poured himself some coffee from the sideboard.

"Smelled the shortbread?" He bent a questioning glance at his father but Charlie was preoccupied with peeling an orange. "You decided to bring the divorce papers personally, I take it?"

"Divorce papers?" Charlie roared, putting down the orange.

Michael smiled at him then turned to his ex-wife. "That's right, Dad. Kathryn wants a divorce."

Kathryn looked down at the doctor's bag in her hands. "My lawyer sent them to you twice before, Michael. It shouldn't be a big surprise."

Michael stared at her. "I've never received any divorce papers," he denied flatly.

Kathryn frowned. "Official papers don't just go astray! They were delivered. Someone had to sign for them."

"It wasn't me," he refuted.

They both looked at Charlie, who'd been watching them. He quickly signaled Marcello that he was ready for another cup of espresso.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Did you sign for divorce papers?"

"You know," Charlie responded, shaking his head and furrowing his brows. "My memory just isn't what it used to be. I can't recall seeing any divorce papers. But who knows?"

Michael swung his glance back to Kathryn. "I'm sorry. I had no idea. I would've signed them and sent them back if I'd known."

"I know," she said softly. She had known, hadn't she? He would have sent her money, if she'd asked. He would certainly have signed the divorce papers.

"Kathryn has agreed to take her clothes and stuff from upstairs," Charlie told him briefly. "Maybe you could show her where they are."

"Sure," his son replied amiably. "Do you want to take them with you? I can have them sent to the clinic."

Kathryn held her bag protectively in front of her. It was one thing to admit to Charlie that she'd like to have her old clothes. It was another to admit it to Michael.

She glanced at her watch. "I really have to go. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe some other time."

Michael consulted his own watch. "It's still two hours until the ribbon cutting and luncheon. You don't have that much stuff upstairs, Kathryn."

"Okay." She frowned at Charlie for an instant, then put down her bag and shrugged, folding her arms protectively across her chest. "After you."

"This way." He gestured towards the long, curved stairs. He looked back into the sunny room briefly. "No more coffee, Marcello. He's had enough for one morning."

Charlie waited until his son had started up the wide stairway. "He's right, Marcello. That was pretty tense. Get me a nice glass of bourbon."

"This is a beautiful house," Kathryn told him as they climbed the stairs.

"Thanks. I built it for Steve Tucker but he went bankrupt about the same time Dad had his heart problems so we moved here."

"I know he must have hated to leave the farm," she sympathized. She had loved the old place with its rolling hills and ancient oaks.

"It took me weeks to convince him," he agreed, nodding towards a secondary stairway after they'd reached a landing. "Finally, he told me he'd had a dream that Mom told him that he should move. That was it."

"How bad is he, really?" she wondered.

Michael shrugged broad shoulders beneath his denim shirt. "The doctor said a year, but that was three years ago. We both know he's living on borrowed time."

"I'm sorry, Michael."

He glanced across at her when they'd reached the attic door. "He brought you here, didn't he?"

She nodded. "His friend told me someone was having a heart attack and I came from the clinic."

Michael shook his head and smiled sadly. "You know how he feels about you, Kathryn. He's never stopped feeling like you're his daughter and that we should be together. I apologize for the divorce papers."

They walked into the attic area. Motes of sunlight filtered through the windows, landing like fairy dust on the neat boxes and scrapbooks. There were a few old pieces of furniture that she recognized from the farmhouse. Garment bags shrouded clothes that hung on poles that stretched across the room.

"I know you probably don't want all of this stuff," Michael said as they walked through the aisles created by the boxes and crates. "If you could go through and decide what you do want, we could take it from there." He squatted carefully between some boxes, lifting lids and staring into their contents.

Kathryn picked up a small framed picture that had hung in the entryway to the gingerbread house and sat down heavily on a crate, memories flooding back in on her. They had bought the picture from an auction when she was about three months pregnant. Both of them had loved the picture of the garden with the crumbling walls and the fountain. They had tried it on every wall before they'd agreed on the spot in the entryway.

She looked at him, opening boxes beside her, rummaging through crates. His face was set and impassive. Had he ever really cared? "Did you?" she asked aloud without thinking. "Did you ever really care, Michael?"

"What?"

She shook her head and wiped at a tear that had lodged in the corner of her right eye. "Did you ever really care? About me? About Cetta?"

He stared at her. A beam of bright sunlight turned his hair to a nimbus of light around his head. "That's a hell of a question for you to ask me," he scoffed. "I didn't leave."

"Everything is so clear for you," she continued. "So black and white."

"Kathryn -- "

"You can coldly dismiss everything," she went on relentlessly. "You could pretend that Cetta's death meant something to you, then calmly tell me we should try to have another baby right away. You could make love to me one morning then spend your lunchtime on the floor with someone else. If you had any real feeling, any passion -- "

"Feeling?" he demanded hotly, long weeks of frustration and anger building up inside of him. "Passion?" He had been beside her one moment, then before she could move, he was on top of her. They rolled together across boxes from the force of his thrust. Their struggle pulled down garment bags until they came to rest on some old draperies.

Kathryn felt the breath leave her body and before she could draw in another, his mouth was on hers. His body was long and hard, heavy with muscle. His hands were callused on her arms.

"No passion?" he demanded of her again when he'd released her mouth. "Oh, I don't think so, Kit."

He took her mouth again and she struggled against him. She didn't want to feel the answering heat. Her movements were simply inflaming them both but she couldn't seem to stop. She felt his tongue touch her bottom lip, tracing the outline, until she moaned and opened her mouth for him.

"Kit," he whispered. "Oh, God, I've wanted you."

His hand slid down the inside of her thigh, the whisper of nylon loud in the quiet of the memories stored in the attic. Her knee bent convulsively, giving him better access to her silky flesh that he took with greedy hands.

He threw aside his shirt and she stared up at him with passion glazed eyes. He was so beautiful. Golden and lean with a flat stomach and broad shoulders. She knew the freckles that were on those shoulders. She had kissed those rippling muscles and nuzzled her nose in that soft blonde hair that covered his chest.

He bent slowly and kissed the tender softness of her neck and throat, wandering still lower, following the curve of her breast. The buttons opened silkily on her shirt as though they were magically inclined towards him. His mouth grazed her breast through the protective barrier of her shirt and she drew in a quick breath, urging him closer with her hands in the thickness of his hair. Her shirt parted beneath his sensuous onslaught and his tongue teased the soft skin of her breast above the lacy cup of her bra.

"You taste like honey," he murmured softly.

"It's only...aah..." she groaned. "Soap."

He chuckled warmly. "This is all you, Kit. Your perfume. Your delicious taste."

"Michael, I -- "

"Some things don't change, do they?"

She blinked her eyes and looked up at him. His clear blue gaze was intense on her face.

"No," she whispered, not able to take her eyes from his.

"You look at me and I'm on fire," he confessed, teasing her lips with his own. "I touch you and we both know what we want." His hand slid gently up her body to cup her breast.

Kathryn wanted to hide from his eyes that saw everything but he wouldn't let her. His touch burned her and she groaned with the sweet torture of it. His mouth closed over hers and she felt her muscles relax. Her body melted fluidly against him.

"That wasn't ever the problem," she acknowledged truthfully when he moved to kiss the side of her throat.

"The problem was that we weren't communicating after Cetta's death," he interpreted for her.

She stiffened in his arms as though she'd become a statue in his grasp. But he didn't release her.

"The problem was that I wasn't enough for you," she denied. "Cetta had barely been born and died before I caught you with Carrie."

"Let's talk about that day," he pursued her words.

"I don't want to talk about it," she disagreed, struggling in his arms, trying to free herself from his weight on her hips.

"As I said -- "

"That isn't communicating," she corrected. "That's rehashing old garbage and hoping it smells better!"

"That may be but we're not going anywhere until we've rehashed that old garbage," he promised her, holding her tightly. "It's been too long."

"Way too long," she agreed caustically. "Talking about it now doesn't change what I saw that morning! It won't change what you did or how I feel!"

"So, that's it? You've been gone a long time, Kit, but you haven't changed! Even a murderer is supposed to be innocent until proven guilty!"

"Not when they catch him standing over the victim with a hot gun in his hands!"

They stared at each other, anger crackling between them even as their bodies still strained to be close to one another.

Kathryn felt his gaze on her breasts. He was warm and hard, pushed intimately against her. There was only a thin barrier of lace and nylon between him and the throbbing urgency of her own desire.

"But you still want me," he deduced. "And I still want you."

"There's a big difference between wanting something and stooping to have it," she told him coldly. "Let me go, Michael!"

"Kit, nothing happened between me and Carrie that day! She knew you were coming! She set it up to look that way!"

With a surprising burst of strength and energy, Kathryn pushed at him and caught him off balance, knocking him to the side of her and scrambling to her feet. She pulled down her skirt and fled the attic as though it contained all the demons of hell.

Michael was one step behind her, her black, low-heeled shoes in his hand. He had every intention of tying her down, if he had to, to make her listen to him. It was what he should have done five years before rather than giving her the space everyone had convinced him that she needed. His shirt barely on, much less buttoned, his hair wildly disarrayed, he met his father at the bottom of the stairs. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Charlie looked at him carefully. "Looks like you gave it one hell of a try anyway, boy."

Michael gritted his teeth. "Where is she?"

"I sent her home with Jake. I love you, son, but she was my guest. And you obviously screwed things up again," he replied quietly.

Michael ran out the front door but the T-Bird was gone from the front driveway. "Damn!"

"Exactly," Charlie stated, biting off the tip of his large cigar before applying a quick light to it. "When are you goin' to get it right?"

Michael glared at him, then took the cigar out of his father's mouth and pushed it under his foot on the ground. "You know what the doctor said, Dad."

Michael stalked back into the house. Charlie sighed and pulled another cigar out of his pocket and repeated the process. "I surely do, son."

Chapter 8

Kathryn was ten minutes late for the ribbon cutting ceremony at the hospital. There had been a hectic scramble to find something else to wear, as well as shoes to match. Her hair was a wreck and there were the endless explanations for why she'd come back from a routine care call looking that way.

Not wanting to go into anymore detail than she had to about her romp in the attic with Michael, she vaguely told Stephano and Marcy that she'd had problems with the patient being out of his head and belligerent.

Stephano was outraged. Marcy wanted to know what happened and what she did with the man.

"Should we add him to our hospital file?" she wondered.

"No," Kathryn stated flatly. "There was nothing I could do for him."

"You mean he died?" Stephano queried in surprise at her calm attitude.

"No, not exactly." Kathryn shook her head and told them that she had to get ready for the hospital luncheon, leaving them wondering what had happened.

Upstairs in her room, she looked at her swollen lips and flushed face. Her hair was wild around her head and her shirt was buttoned wrong. What had she been thinking? Worse, why hadn't she been thinking? Around Michael, thought was imperative.

And yet, thought had been impossible when he'd kissed her. When he put his hands on her, he didn't need to coax a response from her traitorous body. She was weak, and she felt little better than a tramp. With all of her resolutions and all of her anger and hatred of him, she had melted in his arms as though they had never been apart. As though none of those terrible events had ever happened. As though she still cared for him.

It wasn't that, she decided, ripping her suit and shirt from her body. She hastily put on the first outfit her hand came to hanging on the wall. It would never be that again.

She'd led a celibate life. She didn't date. Their physical relationship had always been good. Her response to him was just that -- a response to intimacy after so long without. To the memories invoked in the attic filled with pieces of their life together. She brushed her hair savagely and twisted it tightly on her head, pinning it carefully and daring it to slide down.

Stephano and Marcy watched her leave without a word. When she was gone, Marcy shook her head. Stephano sighed and went back to work.

Looking much calmer than she felt, Kathryn walked into the crowded hospital atrium that was festooned with multicolored ribbon and peppered with reporters. Michael was already there, of course. He looked as though nothing had happened, his blue eyes darkened by the effect of his dark suit coat and white shirt.

She looked at him, then looked away, smiling and taking the hospital chairman's hand in her own, talking with him about the new children's wing, apologizing charmingly for being late.

How do you do it? Michael wanted to ask her, watching her as she sailed past him, the pale green dress she wore as cool and smooth as her manner. Kathryn was the most passionate woman he'd ever known. It spilled over from her heart to embrace everything in her life. Yet, she could turn it all off. Pretend nothing had happened between them while his hands were still shaking and his senses were still full of her.

She had chided him about passion, about feeling anything deeply. She had screamed at him about wanting to try to have another baby after Cetta had died. She had left him to pick up the pieces of his life, then breezed right back after five long years of convincing himself that she wouldn't ever return.

Why did he still want her? He couldn't deny it. But after so long, why did his body still crave her touch? It made him angry to want her while she stood there across the room, out of reach and so coolly untouchable. He wanted her to feel that desire that rose starkly inside of him. He wanted her to burn with it.

Kathryn felt his steady regard and turned to feel the scorching intensity of his gaze on her. His blue eyes were full of fire and she couldn't look away, feeling the world narrowed down to the two of them as they stood in the crowded atrium. Without conscious volition, she took a step towards him. Her heart was pounding and her throat felt dry. Lost in that shimmering blue heat, she forgot her own words of warning and recalled only the wanting, that desperate yearning, and the feel of his hands on her body, his lips on her mouth.

"Kathryn?"

"Yes?" She turned to the voice.

Ross Honeycutt smiled widely. "I'd like you to meet Sarah Able. She's co- committee leader of the hospital greeting staff."

Kathryn nodded and tried to look as though she could understand anything that Ross or the gray haired woman was saying to her. But her thoughts were still caught in Michael's web of hazy desire. When she could turn away, he was gone. She saw him across the crowded atrium, talking with a group of businessmen wearing white summer suits.

She touched her tongue to her lower lip. Her mouth was as sensitive as though he had kissed her again. Hot and cold at the same time, she shivered. Ross reached out a hand to her shoulder.

"Not feeling well, Kathryn?" he wondered.

"Just tired," she replied with a smile. "A whole night's sleep would take care of everything that's wrong with me."

He nodded but smiled to himself. He had seen the smoldering look that had passed between Michael and his ex. It would make for some juicy re-telling when he stopped at Charlie's later for poker.

There was no way to avoid each Kathryn could avoid Michael at the luncheon. As the co-chairpersons for the fundraiser, they were seated beside one another at the head of large U-shaped table. Because of the interest that particular fundraiser had engendered, no little thanks to Kathryn's brash outspokenness, space was at a premium. Two table settings had been squeezed into what should have been a single setting.

Michael's leg slid against hers as he sat beside her. She stiffened, pushing herself as far as she could to the opposite side.

"Relax," he whispered, pulling in his chair. "I wasn't going to rip your skirt off right here."

She glared at him. "Just because that happened between us this morning doesn't give you the right to -- to fondle me!"

His eyes swept over her flushed face and noticed that she wasn't quite as cool and unaffected as he'd thought. Her lipstick was a little smudged and a strand of hair was working its way down from her sturdy clip.

"The idea of fondling you, in public, never crossed my mind," he assured her, caressing the word with heated meaning.

She looked away from him, wishing he wasn't so close and that the room wasn't so warm. Her eyes fell on the unappetizing salad that was on her plate. She reached for her glass of ice water and took a long swallow of it to calm her nerves.

She'd been angry when she'd first found out that she wouldn't be able to address the crowd there that day, but the way she felt, she was grateful not to have to stand up in front of the group. Her hands were shaking and she probably wouldn't be able to put two words together. Still, she couldn't help speculating on the opportunity. The room was packed with all of the important business leaders and civic improvement committees that had ever worked in Olympia. People of influence. People with deep pockets. She tapped her fingers restlessly on the white paper tablecloth, surveying the crowd.

"You have dollar signs in your eyes," Michael mentioned as the first speaker droned on about sewer improvements.

She dared a glance at him again. "I don't like to have opportunities slip through my fingers."

He returned her gaze thoughtfully. "Has it been doing any good? The press, the opportunity?"

"Yes," she replied confidently. "We're finally starting to make an impact and yes, people are sending money."

"I know Charlie impacted pretty heavily."

She raised her head, arrogance curling her lip. "Do you have a problem with that?"

The man at the podium finished speaking and there was a smattering of applause even as the servers took away the salad plates and were busy with the next course.

"Not at all," he retorted. "It's Charlie's money. Try not to look like your going to bite someone's head off, Kit." He touched a napkin to the corner of her mouth and tucked the stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Think fast," he said as Ross Martin introduced him as the next speaker.

Kathryn watched Michael walk to the podium with a careless grace and confidence that was always evident whether he was approaching a job site or dancing at the country club. Coupled with speed and dexterity, those attributes had made him a star quarterback in college but when approached for a professional team, Michael's priorities had been elsewhere.

It came from leading a charmed life, she told herself. Always having everything. Money. Position. A handsome face. Yet she knew he'd lost his mother much younger than she had and that his father had never encouraged closeness. Charlie had worked to get over his grief and left his son to manage his own life.

Michael looked out at the sea of faces and smiled. He was up to something. She knew that look.

"Most of you have already heard me talk about building houses since I was twelve years old," he began with a touch of asperity. The luncheon guests laughed. "And I'm sure you'd rather hear almost anything else. So I'm going to give this opportunity to a good friend of mine: Dr. Kathryn Richards."

The press went wild. They had waited impatiently for something out of the ordinary to happen and had almost given up. Photographers snapped pictures randomly of the divorced couple trading places at the podium.

"I don't know whether to kill you or kiss you," Kathryn said to him from behind a carefully neutral smile.

"We can talk about that later," he assured her with a quick grin.

The crowd murmured among themselves. Ross Honeycutt nodded with a satisfied smile. Kathryn adjusted the microphone for herself and faced the audience.

"I wasn't expecting to speak here today," she said quietly. "But as long as I'm here, let me tell you about my clinic."

Michael ignored the quick, sometimes angry glances sent his way and listened to Kathryn's always eloquent plea for the people of Olympia who couldn't afford medical support. He studied her silently. There was exquisite passion in her voice and her dark eyes. Her full lips and the expressive line of her body and face were just as involved in her plea.

He looked away from her and concentrated on trying to identify the food on his plate. Was he insane? Or just addicted to unhappiness?

He thought about the divorce papers that would most certainly be at his home by the next day and his promise that he would return them without any further problem. Charlie's efforts to keep their marriage together, at least in name, were surprising. Michael had always known how his father had felt about Kathryn, but he never thought about the wily old man actively trying to prevent them from divorcing.

It couldn't have worked, of course. They had been apart too long. They had both changed. They had each learned to deal with their sense of loss and grief, separately, instead of together. It had made them different people.

And she still didn't trust him. That part really stuck in his throat. She should have known him better. She should have known how much he loved her.

Kathryn had finished speaking and was headed back to her seat at the table. There was a ripple of applause from the group then the next speaker was introduced.

She sat down carefully, mindful of the tight seating arrangement. Yet still her leg slid along Michael's, producing a loud shiver of nylon on wool.

"Kit," he murmured suddenly. "Fondling me in public?"

She glared at him silently.

The luncheon dragged on, the speakers taking more than their allotted time. The dessert had been served and the fans droned in the atrium's ceiling.

"I'm going to sneak out of here," Michael said finally to Kathryn. "I was due at work an hour ago. Can I give you a ride?"

She would have liked to have told him 'no' but the warm air and the boring speeches were putting her to sleep and she had work to do herself. "Can we do that?" she asked quietly.

He smiled. "What are they going to do? Kick us off the committee?"

She glanced at the speaker then at her watch. "All right," she agreed. "Thanks."

"Okay," he plotted. "When this speaker leaves the podium and they call the next, we walk out on the applause for the next speaker. Right?"

"Right."

Like two children waiting for the right moment to filch a cookie, they waited patiently until the next speaker was announced then walked quickly out of the hospital while everyone's attention was centered on the podium. By the time the press looked their way again, they were gone.

The afternoon promised to be hot, with fat lazy clouds on the azure horizon. There was none of the damp heat that summer would bring but Michael apologized for the lack of air-conditioning in his beat up truck anyway.

"I don't use it when I'm working," he explained, all but ripping the tie from around his throat as he climbed into the cab.

"That's okay," she replied politely, careful to keep her distance on the truck seat as she closed the door behind her. "I don't want to get used to it anyway. The clinic has air-conditioning but the living quarters in the rest of the building don't."

He glanced at her as he started the truck. "It's going to be a warm summer."

She nodded. "It's been a cold winter."

"Kit -- "

"Please don't," she admonished as he pulled out into traffic.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," he parried.

"Please don't call me that," she replied, tight lipped.

He swallowed hard on a quick spurt of anger. "Kathryn. What are you paying for rent there? I might be able to find you something better than that death trap."

She looked at her hands folded serenely in her lap. The knuckles showed white where she clenched them. "We're fine where we are, Michael. Thanks."

"You could use Charlie's money to move," he continued.

"We need every penny for supplies and other expenses. Our rent is cheap and the area is good for us."

"Does the clinic have to be a fire hazard in an area with drug addicts on the street in front of it?"

"Michael!"

"Never mind," he muttered, pulling to the side of the street in front of the clinic, careful not to hit a woman who sat on the curb with a shopping basket beside her. "I know you don't want me to interfere."

"Thanks for the ride," Kathryn said, getting out of the truck.

"Sure thing," he replied but didn't look at her again. He pulled away from the curb without a glance.

Kathryn sat at her desk during a lull between patients going over reports and closing files. Stephano had been thrilled with receiving Charlie's check as well as the stack of others they'd received in the mail that day. Things were looking up. Her plan was working, she told herself impatiently. Why she didn't feel more optimistic?

She tried to convince herself that she was elated but cautious. Life could go back to the way it had been once the fundraiser was over. A large sinkhole could open up and suck them all in.

She stared at the calendar on the wall in front of her desk, playing absently with the pencil in her hand. The clinic was progressing nicely. But her life had become harder. She wasn't sleeping, barely eating. The patient load had increased so they'd had to expand the clinic hours without being able to find any other doctors who were willing to work for free.

Seeing Michael, being with Michael, had opened up too many 'what if's' for her. What if things had been different? What if Cetta hadn't died? What if their marriage had never ended? What if she'd been able to live with the knowledge that her husband had been unfaithful? What if they'd had other children?

She was satisfied with what she was doing. Opening the clinic and working in it day-to-day would have been the way she'd wanted to go, no matter what. Leaving Olympia and meeting Stephano had showed her. How could she want to change that part of her life?

Yet, what wouldn't she change to be waiting for Cetta to come home from school that day, brimming full of kindergarten stories about her teacher and her friends? What wouldn't she change if she could have hugged her and tucked her into her bed that night?

She closed the account book and put down the pencil. Nothing could change the way her life had been so far. Cetta was gone. Her marriage was over. She had accepted those realities long before coming back.

The clinic was prospering, finally, when she'd almost lost hope. Her life stretched forward into the future and she would have to be content. When the fundraiser was over, she might catch a glimpse of Michael occasionally but for the most part, they were separated by their worlds. Just as they had been before they both started college. It was for the best.

She would have liked to tell Charlie that she would come and visit him but the truth was, seeing him was a painful reminder of everything she'd given up to be the woman she was that day. She felt a headache coming on and loosened the clip that held back her hair, letting it fall down her back in shimmering curls.

The door opened as she was reaching her hands up to massage the tension from her neck and Stephano's hands replaced her own quickly. "Allow me, Querida."

She sighed and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the relief of his touch.

"You're very tense," he remarked. "This has all been a strain on you. I wish I could help."

"You do," she replied quietly. "I know who takes the shifts when I'm gone. I know this puts an extra burden on you as well."

"But it's working," Stephano proclaimed triumphantly. "This little town is finally responding." He bent slightly and kissed the side of her neck beneath the thick fall of dark hair.

Kathryn tensed again and her eyes flew open. "Stephano -- "

"I know," he said with a trace of sadness in his voice. "You still have feelings for him."

"I don't!"

"You want to deny it," he said with a shrug. "He's made you unhappy. But you still want him, Querida."

Kathryn turned slowly to face him. His eyes were dark and intense with emotion. She took his hands in her own and smiled at him. "You and I, my friend, have no time for those luxuries. We barely have time to eat and sleep."

He kissed her forehead with a lingering touch. "And we are friends, eh, Querida? Coming here, trying to make an impact, has driven me a little crazy. I hate to see you so hurt by him. I hate to see that wanting in your eyes. But we are friends."

"Always," she agreed happily in relief. "The best of friends."

There was a knock on the door and Marcy popped her head around, blinking like an owl behind her thick glasses. "There's some stuff out here that was just delivered. I'm not sure where to put it."

"What is it?" Stephano wondered, straightening and facing her.

"You'll have to come and see for yourself," Marcy described. "I think it's women's clothes."

Kathryn jumped up from her chair and passed them both on the way to the foyer. There were boxes and crates full of clothes and shoes that were still being brought in from the truck outside the door.

"Ma'am." A young man tipped his black cowboy hat to her as she stood staring at the stuff. "Where should we put this?"

"Upstairs." Kathryn guided him, wondering where they were going to put all of it. She hadn't remembered having so much.

"Where did this come from?" Stephano wondered.

"It was mine," she answered on her way up the stairs. "I guess it's still mine."

She found a storage room that wasn't completely full and had the three men put all the boxes and crates in there. They took up half the room. There was a note from Charlie on the first box, reminding her of her promise to come and visit.

Kathryn stood looking at everything after the delivery men had left. She couldn't believe Michael had saved everything. Every scrap of her clothing. Every picture from the house. He'd always been a packrat, she reminded herself, opening one crate and pulling out her old bathrobe. It was still warm and soft and smelled of her perfume. She wrapped it around her and closed her eyes, trying to recall when the last time was that she had worn it.

She reached her hands into the deep pockets and felt a crumpled piece of paper. Carefully, she opened it and saw Michael's handwriting.

I didn't want to wake you. I know you didn't sleep last night. I love you, Kit. Meet me for lunch? Michael. She recalled suddenly when the last time had been that she had worn the robe.

She'd awakened late and found the note on Michael's pillow beside her. She hardly had the heart to get out of bed that morning. One day seemed as gray and lifeless as the one before it. She'd dragged on her robe and stuffed the note into the pocket then glanced at the time and changed her mind, getting dressed instead to meet Michael for lunch.

The day was bright with sunshine and spilling over with the sounds and sights of life. Something inside her was dead but she could observe everything happening around her. It was as though she was watching a movie of someone else's life. Nothing touched her. Nothing could happen to her because she wasn't really there.

They'd had another argument the night before about having another baby. At least, Michael had tried to argue with her about it. She had sat and listened to him and faced him coldly when he'd finished. "I don't want another baby."

"You can't hang on to Cetta forever," he'd tried to convince her. "She's gone. But we're still alive."

"Forever?" She had finally been lashed into saying. "She's barely in her grave! This isn't a puppy, Michael! I won't just go out and get another one to ease the grief!"

They had ended up apart, in different rooms, again, for the night. It seemed as though there was a wall between them. A wall that Michael kept trying to breach while she watched and wondered why he bothered. After all, it didn't really matter. It wasn't her life. She was just looking at someone else's life. Not hers.

She'd walked to Michael's office and opened the front door, wondering why Carrie wasn't at her desk in the foyer. There was a noise from the inner office and she followed it through the open doorway to find Carrie, naked on Michael's desk. He had his hands on her arms.

"Kathryn!" Carrie had squealed and jumped up.

Michael lurched to his feet, his shirt half pulled from his jeans and his hair in wild disarray across his head.

"Kit! This isn't what it looks like," he'd begun to explain.

It was at that moment, that terrible moment, Kathryn realized that the nightmare was real. That she wasn't watching someone else's life. That it was really her life. Her beautiful little daughter was dead. Her husband was standing in his office with a naked woman in his grasp.

She had run back out the door and into the street and caught the first bus out of Olympia.

Carefully, she took the fuzzy green robe from around her and laid it back in the crate. She looked at the note again then crumpled it and left it in the trash can at the side of the room.

She didn't sleep again that night. Sometimes it felt as though she hadn't really slept in five years. She lay down in her bed at night but when her eyes closed, it was as though a warning siren went off in her head.

Sometimes it was the nightmares. Cetta was crying for her but no matter what she did, she couldn't find her. Michael and Carrie stood off to one side laughing. She begged Michael to help her find their daughter but he only laughed harder and drove away with the other woman in a red convertible.

That morning, in the pre-dawn darkness, Kathryn dressed quickly and slipped out of the clinic. It had gnawed at her all night and she'd determined to put an end to it. She was going to do what she'd sworn she would never do.

She'd promised herself that she would never go to Cetta's grave. She wasn't there. Cetta was gone. All that lay buried under that cold ground was a poor little body that for a few terrible hours had clung to life. The logical part of her brain argued the case many times during those painful few weeks before she'd left Olympia.

Charlie and Michael had done their best to try to convince her to see the little tombstone, to walk up to the tiny plot of ground. She had refused. Flatly. Without argument. Since they'd lowered the little coffin into the ground, she hadn't been back to the cemetery. Yet, as illogical as it seemed, she'd had a dream about her mother that made her trudge out into the morning, cursing herself for a fool and pushing herself towards the graveyard at the tiny red brick church.

She was sitting at the plain wooden table in the house where she and her mother had lived after her sister had moved to New York. Her mother was cooking at the big white stove. The smell of the meal that was coming was wonderful. It made Kathryn's stomach rumble as she sat there waiting.

"Can I help, Mama?" she'd asked quietly.

Her mother had turned and Cetta had been in her arms, cooing and gurgling happily.

"Cetta!"

"Come, little one," her mother had urged.

When Kathryn looked up, they were in the cemetery. She caught sight of her mother's back as she walked away. She could hear the sounds her daughter made as she carried her.

"Wait!" Kathryn had called but the white apron her mother wore fluttered in the darkness and they were gone.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she walked the few blocks to the cemetery in the early morning quiet. Only a few cars passed her as she impatiently swept the drops from her cheeks. It was crazy, she told herself. Did she expect to find her mother waiting with Cetta in her arms, waving to her from the grave?

She stood outside the iron fence, looking at the tiny crosses and larger markers. Fog lay heavily on the damp spring ground. She shivered, wondering what she was doing there. There was a movement in the gray light. Someone was there in the cemetery. Goose bumps stood out on her skin. She felt a tightening in her throat as she swung the heavy cemetery gate open.

She didn't think she would remember where the actual plot was, but she walked unerringly to it. The tiny little angel with her hands folded, carved from pale pink granite, standing guard tirelessly over the grave. A small vase had fresh white flowers in it. Kathryn touched them carefully with one hand then stood looking down at the new green grass. The church yard was quiet around her.

"Cetta," she whispered and traced the outline of the angel's face. In her mind, she was touching that tiny little face taken away from her too quickly. Tears streamed down her cheeks and clogged her throat. "Oh, Cetta."

Chapter 9

She wasn't sure how long she knelt there crying, the wet ground seeping through the knees of her jeans. Sometimes she felt as though if she could just cry enough, the pain would finally go away. But there weren't enough tears. It would take more than all the rain she had ever watched fall from dark skies.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement again and got quickly to her feet. She felt like a fool. "Who's there?" she demanded, wishing she had thought of bringing a broom or something with her. She looked around herself for a bottle or a tree limb but the cemetery ground was clean of any debris.

He stepped out of the shadows that had concealed him on the west-side of the dark church building.

"Michael," she said, relieved and yet frustrated to find that it was he.

He studied her face. "Sorry. I thought you might be the vandal that's been breaking in the last few weeks. Once I realized, it was too late." He shrugged, eloquent without words. He looked at her. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, the knees of her jeans wet and muddy. There were tear-stains on her face.

And he wanted her. God help him. He wanted her despite everything that had happened between them. Despite all the unhappiness and the desperate loneliness.

She drew in a ragged breath and stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, looking down at the ground, scuffing the earth with her foot. "I don't -- " she started to explain then shook her head. "I haven't been here before. I -- "

"How about some coffee?" he suggested. "Tandy's is just next door." He expected her to say no. She didn't have time or she didn't want to be with him. He expected her to walk away into the mist and away from him.

She didn't. "That sounds good," she said in a small voice.

They sat across from one another at the small cafe. The coffee shop was crowded with truckers and construction workers trying to wake up and start the day. The coffee was hot and strong. The food was greasy but no one minded.

Kathryn shook her head when the waitress asked about breakfast.

"Just coffee, thanks," Michael said with a smile.

"Do you..." Kathryn tried to voice the words, "...do you go there very often?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Two or three times a week. Usually early in the morning before I start work."

She clasped her fingers around the coffee mug in front of her and didn't look at him. "The angel is beautiful."

"When I saw her face, she reminded me of Cetta."

Kathryn glanced up at him then quickly looked away. "I haven't -- "

"-- been there before?" he guessed as she faltered.

She nodded but didn't trust herself to speak.

"I knew that you wouldn't go before you left," he said with a shrug. "I guessed that you hadn't been there since you came back."

They didn't speak for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. The noise from the trucks outside and the early morning greetings inside mingled with the scent of coffee and eggs as the waitress came to refill their coffee cups and darted away to the next table.

"What made you decide to come this morning?" he wondered finally.

Kathryn looked up at him, her eyes sliding over his still handsome face. She studied the inquisitive blue eyes that held some of the young man she remembered from college.

"I had a dream," she revealed slowly, telling him about the dream that had sent her out into the streets.

Michael looked at her red rimmed dark eyes and the proud, determined set of her chin and could only guess at what it cost her to tell him anything so personal. He knew her well enough, even after five years apart, to fill in the blanks.

"It sounds crazy," he tried to explain after she'd finished. "But it gives me a feeling of being near her to walk over there in the morning before I start work and tell her about the house I'm working on and other things that are happening in my life. Maybe your mother was trying to tell you that."

Kathryn gulped at her hot coffee, avoiding his eyes. "I have a hard time accepting that my mother is talking to me about my dead daughter that she never met."

"Have a little faith, Kit," he whispered, touching her hand. "There's more to the world than science and what we can see and touch."

"You really believe that, don't you?" she marveled. "You really believe she hears you. T-that she knows that you're there and that you're -- you're -- "

"Her Daddy?" He nodded. "I can feel her there with me. It's a good feeling."

"I've never been to my parents' graves either," Kathryn reflected, fighting back tears. "They were gone. I had to get on with my life."

"Kit," Michael said gently, taking her hand in his. "They will never be gone out of your life. Cetta. Your parents. They'll always be there. It doesn't mean you can't move on. That you can't have more children or that you'll love them any less. But you can be at peace about it."

"Are you?" she queried suddenly, staring up at him, grasping his hand tightly with her own. "Are you at peace with your life and Cetta's death?"

"Yes." He returned her intense gaze. "I have been." Until you came back, he considered but didn't say.

Tears streamed unheeded down her face but she smiled at him, still holding his hand in a death grip. "I do feel better," she admitted. "Going there was hard. But I want to go back."

Silently, they walked back to the tiny church. The sun was up, burning off the mist that remained, waking up the city around them. Car horns blared and the smell of diesel fuel from buses taking sleepy eyed passengers to work filled the streets. Inside the churchyard, they stood together by the little grave. Kathryn hadn't released her hold on his hand and Michael pretended not to notice. As though it were an every day occurrence and they hadn't been separated by time and misunderstanding.

"Do you think she knows that I'm here, too?" Kathryn whispered to him.

Michael pulled her close to him, wrapping an arm around her. "Of course she does. She loves us as much as we love her."

Kathryn smiled but she cried again. Michael held her, talking to her about the man who'd carved the little angel, about the morning and the caretaker of the churchyard who always helped him make sure there were fresh flowers on Cetta's grave.

He realized as he talked to her, as he held her and she cried into his chest, that he still loved her. That he had lied to himself when he thought he could ever be with anyone else and be happy. Kathryn, his Kathryn, was tough and determined. She had survived a hard childhood and her parents' death. She had stubbornly put herself through college and medical school and followed her dream.

She had been hurt by what had happened between them and she had left him without trying to understand or even hear his side of the story. But he loved her anyway. And he knew at that moment, that he would always love her. Just as he would always love Cetta and his mother. It wasn't something justified or understandable. He just loved her.

Kathryn gulped hard and smiled up at Michael. "I'm sorry. I've ruined your shirt." She patted the plain white shirt where her tears had dampened it against his chest.

"Any time," he said, smiling down at her.

"I have to get back," she told him, breaking away from his clasp. "No one knows where I am and there's hospital rounds."

"I'm supposed to be twenty miles from here," he admitted.

"Goodbye, Michael," she whispered then looked down at the little grave. "Goodbye, Cetta. I love you. I'll be back."

He watched her walk quickly up the street, too stunned and moved to say anything or try to make anything right between them. "Well, Cetta," he turned and said to his daughter, tears in his own eyes. "Maybe something good did come out of her coming back. Maybe something good for both of us."

The day that had started out so pleasantly was chilly and raining by the time evening wended its way across the streets of Olympia. Kathryn raced to the bus stop after a call from Meg and Travis telling her that they couldn't be at the Bachelor's Auction that night. Erin had come down with a bad cold and the babysitter had refused to stay with a sick child.

Of course, there was no way for Michael to know that she had lost her ride to the civic center, she considered perversely as she held her ankle length skirt up above the wet streets. She had told him that she didn't need his help getting to the charity events more than one time. And she could have picked up the phone and called him when she'd found out about Meg and Travis. He would have come or he would have sent someone for her. She knew him that well.

But she hadn't asked for his help. She didn't need his help, she told herself, picking her way along the sidewalk carefully to avoid a spilled bag of hamburgers from the local fast food chain. The bus was reliable even though the weather wasn't.

A car came too close at the corner and splashed some dirty water on her feet and ankles. She yelled at the dark vehicle then yelled again as she caught sight of the bus just leaving the stop she was trying to reach.

What was she going to do? she wondered, rushing after the bus then giving up as it lumbered away without the driver looking back. The next bus wouldn't be for an hour. If she stood in the rain much longer, she would be soaked to the skin but she had only eighty cents in her purse for bus fare.

If a reporter hadn't called that afternoon to ask for a private interview for the evening news at eleven, she would have just marched back to the clinic and stayed there. But being on the verge of the clinic being successful made her reckless and the events that morning had made her daring.

She waved broadly at the first yellow taxi that started past her. The car slowed and she climbed in, telling the driver that she needed to get to the civic center.

Ten minutes later, Michael caught sight of her as she entered the main hall and let out a sigh of relief. He had been afraid when he'd found that she wasn't there that she had decided not to go on with the charity drive. He should have known better, he chided himself. Kathryn was nothing if not committed to a course of action.

With the warm events of that morning firmly in mind, he watched as she scanned the room quickly then made a beeline when she finally saw him near the door. There was a man with a dirty white cap who looked conspicuously out of place following her through the crowd that was beginning to build.

"Michael!"

She actually looked happy to see him, he considered. Or was that relieved?

"What's wrong?" he asked, glancing at the man behind her who merely looked annoyed.

She moved close to him, her dark head against his fair one. "Do you have two dollars and forty cents?"

"Is something wrong?" he wondered, watching the acute flush of embarrassment on her high cheekbones.

"I needed to take a taxi," she whispered. "Meg and Travis couldn't come and I missed the bus and my feet got all wet and I -- "

He shook his head and put his hand into his pocket. "Never mind. You can explain later." He brought out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the man.

"For your time."

"Thanks." The man nodded and looked around the lobby. "Know where I can find the john around here?"

"No," Michael admitted then pointed to the woman at the information desk near the outside door. "She might."

"Thanks, man."

Kathryn watched the taxi-driver move away, and then turned to Michael, annoyance in her face. "I had eighty cents. All I needed was two dollars and forty cents."

"Kit," he explained, taking her arm and walking towards the inner, domed arena of the building. "The man probably lost another fare by having to follow you in here to get money."

"I couldn't believe he wouldn't just consider the fare as a contribution to the clinic," she rejected his logic.

Michael glanced heavenward. "The champion of the working class!"

She glared at him then noticed that her shoes were squishing on the tile floor. "I have to find the restroom and do something about these shoes."

He nodded. "I'll wait for you."

The words almost came out. No, that's okay. Go on with your friends. But she felt that they had tentatively created a new rapport between them that she was hesitant to destroy. She didn't try to explain it to herself. If it was important to her, she didn't want to think about the reason beyond the fact that they were both Cetta's parents. Maybe it was for her sake.

The ladies' room was empty. She sat on a small chair in one corner using the hand dryer and some paper towels to try and make her shoes wearable. Her feet and ankles had already dried. Fortunately, her dress was long enough to disguise their stained appearance.

Concealed by a smaller wall inside the ladies' room, she heard a few other women enter, followed by the sounds of water running and the sweet smell of perfume.

"I don't know how you can stand it," one of them said. "She's all over him."

"That's the operative phrase," Susan Allison replied sagely. "She's all over him. He's just doing what he has to."

"Sure," the first woman mocked her. "His gorgeous ex-wife, who's also a doctor and a town celebrity, is throwing herself at him and he's ignoring her. Right?"

Kathryn recognized Susan's voice from their little 'talk'. She finished doing what she could with her shoes, glad they were her own and not Meg's.

"It doesn't matter," Susan answered confidently. "I know the divorce papers are in the mail. And tonight, when I 'buy' him at the auction, he's going to ask me to marry him."

"Did he tell you that today?"

"He told me that last night. In bed. We're going to ship that crazy old father of his off to a nursing home and then I can help him forget that dark haired witch."

Kathryn had heard enough. She dropped her skirt to the floor and rounded the corner of the wall, standing in the mirror beside Susan, staring at her surprised face. Carefully, she applied a little lipstick and arched a dark brow at her sharply. "Better women than you have tried. Yet he hasn't signed those papers, has he? Enjoy what you have with him."

She left them there, knowing their mouths had dropped open. They stared at her as she opened the door and walked out. Her mother had told her many times as a child that she had a devil in her. It had to be true. Surely, it was the devil that had prompted her with Susan! She was just angry that the woman thought she could throw a dying man out of his home, she explained to herself. She loved Charlie, despite everything, and she hated to think Michael would do such a thing.

Certainly she didn't care what Michael did with his private life and she surely didn't want that woman to be jealous of her. Heavens! There was nothing to be jealous of! She had forgotten that aspect of her relationship with Michael. Until the attic, she reminded herself shortly. Until he'd touched her. She pushed those unruly thoughts from her mind.

She couldn't help but be a little annoyed when she saw him waiting for her. He'd been leaning against the wall but stood up when he saw her. His eyes went over her carefully from head to toe.

"All set?"

She nodded and kept walking.

"Something wrong?" he wondered, falling in beside her.

"Aren't you waiting for your girlfriend?" she asked before she could stop the words from coming out. A common failure of hers, she lamented, biting her lip.

"Girlfriend?" He glanced back thoughtfully at the closed door. "Is Susan in there?"

Kathryn leveled a dark look at him. "Are there so many that you can't keep them apart?"

He smiled and nodded at a couple they passed, taking her arm in a loose grip. "Yeah. One around every corner. You have a high opinion of my virility."

"And a low opinion of your principles," she concurred, a perfect smile forming on her upturned lips.

"This feels more natural, doesn't it?" he questioned lightly as they joined the crowd around the raised platform in the back of the arena. "Why be friends we can spend our time debating my morals?"

She turned to him. "Michael -- "

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Ross Honeycutt's voice cut across hers with the imperative of the microphone in his hand. "Let's get our bachelors up here and get started!"

The first man up on the platform was a good-looking lawyer who liked to play tennis. His tuxedo fit him like a glove. The bidding was close and heavy among the women in the audience. A young, red haired woman set the final bid for an evening with the gentleman at three hundred dollars.

Kathryn calculated quickly how much that evening alone could net if all the bidding went as well. Perhaps they needed to have a similar event for the clinic.

The next three bachelors were women, each offering a home-cooked meal at their apartments and cocktails by a roaring fire. They were all similar in height, weight, and hair coloring. All blond, slender, and tall. Their evenings were auctioned quickly at over three hundred dollars apiece.

Kathryn noticed when Susan and her friend joined the crowd at the base of the platform. She watched the woman look up at Michael and smile, waving her hand a little in his direction. She looked away when she saw Michael smile in return, telling herself that it was nothing to her if he wanted to make a fool of himself.

"And now, our sturdy, award winning, local home builder is offering a whole day, ladies. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That's right. A whole day with Michael Helms." Ross Honeycutt read from a card as Michael stepped out on the platform looking tall and fit.

Broad shouldered, slim hipped, long-legged. As good as he looked in his tux, Kathryn speculated lightly, he had looked better stripping that shirt away and...

What was she thinking? She felt her face flush hot and glanced around herself to see if anyone had noticed.

Susan only had eyes for her perspective mate. Her hand went up as soon as the bidding started. "One hundred dollars!" she bid excitedly.

"Two hundred!" another voice chimed in.

"Two-fifty," a third added.

"Three hundred!" Susan tried to leave them behind.

The second woman glared at her. "Three-fifty!"

"Four hundred!" The third woman smiled at them both.

"Five hundred!" Susan yelled, adding a potent stare that was meant to warn the other two women away.

There were excited murmurs through the crowd, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Too rich for my blood." The second woman waved away the opportunity to bid again. The third woman shook her head and put away her credit card.

Susan smiled triumphantly, not unlike a cat who's just finished a satisfying meal. She looked around herself and murmured something to her friend who laughed and glanced up at Michael.

Kathryn watched them, annoyed that Susan had won so easily. Without thinking, she raised her hand. "Five-fifty."

Everyone looked at her. She brazened it out. Not looking to either side, a smile on her face that dared anyone to question what she was doing. Even though once the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she had lost her mind. Why did she care if Susan bid the most and spent the rest of her life with Michael?

"Six hundred." Susan said defiantly.

Kathryn could feel the other woman's eyes on her, daring her to look at her. If looks could kill. She leveled one of her own to meet Susan's devastating stare. "Six-fifty," Kathryn bid again, her lips forming the words as she returned Susan's stony eyed glare.

"Seven hundred!"

The crowd had gone quiet, even as reporters for the newspaper's gossip section shook their heads, loving it.

Michael looked down at the two women knowing what Susan was doing but not quite sure what was going on with Kathryn. Why would she bid so much money, money he knew she didn't have, to spend the day with him?

He studied the becoming flush on her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes, then watched as she smiled at Susan who was patently becoming angrier with each passing minute. So that was it. He understood. It wasn't that Kit wanted to spend the day with him. She was just trying to make it difficult for Susan, presumably after whatever had passed between them in the restroom earlier.

"Seven-fifty!" Kathryn held Susan's eyes but she knew she didn't intend to bid again and waited, praying that the other woman was going to bid. She didn't have even a hundred dollars of her own money. If she had to borrow such a large sum from the clinic, it would be devastating.

"One thousand dollars!" came a husky voice from the back of the auditorium.

The crowd was stunned. They swung as one to see who had made such a large bid. Charlie Helms sat quietly in his wheelchair, Jake standing just behind him. He waved to Michael.

Ross quickly gathered his wits and brought the microphone back up to his mouth. "That's one thousand dollars. Going once. Going twice?"

Susan's mouth formed a deeply mutinous line but she shook her head. All of her plans, all of her schemes couldn't have allowed for Michael's father to have made such an outrageous bid.

"Gone," Ross finished, pointing his hand. "To Charlie Helms."

The people on the floor murmured and waited as the next group of bachelors came up on the stage. Kathryn stood at the back of that group, wishing she would get an emergency call or something. Anything that would keep her from going through with the ridiculous event. Standing on a stage being auctioned like a sheep wasn't her idea of a good time. But as Ross had pointed out, the event raised a lot of money for the charity. And wasn't that why they were all there?

She glanced out at the group of people on the floor. Michael had joined his father at the back of the room. Their conversation was obviously heated. Susan joined them quickly, smiling and nodding at Charlie. She patted his shoulder and smiled into Michael's face.

The bidding started again. The next woman on the auction was a brown-haired veterinarian who was looking for an animal loving date. They would be going to the steeplechase and later to a dog show. The bidding started high, after Michael's auction, and the date went for over six hundred dollars.

Kathryn watched Michael and Susan in the audience, seeing him bend slightly to catch her words. Her hand was tucked around his arm.

Charlie grimaced when he saw Kathryn's gaze but caught her attention and winked, waving a little and nodding his head.

What was he up to? Kathryn wondered, knowing the man was capable of anything. He had already destroyed those divorce papers.

"And now we have Dr. Kathryn Richards," Ross introduced her. Kathryn walked forward into the spotlight. "What more can I say? Dr. Richards promises her date a memorable evening." He paused, blinded by the flashes of light from the photographers in the auditorium. "Obviously with plenty of press coverage. Who'll start the bidding?"

Hands went up all over the room.

"Seven hundred dollars," one man bid. His dark hair was pushed back from his face and his eyes were steady on Kathryn. There was a collective gasp from the spectators. The press went wild.

"That was quite a bid!" Ross commended.

"Seven-fifty!"

"Eight hundred!"

"Eight-fifty!"

Kathryn lost count of the bidders, blinded by the stage lights from seeing most of them anyway. Not that it mattered. Whoever bid the most was going out to dinner with her that evening. It was for the Azalea charity. It was for the clinic. That was all that mattered.

"One thousand!"

"Eleven hundred!"

"Eleven-fifty!"

The bidders looked at one another then the first man turned towards the stage one last time.

"Fifteen hundred!"

Kathryn tried to see the man. It was for charity, she reminded herself. Whatever he bid was a tax deduction and he could feel good about himself for doing it. Still, it was high. She could tell from the gasps of the crowd.

Ross nearly choked and it took a moment for him to speak above the excited voices of the crowd. "All right. Do I hear any other bids? Not that those aren't plenty! Fifteen hundred for our date with Dr. Richards. Going once. Going twice -- "

"Two thousand dollars!"

Charlie Helms' voice was clear and distinct, cutting through the crowd like a knife.

"Two thousand dollars," Ross amended. "Going once. Going twice. Charlie, you have an unlikely couple of dates, my friend!"

Kathryn stepped off the platform and re-joined the group on the floor, making a straight line for Charlie and the small group that had come to surround him. "Charlie," she began. Her beeper went off. She lifted her eyes skyward. Where had it been a few minutes earlier?

"Sounds like you're needed, darlin'," Charlie said with a twinkle in his eye. "Might as well take your date to drive you -- then you can have that dinner later."

She looked at Michael with accusing eyes.

"Don't look at me! This was all his idea!"

"Michael," Susan began in a plaintive voice.

"Look, I don't have time for this right now," Kathryn told them all coolly. "I have to go! We'll have to sort this out later."

Charlie laughed.

"Let me give you a ride back," Michael suggested. "It'll be cheaper than paying your cab fare."

"Michael!" Susan demanded his attention.

Kathryn was already walking away at a brisk clip.

"I'll call you later," he promised the other woman then followed his wife's quickly retreating back.

"Did you really do this for them to be together?" Susan turned on Charlie.

Michael heard Charlie laugh again but his reply was lost to him as he caught up with Kathryn. "Where to?" he asked as they both reached the door at the same time.

"You don't have to do this," she told him sharply.

He looked at her skeptically. "I thought you said you were in a hurry?"

"Fine," she agreed. "You're right. Just let me find a phone."

"You can use mine in the car," he offered, opening the door. The rain blew in with the stiff breeze and chilly night air.

She looked at him one last time then put her head down and headed out into the night.

Chapter 10

"Fourteen hundred Fieldcrest," she repeated as she spoke with Angela who told her the situation.

Michael started the car, recognizing the address. It was in one of the poorest sections of town.

"All right," Kathryn said to the excited girl on the phone. "I'll get there as fast as I can. Tell Stephano not to worry."

"What about your bag?" Michael asked as he started down the busy streets towards the center of town. The black, rain slick pavement glared under the lights.

"Angela is sending Marcy with it," she replied evenly. "It's only a short walk. The clinic is packed with all the 'flu cases."

"Why didn't whoever it is call an ambulance?" he wondered, keeping his eyes on the street as he negotiated through the busiest part of the city.

Kathryn laughed. "The ambulance company isn't regulated to take destitute cases to the hospital. If they come to a poor neighborhood and the people can't prove they have insurance or cash to cover the fare, they just leave."

He watched when they stopped at a traffic light and she bent forward, twisting her hair up on her head and securing it with a clasp. The scent of the chamomile and marigold shampoo she used filled the car.

The light turned green but the car behind them had to tap his horn before Michael noticed and started down the street again.

"What is your father trying to do?" Kathryn asked when she was finished, unaware that he had been watching her so closely.

"Honestly?

"You might as well tell me," she said with a heavy sigh.

"He bid on both of our dates so that we could be together for them. Both of the bids have our names on them even though it was Charlie's money."

"What do I have to say to him to convince him that this isn't going to happen?" she queried, shaking her head.

"There isn't anything you can say that I haven't already said," he explained. "He's obsessed by the idea that he can get us back together. "

"And have grandchildren before he dies," she added darkly.

"Exactly."

Kathryn drew in a deep breath. "What about Susan? Doesn't he like her?"

Michael glanced out of the side window, not wanting to discuss his relationship with Susan. "He's stubborn," he replied. "He thinks he knows what's best."

"Are you going to marry her once we're divorced?" she wondered softly, not looking at him.

"Kit -- " he started to object as they turned down Fieldcrest Street.

"There!" She pointed out the group of people waiting on the curb.

Michael slowed and pulled to the side of the street, parking at the curb beside the group waving their arms. They converged on the car and Kathryn opened the door.

"Dr. Richards!" Marcy met them with her bag. "It's this way!"

Kathryn didn't look back to see if Michael followed but instead took her bag and picked up her skirt, running behind Marcy towards the dark house.

All of the houses in that area reminded her of the ones she'd grown up in. Tiny, badly kept. Roofs leaked and screen doors were pulled from their hinges. There were no streetlights. Puddles developed in the ruts where sidewalks had been laid thirty years ago. While the southeast section of the city set records for new and innovative building, the inner city stayed the same.

The family led Kathryn into the back bedroom where an old man lay on a bed, his hands folded across his chest. The room smelled of sickness and candle smoke where the family had tried to keep away the stench by burning scented candles.

"How long has he been this way?" Kathryn asked in Spanish, sitting on the bed and opening her bag.

The old woman cried softly and replied that she wasn't sure. He had been sick for weeks, not able to eat, asking only to drink very sweet drinks.

Michael stood in the back of the room watching Kathryn quickly examine the old man. The family gathered around her, watching and waiting.

"I think he's almost gone into a coma," Kathryn told Marcy. "I believe he may be diabetic." She repeated the words to the family in Spanish then rummaged through her bag again. "I'm going to give him a shot of insulin then we'll wait and see what happens." She matched her actions to her words and within twenty minutes, the man groaned softly and started moving, asking for his wife and some water in a weak voice.

"He's going to have to go to the hospital for a few days so that we can monitor him while we check his glucose levels," she told the wife and children. "We'll show you how to take care of him."

"No hospital!" The old man called out from the bed.

Kathryn asked the family for his name and returned to his side. "Mr. Alverro, we have to give you some more medicine then watch how it affects you to know what you need to do."

"No hospital! No hospital!" The old man moaned and struggled on the bed.

"We could not afford for him to be there anyway," his wife told her. "They wouldn't even send the ambulance for him."

"Do you have a phone?" Kathryn asked, a determined look that Michael recognized at once on her pale face.

The family shook their heads. A young boy had run to the nearest convenience store to use the phone to call the clinic.

"We can use the car phone," Michael reminded her.

She started to get up but he waved her back to her patient.

"I think I can get an ambulance to come out here," he said in a disgusted voice.

"Use my name and tell them it's a charity case," she said, nodding.

Twenty minutes later, an ambulance stopped in front of the house.

Kathryn had used the time to check the man's vital signs, then transferred his care to the med-techs, who, looking unhappy about being there, did their job in silence.

"I'll have to follow to the hospital," Kathryn told Michael as the stretcher left. The family had crammed into the ambulance with the man.

Michael nodded. "I'll take you."

"Thanks." She smiled, closing her bag in the dingy room. "I know this isn't the date your father paid for but -- "

"This is more important," he finished before she could apologize any further. "Besides," he grinned at her. "Wait until you see the date I have in store for you."

Kathryn grimaced as they walked back out into the cool night air. The rain had stopped and the stars were shining in the black heavens.

"This is something that shouldn't have happened," she told him with a disgusted shake of her head. "And the cost is so much higher than simply to have treated the man when he first found out that he was diabetic."

"Why didn't his family take him to the clinic?" Michael wondered as they got back into the car.

"Because the clinic so new," she tried to rationalize. "There are still a lot of people who don't know about it. And still too many who know but aren't sure if we'll help them. Or they're like my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Too proud to ask for help when she knew she couldn't pay."

"I noticed the clinic was named for her," Michael acknowledged. "She would have been proud of you, Kit." Kathryn arched a dark brow at him and he laughed. "You can try to reform me, if you want to but it's hard calling you Kathryn when I think of you as Kit."

"When this is all over," she promised. "You won't have to think of me at all."

"That's not what I meant."

"And you're wrong," she told him. "About my mother. She wanted me to get married and have large numbers of grandchildren for her. She wouldn't have been able to understand doing anything else."

"But you said she always encouraged you to do well."

"By doing well, that meant marrying someone like you, Michael, and having a big beautiful house and healthy children. My mother had very simple designs on life. A new toaster was an extravagance to her."

They'd reached the hospital. The rain had started again but Michael pulled the car under the emergency room canopy to drop her off.

"Thanks again," she said, opening the door.

"I'll wait," he said firmly. "There won't be any bus service after midnight."

"I'll walk," she assured him. "I do it all the time."

"Like that?" He indicated her high heels and clinging yellow dress.

"I'll be fine, Michael," she told him, hoping to dampen his spirit of protectiveness. "Go home. If it gets too late, I'll stay here tonight."

He shook his head with a smile on his face. "You used to tell me the same thing when you were in your last year of internship here, remember?"

Kathryn got out of the car quickly. "Good night, Michael. I'll make this dinner up to you." She closed the car door then darted into the hospital, not looking back. She didn't want to think about those days or relive those memories of when they were first together. Too many days had passed since those times. It only made her depressed to think about how happy they had once been together.

Inside the hospital, it was always the same. The rain pounded on the roof and windows but the floors were quiet at night and the nurses spoke in soft tones. Their shoes whispered on the floors as they made their rounds.

Kathryn relaxed finally after spending a grueling four hours stabilizing Ramone Alverro's condition. He was diabetic but there were also other complications. They'd made him comfortable but it had been her unpleasant task to tell his family that the eighty two-year old man was probably in his last hours of life. His kidneys had failed and his heart was refusing to respond to treatment. There was nothing else that she could do.

During the long night, she'd found some scrubs and replaced her evening dress and heels with green cotton pants and shirt and disposable surgery shoes.

Inside the tiny room they could make available to him, Ramone Alverro's family wept and prayed softly for his recovery. Kathryn leaned against the cold white wall just outside in the hall and listened to them, closing her eyes and wishing it could have been different.

"Doctor?" A nurse called. "Dr. Richards?"

Kathryn opened her eyes. "Yes?"

"Dr. Alario is here with an asthma patient. He's down in ER Five."

"Thanks, Jeanette."

"Sure. Are you okay?"

Kathryn smiled. "Just tired. I'll be fine."

She walked down the long corridors to the emergency area and found Stephano with a little girl who was quietly breathing oxygen.

"How is she?"

"Fine," Stephano replied, surprised to see her. "I thought you were still out at the party."

Kathryn explained the situation and told him about Ramone Alverro.

Stephano nodded. "You did what you could in the circumstances."

"I wish it could have been more." She sighed with a slight shiver. The basement area that was the emergency room was always cold.

"Let me take over," he offered. "I can finish up here and take a look upstairs. Do what I can."

"You had a tough day yesterday," she passed with a shake of her head, not wanting to pawn off the final responsibility on him.

"But I've been in bed for the last eight hours. I'll finish up here and go upstairs. You can go back and get some rest and take the clinic today while I rest."

She smiled tiredly, unable to resist the offer. "It sounds good. Thanks, Stephano. I think I can do that."

"We need a car," he said as she started out.

"And a few more doctors on call," she added.

He smiled at her. "And two weeks in the Bahamas."

"I'm going before this gets depressing," she told him. "See you later."

She put her dress and shoes in a plastic patient bag, yawning as she walked out into the early morning darkness. The sky was still overcast and occasionally, droplets of water flew by on the light breeze. She yawned and grimaced when she thought about the long walk back to the clinic but there was no help for it. She should be grateful that it had stopped raining. She paused at the end of the protected walkway then stepped into the nearly empty parking lot.

"Need a ride, lady?"

Kathryn jumped, startled, then glared at him. "Michael!"

"Sorry." He chuckled, taking away some of his sincerity.

She yawned again and rubbed her hands across her eyes. "I can't believe you're still here."

He shrugged. "I went home for a while and changed clothes while I yelled at Charlie for interfering."

She looked at him in the partial lighting from the walkway. The wind ran careless fingers through his hair and a drop of rain rested lightly on his cheek. "I'd like to say I'm sorry to see you here," she said frankly, her eyes lingering on his face. "But I can't. I'm exhausted though, Michael. I won't be much company."

He opened the car door and waited while she scooted across the seat. "I didn't come back for your scintillating company, Kit."

"Thanks." She smiled and rested her head back against the seat.

He got in his own side and frowned at her. "You're determined to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"It's already difficult without me trying," she assured him.

"I didn't want to think about you walking home after everything that happened tonight. Can we leave it at that?"

"I'm too tired to argue," she demurred in a quiet voice.

"Yeah. Right."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Michael. I don't care what the reason was."

"Did you eat?" he asked, glancing at her drawn face in the interior light.

"I don't think so. Although...no. I guess not," she concluded, recalling a hastily eaten sandwich at the clinic.

"I brought you a sandwich," he said, holding up a bag.

Kathryn sniffed appreciatively and took the bag from him. "What is it? It smells wonderful."

"Just some junk food," he promised.

"The best kind," she said, biting into the sandwich with great relish. "Oh, this is wonderful."

"The way to a woman's heart," he reminded her. "Especially one who forgets to feed herself on a regular basis."

"You make me sound like some absent-minded moron," she told him quickly.

He looked at her, stuffing the sandwich into her mouth. "You do tend to be a little single-minded."

"Is that a nice way of saying I'm an absent-minded moron?" she asked, taking a gulp of the drink he passed her.

"Maybe I just like to see you eat," he theorized with a laugh.

"But I was supposed to feed you," she recalled, stricken by a guilty conscience for the evening she'd promised for the auction.

"You can do that later," he soothed. "How's your patient?"

She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "Not good. He probably won't make it through the night."

Michael nodded. "At least he's going out the right way. His family around him. Someone holding his hand and promising they'll always love him."

Kathryn looked out of the dark window into the empty streets. "Is that how you picture yourself going?"

He shrugged. "I don't know if I can picture myself dying right now. But I think if someone has to go, and I'm assuming we all do at some time, that at least he's not alone or with strangers."

"I suppose that's true," she acknowledged. "But he shouldn't have died at all yet."

"You can't save everyone, Kit," he answered quietly.

"I know." She breathed out on a sigh. "That doesn't stop me from wishing I could."

He pulled the car over in front of the clinic. "Get some sleep," he advised. "Everything always looks better when you're rested."

"Thanks, Michael," she repeated. "For the ride and the sandwich. Tomorrow's a free day for the charity. I guess I'll see you Monday." She opened the car door and started to get out.

"Kit?" he called. "I think you're wrong."

She ducked her head back into the interior of the car. "About what?"

"I think you're mother would've been proud of you. Children or no children."

She glanced out into the street, rain and wind washing away the usual piles of trash from the dark corners. "Thank you. I'd like to think so. See you Monday, Michael."

Kathryn walked slowly into the clinic and locked the door behind her. The building was empty and silent around her. She decided not to climb all the way to the third floor to sleep that night. There was a rickety cot in the examining room closet that would do.

She fought with the light in the foyer but then she vaguely remembered Stephano telling her that morning that he thought there was a short in the circuit and it wouldn't come on. By the time she'd heard it sizzle and pop three times, her eyes were adjusted to the blackness anyway and she groped her way into the examining room.

The rain continued on through the rest of the night, pounding hard on the roof. There was no relief from the sound as there had been at the hospital. The walls there were three feet thick and the roof didn't have any bald patches where the shingles were missing.

Kathryn lay on the uncomfortable cot, trying to fall asleep. In the car, she had fought to keep her eyes open but once she was in the silent darkness, her thoughts were full of turmoil and her mind refused to shut down and allow her to sleep.

Michael was a good person. Hadn't she always known that? From the beginning, she'd known that he was a special human being. He was kind and sympathetic and loving. But he was an awful husband. Or at least an untrustworthy one.

She felt sure, had Cetta lived and life been different, he would have been a good father and would have spent his life trying to make them happy. He just couldn't control his impulses. There was also the problem with him wanting to tell her what to do and to protect her from all the things he felt were bad in the world. They'd argued most often when she made choices without consulting him. Especially when he felt those choices could hurt her.

He was always considerate. Always thinking of little things that would make her life easier or happier. Like waiting for her tonight. But she had begun to feel smothered sometimes by his thoughtfulness. She was a very independent person and needed to think for herself and work out her own difficulties. She appreciated his help but he couldn't solve all of her problems for her.

When she looked at their relationship honestly, though, she had to admit they were happy for the most part until Cetta's death and his subsequent infidelity. She sighed and closed her eyes as the rain danced on the roof far above her.

Maybe she hadn't really loved Michael or she would have forgiven his mistake. Or maybe she had loved him too much to look the other way as many wives did with their husbands. Or maybe Cetta's death had destroyed their relationship. She had seen many couples, who seemed to be happy together, stricken by the loss of a child and not able to recover. Even serious illness brought unbelievable stress on an otherwise strong marriage.

Many times, after she'd first left Olympia, she had picked up the phone to call Michael and try to explain, try to talk to him about what had happened. There were a few times when the night was so dark and she felt so alone that she prayed that he would come and find her because her pride wouldn't allow her to go back to him. It never happened, of course. She punched her thin pillow and pulled up the threadbare blanket.

If Michael had missed her, had saved all of her clothes, what had stopped him from coming to find her?

Probably a guilty conscience, she speculated. After all, she did catch them in the act. She didn't think she would ever forget the look of horror on his face when he'd seen her. Or the look of pure triumph when Carrie had seen her.

What had happened to Carrie? She considered. It wasn't a secret that the woman had a thing for Michael. She had always taken every opportunity to make that clear to everyone. She had always been available to Michael.

Why had happened to break them up? Had Carrie caught him with Susan Allison? Or was there someone else between them?

Michael had always been popular with women in college as well. He was wealthy. He was handsome and he had good prospects. What greater aphrodisiac could there be?

She had always wondered what had attracted Michael to her in the first place. He had told her that he'd just fallen in love with her when she'd dropped the books at his feet. But she'd always dismissed that as a good cover story. Maybe he thought that she'd be so grateful to have him that she would be willing to look the other way when he was tired of her. Somehow that didn't seem like him. But then nothing fit. It just didn't seem like Michael to kiss her goodbye in the morning and then have sex with his secretary on his desk at lunchtime.

She, admittedly, hadn't been able to see that at the time. Grief and anger had kept her from thinking clearly and once she was gone, she knew she could never go back. Of course, she had changed her mind about coming back after she'd worked with Stephano at his clinic for a year. She had even managed to change her mind about seeing Michael again. She had proven that she could work her way up to having a decent conversation with him again!

But she could never forgive him. Even if he wasn't himself at that moment when he held Carrie in his arms. Even if it was the strain of that time and Cetta's death and her own turning away from him that had made Carrie's long standing invitation too good to pass up. Even if he was as lonely and lost as she had been herself.

The phone rang and she jumped up to answer it. The cot's framework collapsed under the sudden movement. It was Stephano. Ramone Alverro had just died. She could hear his family wailing in the background. He had gone peacefully with his wife on one side and his children on the other.

"A good way to leave," Stephano echoed Michael's words.

Kathryn rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair back from her face. "If there is one." She thanked him for calling and set down the receiver thoughtfully, staring out into the darkness of the examining room. The usual objects looked strange and unfamiliar, ghostly, in the pale luminance from the street light outside the dirty window.

She hadn't been able to save Ramone Alverro, but there had been many other victories over untimely death that she could claim. So much pain. So many in need. Those who came to the clinic were easy. It was the Ramone Alverros and the Concepcion Richards that she couldn't reach out to efficiently to save their lives.

She didn't bother with setting up the cot again. The faint lightening of the sky told her that morning would soon be upon them and another day of trying to make it all work out. They needed an outreach program with home health workers that could go through the neighborhoods, looking for problems. They would call on those who wouldn't or couldn't get to the clinic.

Not, she acknowledged wearily, sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, that it would have mattered to her mother. She would have stood, proud and firm, against all offers of help. Her pride was as great as her love of life and her determination that her daughters have a better life than the one that she and her husband had been able to give them.

Kathryn leaned her head back and watched the gradual pale light of morning become the brightness of the rising sun. Would her mother have been proud of what she tried to do for the people of Olympia, as Michael had said?

Kathryn remembered how proud her mother had been when her sister, Anna, had married the important New York businessman and had left them behind, even though she never called or wrote. Concepcion had carried Anna's picture with her always and anyone who had dared to question her daughter's decision to forget her mother and sister, had met with her stern disapproval.

Anna had made the right decision, according to her mother. She had done what she'd wanted her to do. Have a beautiful wedding to a wealthy man and live in a big house and have healthy children. Kathryn could have claimed most of that after she'd married Michael. But the decision to leave him would have made her mother angry.

"Men are not perfect," she had told her stubborn, rebellious daughter once after she'd turned down a date with a well-to-do high school friend because he had jilted her girlfriend.

So, she was living in a building that was doing good to stand another day, trying to help people who her mother would have deemed spineless because they took help when they couldn't pay. She wasn't married and her only child was dead.

No, she sighed. She didn't think her mother would have understood or approved. She would have shaken her head and given her daughter her 'look' of disappointment, then showed her Anna's picture again. They had never received another picture of her. Anna had died and they hadn't even been able to attend her funeral.

Kathryn heard the scrape of the key in the front door lock and stumbled into the bathroom to splash water in her face. She'd let Marcy make the coffee because she always made it too strong. Her pinched white face and dark-circled eyes stared back at her from the poorly lighted mirror. She twisted her hair up on her head and secured it with a clasp.

"Good morning!" Marcy called, putting water into the coffeepot then frowning at her. "You look awful!"

"Thanks." Kathryn smiled, agreeing with her assistant. "Once the coffee's done, I'll look better."

Marcy shook her head. "I think it's gonna take more than coffee, Doctor! Maybe a week in bed."

Kathryn's mind flashed instantly to Michael, lying in bed beside her, his skin warm against her. She shook her head to clear it, promising herself a full night's sleep that night. She was starting to become delusional. "Not right now," she told Marcy, starting up the stairs to make herself take a cold shower and change clothes. She wasn't even going to fight with the temperamental hot water.

Obviously, if she could imagine herself in bed with Michael for a week, she needed that shower to be icy and stinging!

Chapter 11

The day passed quickly. It was noon before she'd had a chance to look up or think about being tired, and dinnertime before she'd thought about lunch.

The clinic was full of 'flu patients again. Headaches, fever, and sick children were the basic fare. There were a few cases that were outside of the epidemic that was blossoming with spring through the town. Kathryn referred one woman to the hospital for ultrasound tests on her digestive system and told another young woman that she was three months pregnant.

The latter burst out crying at the pronouncement, demanding to know how she was going to tell her family when she wasn't even supposed to be dating.

"How old are you?" Kathryn asked in a cool voice.

"Seventeen," the girl told her, slightly abashed when they both looked at her patient history card that said that she was twenty-one.

"Old enough to know not to have unprotected sex," Kathryn advised her with a sigh. "Do you know who the father is?"

"Of course!" she proclaimed indignantly.

Kathryn looked at her sternly. "I suggest you talk with him then and decide what you're going to do. Then you'd better have that same talk with your parents. This isn't something you should go through alone."

"But my father will kill us both!" the girl wailed.

"It's too late to back out now," Kathryn said. She took the girl's hand. "Look, there are options here. Adoption, for one. But this won't be a secret for too much longer. You're going to have to face what's happened and find some way to live with it. There are shelters if you need one. Or you could consider marrying the boy."

The girl's blue eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Please, Doctor! He's already married!"

Kathryn shook her head. Her eyes felt like sandpaper and her temper was frayed with the long day and the rough night behind her. She glanced at the girl's chart. "Tonya, we all make mistakes. This is a big one, but you've made it anyway. Despite all of the counseling. Despite the fact that girls today should be smarter than to have sex without protection. You're going to have to grow up now and take responsibility for what you've done."

Tonya's pretty face crumpled. She dashed out of the room crying, running past Stephano as he came into the clinic.

"Nice bedside manner, Doctor."

"I know." Kathryn couldn't disagree. She had been harsh with the girl.

"Have you had a break yet today?" he asked, sipping at his coffee.

"Not until now," she replied, getting up from her chair. "But since you've mentioned it, I'm going to take a walk around the block."

"Eat something while you're out," he recommended.

"What is it about me that everyone feels the need to tell me to eat?" she asked him, removing her white coat.

He chuckled. "Look in the mirror lately, Querida? You look like a skeleton!"

"First my bedside manner, then my personal appearance. That's adding insult to injury, Doctor. I'm out of here," she replied, slamming the front door behind her.

The day was warm but the wind was still brisk from the rain during the night. Wishing she would have taken a minute to pick up a jacket but refusing to go back for one, she trudged up the street towards the nearest fast food place. She crossed her arms across her chest and gritted her teeth. The smell of food and her hungry stomach kept her on the right path.

A truck full of muddy construction workers passed her at the entrance to the restaurant. Someone called out her name as it passed. "Dr. Richards!" He called again when she didn't look up.

It was Ernie Tabor, waving his hand and grinning broadly. He looked fit and healthy. He clambered out of the truck, walking quickly towards her.

"Hi Ernie!" she greeted him. "How are you?"

"Great! Just great!"

"Staying on your medication?" she wondered, wishing they could move into the warmth of the restaurant.

"Yes! And working, thanks to you!"

"I didn't -- "

"Yes! You did, Doctor! And I'm making twice the money."

"That's wonderful," she enthused with him. "You're working construction?"

"Yes. I love it! And, instead of renting a house from the mill, we're buying a house from the company I work for!"

"That is wonderful!" She glanced at the side of the truck as the rest of the men climbed out. "Helms Construction?"

"That's right! Your husband, Mike."

"He's not my husband anymore, Ernie."

He looked at her closely. "You should get back together, you know. He gave me the chance to do this job and buy my own place because he heard you say that I needed help. A man that would do that would do anything for a woman."

"Ernie, Ernie!" She tried to laugh it off. "We've been separated for years! If he gave you a chance because of me, that's wonderful but -- "

"I understand." He nodded. "Sometimes you just can't live together, huh?"

Something like that."

"Well, I have to go. Come by the house anytime. My wife would love to make you dinner, Doctor. We owe you my old life and our new life."

"Thanks, Ernie." She shook the hand he held out, very pleased by his turn of luck. "I'm very happy for you!"

He went into the restaurant and she stood on the sidewalk outside the door feeling light headed and smugly pleased. It may not have worked out the way she'd thought but someone had been moved to help Ernie and his family. She'd made a real difference.

She went inside and ordered the biggest order of fries and the largest milkshake she'd ever seen. It was doubtful that she could eat all of it but it was more in the spirit of how she felt than the measly little fries and the smaller milkshake. She felt empowered! Her mind seethed with other ways she could infiltrate the community, helping other people who'd lost their jobs or weren't able to support their families.

Maybe she could talk some companies in town into supporting a job fair for some of her patients with disabilities. Or maybe --

"Dr. Richards?"

Kathryn looked up, sipping on her straw, her mind full of glorious plans for the future and found Susan Allison looking down at her. "Yes?"

"I'd like to have a word with you. It'll just take a minute." She sat down on the opposite side of the table before Kathryn could respond.

"Look," Kathryn began, not wanting to discuss Susan Allison's problems with Michael. "If this is about last night, I'm sorry. I was out of line. I heard what you said about Charlie, and while Michael and I aren't together anymore, I still care about his father."

Susan stared at her. "I understand. You were close with him before you and Michael split up. But I know you really don't want Michael back or you would've done something about it by now."

"That's true," Kathryn acknowledged with a nod of her head. "As soon as he signs those divorce papers, he's all yours."

Kathryn stood up and Susan pulled out her checkbook.

"I know you're only doing the charity thing to get money for your clinic," she stated flatly. "I have a CD I've been saving for an emergency that I cashed in this morning. Just tell me how much."

"How much?" Kathryn wondered blankly.

"How much it'll cost me for your clinic to tell the Azalea charity that you're too busy to continue. I'm not rich but the money would be yours right now. Surely that must be some incentive? And how much could you hope to actually get in donations?"

Kathryn sat back down. "You want to pay me to get out of Michael's life?"

"He hasn't been the same since you've come back. He's mired in the past. I think if he didn't see you every day, it would help. You'd been back what? Six months? He never mentioned your name until this whole thing started."

"I'd like to help. Really," Kathryn assured her. "But it isn't just the money. It's the exposure for the whole clinic and the pilot programs that the hospital is working on for the lower income people in town. If you want to donate to the clinic, that's great but I'm going to see the charity drive through."

Susan snapped closed her checkbook and stood, glaring down at her nemesis angrily. "I guess that's it then."

"Sorry."

"I'm sure," Susan said stiffly as she left the booth and started to walk away.

"Susan?" Kathryn felt compelled to add. "If Michael really cares for you, the next week or so won't change his mind. We'll be divorced and that will be it."

"Go to hell and take your advice with you," Susan retorted, swinging back on her heel and leaving abruptly.

"Whew!" Ernie Tabor walked up beside her, holding the remains of his lunch on a tray. "Pretty intense!"

"Yeah," she agreed, watching as the other woman squealed out into traffic. "Very intense."

"So you and the boss aren't really divorced yet, huh?"

Kathryn looked at him. "No. Not yet," she replied, moving to put the rest of her uneaten lunch into the trash. "But soon. See you, Ernie."

Across town, Charlie looked at the divorce papers that had been delivered there by personal messenger that morning. He was on the porch, outside the front door. The sweet sunshine poured down on his head. The rain from the day before had formed thick puddles of mud at the side of the porch behind the huge azalea bushes.

Carefully, he wedged one wheel of his chair into a small crevice on the side of the porch then accidentally dropped the entire packet of papers into the mud.

"Damn!" he swore, then called for help. "Sorry, Loretta, but I'm gonna have to tell a little white lie."

At eight that night, Kathryn closed the clinic, taking care of the last patient and wearily locking the front door.

"Turn off the lights," Marcy advised, sitting on the stairs next to Kathryn. "If they know we're still here, they might all get sick again."

"I can't," Kathryn mumbled. "I can't walk that far. I'm just going to go to sleep right here."

Stephano, dressed in an expensive charcoal gray suit and starched white shirt, skipped down the stairs to where they sat in the foyer.

"What are you doing?" Kathryn asked him.

"Going out," he advised her, patting his thick black hair. "You aren't the only one getting press coverage."

"You're going to do an interview?" she asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

He nodded, touching his tie with nervous fingers.

"And there's a lady involved, right Dr. A.?" Marcy guessed.

"Mason James," he confirmed. "She's taking me out to dinner to do the interview."

"Dinner?" Kathryn demanded. "No one ever takes me out to dinner for an interview!"

"It's because you are too easy, Querida. Not elusive enough. Mason wants to hear the silent partner side of the clinic. The mysterious side."

"Mysterious?" Kathryn scoffed. "And for that you get dinner?"

He nodded, smiling. "At Bartolini's."

Kathryn dragged herself to her feet. "That's it. I'm going to bed. Go to Bartolini's. Have a good time. Just don't wake me up until next week."

"Perhaps not."

Marcy laughed slyly at the evil leer on his face and Kathryn told them all to go and lock the door behind them.

"Good night, Dr. Richards," Marcy said as she switched off the lights.

"Good night, Marcy. Thanks for all your help today. Especially for the coffee." She laughed. "I think that stuff would wake the dead."

Marcy laughed and walked out with Stephano, closing and locking the door behind them.

Kathryn climbed wearily up the stairs and collapsed on her bed. She managed to crawl out of her slacks and shirt but her underwear proved to be too much trouble. She undid the clasp on her hair and the curly black locks tumbled down around her face on the pillow. She closed her eyes and sleep overcame her at once.

Across town, Michael was furious when he heard the whole story. "So, you took the papers from the messenger then when you started to come back into the house, you dropped them all in the mud?"

Charlie nodded, managing to look embarrassed and ashamed. "You know, son, it's hard when a man has disabilities."

"Spare me!" Michael paced across the length of the room. He was still wearing his work clothes, covered with patches of mud and sawdust. "Dad, we can't keep going like this! Kathryn wants this divorce so that she can move on with her life."

"What about you, Michael? Do you want the divorce so that you can marry Sally?"

"Susan," Michael corrected ruefully. "Susan, Dad! And yes, I do want the divorce so that I can move on with my life as well."

"Bull!"

"Charlie!"

"You haven't moved on with anything in the past five years since she's been gone! You've worked twenty-four hours a day and you've slept around town with tramps like Sally!"

"Susan!" He repeated then glared at his father when he realized what he had said. "Dad!"

They stared at each other angrily across the room. The son had always been willful and the father had always tried to impose his will on his only offspring. Neither would budge.

"Fine!" Charlie finally threw up his hands and started his wheelchair moving away from his son. "She's here! She could be yours again! I see it. I don't know why you don't."

"That isn't going to happen, Charlie," Michael told him quietly, looking at his frail father and backing down from their confrontation. "There's too much -- pain -- between us."

"Pride!" His father barked at him. "Pride is the only thing keeping you apart! You're too proud to admit you need her and she's too proud to admit she made a mistake! But you're both going to regret it. You were made for each other. You won't ever be happy without each other."

"I'm going up to change," Michael told him. "Then I'm going to tell Kit what happened and give her my mailing address at the office. This has to end, Dad."

"Do what you have to do," Charlie advised, rounding a darkened corner of the room. "But you're going to be miserable without her. For the rest of your life, son. That's a damn long time, if you're lucky."

Michael stood in the silence and the rapidly closing darkness of the room. He didn't want to know if Charlie was right. He didn't want to think about it. Kathryn had told him that she wanted a divorce and he was going to give it to her. Despite his father's misgivings.

He went up to his own room slowly, stripping off his clothes and heading for the shower. It had been a long day. A small part of which he was willing to admit was knowing that he wouldn't be seeing her that day.

In a way, he was happy that Charlie had stubbornly refused to allow him to sign those papers. It gave him a reason to drive down to the clinic. No matter how embarrassing it was to admit that his father had again destroyed the legal documents.

Being with Kathryn again was like remembering all those good times from college and the two years after that they had been married. The long walks at sunset, picnics in the hospital when she was interning there. Building their gingerbread house had been a labor of love. Every piece of that house had been planned and crafted thinking of their future together and finished with their child in mind.

Cetta's death had torn them both apart and he knew, with years to reflect on it, that he had tried to push Kit into getting pregnant again too quickly. It was his instinct to rebuild when something happened. Not to dwell on the past but to keep moving towards the future.

He had pushed her away from him, then been surprised when she had left him.

He pulled on clean jeans and a pale blue shirt then pushed his feet into tennis shoes. He combed his hair and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was the tanned face he was comfortable with, the hair bleached almost white from his days in the hot summer sun. There were lines at the corners of his eyes that had developed in the last few years and a few new lines across his forehead. He looked at his hands, callused and strong, capable of building dreams in brick and plaster.

Yet they hadn't been strong or capable enough to hold his marriage together. They had let Kit slide through them. The gingerbread house sat empty and unused in town because he couldn't bear to live in it and he couldn't sell it.

He needed to get on with his life, he realized. He had been waiting, hoping that time would somehow go roll back to where they had been when he and Kathryn had first made love in the empty turret six years ago. But that wasn't going to happen. What had been between them had died. He needed to bury that part of his life and get on with the rest.

Charlie was waiting for him downstairs but when Michael said goodbye, the older man turned his head and looked away. Michael shook his head but didn't try to reason with his father. He climbed into the Jeep and drove away. Charlie swore when he heard the Jeep leave the driveway and appealed to the heavens for help.

It was dark by the time Michael reached the downtown area where the clinic was located. The evening was warm and people were out on the streets both on foot and in their cars. Just out of town, the air had been sweet with honeysuckle and roses but when Michael got out of the Jeep in front of the clinic, the smell was of gasoline and spilled whiskey. Broken bottles littered the sidewalk by the door.

The clinic looked closed and locked up for the night. The windows were dark and there weren't any signs of life when he knocked on the door. He peered in through the dirty glass panes but nothing stirred. Sniffing at the strangely acrid odor, he looked around himself. The streetlight was out. It was difficult to see anything. The next light haloed down but couldn't quite reach the corners and the shadows.

Maybe they had gone out for the evening, he considered, returning to his Jeep. His mind wandered to picture Kathryn and her doctor friend laughing and eating pizza, their dark heads close together as they talked about their life together.

A flash of light coming from the darkened building caught his eye as he put the keys into the ignition. He watched as another joined it from a side room and picked up the phone to dial 911. A third light leaped up from another room.

What the hell? he wondered, waiting on the line for someone to pick up. The answer became obvious as a trail of smoke filtered out of a downstairs window. Fire!

"There's a fire at the free clinic on Wahl Street," he barked hoarsely into the receiver when the operator picked up the call. He put the phone down on the seat without hanging up and headed for the front door. He pushed against it with his shoulder but it wouldn't budge. It took a well-placed kick for it to spring back from the hinges.

"Anyone here?" he yelled. There was no reply. He was grateful that everyone was gone.

Inside, the small darts of fire seemed to be everywhere. He looked for fire extinguishers and exhausted two before he realized that it wasn't going to be enough. The fire was following the wall, probably starting in the wiring. Older buildings weren't required to be up to code and there wouldn't be any sprinkler system to back him up. It would only be a matter of minutes and the whole thing would go up like a dry torch.

He rushed around through the offices like a madman picking up anything that looked expensive and transporting it to the sidewalk or the street. It was only a few minutes before a few people off the street were helping him. He could only hope they weren't carting the stuff away. There wasn't time for him to keep an eye on what they were doing.

From the distance, he could hear the sound of sirens and silently thanked God for car phones. There might be time to save something of the building's contents. His efforts seemed too little, too slow. Passing the foot of the stairs, he heard something and paused, listening. It sounded like shuffling, possibly coughing. The upstairs was a cloud of deep smoke.

"Is someone up there?" he yelled, suddenly terrified that he had been wrong and Kathryn or one of the others might be in the building. He heard the sound again and grabbed a towel, wetting it and slinging it across his face for protection before he headed into the darkness.

The smoke stung his eyes and invaded its way through the towel. He walked the hall and listened for the sound he'd heard from the ground floor. The tiny line of fire expanded and began to burn at the sides of the upstairs walls along the floorboards. It wouldn't be long before the upstairs was a solid blaze. He heard the fire department arrive, heard them call out but didn't have time or breath to answer. He opened two more doors, trying to see into the smoky interiors. Maybe he'd been mistaken. Pray God, he'd been mistaken.

Then he heard a dull thud from a room down the hall from where he stood. The door was closed but fire had already laid a deadly line along the doorway. He touched the door handle then drew back with an oath. The handle was too hot to open. He stepped back and kicked the door open. A splinter of wood, trailing fire from the original line, fell across his face and he batted it away. Someone lay unconscious on the wooden floor at his feet. They'd managed to reach the door but hadn't been able to get out.

His heart jumped and fear curled inside of him when he saw her face. It was Kathryn.

Trying to keep his head while the walls burned around him, he picked her up in his arms, letting the towel fall to the floor. Everything around him was smoking, ready to burst into flame. The heavy smoke attacked his lungs and made sight almost impossible.

He kept his head down low, trying to stay out of the worst of the smoke and heat. Kathryn coughed and groaned but there wasn't time to try to help her. She was alive, but they would both be dead if he couldn't make it back down the stairs.

Twice he passed the stairway, wandering by it in the smoke, unable to see where it began. Finally, he heard the sounds from downstairs; her heard shouting and the sounds of equipment being dragged into and from the building.

"There's someone up there!" a voice yelled from the doorway. "Wet the stairs!"

Michael coughed, trying to find air to draw into his lungs and finding only heavier, more deadly smoke. The stairs under his feet were there more by accident than plan. He slid down the first three when the water hit the wood. His arms ached and burned but he kept his hold on the precious burden in his charge. He pushed himself up from where he'd fallen and kept his head down, hoping he wouldn't fall the rest of the way. He felt the breath wheeze in his chest and shook his head, trying to clear his swimming senses.

There couldn't be many more stairs, he reasoned. He had to have negotiated most of them.

"I'll take her, son." A firefighter met him halfway down and lifted Kathryn from his arms. "You okay?"

Michael tried to speak but his voice croaked out unintelligibly and his knees buckled under him. The last thing he heard was the firefighter yelling for assistance, then he laid his head down on the cool, wet stair.

When he opened his eyes again, he was outside on the street. The night was illuminated by the size and strength of the fire in the clinic building. A crowd had gathered to watch the firefighters battle the blaze.

"Where is she?" he asked in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

"Slow down!" A paramedic advised, grabbing him by the shoulder when he would have pushed off the oxygen mask covering his face. "You've got some smoke inhalation and a few burns. We'll have to transport you."

"Where's my wife?"

The man looked up and squinted into the crowd. "I don't know."

"I brought her out of the building," Michael explained impatiently.

When the man didn't reply at once, Michael finished the job he'd started and shoved the oxygen mask away from him.

"We can't be responsible if something happens to you, sir," the paramedic told him when he got to his feet.

Michael coughed and tried to clear his raw, burning throat. His eyes searched for some sign of what had happened to Kathryn. Had he been wrong? Had she been alive when he brought her down the stairs? His mind raced ahead to the edge of insanity at the thought of another grave in that small churchyard near Cetta.

"Let me up!"

"You aren't in any condition -- "

"I have to see what can be saved!"

There was no mistaking that imperative voice. Huskier than usual but filled with dire overtones of what would happen if she wasn't allowed to check for her precious equipment.

Another fire engine joined the three that were already there and the crowd was pushed back further away from the sidewalk. Two paramedics were kneeling down on the street between the line the police held the crowd to and the burning building. Michael walked towards them in time to see Kathryn struggle off the sidewalk, the red emergency blanket falling to her feet.

She glanced down at her soot-blackened underwear and instinctively folded her arms across her chest.

"This might help," he suggested, unbuttoning his shirt and handing it to her.

"Michael!" she sputtered, relieved but surprised to see him there. She took the shirt gratefully and buttoned it down her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"He was savin' your life, honey," the paramedic told her, pushing his cap back on his head. "Not that it's gonna do much good if you don't sit back down here and take in some oxygen. You were unconscious from the smoke, you know. That can cause -- "

"I'm a doctor," she rounded on him, her voice croaking as she spoke. There was soot across her face and Michael's shirt trailed her thighs but she was still impressive. "I know what it can cause."

"Doctors are the worst patients." The young man shook his head and ventured his opinion. "Probably doin' them a favor if we don't transport you!"

Kathryn looked at Michael's blackened face. His eyes were very blue. His hair was full of soot and there was a cut bleeding on the side of his head.

"I don't know why you're here," she rasped. "But I'm very glad you were."

He looked down at the hand she'd placed on his chest and lifted his own to cover it.

"Your hands!" she groaned seeing the burns that had already developed on the skin. "Oh, Michael!"

"It's okay," he assured her.

"That's because you're in shock," she explained tightly, trying her best to keep her voice from wavering. Trying not to cry. "You need to have them cleaned."

"If he'll sit down -- " the paramedic volunteered.

"I'll do it," Kathryn said, holding out her hand for the man's medical case.

"I'm not supposed to -- "

She glared at him and the man passed her the box.

"I'm fine," Michael told her again. "You need oxygen, Kit. Let the man treat you."

"Sit down," she urged him, not glancing up at the fire that roared through her clinic. "I don't think I'm going to get into the building right now to look at the damages. I need something to do." She sat down on the blanket that had dropped off of her and he sat beside her.

"You saved my life," she said in her smoke-thickened voice, glad to have that distortion. Her own voice would have been as thick with emotion.

"It's okay." He shrugged. "What else would I have done?"

She looked up at him, his hand in her own. "I-I don't know."

He touched her face, seeing the depth of emotion in her dark eyes. "It's all right, Kit. We're both safe."

"I know," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Michael, it's all gone. And-and I could have died in there. You could have died, too."

His hands had begun to sting but there was nothing wrong with his arms. He reached around her and brought her unresisting body close to his.

She wrapped her arms around him and shuddered, holding him tightly. "Michael."

He felt her tears wet his shoulder. He closed his eyes on the night and the people around them.

Chapter 12

Stephano finally convinced them both to ride to the hospital in the ambulance. There was no sense in taking any chances, he argued. They could risk brain damage or lung damage from the smoke. Michael's hands and the cut on his head needed attention.

The paramedic rode in the front with his partner, muttering about doctors making bad patients. He left Kathryn and Michael in the back by themselves.

"Why did you come?" she asked after they'd left the scene. The siren blared as the ambulance raced to the hospital.

"I was coming to tell you that the divorce papers had another accident, courtesy of my father," Michael explained, sitting beside her on the stretcher. "I was going to give you my business address so you could send them there and we could get this over with."

Kathryn smiled at him. "I guess I have to thank Charlie then."

"Yeah," Michael agreed. He was glad that she had managed to come back from that abyss he'd seen in her eyes at the fire. Charlie's interfering worked out this time. He couldn't take his eyes from her face. It was still sooty and the tears she'd shed had made clean lines down her cheeks. He laughed and shook his head.

"What?" she wondered.

"You look like a little kid," he told her. "Face all smudged." He touched her cheek and she caught his hand carefully, rubbing her face against it. "Kit," he murmured thickly, his voice hoarse with more than smoke.

"Michael," she answered, leaning towards him, her eyes clinging hungrily to his gaze. She wrapped her arms around him and brought her mouth to his. "You taste like smoke," she whispered, her tongue touching his lower lip.

Michael's heart skipped a beat then doubled its rhythm. "You can't tell like that," he whispered, drawing her closer yet.

Kathryn kissed him, melting against him, their breaths fusing. His tongue touched her mouth and she opened her lips gladly for him.

Michael shifted his position. She was cradled in his arms, her head back, allowing him sweeter access to the moist recesses of her mouth.

"You're right," she murmured, arching her neck when she felt his lips on her skin. "You only taste like smoke on the outside. When you're inside -- "

He groaned and nipped at her ear. "Oh, Kit, I'd love to be inside -- "

A dull, throbbing that had nothing to do with the fire at the clinic began low inside of her and stretched its tentacles upward. Like an intense flame, it roared through her, sapping her strength and making her cling to him. His kisses made her forget everything. She only wanted to be closer yet. Their tongues met and danced erotically in her mouth and she sighed lightly.

"I wish I could touch you," he whispered like a hot summer breeze in her ear,

She opened her eyes and took his hands in her own. "Your poor burned hands," she murmured, touching her lips to the clean places where she knew it wouldn't hurt him. "You were crazy to come in there when you knew there was a fire. You should have waited for help."

"I can't tell you how I felt when I thought that you might be trapped upstairs," he replied, his gaze touching her face as his injured hands couldn't, tracing the curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips.

"I'm sorry you were hurt," she answered with a shaky smile. "But I guess I can't complain too much. You saved my life."

The ambulance came to an abrupt stop and the back doors were thrown open.

Kathryn jumped up. Michael followed at a more leisurely pace. Susan and Charlie were both waiting at the emergency room door, the former annoyed to see the couple's closeness as the doors opened and the latter chuckling to himself. He made no secret that he was pleased to see them in each other's arms.

"Oh my God, Michael," Susan began, deciding to ignore what she had seen for that moment. "What have you done to yourself?"

The hospital personal helped Kathryn down from the back of the ambulance then turned to help Michael. Susan managed to wedge herself between where Kathryn stood, waiting, and where they handed Michael down from the back.

Michael's eyes moved from Susan's anxious face across the crowd of people to Kathryn's dark eyes, watching him. She smiled gently, then turned away, disappearing into the hospital.

"Let's get you inside, Mr. Helms," an attendant said, moving to his side. "You've got some nasty burns there. But you're a hero, for sure."

Going through the hospital procedure was a blur of white coats and hospital greens, moving from x-ray to nurses who cleaned and dressed his burns. They took a few stitches in his head and admitted him for observation that night before he had a chance to look up or refuse any treatment.

"I wish my building crews moved like you people," he remarked as an orderly wheeled his bed up to his room.

"Only the best for the town hero," she answered with a quick smile. "We've been fighting off the news crews all night. They want a picture and some words from you."

"Well, he could -- " Susan began.

"Not until tomorrow morning," the orderly stopped that idea. "Doctor's orders."

"Which doctor?" Susan asked sourly, thinking about a certain black-haired witch doctor.

"Dr. Crane," the orderly replied promptly. "He'll be your doctor for tonight."

The hospital room was quiet and clean, darkened until the orderly went in and flashed on the overhead lights. Nurses joined her in getting the patient settled in for the night. Clean sheets and blankets were pulled up to his chin. His face and hands cleaned and cared for, Michael surveyed the group gathered around his bed.

"We should leave him now," the head nurse told the others. "He needs his rest."

"I should stay," Susan volunteered, standing closer to the bed.

"Doctor's orders," the nurse told her. "He needs to sleep."

Susan eyed the nurse mutinously, not wanting to leave Michael in the same hospital that Kathryn Richards was prowling. Especially after the embrace she'd caught in the ambulance.

"It's okay," Michael assured her.

She took his bandaged hand carefully in her own. "Are you sure? I could talk to someone about staying with you."

"I'll be fine," he said, smothering a yawn. "I'm just going to sleep."

She nodded. "I'll be back first thing in the morning." "Great," he replied, squeezing her hand a little.

She leaned over and kissed him. Passionately. The others looked away or cleared their throats. Most of the nurses left the room. "I'll see you in the morning, hero."

Michael nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He watched her walk out of the room. Tomorrow might be as good a time as any to tell her that it wasn't going to work out between them. They'd had some good times together but it had never been more serious than that for him. Lately, she'd begun to hint at wanting a more serious, permanent relationship. He knew he wasn't ready for that commitment.

Especially now that he knew it was possible that something could happen between himself and Kit. He knew those kisses in the ambulance were nothing more than gratitude and the intense emotion after the fire, but they caused a spark inside of him.

He couldn't deny that he was still attracted to Kit. She only had to look at him for him to feel a smoldering fire leap to life. There might be nothing more than that but he owed it to Susan not to leave her dangling after him and thinking there could be something else between them.

He fell asleep thinking about Kathryn but dreamed about building a huge house on a patch of quick sand. Each day he'd build and each night the sand would suck the house down into its dark depths. He awoke with a start to find Charlie sitting beside him. Just looking at him in the dimly lit room.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" he wondered, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's after two."

"I know what time it is," his father growled. "And I'm old enough not to care."

"How'd you get in?" Michael asked with a grin. "The nurses almost threw Susan out bodily."

"I'm a sick man in a wheelchair. Do you think they're going to throw me out with all those reporters camped downstairs? I'm the hero's father."

Michael laughed out loud. "So it's really true? I'm a hero now?"

"I'm afraid so. Just don't let it go to your head."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

His father glared at him. "And don't ever do such a damn, half ass, dumb thing again! You scared out most of what little life I have left in me! Let somebody else be the hero, Michael! I thought I brought you up to be smarter than that!"

Michael frowned. "I thought you'd want me to save Kit's life since you're always so sure we should be back together."

"I don't want you to save anyone's life if it means endangering yours," his father answered shortly.

"I'll try to remember that the next time I'm standing next to a burning building."

"Good."

Michael glanced at his father. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Charlie grunted. "I'm proud of you, son. And I'm glad you rescued the future mother of my grandchildren."

"I thought you just said -- "

"Never mind." Charlie patted his chest. "Just go back to sleep and get out of here. You know how I hate hospitals."

"Yes, sir."

Charlie started his wheelchair moving towards the door, then looked back at his son. "I love you, Michael. I'm glad you're okay."

Michael smiled. He wished he could see his father's face in the darkness. "I love you, too, Dad. See you tomorrow."

The nurse awakened him at four to check his blood pressure and temperature. He woke up again at six to find someone standing at the foot of his bed, looking at his chart.

"Good morning." He recognized her even in the gray light. There was no mistaking that mass of curly hair.

"Good morning," Kathryn replied evenly. "Sorry if I woke you."

"That's all right. How am I doing?"

"Fine," she told him honestly. "I was just checking. You should be released first thing this morning."

"Great."

"How do your hands feel?"

"A little tight and sore," he answered. "Otherwise, I'm ready to go back to work."

"Expect some company. Your adoring public is waiting outside for you."

"Slow news day?" he quipped.

"I think everyone loves a hero," she stated thoughtfully.

He grimaced. "Hopefully, something else will happen quickly so they can get over it. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"And you've been up working all night while I've been sleeping. Right?"

She smiled. "Not exactly. I was in a bed for a few hours, breathing in some oxygen. Stephano insisted."

"But you weren't burned?"

"No. Someone else took the worst of the heat for me," she told him quietly.

He looked down at his bandaged hands and grinned. "If someone's hands had to be messed up, it was better for them to be mine."

Kathryn looked down at the chart she held in her own hands then looked up at her husband. "I don't know what to say, Michael. Except thanks. Stephano said you saved most of the really costly equipment from the clinic as well."

"I wasn't sure what to take." He shrugged. "I picked up what looked expensive. I could only hope those other people who were taking stuff out of the building were doing the same."

She nodded. "There was a lot of loss but at least we won't have to start from scratch. Stephano says the fire chief told him it was the wiring."

"Old buildings." He shook his head, sorry at once when a sharp pain shot through the wound on his forehead. "I kept hoping there was a sprinkler system that would kick in."

Kathryn moved to his side as he grimaced and looked at the cut but it was clean and only needed time to heal. "I wanted to thank you for something else," she started, moving back from his side when a few strands of his hair fell across her fingers. "I ran into Ernie Tabor yesterday. What you did, how you helped him, was wonderful."

"I only gave him a job and the chance to do something," Michael disagreed with her praise. "He's a good man. I wish I had twenty more just like him."

"You're a good man, Michael," she interjected. "You do a lot to help this community."

"A good man," he repeated, glancing at her. "But a lousy husband. Does that about sum it up, Kit?"

"I have to go," she answered. "Your doctor will be up here shortly."

"Kit." He reached for her hand, grabbing her fingers carefully with his bandaged ones. "Stay. Talk to me. For once, don't run away."

"Why?" she demanded, not moving her hand where it rested on the bed under his. She didn't want to hurt him. "What else is there to say?"

"We have to talk about that morning with Carrie. I know what it looked like. I know what you thought. What you still think. But she set the whole thing up. She knew you were coming to meet me for lunch. She knew you'd be devastated."

Kathryn jerked her hand away from his touch and stood glaring at him balefully. There were too many painful ghosts in her eyes. "What difference does it make now? If I was wrong and I left you all those years ago without giving you a chance to explain, why don't you hate me?"

"Because," he began, returning her stare. "Because I've tried that and it didn't work. I've hated you and loved you for so long that I can't tell the difference anymore. One is part of the other. I only know that when I look at you, when I touch you, I'm convinced that we could still be good for each other."

"What are you suggesting?" she wondered. "That I fill in when you aren't seeing Susan?"

"I don't know what I'm suggesting. If I'm suggesting anything," he answered. "All I'm saying is that we still mean something to each other. We have so many shared memories and even you can't deny that a lot of them are good."

Kathryn lifted her head and looked at him. "I just don't know, Michael. It's been so long."

"Think about it, huh?" he insisted. "In the meantime, what are you and Dr. Alario doing about a place to stay?"

Kathryn shook her head. She and Stephano had spoken with several people who'd offered them low rent on a few older buildings. Still stinging from the devastation of the fire though, they were reluctant to take on another clinic that would come down around them. True, their funds were limited but there had to be another answer.

"I don't know yet," she told Michael. "Stephano and I are looking into some possibilities."

"I have a suggestion I'd like you to consider," he returned, resting his head back against the pillow, getting a stiff neck from watching her walk around the room.

"Michael -- "

"Hear me out before you tell me no, Kit! I have a building in much better repair, only a few years old and I'd be willing to donate it to the cause."

"Where is it?" she asked warily.

"Downtown," he answered, knowing her concerns about the clinic being out of reach for some of her patients. "On the bus line. And actually, half of it is yours in this state."

She took a quick breath. "The gingerbread house?"

He shrugged. "It's been sitting empty. I haven't rented it or tried to sell it and I really don't have time to do anything with it."

"We can't take it." she said firmly. "That's too much."

"Kit -- "

"I have to go, Michael. Your doctor will be here soon. I'll see you later."

He opened his mouth to speak but she was gone. The door closed behind her. Stubborn. She was as stubborn as she had always been and always willing to believe the worst of him. Why did he bother? He wasn't sure about that answer, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet.

Maybe if the idea came from another source. He pressed the button to call the nurse. When she came, full of smiles and good mornings, he asked her to dial the phone for him.

Kathryn looked in on the few patients she and Stephano had at the hospital then walked back to the clinic.

Meg and Travis, along with a few other volunteers, were going to help them move what they had saved into storage that morning. If it stayed on the street much longer, it would probably wind up disappearing. The same people who'd helped rescue their equipment could easily decide to sell it out from under them.

Kathryn's mind shied away from the suggestion of Michael's help as well as his suggestion that there could ever be anything between them again. Although she had to admit she hadn't given him much reason to doubt that there could be a physical relationship, she knew she couldn't handle sleeping with him on the weekends. She wasn't made that way.

She couldn't deny that there was something there when he touched her. But she could exert her will that it never came to anything more. What had been between them had been rare and beautiful at the beginning. She did have some good memories of their life together. But it had devastated her when it had fallen apart. She wouldn't give him the opportunity to hurt her again.

When she reached the clinic, there was already commotion on the sidewalk. Stephano and Travis were trying to hold back traffic while a big moving van backed up to the ruined shell of the building. She looked at what was left of their hard work then turned away with an ache in her heart and the fear that they wouldn't be able to do it again.

"You aren't going to believe what's happened," Stephano told her excitedly when he saw her. "Someone donated a building for the new clinic!"

"Really?" She had a bad feeling about this. There was something too convenient about it.

"My new friend." Stephano looked around the corner of the van and called, "Charlie?"

Kathryn looked down at the ground, her eyes tracing the outline of her tennis shoes. Take it easy, she advised herself. Try to find the words to tell Stephano that we can't accept the gingerbread house. Try to fight back your anger that Michael sent his father to make the offer to Stephano!

"Good morning, Kit!" Charlie, accompanied as always by Jake, rolled towards her on the sidewalk. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine, Charlie, thanks. But you know we can't accept the gingerbread house. No matter what Stephano says. He doesn't know the circumstances."

"What circumstances?" Stephano demanded, coming back to them.

"The house Charlie is going to donate doesn't actually belong to him. It belongs to Michael. And to me, I suppose. It's our old house over on Spring Street."

Stephano took all of it in with a grave frown on his dark face. "Let's walk up the street a little, Querida," he suggested, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We should talk."

"I'm not just being stubborn about this, Stephano," she tried to circumvent the argument she knew was going to come.

"This is a good piece of land, still on the bus route with a decent house on it. Correct so far?" he asked.

"So far," she agreed, folding her arms across her chest protectively. How had Charlie been able to get to the clinic so quickly after she'd talked with Michael?

"But this house has bad memories for you and you don't wish to accept a gift so large from your ex-husband?"

"That's right," she continued, glad that he understood after all.

"That's wrong," he corrected. "This is an opportunity we can't afford to pass up. Surely you can see that? And, if half the house is yours, I say that's even better! Take those memories by the throat, Kathryn! Tell them that you're back in this town now and doing important work. This is no time to let pride stand in our way!"

Kathryn knew that he was right and her fury mounted. How dare Michael once again try to control her life?! She'd said 'no' to his offer. That should have been the end of it. Instead, he went behind her back and made the offer to Stephano, through Charlie, knowing she'd be trapped into agreeing.

He was trying to control her life. Trying to keep all the bad away from her as he'd always done.

She looked from Stephano to the back of the van being loaded with equipment that would have to go into costly storage while their patients went without treatment because she wouldn't accept Michael's offer. That should have been the end of it but it wasn't going to be allowed to rest in peace. There was no reasonable alternative to offer Stephano. All of the other offers would have meant paying rent again on buildings that were as bad as the first clinic where she'd been lucky to escape with her life.

"All right." She sighed, closing her eyes on her anger and feelings of helplessness. "I can't say no."

"Good." Stephano kissed her forehead. "That's what I wanted to hear!"

They walked back to the front of the building where Charlie sat, unabashedly watching them. Stephano's kiss on her forehead and his possessive arm around her shoulders brought a frown to his face. He didn't like the look that passed between them when Kathryn told him that they would take the house after all. He was going to have to work a little faster to save his big, imbecilic son from losing the only woman who would be good for him.

"Now, I don't know if Dr. Alario here told you but the house has no power or running water yet. We'll be doing a full structural check on it then have the maintenance crew go in and give it a good clean. Everything should be ready in a few days."

Charlie looked slowly from Kathryn's shuttered face to Stephano's elated one.

"We can take care of the clean-up," Kathryn disagreed. "After all, you are giving us the property. Or rather, Michael is."

"And a wonderful tax deduction it is, too," Charlie responded very naturally as if it were any other business deal in the whole city. "Along with the clean-up. We'll take care of it."

"That's fine," Stephano replied for them both. "We'll stay --"

"Stay with me," Charlie offered. "Michael's gonna be out of town for a few days. I could use the company and you could use my car to get around and get yourself situated."

"No." Kathryn put a stop to that at once. "We can stay with Travis and Meg."

Meg smiled as she walked out with a folding examination table that was black with soot. "Much as I'd like that, I'm not even staying at the house right now, Kathryn. Travis and the kids and I had to move out to have some foundation work done. We're staying with my Mom in her little duplex."

"So, we're all set then?" Charlie all but chuckled over his victory.

Stephano hugged Kathryn's shoulders and gave her a pleading look. "All set. Thank you so much, Charlie. We appreciate your help and would be glad to see you at the clinic anytime."

How had she been maneuvered into everything? Kathryn wondered as she worked with everyone to move as much as they could into the van. Michael couldn't have known about Meg and Travis's house. Or could he?

"Who's doing the foundation repair on your house?" she questioned Meg casually when they'd stopped for a break.

Meg looked at her blankly. "Travis's brother. He needed the money and he had the equipment so he came down from Mt. Carson."

"Oh."

"Why?" Meg wondered, sipping lemonade from a cup given to her by a Salvation Army volunteer. The group had come to serve sandwiches and drinks to everyone who was helping move the clinic.

"I thought it might be Michael," Kathryn replied quietly.

"Michael?" She laughed. "Is he doing foundation work now?"

Kathryn grimaced at her friend's laughter, knowing it sounded absurd. Michael was an architect and a builder. Of course he wasn't repairing Meg's foundation.

"Okay. Laugh," she muttered. "But this whole thing has been a bit too convenient."

Meg rolled her pretty eyes skyward. "Oh? Like Michael saving your life last night? That was a little too convenient, if you ask me. He probably started the fire just to try and get on your good side."

Kathryn glared at her unappreciatively.

"Look, I know Michael and you have this thing together about him always trying to smooth the way for you and I know you hate it -- but cut him some slack! He saved your butt and he's giving you a place to start over."

Kathryn sighed, knowing that she was right but hating to have to accept his help. "I just don't want to know what he wants in return."

"You mean like he might try to take advantage of you?" Meg asked with laughter that threatened from her voice. "If he tries, you tell me and I'll sic Travis on him. The scoundrel!" She bit into a cheese sandwich, eyeing her friend warily.

Kathryn arched her back away from the brick wall where they sat on the sidewalk for the few minutes break. She was already stiff and sore from moving what was left of the clinic. "Okay, so I'm paranoid. I don't want Michael planning my life again. I don't want to feel like I owe him anything," she explained abruptly. "When he kisses me -- "

"When he kisses you? Not if?"

Kathryn gulped down her lemonade and got to her feet. "I better get back to work."

"When he kisses you...when has he kissed you?" Meg wondered curiously, following her. "Was it recently? 'Cause if it was -- "

"You know, I think I've already said too much," Kathryn snapped.

"No wonder you were so worried about him taking advantage."

Kathryn looked away and thanked the ladies from the Salvation Army for coming.

Meg was left to speculate on the becoming shade of red on her friend's face.

Charlie stayed all afternoon while they worked, chatting with the people who stopped by to help and drinking lemonade.

Kathryn cornered him as the second van left, filled with their equipment. "How did you get here and pitch everything to Stephano so quickly?" She interrogated him.

He smiled slowly, his blue eyes lighting up. "Why, darlin', it's the miracle of cellular communication!"

"You mean you were already on your way down here and Michael called you and told you what to do," she interpreted.

"Michael never tells me what to do, Kit. I just pretend to let him have an idea once in a while."

She shook her head. "I give up, Charlie. I guess you win this time."

"Not quite," he replied cheerfully. "When you and Michael are a couple again, then we'll talk terms of surrender."

She couldn't help it. She laughed. The sound was bright and free on the warm spring air. "Charlie, he wasn't making it up, was he? You really did get rid of those divorce papers again, didn't you?"

"I would never purposely destroy legal documents, Kit," he protested regally even as he smiled at her.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Your strange and unnatural lack of faith in the men of my family," he replied evenly while his eyes, so like Michael's, became more serious. "Kit -- "

Knowing the father and the son as she did, it was easy to guess what was coming. "I have to go, Charlie." She avoided the conversation. "The last van is here."

Charlie smiled and nodded. There wasn't going to be any place to run and hide for three days while the gingerbread house was being finished. It was possible for a lot to happen in three days.

As though she heard him, Kathryn turned back to him. "Michael really is going to be gone for the time we're staying with you, right, Charlie?"

"That's right," he lied, crossing his fingers behind his back. He apologized silently to his Loretta while he smiled and nodded his head.

Chapter 13

It was a long, back-breaking day loading and unloading the three vans that took everything from the burned out shell of the old clinic to the gingerbread house.

Stephano praised the luck that found them someplace to move without storage and very few days away from their practice while Kathryn frowned and muttered beneath her breath.

When they'd finished, it was nearly dark. Kathryn offered to take hospital rounds while Stephano moved their few personal possessions that had survived the fire to Charlie's house. Charlie offered to have Jake pick Kathryn up at the hospital afterwards and she had agreed quickly, surprising both herself and her benefactor.

She was exhausted but she'd taken one long, last look at the clinic. In the rapidly falling dusk, she shuddered, thinking about Michael carrying her down the stairs that were more burned than left whole. The upstairs part of the building, the room where she'd been sleeping, was totally destroyed. She would have been dead if he hadn't come for her. Was she simply so ungrateful and paranoid that she couldn't appreciate what he'd done and be thankful?

She was alive. Most of the equipment was intact. They would only have the clinic shut down for a few days. What more did she want? She was grateful beyond words. Like her mother, pride and determination were deeply ingrained in her spirit. It was part of who she was and what drove her. She could logically feel as though Ramone Alverro and her mother were wrong not to accept free medical treatment but if faced with the same situation, she wasn't sure what she would do.

She was stubborn sometimes. Mulishly so. She was opinionated. And once she had set a course, it was almost impossible for her to change it. It was pride, she recognized, that had thrown her out of Michael's office that morning and put her on the bus out of town before he'd had a chance to defend himself. She hadn't wanted to hear explanations or deal with recriminations. Had she been too hasty? Too angry? Too proud?

She found her feet moving towards the tiny red brick chapel and the quiet churchyard. The lights had begun to come on all over the small town and traffic moved lightly on the streets.

Standing beside Cetta's grave, she heard a bird sing in a nearby tree. The sounds of the night closed down around her. Somewhere in the darkness was the river that had brought the town's founders to settle there. Somewhere the evening shift was beginning at the knitting and spinning mills where most of the town worked. And somewhere a family was sitting down to dinner, talking about what the kids had learned at school that day, about the father's back hurting again and what the mother planned for an important presentation the next day at the office.

"I wish that could have been us, Cetta," she said, reaching down to run her fingers through the grass that grew on her daughter's grave. "I'm sorry it wasn't. I miss you."

She remembered sitting down with her own family when her father was still alive and she and her sister were still in school. They never had elaborate meals but they all talked and ate together. Afterwards, on warm summer evenings, her father played the guitar and they sat on the porch. The houses they rented were never air-conditioned and it was usually late before it was cool enough to go to bed. They hadn't had their first television until she was nearly twelve.

She missed those days. She missed the closeness her family had once shared. She had wanted to create that closeness with Michael and Cetta but it hadn't worked for them. They never had the problems with money that her parents had when she was growing up but their emotional turmoil was harder.

Michael and his father had never been close. When Loretta had died and his father had immersed himself in his work to ease his grief, Michael had learned to find his own amusements and gathered a large group of friends around him for support. The feelings of a closely-knit family had been strange for him. Kathryn had felt many times as though he really hadn't understood. Like his father, he was more likely to bury himself in projects and forget that he was supposed to be going on a family picnic.

He had tried, she recalled with a sad smile playing over her face. Meeting her for lunch. Coming to the hospital unexpectedly when she pulled a double shift. Their ill-fated midnight canoe trip.

She sighed and held her watch up to the streetlight, knowing she had to go to the hospital. As it was, they were probably wondering what had happened to her. Tomorrow, she would be faced with actually walking through the gingerbread house and setting up the clinic.

She had tried to avoid going any further than the doorway while they were moving the equipment that day but she hadn't been able to avoid looking inside. The kitchen walls were still pale lemon yellow, painted inexpertly by her hand. The light fixture that looked like hanging lemon drops, still hovered over the place where the table had been, near the wide window that overlooked the garden. Michael had driven fifty miles that day to find the man who made those light fixtures by hand. He'd stood on the table and put in the fixture while she'd made dinner.

But before they'd finished eating, they'd been under the draping white tablecloth, making love on a blanket on the kitchen floor. Michael had only looked at her as she'd picked up her fork and she had smiled recklessly, reading his mind.

"You know this table and tablecloth is a lot like one I saw in a movie where the heroine -- "

"That would be me," she'd guessed.

"Was pulled under," he'd continued speaking as he'd crawled under the tablecloth folds, "and seduced by an evil, but sexy architect who was only interested in her for her luscious, pregnant body."

He'd matched his words to his deeds, sliding his hands up her thighs until he'd reached her waist then pulling her under the table with him.

She'd laughed out loud with pure joy, shrieking when he'd tickled her, coming to rest on top of him under the table. "And when did the evil yet seductive architect put a blanket under the table?" she wondered, leaning over him.

He combed his hands through her hair slowly, his eyes making love to her before his body. "When he realized that he probably couldn't resist the doctor's luscious pregnant body." He'd kissed her then, ravishing her mouth and her senses, his long fingers trapped in the curls of her hair.

Kathryn drew in a deep, steadying breath and strained to look at her watch again. It was as though all the ghosts from her past were demanding to be laid to rest at one time. She hoped she had the strength to accommodate them.

"I really have to go," she said reluctantly. "It's getting late. I love you, Cetta. I'll be back when I can."

She caught the last bus to the hospital. A small, tired group of late night travelers didn't even glance up when she got on at the Seventh street stop. The hospital parking lot was a show of flashing blue and red lights. There were three squad cars in the drive and two ambulances parked at the emergency room doors. A church bus had driven off the road when its driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. Twenty-four people, mostly children, had been injured.

She was whisked into surgery to assist the two doctors on staff with the six accident victims who needed immediate care. Afterwards, the nurses handed her a clipboard and pleaded with her to walk through a few of the patients who hadn't been hurt as seriously but still needed stitches and a few broken bones sent up to x-ray.

It was after midnight before she had the chance to look at her own patient's progress. She woke up the few she had to speak with personally. The rest, she checked their charts and gave their nurses instructions for the following day. Or rather, that day, she considered, glancing at her watch and finding that the new day had already arrived.

The hospital seemed strangely quiet after the rush of church bus victims. The nurses were at their stations, exhausted as well by the ordeal but glad that it was over.

"Heading home, Dr. Richards?" the head nurse for the emergency room asked her.

Kathryn yawned. "I think so. I'm too tired to really know right now."

"How's the clinic coming along?"

"We're going to be up and running in three days," Kathryn told her with a smile. "If everything works out."

The nurse, Patsy, smiled and fished around in the pocket of her dark green jacket nervously. "I have something for you. It isn't much, but we took up a collection for the clinic when we heard about the fire."

"Patsy, you didn't!"

"It's from all of us. They started this morning." The nurse shrugged her thin shoulders. "We want you to have it, Dr. Richards. Do some good stuff with it, huh?"

Kathryn looked at the plastic bag full of change and bills and felt her eyes mist over. "Thanks, Patsy. Tell everybody I'll try to keep them busy with this money."

"We know you will, Doctor. Have a good night, now."

"Thanks. You, too. Maybe the rest of the night will be quiet."

Kathryn put the money into her bag, touched more than she could express by the generous outpouring from the staff at the hospital. She knew Stephano would be amazed and delighted as well.

Once she got out in the parking lot, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Surely Jake hadn't waited there that long for her. She started to go back into the hospital and beg a room for the night when she saw Michael's pick up parked in the first row out from the walkway.

She walked slowly through the shadows on the dark ground until she'd reached the truck. Michael was asleep at the wheel, his bandaged hands resting in his lap, his tousled blond head thrown back against the seat. She studied his features carefully through the glass, wincing when she came to the cut on his head. There were dark circles under his eyes and a tired line to his mouth.

He shouldn't have been out, much less driving around, sleeping in parking lots, she thought. She wanted to touch his sleeping face and tried to find some defense that could be shored up against the overwhelming feelings she still had for him. Why had he waited for her? Why did he want to give her the gingerbread house to continue her work? Why did he care?

Softly, she rapped at the window and saw his amazing blue eyes fly open, unfocused at first, then catching sight of her through the window.

"I fell asleep," he stated the obvious, rubbing a hand over his face where a pale growth of beard had started on his chin and cheeks. "It's been a long day."

"I thought you were out of town," she returned briskly, going around to the passenger side when he had opened the door.

He grimaced, re-settling his seatbelt around him. "There's no point in not telling you. Charlie is a terrible liar. He'd do or say anything to get us back together. Surely you've noticed?"

She nodded, closing the door behind her. "I had noticed. Stephano was just so eager."

"It doesn't matter," he hastened to reassure her. "You're welcome to stay in the house while they work on the gingerbr -- the new clinic," he corrected. "I'm not home very much anyway. When I am, I'll stay in the guesthouse." He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Kathryn leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes against the bright streetlights that flew by them.

"I know you're furious with me, Kit," he started, glancing at her still profile.

"I'm too tired to be more than mildly annoyed right now," she informed him dully. "Tomorrow, I'll be furious."

He smiled grimly. "All right. But it won't make any difference. You needed the house. It was sitting there, rotting. Why does that have to raise that pride of yours over the moon?"

"You wouldn't understand."

He stopped the truck abruptly and turned to her.

She blinked her eyes, startled, and sat up straight.

"So explain to me. Please. Tell me how my helping you get started again is any different than Charlie giving you that check."

"Because Charlie doesn't try to manipulate me!" she raged back at him. "Because he didn't go behind my back and hit where he knew I was vulnerable!"

"No, he just invented a heart attack and got his friend to bring you to the house. At least I was honest about what I wanted to do!"

Kathryn stared at him, her tiredness forgotten in the heat they generated between them. "When I told you thanks but no thanks, that should have been the end of it. But that's the way you've always been with me. I'd set my clock to get up at four to study and you'd reset it because you thought I needed more sleep. You didn't think my car was safe enough or that I should work on the wrong side of town! You can't protect me, Michael! You can't make everything work out like the fairy tales for me!"

"Was there something wrong with loving you enough to care what happened to you? Would it have been better to be indifferent?"

"Indifferent, no," she yelled, then checked herself. "No. That wasn't the problem. But you should have let me make my own mistakes. You weren't my father. You were supposed to be my husband, my partner."

"So I was smothering and overprotective." He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked away from her. "But why did that mean you were willing to believe the worst about me? Why were you willing to believe Carrie?"

Kathryn laughed out loud. Not a pleasant, happy sound. "Have you forgotten I was standing there and looking at the two of you? You were a mess and she had her clothes off! What was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to rip us both apart and demand to know what was going on! You were supposed to give me the benefit of the doubt. I never gave you a reason to think I would do anything with another woman."

"Except that they were always looking at you," she reminded him sullenly. "Except that Carrie was your neighbor when you were growing up and she fit in with all your friends."

Michael turned his head and waited but Kathryn looked away, realizing what she'd said to him.

"Was that it?" he wondered. "Because you never believed you fit in with my friends?"

"Never mind," she answered angrily. "Let's just go, huh?"

Michael shook his head. "That was it, wasn't it? It was easier for you to believe that I would want a woman like Carrie, more than I would want you! That was always it. You were always amazed that I wanted to be with you. Always suggesting that I should be with my friends instead of you."

"Michael, I don't want to rehash this."

"This is as good a time as any." He shrugged. "And we need to talk."

Without another word, Kathryn pushed her door open and jumped down from the truck, starting to trudge back towards the hospital.

"Where the hell are you going?" he demanded.

"I'm staying at the hospital while the clinic is finished," she answered, not stopping. "I don't want -- "

"Too bad!" he said, swinging her up into his arms with heart stopping speed.

"Put me down!"

"Don't wiggle," he ordered calmly. "You'll hurt my hands."

"I don't care, Michael! Put me down," she responded. But she stopped squirming.

He deposited her back into the truck and closed the door with a loud slam in the quiet night air.

She put her hand on the door handle. He dared her to do it again with his eyes.

"If you run, I can run faster. I won't let you walk away from me again, Kit."

She sat in the seat, angry and embarrassed by her words, holding herself rigidly tight against the door.

He slammed into the truck beside her and restarted the engine. "I know this isn't the right time, Kathryn. We're both exhausted and we've been through a lot but I'm tired of seeing that accusation in your eyes when you look at me. Carrie heard me on the phone that day and knew you were coming. She took her clothes off and jumped on me just as you walked into the office. She knew we were having problems after Cetta's death and she wanted to cause trouble."

"It doesn't matter anymore, Michael," she assured him, trying to still her racing heart. Trying to sound calm and impassive. "Our relationship is over. What happened that day isn't important."

He didn't reply, following the dark road out of town to the lighted driveway that circled around his home.

"Didn't it ever occur to you, Kit, back when it did matter, that if I had wanted Carrie I could have had her years before I met you? We were never more than friends. Wishing it doesn't make it that way."

"Michael -- "

"I loved you. I loved Cetta. When you left me after she died, I wanted to die, too. I didn't come after you at first because I thought you'd think it over and come back. One morning I realized that you weren't coming back. That maybe you hadn't ever loved me enough to fight for our marriage. That maybe all I'd ever been to you was a meal ticket through medical school."

"NO!" She ground out. "Your father's money didn't mean anything to me!"

"No?" he demanded hotly.

"I would never -- "

"I guess proving that to me after all these years would be as hard as me proving what happened that day between me and Carrie was her problem, not mine." He got out of the truck and Kathryn followed in close pursuit. How could he believe that she would allow herself...he was saying that she was little better than a prostitute!

"Your money didn't make any difference," she yelled after him. "I already had my scholarship! I loved you! I wanted to be with you!"

He stopped abruptly and stalked back at her, making her walk quickly backward, away from the angry light in his eyes. "You loved me?" He laughed harshly. "Yet you never trusted me or believed in me! You wanted to be with me but you were always pushing me away!"

"That's not true!" she negated passionately, pulling at his arm when he started to walk away from her again.

"Prove it!" He spun around quickly to face her again.

She looked up at him. His face was shadowed by the lights in the yard. Her bravado vanished and she bit her lip. "I can't," she whispered, her eyes falling from his.

"Damn it, Kit," he growled. He caught her in his arms and pulled her roughly against him.

"Don't!" she spoke but it was too late. As her mouth formed the word, his mouth closed over hers.

Anger fueled his embrace. His kisses were hot and demanding. There was nothing gentle or eloquent in his touch. He demanded and she gave, only because she had no choice. Only because she was devastated by his words and his actions.

"Why the hell did you come back?" he asked quietly as his teeth touched her neck and her ear.

"I wanted -- I wanted -- "

"What? To torment me? To ruin my life again?" he groaned, feeling his body tighten painfully with desire for her.

She felt the hard length of him against her and caught her breath, shuddering with need. To feel him aroused and inside of her became an unbearable ache in her mind. "No," she denied, welcoming his tongue in her mouth. She moaned as his hands turned her legs to rubber and swayed against him.

"But there's always this, isn't there?" he said roughly. "No matter what else there isn't between us, even you can't deny this."

"Yes," she responded, then shook her head. "No."

"Come with me," he urged, kissing her. He pulled her into the curve of his hips where she fit snugly against him. He left her no doubt that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. "We can go down to the guesthouse."

Her mind was hot with the fire he fanned within her. She wanted nothing more than to rip off both their clothes and fall into a bed beside him. To feel his mouth on all those secret places of her body.

He lifted her in his arms again and kissed her slowly, deeply, when she would have refused. She wound her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair. She was tired of fighting, tired of thinking. She had been alone for so long.

He didn't take her to the guesthouse. He stopped at the little gazebo that was drenched in moonlight. The door opened easily. It was only a moment before they were on the thick cushions that lined the windows.

"Michael?" she whispered, putting her hands to the sides of his face.

In the moonlight he was an ivory god whose touch made her gasp. He looked at her, his blues eyes on fire but he didn't speak. He kissed her. His mouth was warm and persuasive. She forgot what she had been about to ask him. She forgot everything but his hands sliding down her body.

Her hands caressed his chest. His shirt slid away at her touch. His hand arched her back and supported her as he lifted her from the cushion to draw her closer. She caught her breath when he lifted his mouth then returned to tease her aching lips.

Kathryn groaned then kissed his chest, his throat, his face. She wanted him closer. Her hands stroked the taut muscles in his back and arms as she kissed him. Their tongues entwined and she urged him deeper, faster. She was starving for what he could give her.

Michael moaned and moved his body rhythmically against hers. The thrust of his body nearly drove her over the edge. Kathryn pulled at him, eager for release.

Michael looked at her, her body gilded by the moonlight. An unexpected rumble of thunder swelled around them. The window-panes of the little gazebo rattled around them. It was enough to bring Kathryn to her senses.

"No, Michael," she answered, pushing aside her desire. If he thought of her as a woman who was out to get what she could from him, what would he think after they had slept together again?

"Kit," he whispered, quietly, silkily, his lips touching her ear and making her shiver. "Let's go the guesthouse."

"No," she replied with more resolution. She drew her arms across her chest protectively. "Don't you see? This doesn't prove anything. We were always good at having sex. But we didn't know how to have a relationship. Then or now. This isn't enough."

"You're right, Kit," he relented, moving away from her. He looked into her face, still gleaming in the moonlight, despite the advance of the storm. "In some ways. But you're dead wrong in one other."

She sat up and gazed into his eyes wearily, tired of fighting with him and herself. "What's that?"

"In the past five years, how many other men have held you in their arms and made you think seriously about giving in to your feelings for them? Despite the anger, despite everything. Does your Dr. Alario make you forget where you are when he touches you? Has anyone made you ache with just a glance?"

She stared at him silently. "Let me go, Michael. I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

"So do I," he replied. "With you."

The thunder rumbled again as the storm moved closer.

She wrapped her shirt closed and adjusted her skirt as she got to her feet. "I won't do this to myself."

"It's all part of the same thing, Kit. Whether we like it or not. No one but you has ever made me feel that way. Is it any different for you?"

She opened up the door, refusing to give in to her body's demand that she run back into his arms and let him take her to the guesthouse for the night. "No, Michael," she whispered as she walked out of the gazebo. "It's not any different for me."

The rain started falling before she could reach the big house. She resolutely kept herself from looking back, afraid that she would give herself away if she looked at him. She wanted him. The groundswell of thunder outside was nothing compared to the hunger inside of her.

Charlie chuckled to himself as he heard the door close downstairs. He watched Michael's dark figure take the path through the yard to the guesthouse. Things weren't perfect, he considered, turning his wheelchair away from the upper story window -- but they were progressing nicely.

Chapter 14

Kathryn slept late the following morning despite her best intentions to be up and out before there was a chance of seeing Michael. He might sleep in the guesthouse but he probably ate his meals with his father in the main house.

Not that she could avoid him. That evening there was the boat race on the river, followed by dinner and dancing on the paddlewheel boat Gypsy Queen. She wasn't ready to give up on her obligations to the charity. She'd come that far. It was only another few days. Just a handful of events. She would manage.

It had become increasingly more difficult being around him. She hadn't planned on that possibility. She couldn't ignore him and she couldn't avoid him. The only ready solution seemed to be gritting her teeth and getting through it. A lot like a root canal, she considered, getting slowly out of bed. Although she had to admit, her surroundings that moment made the process a little less painful.

The apricot shaded bedroom Jake had brought her to the night before made her feel as though she were wallowing in luxury. Soft white carpet underfoot, pale apricot walls enhanced by deeper satin apricot drapes and comforter on the bed. There were a few spring green touches in the throw pillows and other accessories. Delicately done. Nothing ostentatious.

Just like Michael's housing designs, she realized thoughtfully. Just like Michael himself. He probably supervised every aspect of the colors and materials that went into the house. It was what he had done with the gingerbread house. It was part of his nature to want to know what was going on and how he was going to affect it.

Part and parcel of what made so much trouble between them. How was it possible to explain that to him? She wasn't a color scheme or some furniture to be moved one way or another. She couldn't be a perfect design that he could enhance with wainscoting or oak trim.

Not that she needed to worry about that, she told herself as she sat to inside the window seat. She was going to call her lawyer that day with Michael's business address so that the divorce papers could be delivered and signed without any further problem.

And she wasn't going to worry about the words that he had said to her last night.

It was ludicrous to think that she would have used him for financial support to finish medical school or to start her career as a doctor. She would have worked picking up garbage first. She had more pride. And the idea that she had been jealous of his friends and that she had never believed that he was really in love with her was equally as crazy.

Thankfully, she sighed, looking out over the fields of that grew behind the house, she didn't have to consider any of that. She and Michael were finished. Their marriage was over a long time ago. It was just a matter of filing the papers.

Still, his angry words irritated and annoyed her. Not any more so than her own physical response to Michael himself. Something twisted inside of her when she thought about that long moment last night when she was seriously thinking of going with him to the guesthouse.

Or rather, that decided lack of thought that occurred to her when he touched her. His kisses and the feel of his body against hers shut down her thought processes and drugged her senses. And he was right. It had always been that way for her when she was with him. It was frightening to think that he had that effect on her.

It was equally frightening to think that he was the only one. She hadn't dated extensively in the past few years but the men she'd been with had never made her feel that way. What was it about Michael?

Whatever it was, a tiny voice jeered from her brain, it must have affected Carrie the same way. Both of you were willing to crawl all over him.

She shivered and got up from the window seat to nervously prowl the room. Quietly, she slipped into the clean hospital scrubs she'd brought home the night before when she realized that she had lost all of her clothes. It was ironic, she considered, leaving her room cautiously. Her clothes from the gingerbread house had been in storage here for five years. She had only had them back a few days and now they were all gone again. The fire had taken everything but what she'd been wearing. She'd worn hospital scrubs home last night and she guessed that she'd be wearing them for a while. Money, and time for extensive shopping even if she'd had money, were not easily acquired commodities for her.

The house was silent and appeared to be deserted. Sunlight poured through the tall windows above the door as she came down the curved stairway. A tabby cat walked by across the white tile floor in the foyer, ignoring her.

Apparently, she'd been apprehensive about meeting Michael for nothing. If he'd been there, he'd gone earlier. She hoped that he remembered to have his bandages changed that day. His doctor had told her that the burns weren't bad, mostly superficial. Still...

She shook her head. The tile was cool on her bare feet as she walked to a shiny glass table near the front door. She wasn't his mother or even his doctor. He could take care of himself.

Stephano had left a note on the table that he would come back at lunch for her and that she shouldn't worry about anything. He'd gone to the clinic to measure and look around.

Charlie had left a similar note that he would return around lunch-time and that she should make herself at home. There was nothing from Michael, she noticed. Not that she had expected anything.

Finding herself with some time on her hands, she wandered through the foyer into the small sunroom she'd seen before and found some coffee, still warm, on a side table. She poured herself a cup and Marcello appeared, asking if she wanted something to eat.

"No thanks," she answered with a smile. "Coffee's fine."

He shrugged and left her alone in the sun, curled up in a white wicker chair.

Outside the open French doors, the sprinkler system was working, creating tiny drops that sparkled like diamonds on the lawn and the flowers it touched. She could almost feel guilty knowing that Stephano was starting to set up the clinic. Except that he was the organizer of the two of them. Everything had to be just so for him. Every instrument in its appropriate place, every piece of sterile gauze counted and wrapped.

It was probably a joy for him to get started without her, she mused, recalling how they'd stepped on each other's toes when they'd set up the first clinic. Let him organize, she told herself, stretching again. She could always put her things where she wanted them.

In that respect, he was like Michael, she supposed. He was always trying to have her organize and stay ordered. Once she'd even found him checking her appointment book and frowning. "How can you erase and leave these marks behind?" he wondered.

"That's why I write in pencil," she'd told him brightly. "I know what it says."

She sighed and sipped at her coffee. She was doomed to be surrounded by men who thought they could plan her life for her. It just annoyed her more when Michael did it.

A tiny bird flew down and lighted on a branch, dipping his head in reach of the water that was flying across the garden. She watched him in fascination, feeling rested and relaxed for the first time in months. She didn't notice when her eyelids started drooping and her head fell back against the back of the chair.

The coffee cup was starting to slip from her fingers towards the floor when Michael walked into the sunroom. Her dark hair was loose, curling around her pale face like a silky cloud. Her feet were slim and bare resting on the edge of the chair. He reached down quietly and took the cup from her limp fingers then waited. She didn't move. He set the cup on the table and was going to leave her there in the sun. But he couldn't.

Fascinated, he sat down in a chair and stared at her.

Why didn't he hate her? Why couldn't he put her out of his heart once and for all? He knew she was strong and capable. He'd seen her save lives. Yet when he looked at her, he saw the fragile lines of her face and too slender body. She didn't care if she put herself in danger to accomplish her goals. She didn't mind doing the dirty work that no one else would do. Recalling her words from the night before, he wondered if his mother's death had affected his treatment of his wife. He had wanted to protect her. God help him, he still wanted to be part of her life.

He remembered his mother being a tiny, fragile woman who had always looked as though a strong gust of wind would carry her away. She'd died without much of a fight, smiling at him and telling him to be a good boy for his daddy.

How much of trying to protect Kathryn was wound up in the loss of his mother? He hadn't want to lose Kit the same way. And yet, he had lost her. Maybe she hadn't died but she had stopped loving him. His accusations that she'd wanted him for his money had just been hot air and a need to strike back at the accusations she'd thrown at his head. He'd felt the fierce fire of her love and her passion for him when they'd first married.

Had he smothered that fire in her? Had he lost her because he couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her?

She stirred in her sleep, her full lips twitching a little. She smiled and sighed, relaxing again in the chair.

What was she dreaming about? He wondered, watching her silently. He knew that she dreamed about Cetta. Did she ever dream about him?

Kathryn awakened with a start when her leg slid down and touched the cool tile floor. Her eyes flew open and she looked around herself. The sunroom was empty and she was alone. Even the little bird that had been in the garden had left when the sprinkler had stopped. Her coffee cup was on the table. She had apparently put it there before she fell asleep, thank goodness, or it would have made a big mess on the floor.

She had been dreaming about Michael. They had been together, sitting on the grass with a picnic basket spread out in the sun. A baby, this one as fair as Cetta had been dark, slept between them.

She glanced at her watch and jumped up, putting the dream behind her. It was nearly ten AM. She could only wallow in luxury for so long. There was time for a shower before everyone returned and she had to face the new clinic for the first time.

She looked at the big, pale pink tub in the bathroom with a wary eye. After six months of half cold showers, that shiny tile and adequate supply of warm water beckoned to her. It was like a big box of chocolate, she determined, trying to stare it down. Eat one and the rest would disappear soon after. Sometimes, she had so little self-control. The tub won in the end. Its deep sides and lazy intent were too much for her to resist. She took off her scrubs, starting the hot water sluicing down. Humming, she fingered the soft, fluffy pink towels that lined the walls then inspected the supply of bath salts and bubble bath that filled the shelves.

With the scent of flowers permeating the steamy air, she sank down into the warm water already up to her chest and relaxed with a sigh. Let Stephano set the clinic up however he wanted it, she decided. She had hot water and a big tub and she was going to make the most of it.

She frowned when she thought again about the race and dinner cruise scheduled for the charity that night. Being with Michael wasn't her only problem. After her bath, she supposed that she'd better give Meg a call. She was going to be back to wearing shoes that were a little too small again.

The water was cooling and she was trying to force her stubbornly lazy body out of the tub when there was a knock on her bedroom door. "Kathryn? Kit?"

"Charlie?" she called from the bathtub, grabbing a pink towel. "Is that you?"

"I'm only here for a minute. Just dropping a few things off," he replied easily.

"A few things?" Kathryn wondered. "Like what?"

"Just a few things I knew you'd be missing," he continued breezily. "I'll be going again now."

Kathryn knew something was wrong. She climbed out of the tub, drying herself a little, then wrapping in the towel as she walked into the bedroom. Her suspicions had been correct. The bed and the floor were littered with packages.

"Charlie, I can't take these things!"

"I'll be back later and we can talk," he said with a brief wave as he sailed out of her door.

"Take these with you," she demanded, seeing that the bags and boxes were clothes from expensive women's dress shops in town. "Charlie -- "

He was already in the hall and Kathryn steamed out after him, clutching her towel to her chest, soap bubbles on her shoulders and clustered in the dark curls of her hair. "Charlie, I don't need any clothes! I'm fine. I -- "

She stopped short as Charlie paused at the elevator door and Michael and Stephano came to the head of the stairs together.

Stephano looked at the soap bubbles on her feet and laughed.

Michael glanced at her darkly then excused himself.

Stephano watched his new mentor descend the stairs then turned back to his partner. "Better take the clothes, Kathryn. People tend not to trust doctors in towels."

Charlie laughed. "I think he has a point, Kit. Besides, it's a tax deduction. And I -- "

"Never mind!" She returned to her bedroom and closed the door with unnecessary force.

Stephano looked at Charlie and shrugged.

"Lunch is ready," Marcello called from downstairs.

"Let's eat," Charlie said with a laugh. "Plotting makes me so hungry."

"Can anyone join in?" Stephano asked, helping him into the elevator.

Charlie's brows furrowed as he searched the other man's face. "So long as he's plotting the same thing, Dr. Alario."

Stephano laughed. "Then let's thicken our plots together, Mr. Helms."

The three men were already at the table when Kathryn came back down the long stairs. She wore her green scrubs defiantly. Her hair was wet and twisted back from her face and her feet were bare.

There was a look of calm determination on that clean, beautiful face that Michael recognized at once. He pitied Charlie even while he was glad it wasn't him.

"How much?" She asked, taking a chair at one end of the table.

"How much?" Charlie asked, glancing about him at the two other men for clarification. Or at least some sign of assistance.

"How much were the clothes?" She opened up her checkbook. "I appreciate you shopping for me, Charlie. I don't have time to do it myself. Although how you knew my size -- "

Charlie looked directly at Michael who looked away and cleared his throat, helping himself to a generous portion of Marcello's crusty bread.

"All right," she continued, refusing to be sidetracked. "If you won't let me pay, Charlie, I can't take the clothes."

"The clinic is paying for them," Stephano said suddenly.

"What?" she demanded.

Charlie drew a deep breath but Stephano held up one hand.

"There was insurance, you know. We won't be able to collect for a short while but we had the money that's been donated recently and we both need clothes, Querida. You have to finish the charity-uh-thing and we have to keep going."

"Stephano," she began, wondering when he had jumped on Charlie's side.

"It only makes sense, doesn't it?" Stephano asked, looking at both of his companions for assistance.

Michael eyed him speculatively but Charlie laughed and agreed that it did indeed make perfect sense. "Can't go around naked. Or in towels," Charlie said, picking up a piece of cheese.

"No," Stephano agreed. "Or in your pretty underwear, as you were the night of the fire. You recall, eh, Miguel?"

Michael and Kathryn both stared at him.

"What are you saying?" she asked him quietly.

"Nothing. Nothing," he recanted, popping an olive into his mouth. "Better eat. We have a lot to do at the clinic."

Michael continued to look at Stephano, who smiled and applied himself to the food on his plate.

"So, that's settled then," Charlie stated the obvious. "Tonight's the race, right, Michael?"

"That's right." Michael turned his attention away from the doctor, wondering despite himself just how often he'd been looking at Kathryn's pretty underwear.

"So, you'll be going together?"

Kathryn glanced up at Michael. Their gazes clashed and warred for an instant but there could be no easy victory. Both had to look away.

"I'm leaving from the clinic," she said quickly. "I'll meet you at the docks."

"That's fine," he replied, without argument. "I'm going to Winston-Salem this afternoon for that shipment of marble."

Charlie frowned. "That could take a while, son. Why don't you let someone else do it?"

"It'll be fine, " Michael predicted. "I'll be back in plenty of time."

"Will you be able to drive tonight?" Kathryn asked. "I mean, racing those boats is different than driving a car one-handed."

"I can manage," he told her gruffly. "I'll meet you at the docks."

Lunch was finished in relative silence. Michael left soon after for his shipment of marble and Charlie told them he was going up to his room.

"Shopping is exhausting," he said with a laugh.

Kathryn had the grace to look ashamed. "I appreciate what you were trying to do, Charlie. I just wish you would've asked me first."

Her father-in-law looked at her intently. "And what would you have said, darlin'? Sure? Go ahead? Take care of it for me, Charlie?"

Kathryn bit her lip. "You know -- "

"I know you would have borrowed that woman's clothes again that didn't fit you right. And that just wouldn't do, Kit," he disagreed fiercely. "You and Michael aren't divorced yet. You're still my daughter-in-law. The only one I'm likely to have. I won't see you humbled by something I can help."

Kathryn felt tears well in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She hugged him, kissing his cheek quickly. "I guess I get carried away sometimes."

"Not often enough, Kit," he muttered, setting his wheel chair in motion. "I don't know what's wrong with that boy."

"Charlie," she cautioned.

He waved her away and turned around the corner of the sunroom.

"Well," Stephano cleared his throat. "Are you ready to go and see our new home?"

Charlie was allowing Stephano to borrow his car while they were working on the clinic. He confided to Kathryn that he thought the old man might sell it to them.

"Cheap," he assured her with a grin and a wink.

"After we pay for those clothes," she muttered. "It would have to be after that."

Stephano glanced at her. "You are too hard, Querida. You have to learn to bend a little. It's good for the blood pressure." He went on to tell her about his morning and how wonderful it was to be at the new clinic. "There's definite hot and cold running water," he expressed joyfully. "And all of the outlets work without smoking."

Kathryn was dreading every passing minute, wishing the trip would take longer or that she could think of some reason to put it off. She knew it wasn't going to be easy to go back into the house. She just hadn't realized how hard it was going to be to push herself in through that door. She listened with half an ear as Stephano went on and on about what good shape the building was in and how wonderful it was all going to work out for them.

"There's even a room upstairs we can use for a game room. You know, television and maybe ping-pong."

Ping-pong was an ardent favorite of Stephano's and one he had longed for more than hot water at the old clinic. "Charlie's offered to show me how to build one," he continued, swinging the car into the driveway at the house.

Kathryn frowned. "I think that's Michael's truck."

"I think you're right," Stephano agreed. "I hope there's not a problem."

They parked to one side of the pick up, Stephano pointing out how they had already expanded the size of the driveway to accommodate parking.

Kathryn saw how they had pushed the garden back, making the area smaller to create the new driveway. Some of the azaleas were gone but a few hardy bushes were still edging the side of the house. There would be roses at the front walk come summer, she realized, stopping abruptly as she walked beside Stephano towards the side door. She couldn't go inside the house.

"Is something wrong?" Stephano asked, walking back to where she stood on the cobbled sidewalk.

"I-uh-left something in the car," she lied. "Go in and see what Michael wants. I'll be right in."

Stephano gazed at her curiously but nodded in understanding, knowing she would have to handle it in her own way. "I'll be inside, Querida."

Kathryn smiled gratefully and walked back to the car, toying with her sunglasses. Her mind was racing as she tried to find some logical way to penetrate that terrible force field that held her back from the house. What was she going to do? She couldn't stand out in the driveway all day. She looked up at the turret in the front of the house, seeing the sun glinting off the shiny windows. Remembering how the leaded panes had created rainbows on the floor inside.

Slowly, one foot at a time, she made herself walk to the side door. She could do it, she told herself. She could do it because there were good memories in that house as well. There had been magic and rainbows there long before there had been darkness and unhappiness. The yellow kitchen was packed full of boxes and crates. Someone had removed the lemon drop light fixture and installed a flourescent fixture to take its place.

She didn't see Stephano as she walked from the kitchen through the dining room and out into the foyer. There was equipment everywhere, as well as the beginnings of order with arrows and markings on boxes indicating where they belonged in the house.

She reached the stairway, looking up its curved balustrade towards the upper story. Putting her hand on its silky smooth surface, she followed it up, assailed by memories that reached for her feet and tore at her thoughts.

Michael was in Cetta's room at the top of the stairs. He stood looking out of the window at the street below.

"Michael?"

He turned and faced her, smiling slightly. Sadly. "You remember why we made this room the nursery?"

She nodded. "Because it got the first light in the morning."

"Because I told you that I used to sit up and look for the first light when I was a kid. That's how I knew that I was safe."

Kathryn wrapped her arms across her chest. "I remember."

The strength of those memories pushed them into a long, uncomfortable silence.

Their gazes were locked hungrily on each other. Michael shook his head to clear his thoughts, tearing his eyes from her. "I brought the papers over for the house. You have to sign them since we're both on the deed."

"Okay," she said thickly. She watched him bring the papers out of a briefcase with his good hand. "Have you had that bandage changed today?"

He blinked furiously then looked at her again. "Uh, the bandage? No. No, I forgot."

"Let me take a look at it," she offered. "We should have everything downstairs."

"That's okay," he refused. "I'll take care of it later."

"Michael," she argued. "I know you won't. Come downstairs. Let me change the bandage. You saved my life, for God's sake. I think I can change your bandage."

"Kathryn -- "

"Michael -- "

They faced each other, blue eyes warring with black. She reached for his bandaged hand. "Don't make me hurt you," she warned, her lips turning up into a smile despite herself.

He smiled slightly as his gaze swept her face and his body reacted to her nearness. "You think you're tough," he chuckled.

"Tougher than you," she replied flatly.

"Not so tough," he whispered, the fingers of his good hand touching her face. "You almost didn't make it into the house."

Her head shot up. "You were watching me?"

He nodded mutely.

"You came here for moral support, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted dryly. "I haven't been in the house since you left. I needed someone else to be here."

She laughed and blinked at the tears in her eyes. "Come on. Let me take a look at your hand. Neither one of us is so tough anymore, Michael. We've both gone soft at the edges." She led the way back downstairs, not looking at the document he'd brought with him. She tried not to think about the past as she searched for gauze and a clear place to work.

Finally, they settled for a box top that she draped with a sterile sheet. She held his hand in her own as she used scissors to cut the bandage.

"Have you had any pain?" she asked, trying to keep her professional manner with him despite the fact that his hand was warm and comforting in hers.

"No -- its been fine," he remarked, watching her. He wondered if she felt the heat building between them.

"It looks pretty good," she confirmed, getting the last of the wrap off of it. "We can probably use less bandage to give you a little more freedom of motion if you can promise to be careful."

"You mean no boat racing?" he questioned innocently.

"Only if you're careful," she told him. "Maybe someone could help you. A partner or someone."

"Someone," he murmured in agreement.

She had him hold the gauze and she cut it quickly, putting antibacterial cream on his hand then re-bandaging it so that his fingers were free.

He was quiet while she worked. He listened to the soothing sound of her voice, felt the warmth from her touch, smelled the heady scent of her perfume.

"We should probably go ahead and take a look at those stitches since you're here," she said when she'd finished.

"Okay," he said quiescently, content to stay there all day with her.

"We'll have to find someplace...there." She pointed to a chair. "You'll have to sit down so I can reach you."

He complied, closing his eyes against the devastating softness of her touch as she took off the bandage on his head. Her side brushed his shoulder as she moved and he glanced up to see if she'd noticed, smiling when he saw her bite her lip.

Kathryn pushed back the silky fall of his blond hair so that she could see the stitches after she removed the bandage. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate the nearer she got to him, despite telling herself that he was her patient. She didn't have sexual feelings towards her patients, she reminded herself.

She looked at the wound. She was standing so close beside him that she could feel his breath on her arm. Tiny hairs tingled and rose at the faint sensation.

"How does it look?" he asked finally.

She slid her hand to the opposite side of his head, awareness rasping across her nerves. "Uh, pretty good," she answered quickly, wishing Stephano would come in and take over. It was impossible to concentrate with him that close. "Probably should take off the bandage tomorrow. Let it have some air for a day before the stitches come out."

She had no choice but to steady his head with her hand so that she could look closely at the wound, she reasoned. Without thinking, she trailed her hand down the side of his cheek as she moved.

"Kit," he groaned, touching her wrist with his lips.

"Michael," she whispered weakly. "Please."

His mouth feathered light caresses down her forearm until they were face to face, their mouths almost touching. So close she could hear his breath.

It would have only taken a turn of her head to move away but she couldn't do it. Instead she let him fold her into his arms, gently pulling her down on his lap. He took her mouth with his as though he had forever to kiss her. As though her kiss was the only thing he had ever wanted.

She wound her arms around his neck and devoured his mouth with her own, not sure she could ever get enough of him. Desire was a deep, thick sweetness that refused to let her think about consequences or any problem other than getting closer to him.

She gasped when his hand found her taut breast at the same moment that his clever tongue invaded her questing mouth.

"Mike? You in here? I need you down at the Meyers' site." The workman burst into the room. "I-uh. Sorry."

Michael left her gasping when he put her from him and stood up from the chair. "I'll leave this with you, Kit," he said in a strained voice that told of his own fight to gain strength. "I have to go."

Aching, and not able to find the words to call him back, she watched him go.

Chapter 15

Kathryn had exhausted herself unpacking crates and setting up her office. It had helped to keep her from remembering as she worked in the gingerbread house. The clinic, she corrected herself, knowing she would have to put the name and the memories behind her. She and Stephano had made good progress while the electricians worked to change the lighting and install some larger capacity electrical outlets.

Most of the crates were empty and her office was starting to look like an office. Stephano's office was already set up in his own particular way. She had chased him out of her own when she'd started.

"I only want to help," he'd pleaded, his dark eyes greedily taking in the mess that he could work out for her.

"I want this to be my way," she told him.

"Your way?" he scoffed. "You mean you never want to find anything!"

Cheerfully, she'd slammed the door in his face.

Angela and Marcy had come by later in the afternoon, exclaiming at the new clinic and lending a hand setting up the patient's waiting area.

"We could be open tomorrow," Stephano said with a proud, tired sigh. "But the power won't be on until Wednesday."

They ate Chinese take-out and talked companionably, agreeing that they would meet there again the next day and update patient files and finish the unpacking.

Kathryn changed clothes in the pantry downstairs after the two girls left, not trusting herself upstairs until the rooms were cluttered with boxes and looked less like the place she had lived. One thing she could say for Charlie, she decided, looking at herself in the mirror she'd brought from Michael's house, he knew how to buy clothes.

She'd grabbed the first thing she could lay her hand on from the huge pile of packages. It was a dress made of pale rose Japanese silk with a tiny gold print in it. It hung on her body like a second skin, emphasizing her height and the tone of her skin and hair.

If she didn't know better, she'd think that Michael and not his father had purchased the garment. It just looked like something Michael would buy. Her husband had a flair for the soft unseen, like the folds that covered yet revealed the line of her breasts.

Her ex-husband, she corrected herself steadily, trying to push the soft and fuzzy feeling out of her mind.

It had lingered all day after his kisses and refused to be budged even when she frowned and forced herself to gather all the most unpleasant memories she could manage about her like a protective cloak. It was no good. Somehow, the last few weeks had weakened her armor. His kisses had drugged her senses as well as her anger. He was everything good that she had remembered as well as the bad and yet she had succumbed again.

As though nothing had happened between them five years ago. As though her heart hadn't been broken. After being with him, talking with him again, it had suddenly affected a miracle cure. And she wanted him again.

Stephano whistled appreciatively when he saw her emerge from the pantry. "You look good, Querida. That color does a lot for you."

"Thanks," she answered with a small smile.

"If you're ready, I'd like to go. I'm going to go back to Charlie's. Marcello is going to help me tackle the computer." He launched into a monologue of reasons why they needed to upgrade their computer system as he drove her to the docks. Marcello had been very specific about the system they needed and had even offered to install it for them. "With the checks we received today, we could upgrade," Stephano reasoned.

"Marcello is a man of many talents."

There had been a flood of checks in the mail that day. Apparently news coverage of the clinic fire had made an even more profound effect on the community than Kathryn's efforts with the charity.

"Of course, they only knew what clinic it was because they'd seen you on television talking about it so often," Stephano rushed to assure her.

Kathryn looked steadily out the window at the passing scenery, marveling at how quickly day gave way to night and the light that played on the river. Her mind seemed to be suspended after those few hot moments when she'd been in Michael's lap. She couldn't think about anything else. The rest of the day had been a blur, her imagination still captured and held by the images of them together.

"Of course," she agreed finally.

"Is something wrong, Querida?" he wondered, turning to look at her as they stopped for a traffic light. "You don't seem to be yourself this afternoon."

"I'm probably just tired," she replied, glancing across at him and smiling. "Maybe I should have stayed home this evening."

"Stay home?" Stephano frowned and shook his head. "And miss one of your last opportunities?"

She studied him thoughtfully. "You've certainly become different about the charity."

He shrugged. "It's worked, Kathryn. How can I argue with success?"

"I suppose." She yawned. "Although the fire has made a bigger impact than I could have made the entire time."

"I think you tweaked this town's conscience long before the fire. You made them realize that there was a need. They've only started to fill it."

"I suppose," she agreed listlessly. Maybe she was coming down with a virus. She was never sick but she'd felt strange all day. Hot and cold. Light headed and off balance.

"I know it hasn't been easy with Michael," Stepahano allowed, keeping his eyes on the road so that he wouldn't reveal what he'd seen at the house that afternoon. "And now the new clinic."

"I'm not sure about anything right now, Stephano," she admitted. "I feel...lost. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Or what I'm feeling."

"Kathryn," he tried to calm her fears. "You've been through a lot the last few days. And you've confronted some demons you left behind here, I think. But you'll find the way, Querida."

"I hope you're right," she replied. "I'm used to seeing the road ahead clearly. You know me, Stephano. I get mean when I'm confused."

"God help us!" He looked skyward as though appealing to a higher power.

She laughed as he parked the car. "What would I do without you, Stephano?"

He looked at her wisely. "I think you could find something, eh, Querida? You were busy at the clinic today without me."

"I was working to keep you from messing up my filing system," she defended, opening the car door.

"Perhaps that isn't what I meant."

"Stephano!"

"What?" he demanded. "You looked good together!"

"You could have said something instead of spying on us," she rebuked, embarrassed.

"You were in the middle of the foyer! I thought it must not be a secret."

"I have to go," she told him, seeing Ross Honeycutt coming towards them. "We can talk about this later."

"Of course."

She turned back to him. "You've been talking to Charlie," she deduced. "That's what that whole thing was today about my pretty underwear. Right?"

He shrugged and tried to look innocent. "I don't know what you mean, Querida. Michael did bring you down the stairs in your underwear and even though he'd been through so much, he was not...unaffected."

"Unaffected?" she asked then laughed when he gave her a knowing look. "All right. That's enough. I don't need you and Charlie trying to get us back together." She stepped out of the car into the warm night air. The lights of the racing boats were like glittering jewels on the dark ribbon of water.

"Dr. Richards," Ross acknowledged her.

"Mr. Honeycutt." She nodded. "Nice weather this evening."

"It is," he agreed. "Have you seen Michael yet?"

"No." She frowned. "He had to go to Winston Salem this afternoon. He may be late."

"I can't hold the race for him," he fretted uncomfortably. "The others are ready to go. He's the only one missing."

"He'll be here," she assured him. Although she couldn't be certain that he would be there on time. He could be running late for all she knew. "Have you tried calling him?"

He nodded. "There was no answer on his car phone."

"I wish I could be more help but I haven't seen him since this afternoon at the clinic."

Ross squinted off into the night. "There's a lot of money that was raised by his sponsors for him to race tonight."

"He'll be here," she said again firmly.

Boats were trying their engines. The sound was like thunder the quiet night air. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was only a few minutes before the race. There was no sign of Michael in the crowd.

"Where is his boat?" she asked Ross, not having any idea what it looked like or where it would be moored.

"Right over there," he replied quickly. "I have to go and give the starter flags to Miss Olympic Strawberry. I hope he gets here in time or the charity forfeits the money that was raised."

Kathryn didn't reassure him again. She followed his finger to the green and white boat. A few photographers asked for her picture and she posed with a wide smile. A reporter asked about Michael and she shrugged, leaving them all behind.

Carefully, she climbed into the boat. It rocked a little at her footsteps but it was tied to the dock and didn't move away from its post.

The engine was huge. Its weight made the small boat's nose higher in the water. She could only imagine how an engine that size would propel such a light craft across the water.

Imagine and dread. Water wasn't her favorite medium. The only other time she'd been out on the water with Michael had been a canoe trip that had ended in disaster. Both of them had been thrown out of the boat when she'd panicked and tried to get out.

Not being able to swim, she had gone down like a stone. Michael had fished her from the water and pushed air into her lungs while she'd coughed up all over him. Not exactly a romantic memory but afterwards, when the wet clothes were gone and they were in front of a warm fire, that had changed.

Is that all you can think about? She asked herself, feeling suddenly hot and restless. Where was Michael anyway?

The boats were lining up at the starter's line. She could see Ross Honeycutt and Miss Olympic Strawberry with the flag and the starter's pistol. Engines were revving and horns blared as the drivers grew impatient. Music drifted back from the Gypsy Queen. Her lighted paddlewheel showed the glittering crowd that watched from her decks.

"Where's Michael?" Meg yelled from the dock in the middle of the huge crowd that had gathered for the race.

Kathryn shrugged, not wanting to try and yell her answer.

"You look great!" Meg smiled and waved.

"Thanks," Kathryn mouthed with a wave. Now if she just didn't look stupid sitting there in the only boat that wasn't moving.

"Sorry I'm late," Michael said as he jumped into the boat. He was still wearing his work clothes and boots. His hair was windblown and the bandage on his hand looked very white in the bright lights from the dock.

"They're already starting," she told him, nodding towards the line of boats. "You'll never be able to get there in time. Maybe we should forfeit."

"We?" he asked, turning his head briefly towards her as he got the boat ready to go.

"I knew you'd try to race alone," she answered him calmly. "As part of your medical team, I can't allow that."

"Are you sure?"

She swallowed hard then nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Okay," he said, surprised. He knew how she felt about boats and water. "Grab the line then, partner."

She carefully took the rope away from the pier. The starter pistol sounded and the other boats sprayed water as they sprinted away from the line.

"We're too late," she mourned, hoping she didn't sound as insincere as she felt.

"Not yet." He laughed, starting the engine. The sound was loud even with the engines on the other boats droning in the distance. "Sit down, Kit," he warned. "Put on your life preserver."

She did as she was told, wondering if he'd mind if she held on to one as well. The boat tore away from the dock. The huge engine throbbed and the nose shot straight up in the air. The noise Kathryn made, somewhere between a scream and a groan, was lost in the engine's high-powered wail.

"Open your eyes," Michael yelled, laughing when he looked at her to find her face screwed up in terror and her eyes closed tightly. She was wearing a life jacket and clutching a life preserver.

"I don't think I can," she answered without complying. When she'd imagined the tiny boat skimming the water, she'd been way off. The back of the boat barely touched the water and the front end was flying at a ninety-degree angle above the surface.

"It's okay," he tried to reassure her. "Here, take the wheel for me so I can put on a vest."

She opened her eyes enough to be able to see where she was going. When she touched the wheel, she grabbed on to it with both hands until her knuckles turned white. Sitting on the edge of the seat in front of it, she could barely hold the boat on course.

"Okay," Michael yelled when he was ready.

She shook her head. "I don't think I can let go right now," she said, maintaining her death grip. "Besides, I'm supposed to help you so you don't strain your hand."

She felt him climb behind her. His warmth against her back was suddenly more disturbing than the boat.

"All right, hold on then. We're going to win this race," he whispered near her ear.

She shivered as his arms came around her, his hands holding the wheel around hers. "They're too far ahead."

"I can't let my sponsors down," he told her. "This boat can take anything on the river." He did something that she couldn't see in the darkness and the boat went even faster. If they touched the black surface of the water, it was at a spot she couldn't see from her perspective.

"Oh God!" she managed, feeling the pressure increase on the wheel.

"Relax," he advised, his lips touching the delicate shell of her ear as he spoke. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Kit."

"The wheel feels like it wants to fly apart," she replied, uncertain despite his words. Urgently uncertain about the touch of his lips. "Are you sure this is safe?"

He chuckled. "Safer than you walking down those streets in town and treating patients in the gutter."

Carefully, she opened first one eye, then the other. The wind whipped at them as though it could push them out of the seat. They had already passed several of the other boats. Their occupants yelled at Michael as he passed. Some of them his friends, laughingly, swore revenge.

It was exhilarating, she had to admit. Despite her fear. The air was warm and the night was dark except for the lights on the river. Ahead of them, the water stretched like a great black ribbon that they followed, wings propelling them faster and faster until it felt as though they were flying.

"Jerry's in the lead," Michael told her. "He's got a good boat but she's not Wind Dancer."

"Nice name," she commented, beginning to feel something besides fear with his arms around her. The corded muscles were hard against her arms. His hard chest felt secure behind her. She allowed herself to relax a little, leaning back against him. His legs were on either side of hers, long and powerful. The rough material of his jeans rubbed against the silk of her dress every time he moved.

By the time they'd reached the turning point that marked the halfway spot of the race, Jerry's boat was the only one in front of them.

Kathryn, feeling that hot restless feeling, scooted a little to one side. Her hands ached from their hold on the wheel but another ache deeper inside of her was making it difficult to breathe.

Michael, already having difficulties keeping his mind on the race instead of on the woman between his legs, moved a little with her and the boat skipped to one side. Kathryn caught her breath and Michael swore.

"Sit still, Kit, or we're going to be in the water!"

"Maybe I should move," she volunteered, suddenly fearing the water less then she feared sitting in his embrace for another twenty minutes.

"You'll have to stay put now," he growled. "You can't get up and walk when the boat's going this fast." He concentrated fiercely on not feeling how soft she was in his arms. On not smelling her sweet perfume. On not noticing the soft little curl that had escaped from her hair to tickle his chin. On not feeling her rounded bottom fitting against him in such a way that he thought he might burst his jeans.

And when she moved again...

"Kathryn," he advised in a deep voice, painfully aware of the sharp ache she was feeding him. "If you don't keep still, you're going to kill me. One way or another."

"Michael," she returned, feeling his hardness against her, swallowing on her own awareness, the palms of her hands moist on the wheel. "I'm sorry. I -- "

"Shh," he replied, kissing the side of her neck quickly. "Let's get through this and remember for the future. The combination of you in my arms and speeds in excess of fifty miles an hour is dangerous."

She sat still for the rest of the race, barely daring to breathe even when his movements rasped against her senses and burned along her nerves until she thought she might melt on the seat in front of him.

They scooted Wind Dancer's nose in just under the line before Jerry's Pacemaker. The crowd roared, from the docks to the riverboat.

"I'll get you next time!" Jerry vowed, shaking Michael's hand when they'd pulled alongside him. "What've you got under your hood?" He glanced at Kathryn and nodded. "Or is that in the wrong general area?"

Michael, feeling as though each nerve in his body had been stripped out and set on fire, could only nod and smile, glad that the torture was over. Flashes from cameras dotted the darkness and Miss Olympic Strawberry came to the side of the boat to award him the trophy and a kiss.

Kathryn sucked in her breath when the young woman slid her arms around his neck and opened her mouth on his, offering him more than the tall brass trophy.

Surprised, Michael slid an arm around her as well and she pressed her firm young bosom against his chest while the photographers went wild. They both moved away from one another suddenly. Miss Strawberry's cheeks were flushed and she giggled. She put a hand to her slightly skewed lipstick.

Michael turned and put the trophy on the dock, holding out his good hand to Kathryn to help her out of the boat.

She looked up at him, at the flushed and happy look on his face as he looked down at her. His blue eyes were focused on her and the lights from the docks made shadows on his cheekbones.

In that moment, not conscious of the crowd on the dock or Miss Olympic Strawberry or the noise from the Gypsy Queen, she knew that she still loved him. Despite everything. And in that moment of clarity, she realized why she had left so quickly that day. Her pride had sent her running as though the devil were on her heels because she knew, had always known, that she would forgive him anything.

She hadn't wanted to be one of those women who could look the other way. She had told herself that she wasn't one of them. But she had been wrong. She knew at that moment that she would have done anything, been anyone, just to be with him.

And that was why she had left him. Without hearing any explanation. Because in time, anything would have been enough. He would have looked at her and she would have realized that she didn't want to live without him. She was strong but he was her weakness. She had managed to keep it a secret from him and from herself because the truth was terrible.

"Kathryn?"

She realized that he'd been waiting for her. She wanted to cry. She loved him and she had despised herself for it for a very long time. She wanted him and she had denied it for five long years. Smiling, she took his hand and let him help her back on the dock. She couldn't trust her voice and refused to look at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, still holding her hand in his.

She turned and flashed over bright eyes at him. Her smile was drawn on her face with a defiant hand. "I'm fine. But you'd better change if we're going to dinner."

He frowned, wondering if she had been so terrified by the race. Or if she resented the fact that she wanted him. He knew that she wanted him, had known as long as he had known that he wanted her. The difference was that she would probably rip out her heart before she admitted it to him.

He was more practical. A night together would probably do them both a world of good. Maybe they would be able to talk afterwards. Maybe there was still something there for them. If not, then maybe he could finally say goodbye and put her behind him.

"I'm going to change on board before dinner," he informed her, trying to see past the closed face and smiling red lips. "I'll meet you on the promenade."

She nodded but didn't speak. She walked past him to join the crowd as they walked up the gangplanks to the riverboat. Kathryn walked the promenade, accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter as well as the congratulations on the race. But the wine might as well have been Kool-Aid and the words might have been in another language for all the impact either had on her. The truth was terrible and it had devastated her.

She had known that she wanted him. Or at least that her body wanted him. She rejected his suggestion that wanting him, even giving in to that desire was anything more than just temporary insanity. It had nothing to do with who she really was, and more to do with the fact that she'd been alone too long. She had a normal, healthy body.

True, she had certain...memories. She blushed thinking of them and looked around her as she sipped her champagne. Michael had been a passionate lover. Exciting and imaginative. And she didn't need to think about those memories. She hastened to push them from her mind when her knees started to feel like jelly and her heart started racing.

But facing the knowledge that she still loved him. That she had left simply because she was too weak to stay away from him. That was more than just biology. The knowledge was like a body blow to her self-esteem.

She had told herself for five years that it didn't matter. And she had lied.

She stood at the upper deck against the rail, looking out at the river as the Gypsy Queen moved slowly away from the shore. There was soft music playing and the scent of the water mingled with the warmth of the night air. The lights on the shore made a beaded necklace, that decorated the dark edges of the river.

"When my Dad and I used to go fishing at night on the river, I used to pretend all those lights were aliens watching us from other worlds."

Kathryn laughed at his words, spoken quietly from behind her. She finished her champagne but didn't turn to face him. "I'm surprised. I thought your imagination was always more practical than that."

"I haven't always been an architect, you know," he reminded her.

"I know," she answered as wistfully as the invisible wind that touched her hair.

He slid his hands on her upper arms and the warmth from his touched filled her. "Dance with me, Kit."

She wanted to say no. It wasn't a necessary part of this event. They were supposed to eat together, be seen together. Dancing wasn't on the agenda this time. Still she turned to him. He took her empty glass and handed it to a passing waiter. Then he took her hand in his and tugged at it gently. She followed, allowing her mind to shut down at his touch, promising herself that tonight would be the last time. She slipped into his arms. Her head came to rest in the hollow of his neck as though it had been created for her.

The boat moved on the satin surface of the water. The lights were twinkling stars above them as they moved together, lost in each other's arms.

Kathryn twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body recklessly against his, feeling the hard, male length of him ease against her. It was dark and in the darkness, his lips touched her neck as they moved. His hands rested lightly on her hips then followed the curve of her back beneath the light silk.

She arched into him and heard the sharp intake of his breath, feeling it like wine coursing through her. Tentatively, she touched her mouth to a spot near his. He moved his head and fed from her lips. Hot waves of passion arced between them. His hand slid up from her waist, his fingers grazing the side of her breast. Her flesh quivered, anticipating his next caress.

"Kit," he whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

"Returning the favor," she murmured, tasting his lips. "For what you did to me in that boat."

He chuckled. "If its war you want," he retorted, cupping her backside with his strong hands and bringing her up against him. "I can accommodate."

Kathryn groaned, feeling the strength of his desire intimately moving against her own softness beneath the silk dress.

"Michael," she managed weakly, threading her fingers through his thick hair to bring his mouth closer to hers.

"Kathryn," he answered with his deep voice then with the sensual darkness of his kiss.

His lips played with her mouth as his body moved in an intimate dance with hers. Kathryn clung to him shamelessly, the heat and evidence of his arousal making her lean him.

"All stop!"

"All stop!"

There was a clanging sound that was in the distance, at first. It continued until Kathryn and Michael looked up and realized that the boat was slowing.

They were standing against a wall, no pretense at dancing but the blackness hid them well.

"What's happening?" she wondered breathlessly.

"I don't know," he returned, his voice hoarse. "Let's find out."

Carefully, she straightened his collar and he rearranged her bodice, smiling at her in the dim light as they moved away from the shadows of the wall.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked, patting his jacket and retying his black tie.

"Why are you smiling?" he murmured, touching the smile on her well kissed lips with a gentle finger.

"You look silly," she said with a shake of her head. Quickly she used her fingers to wipe the red lipstick from his lips.

He held her eyes and touched his tongue to the tips of her fingers. She inhaled sharply and her fingers lingered there as he slowly sucked one of them into his mouth.

"Michael," she groaned, her eyes darkening with desire as she shook her head, trying to free herself.

"Kiss me once more," he pleaded, his eyes burning on her beautiful face. "Then we'll find out what's going on."

"Michael," she whispered urgently, aware of people moving along the promenade and voices wondering what was happening to the boat.

"Once more, Kit," he urged, his lips close to hers. His lips slowly touched the corners of her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks. "Just one more kiss."

She complied with a sigh and his mouth devoured hers, swallowing any resistance, demanding awareness and blocking out everything around them. Someone cleared their throat a few times then finally tapped Kathryn on the shoulder. She emerged from Michael's embrace with blinking eyes and bewilderment on her features.

"Are you Dr. Richards?" the young man dressed in the Gypsy Queen's regulation red and black uniform asked uncomfortably.

"Uh, yes," she replied uncertainly. Michael's arms were still around her. "I'm Dr. Richards."

"We have a situation, Doctor. If you would follow me," the boy requested briefly.

"A situation?" Michael asked, not happy about relinquishing Kathryn to anyone else in the world at that moment.

The boy nodded, saw the angry frown on the man's face and swallowed hard. "The captain needs a doctor. I mean, he was looking for a doctor and she's the only one on board."

"What's the problem?" Kathryn came immediately back to herself. She moved away from Michael and started to pin back her hair.

"A woman on another boat, ma'am," the boy replied. "She's having a baby."

Chapter 16

The woman wasn't on board the Gypsy Queen, the young man explained politely as they raced down the promenade. Her husband had radioed for help from a smaller craft. Their engine had gone out and his wife had gone into labor as they waited for help.

"We were the closest to the boat at the time," their escort told them. "Mr. Honeycutt told the captain that you were on board, Doctor."

Michael commented wryly on his timing and Kathryn laughed nervously.

"Dr. Richards," the Gypsy Queen's captain hailed them as they reached the forward bow. "I'm Captain McDonald. Sorry to have to interrupt your evening."

"No problem, Captain," Kathryn assured him. "Where is the mother?"

"We didn't want to move her from the boat until you saw her condition, Doctor. She's still aboard her husband's motorboat. It's moored alongside us."

Kathryn swallowed hard. "How do I get there?"

"We've rigged a gangplank from the Gypsy Queen to the smaller boat," the Captain explained then smiled broadly. "Just don't look too close."

Kathryn nodded when he showed her the rough plank that had been hastily set up. Barely a foot across and rocking with the motion of the water, it spanned twenty feet between the two boats.

"Can't it be brought any closer?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm afraid that's the best we can do," the Captain apologized. "Good thing you're a stout sailor. I saw you in the racing boat tonight, Doctor. Congratulations on your victory. After that, this should be a piece of cake."

Kathryn looked at the plank again and nodded, trying not to disappoint the captain with her seamanship.

"I'll come with you," Michael volunteered. "In case you need an extra hand."

He went ahead of her across the plank, his footsteps as sure and even as an acrobat. He jumped down into the boat on the other side and called for her to follow him.

Carefully, she put one foot on the plank then the other. Don't look down, she repeated to herself. Then she looked down into the swirling black water ten feet below her. The plank rocked a little and she caught her breath, flailing to touch something on either side of her and finding nothing there.

"Kit!" Michael yelled and grabbed for her hand, pulling her the last few feet into the boat where she collapsed against him.

"Thank you, thank you," she murmured, trying to get control of her heart and her scattered thoughts while she clutched his arms.

"No problem," he mimicked her, taking the opportunity to hold her close again. "Anytime."

"Doctor," a man called out from the shadow of the Gypsy Queen. "Hurry, please. I think I can see the baby's head."

Michael helped her to her feet and she pushed everything else aside, stalking after the man down the stairs to the tiny cabin where his baby was being born.

"We didn't plan on her having the baby out here," the man explained quickly. "I mean, she wasn't due for another few weeks. I don't know what happened."

"Babies are notorious for being born at the wrong time for everyone else, Mr.?"

"Connelly. Dave Connelly. This is my wife, Debbie."

Debbie looked up at her but she was in the middle of a strong contraction and couldn't speak. Her husband took her hand and sat beside her.

"I'm Doctor Richards. Kathryn," she said, coming towards them. "And the chances are, your baby is being born at the right time for him or her, if not for you. Now, let's see what's going on here, shall we?"

Michael took a seat at the back of the room and waited, watching Kathryn as she began to examine Debbie Connelly. She was professional and thorough but she was also compassionate and patient. She explained to Debbie and Dave, in a low voice, what she was doing and what was going to happen next.

Kneeling at the foot of the small bunk, her expensive silk dress hiked up around her legs, she reminded him of a child. Her hair was back from her face and she listened intently as Debbie answered her questions.

He could only guess how hard it was for her to attend a healthy birth after Cetta's death. Kathryn herself gave nothing away. Her face was a cool mask that defied any attempt to examine her feelings. Years of training had brought her there and they stood her in good stead.

They all waited patiently while Debbie went through another contraction. Her husband panted and breathed with her, then smiled sheepishly at the two other occupants of the room.

"That's what they taught us to do in childbirth classes," he explained, his thin face turning pink.

"And you're doing a good job, Mr. Connelly. You just keep right on helping her through those contractions," Kathryn commended him. "Your baby is going to be here very soon now."

Michael closed his eyes for an instant and he stepped back into the hospital room where he'd stood beside Kathryn as she'd labored to give birth to their daughter. Everything was going fine. It had been a short labor but Kathryn's face was white with exertion and pain. She'd grinned at him anyway, between contractions. Defiance and triumph were etched on her face.

"I love you," he'd whispered as he'd bent to wipe the beads of perspiration from her face.

Then everything had gone wrong. Cetta's heartbeat had faltered just before the last push that saw her into the world. There had been a flurry of activity and the doctor's face had turned a terrible shade of gray.

He opened his eyes and saw that Kathryn's gaze had fastened on him. She knew what he was thinking.

Dark eyes, for once, met blue eyes and there was empathy; a shared remembering of pain too great to be born alone.

Debbie started into another contraction, breathing and panting, trying to control the terrible wrenching spasm passing through her.

"Okay, Debbie, you're going to want to push now," Kathryn told her, turning away from Michael. "But you can't. Not until I tell you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Debbie answered breathlessly.

The contraction passed but was followed quickly by another and another.

"The baby's coming," Kathryn reported. "Now on the next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can, okay, Debbie?"

The other woman nodded, her hair plastered back from her forehead with sweat. Dave nodded quickly as well, holding his wife's hand.

"Michael," Kathryn addressed him for the first time. "If you could get a sheet or towel now and come over here, I could use another pair of hands."

Michael did as he was told, dropping to his knees at the foot of the bunk beside Kathryn.

"It's starting again," Debbie ground out miserably as the next contraction came on her.

"Okay, Debbie. Push!" Kathryn ordered, trying to help the baby's head as it began to emerge from the birth canal. "It's coming. It's coming."

Michael held the sheet where Kathryn had told him while she worked with the woman's body to make the child's birth as quick as possible.

The sound of the river patrol heralded the end of the contraction and Debbie rested briefly before the next.

"This is probably going to be it," Kathryn told Michael. "Can you handle it?"

"I'm here," he replied firmly.

"Here comes another one," Debbie yelled.

"Push Debbie," Kathryn said loudly. "Dave, hold her up and help her push that baby out. Push Debbie. Push hard!"

With a loud grunt and a sudden gush, the miracle happened and the baby's head was out. Quickly, Kathryn turned the slightly blue face and cleaned the nose and mouth, wishing she had some suction but knowing she would have to make due.

"Is something wrong?" Dave asked.

"Why isn't my baby crying?" Debbie demanded tearfully.

"The baby's fine," Kathryn told them with a touch of authority to override the panic in their voices. "But you're not done, Debbie. One last push for the shoulders and we'll be finished with this part."

"Here it comes!" Debbie yelled, groaning and crying.

The baby's shoulders came out smoothly. The baby dropped into the sheet that Michael quickly wrapped around the tiny body.

Kathryn checked the pulsating cord that linked mother and baby then looked at the child Michael held in his arms. "It's a little boy," she told the tearful parents. The baby decided to announce himself at that point and let out a long, loud wail. "He's fine, Debbie. We're not quite finished but you're both going to be fine."

The paramedics that had waited during the baby's immediate birth took over at that point. They had the equipment and the experience to finish the job and Kathryn welcomed their presence.

"Nice job, Doctor," the first paramedic smiled and congratulated her. "A race and a baby in one night. Pretty slick!"

Kathryn nodded and smiled, accepting their praise. She washed her hands while a steward from the Gypsy Queen peeked in and asked if they were leaving with the paramedics.

"No, they can handle it from here," she replied, checking her dress. She was amazed that she wasn't dirty. She looked at Michael who stood watching the paramedics that had taken the baby from him. "We can go now."

He nodded, full of the emotion of the birth. Seeing a human being come into the world was awe-inspiring!

They walked up the stairs to the deck, the fresh river air washing over their faces after the closeness of the small cabin. They heard the announcement that came from the Gypsy Queen to her passengers. The baby was born. It was a little boy. A cheer went up from the crowd of well dressed spectators.

The lights of the riverboat twinkled down at them and Michael grinned at her. "I'm starving! I think I could eat a horse."

Kathryn smiled in return. "Crisis always did make you hungry."

"And you're not excited by it?" he demanded as they walked to the gangplank. "You've seen it so many times that it doesn't impress you anymore?"

"I didn't say that," she answered. "I just don't get hungry after delivering a baby."

"What do you feel?" he asked as she stood poised, ready to walk across the narrow plank.

"Tired," she admitted, "and exhilarated. There's nothing else like it."

He grinned and kissed her lips quickly. "I'll buy you a glass of champagne when we get across."

"Okay," she agreed, taking one step on the plank. "Then I expect...oh, Mi-ch- ael!!"

"Oh my God!" someone yelled from the promenade of the paddlewheel boat. "She's fallen into the water!"

It only took that long for him to be over the side after her. He heard the sound of voices and heard someone call for a light and a life preserver then the dark water closed over his head.

"Kathryn!" he called out breaking the surface, wishing they would hurry with the light.

"Michael!" she answered, going back under the water as her feet tried to move to keep her afloat. Her dress was tangled around her legs and she could barely move them.

He swam towards the sound of her voice, telling himself not to panic. A bright beam of light illuminated the darkness between the two boats and two life preservers hit the water in front of him. He couldn't see her. He called her name again, searching the water frantically. He dived down and swam around the area he'd heard her last. His hand reached out and touched something. Kit! He grabbed at her, drawing her against him, pushing them both up to the surface of the river.

They came up together, coughing and sputtering. She clung tightly to him as he grabbed for the life preserver and held on to her.

The crowd watching the entire episode on the Gypsy Queen gave another loud cheer when they saw them surface, directing the lights towards the pair in the water. The price of the ticket had been more than worth the show that night. Journalists scrambled for the phones and photographers snapped their pictures.

"You always have to cause such a fuss," Michael chastised her softly as they held on to the life preserver and waited to be pulled on board.

"And you always have to be the hero," she responded, holding on to him, not caring if her hair was down in her face. She wasn't letting go. "And right now, I'm really glad."

"This brings back memories," he said with a laugh.

"I don't want to think about that," she told him flatly.

"Something about being out in the water at night," he continued.

"Never again," she promised as they began to pull in the life preservers.

The paramedics on the patrol boat called across to see if they were all right before leaving with the new mother and her baby.

"We're fine," Michael assured them.

"Don't worry about us," Kathryn echoed.

On board the solid deck of the paddlewheel, spontaneous applause broke out from the crowd. Well-wishers slapped them both on the back and camera flashes almost blinded them.

"If we had only known," Ross mourned. "We could have charged triple for this evening's entertainment. What a show!"

Standing on the deck, dripping water, her dress and hair ruined, Kathryn wasn't in the mood to agree with him. She watched Michael laugh and accept a glass of champagne while another steward pressed one into her own hand.

"Before we go any further..." Ross officiated the toast. "Let's just give a toast to this couple and the new baby. Salute!"

Everyone drank and the music started to play again. The crowds began to drift away while the stewards politely offered the use of one the staterooms for the pair to change clothes. Nothing elaborate was available but the captain had ordered them both a pair of overalls from the crew's supply closet.

"Sorry, you'll have to share a stateroom to change," the steward told them politely as he led them both downstairs. "The other staterooms are occupied."

"That's okay," Michael told him quietly, glancing at Kathryn. "We can handle it."

They both left a pitiful trail of water down the dark wooden stairs and through the hall to the stateroom the steward unlocked for them.

Heavy oak paneling gleamed in the dim light and dark green carpet cushioned their footsteps. The furniture was heavy wood and smelled of lemon furniture polish. A ceiling fan gently wafted air down on them.

Kathryn slipped out of her wet shoes as she walked into the room and the steward blushed, as though he was afraid she was going to follow with her wet clothes.

"Everything you need should be here," he said quickly, backing out the door. "If not, just give me a call."

"Thanks," Michael said with a smile. "Tell Captain McDonald we appreciate his hospitality."

The steward closed the door behind him and Kathryn wandered to the far end of the room. She could hear the sound of the band upstairs playing another waltz and despite everything, she thought about the last dance they'd shared before the unplanned stop.

Less a dance than a lot of hot and heavy breathing, she reminded herself as she nervously fidgeted with the room's furnishings. She didn't want to think about it.

"I think this must be the bathroom," Michael announced, switching on the light.

He walked out carrying a green towel in his hands and looked at her, smiling. "You can have the bathroom. I think you need it more than I do."

"Thanks." She frowned, turning to peruse his own appearance with his wet hair and ruined tuxedo. "We're both going to make interesting pictures for the front page tomorrow."

Kathryn saw the pair of dark blue overalls on the bed and shivered. Anything was better than her wet dress. Awkwardly, she picked up a pair and shrugged. "This looks like the smaller of the two."

"If not, we'll know," he agreed, pushing his hand through his wet hair.

"Well." She smiled, feeling silly, and closed the bathroom door. She dried her hair then wiped the towel down the front of her dress, hoping it wasn't ruined. Sadly knowing it was too late. River water and silk weren't a good mixture. She was freezing. Her teeth chattered in the air-conditioning and her fingers refused to find the tiny seed pearl clasp at the top of the dress. It had been difficult enough that afternoon when she was dry and her hands weren't shaking. Wet and cold, she couldn't maneuver the clasp to open.

She sighed and fumed but she couldn't get it open. Short of ripping the dress from herself, she wasn't able to get to the zipper.

All right, she decided finally. Michael was in the next room. She'd just go and ask him for help. They'd been married for five years. It wasn't like she had anything to hide. He'd unzipped her dresses many times. They'd had a baby together, for goodness sake.

If she could just stop thinking about the two of them on deck, dancing, she decided, she wouldn't feel so awkward. If she could just stop feeling and start thinking when he touched her, she wouldn't be so...

Whatever word she had in her mind at the time, left her there, speechless. Opening the bathroom door without calling out first had been a mistake. A big mistake. She knew that but it was too late to pretend it hadn't happened.

He was standing there, drying himself. Naked. The dim light gleamed on his wet body. He half turned when he'd heard the door open so that she was exposed to the long, lean length of his thigh, the tanned muscled strength of his arm. A bare expanse of chest gleamed golden in the lamplight. His blond hair was a halo around his head, falling across his forehead and into his bright blue eyes.

He didn't move. The green towel was covering half of his body as he dried himself and the effect brought an instant fire roaring through Kathryn's body. He looked like a painting. Greek god, surprised at bath. Though, no painting could have done that warm flesh justice and no master's hand could have ignited that glint of desire in his eyes. Her mouth dropped open and her hands clutched at her sides to keep from touching him.

It was ridiculous! He'd been her husband. She knew what he looked like naked. But five years had been a long time. An eternity. She knew what he looked like naked. She knew what he felt like naked. What he felt like making love to her. And it made her shiver violently.

"Kit?" he asked, not missing the sudden convulsion. "Something wrong?"

Desire was a painful, tangible force that rocked her, making it impossible to think rationally. Her tongue felt taped to the roof of her mouth. Her hands trembled. All of her anger, all of her good intentions, mocked her. The images of him that had haunted her, rose in her mind, ending with his mouth caressing hers as they'd danced on deck.

"No," she denied, then swallowed hard and shook her head. "Yes. I-I can't unzip this stupid dress. I don't know why I wear dresses with zippers. I mean, why don't they make everything slide over your head? Why zippers?"

Michael secured the towel around his waist and smiled obligingly, walking slowly towards her. "You're babbling, Kathryn. Nervous?"

"No," she lied, hating the fact that the towel, which should have made it better, made it worse. "Why would I be nervous?"

He shrugged broad shoulders. "You shouldn't be. We've done this a hundred times before."

"We have?" She faltered, staring into the sky blue depths of his eyes, seeing the scattering of tiny freckles across his face. "A hundred times?"

"At least," he assured her mildly. His eyes held hers. "Turn around, Kit. It'll be okay."

Kathryn looked at his hands and imagined them on her body. "No!" she hedged, starting to back towards the bathroom again. "You know, I'm just going to wear this until we get off the boat."

"Don't be silly," he commented, putting his hands on her shoulders to turn her around. "Relax. This won't hurt, Doctor."

Kathryn closed her eyes, knowing she was lost when he touched her shoulders. She prayed that he would just unzip the dress then shove her into the bathroom and lock the door.

"You're freezing," he said, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. A broad expanse of creamy flesh was uncovered by the zipper as he pulled it slowly down her back the sound was exquisite torture on his frayed nerves.

"I'm fine," she argued for the sake of it, though her voice sounded strange and hollow to her ears.

His hands slid back up to her shoulders and pushed at the ruined wet silk, encountering her thin bra strap. "I better get you out of this as well," he supplied, undoing her bra.

She shivered again, telling her legs to move, to take her back into the bathroom but her body wouldn't comply.

"Kit," he whispered, daring to wonder if those shivers were as much awareness of him as the temperature of the water. His mouth touched her shoulder where the dress had been while his hands slowly moved up her back, trying to warm her body.

"I should get undressed," she said finally.

"You should." he was quick to agree, pulling the dress sleeves down her arms.

"My dress is ruined," she remarked softly.

"I'm afraid so," he replied, sliding the wet material across her hips. "We'll get you another."

Wet pantyhose and flimsy panties joined the dress in a heap on the green carpet. She stepped away from the wet clothes and shivered, staring down into his eyes. "I'm really cold."

"I can help," he answered, taking the towel from his own body and crouching down at her ankles. Slowly, he began to dry her feet and legs with the warm towel.

She stood where she was, barely able to keep herself from falling back on the bed in open invitation. Her mind refused to function and she shivered wildly, knowing it had nothing to do with the cold. She closed her eyes at his gentle touch.

"Michael?" She stirred when she felt his lips touch a spot on her leg behind her knee.

"Hmm?" He was crouched before her on the thick green carpet.

His warm palm slid over her rounded backside as he dried her hip and she gasped, finding her hand tangled in his damp hair. "We-we shouldn't be doing this."

"We're married," he intoned deeply. "That makes it legal in this state."

"But we're about to be divorced," she protested feebly, feeling his tongue tickle her naval as the towel dried the intimate space between her legs with particular care.

"I want you, Kit," he said slowly, working his way up her body with his hands and mouth. "Do you want me?"

His hot mouth closed over the turgid peak of one icy breast and she cried out, not able to stop herself from arching into his warmth. He stood up straight, blue eyes searching her face, while his hands busied themselves with drying her hair.

She watched him, quiescent, fascinated by the strength and power of his movements, the gentleness of his touch.

He dropped the towel when he'd finished and put his hands on either side of her face.

"I want to make love to you," he murmured, his lips barely grazing hers. "I've wanted to since the first moment I saw you again. It doesn't matter what's happened between us. That hasn't changed."

"Please." She sighed, surrendering to his warmth, winding her arms around his neck and smiling into his handsome face. "Love me, Michael."

He kissed her, losing himself in her touch and the silken strength of her arms. Her mouth was sweet and hungry for him. There was no tomorrow, no yesterday. Only that moment and the heat between them.

It was only a step back to the bed. Kathryn took it, falling back with his weight pressing her down into the softness of the satin comforter beneath her.

All of the arguments that raged in her brain were scattered like petals in the passion of his embrace. Her tongue met his in an erotic dance that made her groan. The weight of his arousal pressed into the vulnerable softness of her woman's body and she shivered in anticipation.

"Cold?" he asked, tracing light kisses from her lips to her breasts.

"No," she denied, looking at him as she touched his face. His hand caressed her cheek and she turned her head to touch her lips to his palm. "After all these years -- "

"Shh," he whispered, kissing her slowly, lingering on the taste of her lips. "I want to pretend tonight is the first time."

"Okay." She laughed, slipping her hands across his shoulders. "Have we been introduced?"

He kissed her again, stealing her breath and dazzling her senses. "I'm Michael Helms." He kissed her throat then moved downwards to touch his tongue to her breast. "You are so beautiful."

Kathryn caught her lip at the pleasure his mouth brought to her. His tongue tickled the hard peak then he suckled gently, the warmth spreading lower until she felt on fire.

"I'm Kathryn," she murmured as he rained kisses to her naval. "Oh, Michael!" The warmth spiraled upward, radiating pleasure thickly through her senses until she squirmed beneath him and tried to pull him closer.

He resisted, sitting back on his heels instead, watching her as his hands moved in delicate patterns across her heated skin.

She groaned, opening her eyes to see him studying her intently as he teased and tormented her poor aching body. "I don't think this is fair," she remarked, moving away from him only to return, her hands sliding up his hard thighs while she kissed his neck, her fingers raking through the soft down on his chest.

He gasped when she nuzzled against him, her clever tongue making him groan.

She smiled at him while her hand slid downward to caress him. Her mouth swallowed up the sound of her name on his lips, wrapping her arms around him as he fitted her body to his. His hands caressed the soft skin of her inner thighs.

"Oh God, Kit!" He shuddered and held her tightly to him, his mouth coming back down on hers to find the pleasure he knew waited for him.

She sighed, feeling the building spiral of tension, not moving as he surged into her soft, slick heat. Fiercely, she held him to her with her arms and her legs, glad for his possession, wondering how she had lived so long without his touch.

"Michael." ahe moaned, moving finally when she couldn't resist any longer, her tongue and teeth finding his ear and neck. "Dios! Michael!"

He moved, laying her back on the bed, then rejoining her in a slow, strong motion of possession and power that made her gasp.

"Tell me," he rasped in her ear as his body stroked slow hot need into hers. "I've waited five years to hear it. Tell me, Kit."

His hands kneaded her breasts gently, he bit at the tender skin at her throat all the while moving in and out, rocking her body while she moaned beneath him.

Her hands tangled in his hair. She brought his mouth to hers, her tongue teasing his while her senses swam with the continued movements of their bodies. The rhythm seemed endless, like the sea holding her in its caress, laving her, in and out, calling to her until there was nothing else but that slow, sure pulse.

"Michael, mi todo corazon," she whimpered in the tongue of her mother, of her infancy, when she could hold back no longer. The sweet spiral of tension lifted her and held her in its embrace until, melting, she fell back through stardust and moonlight, fluid, hot and shaking, clutching at him.

At the sound of her surrender, Michael felt his control give way. With her wrapped around him securely, he shuddered his release, calling her name. He felt like weeping. Dying wouldn't have been much of a price to ask for that moment. He lay beside her for long moments. He kissed her hot face and cradled her in his arms while her breathing slowed and her heartbeat returned to normal.

Heart and soul, she'd called him. Her heart and soul.

She pulled the comforter across them both, tangling her legs with his, closing her eyes against the dim light, falling asleep almost at once in his arms.

Chapter 17

In the first gray light of morning, Kathryn dressed in her dry but tacky silk dress, rolling her still damp underwear and pantyhose into a tight ball. Her hair was a tangled mass of dark curls but there wasn't anything to do for it. The tiny comb that was in the bathroom would have died of fright if it had approached the bulk of her hair.

She took one long moment to study Michael's sleeping face, amazed that she could get out of bed without waking him. When they'd been married, she could barely turn over without waking him.

People change, she mused, wanting to smooth that errant lock of blond hair that always fell into his eye. They had both changed. It had been a long time.

Slowly, quietly, she left the stateroom across the carpeted floor, holding her wet shoes. She closed the door silently behind her.

The boat seemed to be empty although she knew that there were passengers and crew on board. She followed the hall back to the stairs and up to the main promenade, glad to see that they had finally reached shore sometime during the night. She was surprised that someone hadn't come for them after the party.

She frowned, not wanting to examine it too closely. Either they'd guessed what was going on in that stateroom and hadn't wanted to interrupt. Or they'd felt sorry for them after they'd fallen into the river. Whatever, she was grateful not to have to face a crowd of clever reporters who saw too much and were always looking for new material.

It wasn't that she had anything to hide, she reasoned. But her emotions were raw and she didn't want to discuss what had happened between her and Michael with anyone yet. She didn't even want to face it herself.

There was heavy fog on the water that morning. Even though they were docked, it was hard to see the piers and boats that she knew were out on the water around them. Sounds were curiously muffled. Like a shroud, the moisture-laden cloud enfolded the boat, keeping sights and sounds muted.

The promenade was empty but soaked with heavy moisture from the fog. She walked carefully down the painted gray surface, not sure exactly how she was going to get back to the clinic.

"Good morning, Doctor," Captain McDonald hailed her as she rounded a corner of the deck towards the gangplank. "I trust you slept well?"

She swallowed hard and looked away from him nervously. "I-uh-yes. Yes, I slept very well, thank you, Captain."

She was standing there with her underwear in one hand and her shoes in the other, her thin dress chilly in the cool morning air, her hair wild around her face. It wasn't hard to imagine what the Captain thought but she pushed her chin up and faced him squarely.

"Could I offer you my car and driver for your destination?"

"Yes." She smiled at him gratefully. "I would certainly appreciate that, Captain."

"My pleasure, ma'am. I'm grateful for your help last night. I hope you'll come back aboard the Gypsy Queen again and let us show you a better, drier time."

He chuckled and she laughed with him, glad for his tact and understanding. "I'll come back again, Captain. You have a lovely boat."

"Thank you, ma'am. Let me roust my driver now and you can be out of this chill." He was as good as his word. In took only a few minutes for his sleepy driver to be dressed and joining them on the promenade.

"You are a gracious lady, Doctor Richards," the Captain said, taking her hand as she started to follow the driver down the gangplank. "I hope you'll accept both of these checks for your clinic fund. Olympia needs you, Doctor."

Kathryn looked down at the checks that he had pressed into her hand. One was from Dave McConnell and his wife. The second was from the crew of the Gypsy Queen.

"Thank you, Captain McDonald," she breathed, shaking his hand. "I appreciate your words and your help."

"Good luck!" He waved her away. "Come back and see us sometime."

Kathryn waved then followed the driver through the fog to the shore. She was amazed and grateful for the Captain's generosity and help. She looked down at herself after she'd climbed into the warmth and dryness of the car. He had to know what had happened and yet no hint of that knowledge had entered his calm, gray eyes.

The checks had been a pleasant and unexpected surprise. She was startled to find how much easier it had become to take money from strangers. Stephano would have been proud of her. She gave the driver instructions on how to reach the clinic and sat back, watching as they drove through the fog-shrouded town.

Not much later that morning, Michael left the Gypsy Queen, rough blond beard covering his chin and cheeks. His tattered tuxedo was over one arm, replaced by the work clothes he'd worn during the race the previous evening.

"Good morning, Michael," Captain McDonald greeted him as a single ray of sunlight pierced the fog.

"Good morning, Captain," Michael returned, glancing hopefully around the promenade where buffet breakfast was being set up. "Have you seen Doctor Richards?"

"Earlier," the Captain acknowledged with a nod. "I had my driver take her home. Coffee, Michael?"

"No, thanks," he replied though his mouth felt like the inside of a cotton ball. "I have to get to work."

"I hope the accommodations were satisfactory," the Captain called after him as he started to walk down the gangplank to the shore.

"Thanks, they were fine," Michael assured him dryly. "And when you call Charlie, tell him I'm on my way home."

Captain McDonald laughed brightly, the sound joining the sun breaking through the heavy clouds. "My best to you and your lovely lady!"

Michael shook his head but didn't reply, hurrying out to his truck. Charlie had tentacles like an octopus, reaching out to anyone he knew for help with his wayward son. Just how many people knew and had actively participated in the game was something he didn't want to consider. His one consideration seemed to be out of reach for the moment. Kathryn must have slipped out like the fog. He was a light sleeper.

Of course, last night had been exceptional. He'd finally fallen asleep with her in his arms only to awaken just before dawn to feel her warm kisses caressing his chest. They'd made love again without a word between them. Building the fire slowly, gently touching, flowing into one another until he hadn't been sure where he began and where she ended. Just the thought of it was enough to feel the tightening of his body.

He smiled. There would never be enough mornings to wake up beside her for him. She was like warm summer air, feeding his senses, lighting his world. He had never stopped loving her, it seemed, though at times, he'd wanted to forget her. They could have another baby. There was still plenty of time. They could fill another house with their love and the sounds of small voices and laughter.

He stopped his truck at the new clinic. The air was warmer but held a promise of rain with the watery sunshine. Clouds moved, thick and dark, across the river with the heavy breeze. Already, the gingerbread house was taking on a new identity, he decided, walking into the waiting room. One of the men he'd assigned to help with the electrical work jumped when he saw him, blurting out that the work would be done that day.

"That's fine," Michael told him. "Have you seen Dr. Richards?"

"Kathryn's been here and left for hospital rounds," Stephano told him from the stairs. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"No," Michael replied, disappointed. "I have to go down to Charleston today. I was just hoping to see her for a minute this morning."

Stephano smiled knowingly. "She was out all night somewhere and came back this morning looking like Cinderella after her coach had turned back into a pumpkin."

Michael winced at the picture. "She was okay, though?"

Stephano was enjoying himself. "She was fine -- a little tired. The captain let her use his car and driver. He also gave her a check for the clinic. Thanks to the fire and you, we're in good shape, my friend."

"Great," Michael said absently. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Kathryn was nervous about something this morning," Stephano waxed, hating to let the opportunity go too quickly. "Maybe you should let me re-bandage that hand. I'm sure she'd want me to do that for you. She'd do it if she were here."

"She was nervous?" Michael picked up on the only words he wanted to hear. "Did she say why?"

Stephano led him to an examining room. "You never know with her, do you? Maybe it was something about last night."

Michael sat still while Stephano bandaged his hand, worrying about Kathryn and wondering what thoughts were chasing through her head. Was she regretting being so impulsive? Would the burden of Cetta's death and the last five years come crashing down on her that morning? He had to see her. He had to know what she was thinking.

He looked down at the neat bandage on his hand, white against the tanned skin. "Thanks," he said flexing his fingers.

"De nada," Stephano returned with a smile and a shrug. "It is well on its way to being healed, eh?"

"I think so. Did you say she'd gone to do hospital rounds?"

Stephano nodded. "She should be there now." He sighed when Michael thanked him again, barely glancing his way, and left the clinic quickly. He wouldn't want to be Michael or Kathryn. Their relationship was too passionate, too unpredictable. Still, he envied them their love. It had survived so much.

Michael parked in the hospital parking lot and went quickly inside only to be told that he had just missed her again. Kathryn had gone to help a patient home after surgery. She hadn't said where she would be after she'd finished.

He called Charlie from his car phone, wondering if he'd heard from her, but his father was in the dark. He hadn't seen her since the night before -- but he'd heard it had been quite a night. Michael smiled. "You might get your way after all, you old meddler."

Charlie laughed, having heard the same from Captain McDonald. "It would be about time."

Michael hung up the phone. He had to go to Charleston. There was no way to put off the trip. He'd already pushed it back and rescheduled it for two weeks to be around for the charity events. It was the last day of the month. He had to go.

He went by his office to pick up his briefcase and his electric razor. It terrified him not to see Kathryn that day. Their night together could be the starting point of something new between them. Or it could be the end of what little had been left. He sighed, knowing there wasn't anything he could do differently. If she had been at the clinic or at the hospital, if he had been able to talk to her for a few minutes, to know what she was thinking.

"Excuse me, Mr. Helms?"

He looked up and a small man in a mousy brown business suit smiled at him. "Yes?"

"Mr. Michael Helms?"

He nodded. "That's right. Do I know you?"

"No," the man hastened to assure him. "But I have something for you." He pulled a set of papers from his briefcase. "I believe you've been expecting these."

Michael glanced at the papers, seeing at once that they were divorce papers. Their divorce papers. "I guess they finally made it to the right person."

The little man in the brown suit heaved a sigh of relief and smiled broadly. "It was our understanding that you had been anticipating these papers."

"That's a good word," Michael told him. "Anticipating."

"Well." The little man began to feel uncomfortable as Michael continued to stare at the papers in his hands. "You can have your lawyer take a look at these and if everything is in order..."

"...I can sign them and our life together will be over for real," Michael concluded. "I anticipated your answer."

The man in the brown suit chuckled and shuffled his feet. He left him there, driving away in his Toyota without a backward glance.

Michael tucked the papers into his briefcase when he'd retrieved it from his office, and then locked the door behind him.

Kathryn raced into the clinic, barely getting the time to catch her breath before she cornered Stephano.

"Has Michael been here today?"

"He was here earlier," Stephano answered shortly, looking through a stack of files.

"When? What did he say?" she wanted to know.

"About a half an hour after you left and he wanted to know where you were and if you were all right."

"What did you tell him, Stephano?" She wondered, biting her lip.

Stephano sighed and looked up at her. "You're both painful to look at, Querida. He, with his soulful blue eyes, pleading for information about you and you with those frantic dark eyes, wondering what your lover thinks about you in the rational light of day."

"Stephano!" she warned.

"I told him that you were at the hospital. I told him that you were all right although you looked a little tired and messy. He told me that he was going to find you. End of conversation."

Kathryn glared at him. "How did he look?"

"How did he...? Please, Querida, go and find him. How can we work with all this nervous anxiety?"

"Stephano -- "

"On second thought, it looks as though he's found you," Stephano said softly, watching Michael park his truck and walk up to the clinic door. "And he doesn't look happy."

Kathryn was gone before he'd finished, racing back out the door the way she'd come in. "Michael."

"Kathryn."

They stood looking at one another in the pale sunlight, the clouds moving quickly overhead.

"Is-is something wrong?" she wondered finally, not envisioning their reunion as being a cold staring match. Why didn't he take her in his arms?

"Not at all," he replied coldly. "In fact, everything is right on target." He handed her the papers. "I don't need my lawyer to look at them. I've signed in all the appropriate places. You're free, Kathryn. Free at last."

She looked at the papers, gleaming white in the fitful sunshine. "You knew they were coming. The divorce has been in the works for months. They didn't know -- "

"What?" he raged. "They didn't know that we were good in bed together last night? But, according to you, that's all I do is hop in and out of bed with every available woman anyway. That's nothing."

Kathryn paled. She put her trembling hands into her pockets. "Michael, I didn't know the papers would be delivered today -- before we had a chance to talk."

"Would that have made a difference, Kit?" He demanded closely. "Would it have mattered one more time for me to tell you that I loved you? That I have always loved you and only you and that I wasn't fooling around with Carrie or anyone else?"

She raked a strand of hair back from her face. "I don't know. Michael. I -- "

"Skip it. I'm tired of trying to convince you. I'm tired of defending myself. When you first left, I dreamed about you coming back and putting everything right again. Then I learned to forget you. I can learn again."

Without another thought, he was gone. The truck pulled out into the street and disappeared over the hill.

Kathryn looked down at the divorce papers in her hand. All those months when they couldn't find him, when Charlie had conveniently lost the papers. All those times she'd wanted the papers to reach him. They had finally been delivered. At the wrong time.

The phones weren't working yet in the clinic. There was no way to call him back. She drove Charlie's car back out to his house but Michael wasn't there. He was gone to Charleston for the day.

"Is there a problem?" Charlie asked, confidingly.

"Charlie," she began, putting the papers into his hands. "He finally signed the divorce papers. Can you believe it?" She left him there with the papers in his hands, a stunned look on his weathered face.

"Problems?" Jake asked, coming up on him after watching Kathryn leave the drive.

Charlie shook his head. "I can't tell yet. But it looks like the right weather for a barbeque, don't you think?"

Jake looked down at the papers in his hands and nodded. "Let's go on out to the grill and find us some matches."

The rain came in earnest as Kathryn drove down the hill and into the city itself, heading back for the clinic. Numb with the events of the past twenty-four hours, she could only begin to try to untangle the twisted skein she'd helped to create. Last night had been wonderful, she conceded. But was it enough on which to base a reconciliation after five years?

Was Michael right? Did she still believe that he had been intimate with Carrie that morning and that nothing had really changed between them?

She thought carefully back over that terrible morning. She had talked to Carrie. The secretary had probably been standing there when she'd told Michael that she was coming for lunch. When she'd walked into the office, she'd heard Michael's voice coming from the inner office. Then she'd seen Carrie, topless, her skirt hitched up to her thighs and her lipstick smeared. She'd been pressed against Michael on his desk.

Could she have taken that opportunity to make it look that way to the younger, grieving Kathryn? With a new perspective, she considered Michael's words. She had always wondered why he'd dated her, why he'd chosen to marry her when there were other women. Like Carrie, who'd grown up with him and was better suited to be his wife.

Carrie was cute and sweet and giggled appallingly. She wore her skirts too short and her hair too blond. She had never made a secret of the fact that she wanted Michael. Even when Kathryn had been standing there at his side.

Kathryn was dark and serious about her career and her past. She'd come from a life Michael had never experienced and couldn't understand. In her way, perhaps she had always held that against him. Maybe that was why it was easier to believe that he wanted someone like Carrie, rather than someone like her.

Yet, his words had rung a note of truth. If he'd wanted Carrie, he could have had her. There was also the perplexing puzzle of Michael himself.

Granted, they had been having problems before that morning. Arguing over Cetta's death and having another baby. Michael trying to make her go back to her work when all she had wanted to do was sit and cry. That terrible protective mantle that he always tried to throw over her.

Yet, he had never been anything but worried and scared when she'd looked at him. She had never noticed him ogling other women when he thought she wasn't looking. He'd stayed home with her night after night, falling asleep by her side in front of the television. Never demanding, even when the weeks passed, that she share his bed.

Had he ever actually done anything that had branded him a cheat -- besides that morning with Carrie?

She looked up and found herself parking the car beside the little churchyard. The rain beat down on her head but she didn't pay any attention. She walked to the little grave, the angel seeming to cry with the rain pouring down her cheeks.

"Oh Cetta," she confided to her little daughter's spirit. "I think I was wrong. How could I have been so blind? How could I have left him alone when he needed me as much as I needed him?" Her heart ached for the long nights they had both endured apart. Tears coursed down her cheeks that had nothing to do with the rain. Her hair was plastered to her face and her clothes were soaked.

"I do love him, you know," she said, smiling secretly, sadly. "I was afraid that I loved him too much, you see. That he would use me. I was afraid he didn't love me as much as I loved him."

It was all so clear to her then. She wasn't sure why she hadn't seen it before. She was a fighter by nature but she had never fought for their love. She had let it slip through her fingers.

The sky turned dark gray and the heavens opened up. Thunder shook the afternoon and lightning cracked against the darkness.

"Come inside until the storm passes, my child," the priest from inside the church coaxed her. He held out a hand to help her under his umbrella. "Please. We'll both suffer if we don't seek shelter."

She went with him, frozen with the cold rain and the icy grief that clenched her heart. He set her before the little heater in the sanctuary and made her a cup of steaming lemon balm tea. The little church was very quiet inside while outside the storm raged around them, making the old building tremble.

The priest sat down opposite her, wiped his steaming glasses and smiled. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't think so, Father. I've made my bed, as my mother used to say. I think I must lie in it a while."

"That little grave," the priest probed gently. "The little angel baby, we call her. Is she your little girl?"

Kathryn bit her lip and nodded, trying to keep from crying even though her dark eyes welled with tears.

"Tell me," the priest urged, taking her hand. "Sometimes, to share a sorrow is to lessen it."

Kathryn opened her mouth to tell him that she had to go, that she couldn't talk about it. Instead, the whole story tumbled out. From the beginning with her mother's death, when she'd met Michael in college, their marriage, becoming a doctor and a mother, Cetta's birth and death and her decision to leave her husband.

She felt herself blushing when she told the priest about the last night on the riverboat but she couldn't check the flow of words once they'd started. She didn't know why. She'd never confided the entire story to anyone. When she was drained of everything, she sat back in her ladder backed wooden chair and sipped her tepid herb tea.

"Well," the priest began, cleaning his glasses again with a careful hand as he searched for words. "It seems to me that your path is clear. You and your husband still love one another. You should reunite."

She shook her head. "I think it's too late. Finally -- too late. He won't forgive me for doubting him. It's been too long."

"You'll have to convince him that you no longer doubt him. That what has passed before was a terrible mistake brought on by your grieving for your daughter."

"I don't know..."

"Will you let your grieving for your lost relationship cloud your judgment again?" he wondered sternly. "Talk to your husband. Tell him everything that is in your heart. Let him tell you if he can forgive."

Kathryn finished her tea and thanked him for his time.

"You know -- I remember your mother, Kathryn," the priest told her with a smile on his face. "She was very proud of you, even though she didn't understand what drove you to want college and a career. You made her very happy. It would please her to know that you were going to try and make your marriage work again."

Kathryn looked out the door. The rain had stopped and the sky was restless with shadows and sunlight. "Thanks, Father. I'll do my best." She drove back to the clinic where a frantic Stephano waited for her.

"I was worried that something had happened to you during the storm. Where have you been?"

"Talking," she replied vaguely, still trying to absorb the priest's words. "Just talking."

It was all he would get from her until she left that evening with Meg and Travis for the state senator's dinner to benefit the Azalea children's charity.

"I hope to be back late," she told him, walking out the door. "Very late."

"It's Michael, isn't it?" he asked with a smile.

"I hope so." She sighed, adjusting her brightly patterned skirt one more time. "Wish me luck, Stephano. I-I'm not sure I can do this."

"You can do anything," he replied, kissing her cheek. "Haven't we proven that with this town?"

"This town," she scoffed, her eyes concerned. "I'm talking about a life, Stephano. A whole lifetime."

"You can do it," he repeated. "Have some faith. He loves you, too, you know. All you have to do is find the way back into each other's arms." He took her hands in his. "I care for you Querida. So much that I'd rather you were with Michael than be this unhappy."

She tore at a tissue she had kept clenched in her hand, so nervous about seeing Michael that she could barely think straight.

Meg and Travis badgered her with questions that she refused to answer, telling them that it would all be over with, one way or another, that night.

But it wasn't so easy. The dinner was sparsely attended that night. The heavy downpour was blamed for the poor attendance. There had been several serious accidents on the rain slick streets and many had chosen to send their regrets. Including their main guest, Senator Riley.

Kathryn sat at her table with Meg and Travis, sipping her wine and looking at the group that had assembled there that night. They were still struggling an hour and a half later to make up for the senator's absence. Ross had stopped by their table, asking about Michael. "I can't believe the rain kept him away as well," he said testily.

"I don't know," Kathryn replied lightly. "I do know that he had to go down to Charleston this morning. Maybe the weather wouldn't let him get back in time."

They called on her to speak on her favorite subject, the clinic. She obliged, but her usual fire was markedly absent.

"I can't believe you turned down an interview," Meg stated with a look at Travis. "The clinic must be doing very well."

Kathryn shrugged. "It's going pretty well."

The husband and wife exchanged another look across the table, then Travis excused himself.

"Okay," Meg demanded. "What's happened? Where's Michael and why do you look like a truck just ran over your foot?"

Kathryn smiled and toyed with her wineglass. "Michael really is in Charleston as far as I know. The other? Maybe it's my make up."

Meg frowned, narrowing her vision on her friend. "I've known you for a long time. Something's up with you. Was it something about the cruise last night? I saw the paper this morning with the baby and your swim in the river. Did something else happen?"

"Michael and I," Kathryn told her in a voice of deadly quiet. "Spent the night together."

"What? That's wonderful! So, the two of you are back together? Will you have to be married again? I know this great place -- "

"The divorce papers were finally delivered this morning. He signed them and gave them back to me. He doesn't want anything else to do with me, Meg."

Meg sat back in her chair. "I don't believe it. He still loves you. You know he broke up with Susan Allison. Travis told me. Not that she was anything special in his life."

"Apparently," Kathryn said, tears glistening in her eyes. "Neither am I."

"I don't believe it," Meg said again with a little toss to her short curls. "He's probably just hurt. He did get those papers right after he spent the night with you. You just need to explain to him that it wasn't anything to do with what happened. You need to tell him that you want to get back together."

Meg was taken away by a call from her babysitter. She left, eliciting Kathryn's promise that she wouldn't do anything rash.

Kathryn looked down at her hands on the table. She could save a man's life with her hands and the hard-won knowledge in her head. Yet, she didn't know if she could win a man's heart.

"Hello, Kathryn. Or should I call you Dr. Richards?"

She looked up and encountered a beautiful woman. She was dressed expensively, her golden blond hair topping her head like a crown. She wore a little too much make up but it didn't help the tight lines around her eyes and mouth.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" the woman challenged her, then laughed. "Why should you? I wasn't a big part of your life."

Something about the pale blue eyes was familiar but Kathryn couldn't quite place --

"It's me, Carrie Striker. Well, now it's Simmons. I was Michael's next door neighbor. His secretary for a while. Remember?"

Kathryn stared hard at the elegant woman as she sat in Meg's place across from her and smiled engagingly.

"It was such a long time ago. I know it was presumptuous of me, but my husband and I wanted you to have a check for your clinic. We think the work you do there is so important for the poor." She scooted a check towards her on the table.

Kathryn couldn't bring words to form on her lips. Carrie Striker. She stared, wordlessly at the woman.

"You aren't still angry about that unfortunate incident with Michael, are you?" The woman laughed, a lilting sound that surged from her throat.

"You're married?" Kathryn managed briefly.

"I married Kevin Simmons about four years ago. He's here, somewhere." Carrie glanced around the room awkwardly, hoping to see her husband. "Well, anyway. We've been very happy together,"

Kathryn made a choked sound and swallowed a sip of wine.

"I know," Carrie confided, moving a little closer to Kathryn. "You probably thought that I was, well, in love with Michael but really it was all a mistake. He never cared about me like that. Not like my Kevin."

"That morning in his office," Kathryn said the words very distinctly and slowly so as not to be misunderstood. "The morning I left him -- "

Carrie glanced around them again nervously. "It was part of my master plan to make Michael aware of me as a woman. I thought if he saw the two of us together and he finally understood what I was willing to give him, well, I thought he'd chose me. Frankly, Kathryn, I never thought you'd leave him. It was a foolish thing to do."

There was actually no thought process that led to Kathryn's action. One moment, she was sitting across from Carrie in her expensive dress, with her too perfect make up and the next, Kathryn had thrown her wine in the other woman's face. Then she got to her feet and left Carrie sitting at the table, screeching, wine dripping from her hair and skin.

"You bitch!" the blond yelled after her. Reporters scouted the situation and closed in for the story. "You stupid bitch!"

Kathryn didn't look back. She left the dining room, wishing she hadn't taken an oath to 'do no harm', and waited for Meg and Travis in the car.

Chapter 18

"Well that was an evening to remember!" Travis stated as they made a run for the car.

"You know she had it coming!" Meg raised her voice above the din from the storm. "She and Kathryn just needed to be in the same room together."

Travis opened the car door and scooted inside. "Kathryn, you've made a splash again, if you'll excuse the pun."

Meg laughed until she thought her sides would burst. "Someone should have told Carrie a long time ago that you can buy waterproof mascara! She looked like a raccoon!"

Travis laughed with her on but Kathryn wasn't amused.

"All these years," she fumed. "All these years, I wouldn't believe Michael. I believed what that little tramp wanted me to believe. What was wrong with me?"

Travis toned down his laughter and looked at her in the rearview mirror. "You should have had some faith in him, Kathryn. He loved you more than his life. He wouldn't have hurt you that way."

Meg glared at him in the interior light. "Which is not to say that all the blame should fall on Kathryn's shoulders! If he hadn't been giving her a hard time, she would've been able to talk to him!"

Husband and wife exchanged angry glances then looked away from one another.

"I was wrong not to see it," Kathryn concluded the argument. "Travis is right. We were having problems but I should have trusted him. I should have at least demanded an explanation."

The ride back to the new clinic was quiet. The rain beat against the car with a steady tattoo and the wind whipped the dark trees on the water laden streets.

Travis let Kathryn off at the side door where a bright new spotlight was shining.

"I guess they got the power on," she remarked, then opened the car door. "Thanks for the ride, Travis, Meg. Don't the two of you start having problems! I don't think I can handle it."

Travis touched his wife's short blond hair with a gentle hand. "Don't worry. She owns half of everything I own. We have to love each other forever!"

Meg nudged him hard with her elbow but smiled at Kathryn. "It's okay. Just worry about you and Michael. I want to dance at your wedding again."

Kathryn smiled grimly and dashed out into the stormy night, running into the dry house gratefully. She closed the door slowly behind her. The storm rumbled and the rain slashed at the windows. Stephano had left a note on his bulletin board that he'd put up that day, updating the status on their patients, telling her that he was asleep and he'd appreciate staying that way.

There was a small night light left on in the hallway between the kitchen and the first examining room that had once been her dining room. Already, it was easier to be in the house. It was quickly becoming less memory-bound and more the new clinic. Examining tables and chairs sat beside desks and computers that blinked in the darkness. Charts and pictures of the human body and messages about good health covered the walls.

She was glad Stephano was asleep. She didn't want to admit it to anyone but going up the stairs was still hard for her. Downstairs, she could look around and see the trappings of her life as a doctor. But upstairs, it was still Cetta's nursery and the bedroom she and Michael had shared.

In time, she sighed tiredly, she felt certain she would get over all of it. But there hadn't been enough time yet. And she didn't want to be teased or badgered about it. She would sleep upstairs in her own good time.

She went into her own office and shut the door, changing her clothes while the rain pounded and the thunder raged. She sat down in the very comfortable new chair Stephano had bought for her and stared into the darkness across her paper- strewn desk.

What a fool she was! She screamed silently at herself. Everyone, for as long as she could recall, had always praised her, told her how clever, how smart she was and yet she had let that blond idiot ruin her life! She cleared her desk with a single sweep of her arm then sat on the chair, studying the results of her tantrum.

No, it wasn't Carrie's fault. It was her own fault. She hadn't had faith in her husband, hadn't been able to believe that he loved her, as Travis had said. She should have kicked that little blond out on her ear and demanded an explanation from Michael. She should have wailed and called him all the foul names she knew in Spanish and English.

But she'd been too proud. And too quick to believe that she wasn't what he needed, that they were separated by so much from their different backgrounds. Maybe even a little afraid that she wasn't good enough for him. Although she couldn't imagine herself admitting that five years earlier.

Worse, and perhaps even more unforgivable, afraid that she had loved him too much. She hadn't loved him at all, she scoffed, prowling the dark room with a restless footstep. She had let their relationship go without a single word.

In all fairness, she hadn't been in her right mind back then. She had been sick with grief and longing for her dead daughter. It had only been a few years since she had lost her mother. She had no other family. No friends she trusted to tell her problems.

Then she had rejected the one person who could have helped her find happiness again. The one person who'd needed her to help him find happiness. The priest was right, she decided. She had to make Michael listen to her. She had to make this work between them. Finally.

Carrie Striker was right about one thing: she had said that leaving Michael was a foolish thing to do.

Kathryn loved Michael. She was fairly sure that he loved her. If Travis and Charlie were right, a love like that couldn't die. True, they would fight when he tried to protect her from life. They would fight and then they would make up in bed.

And maybe, maybe, there would be another baby. Not a little one to replace her Cetta, but a brother or sister who would know her name and keep her company sometimes. She had never been able to consider that possibility. But suddenly, everything in life seemed possible. Life itself became possible for her.

She fell asleep with her head on her desk, light-hearted for the first time in years with the possibilities of the future ahead of her. Not just the possibilities of her career and her work but of her heart and her dreams.

Two weeks later, she sat at the same desk, angry and frustrated.

Michael wouldn't talk to her. He wouldn't listen to her. Apparently, true to his word, he was finished with explaining or trying to understand. The rain that had begun falling on that day two weeks before had continued, finally alleviating the spring drought. Unfortunately, it had also canceled three of the charity functions that had been scheduled.

Determined not to be thwarted by some bad weather, Kathryn phoned Michael, trying to see him. He wouldn't return her calls. She waited, finally, at his office but he wasn't alone. When she tried to set a time they could meet and talk, he looked at her with icy blue eyes that made her shiver.

The clinic re-opened, despite the bad weather, and Michael came to the open house festivities. But he was brief and blunt, openly avoiding being alone with her.

"All I want is a few minutes," she pleaded, standing close to him in the crowd of well-wishers.

He glared at her. "You're five years too late. Excuse me."

She watched him walk away, wanting to yell at him and do him some bodily harm for the pain he was causing her. Patience, she consoled herself, taking a deep breath. You have all the time in the world. He's not going anywhere and neither are you.

So, she watched him mingle with the crowd, his blond head and broad shoulders making him easy to spot. The rain continued and so had she, annoying him with frequent phone calls and turning up in places he didn't expect her.

Sighing but determined not to give up, her much vaunted pride already in tatters around her feet, she picked up the phone and called him again. It was late, almost midnight. Marcello answered the phone and put her through to Michael at once, receiving a blistering assault when he gave him the phone.

"Kathryn."

"Michael, I need a few minutes of your time. We have to talk. It's very important."

"It's late," he groaned. "Maybe tomorrow. Call my office."

"You've been putting me off for two weeks," she accused him boldly. "I have to see you!"

"It's been a long day, Kathryn. Call me in the morning, huh?" He hung up.

Infuriated, she glared at the phone, not believing that he had hung up on her.

Without thinking about it too closely, she got into the car that Charlie was letting the clinic purchase from him and drove out to their house. He was going to see her if she had to drag him out of bed. They had something to say to one another. Maybe it would be one last thing but it was something she meant to say.

She calmly walked out into the rain-soaked yard after parking the car in the drive. All of the lights were out in the house, but she knew which bedroom was Michael's. The rain actually stopped for a few minutes while she followed the glistening white stone path around the house. The moon ranged raggedly behind fast moving clouds that threatened to start a downpour again at any second.

She picked up a handful of the white gravel and carefully heaved the stone at his window, wincing when it struck with a little more force than she imagined. Fortunately, the window didn't break. She waited while the light came on in the room. Michael threw open the window.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" he demanded angrily, pushing aside the drapes.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me," she promised, her heart pounding.

He drew in a deep breath. "We don't have anything to say to one another."

"Okay, I'll talk," she retorted quickly. "I'm sorry Michael. I know it's been a long time coming but it's true. I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

"Great!" He snorted, starting to close the window. "I'll see you later."

"Wait!"

"What?!"

She looked down at the white gravel, gathering courage, then looked back up at him, silhouetted against the light from his bedside table. "I love you, Michael. I know you still love me. I know you're angry."

"Angry?" he demanded finally, not able to hold out against her words. "You finally meet up with Carrie again after all these years and she tells you the truth and now I'm forgiven? Now you know that you should have trusted me? Because that bitch told you it was okay? That's pathetic, Kit! You still don't trust me and you don't love me. Go home. Find somebody you can believe in."

He closed his bedroom window and turned out the light. Kathryn stood for another moment, looking up at the house. The moon gleamed down on her upturned face. Then the rain started again and she walked away slowly, her damp curls glinting in the restless moonlight.

Michael swore and threw himself back against the bed, one arm across his eyes. He knew it was the truth. He'd seen the newspaper that had recounted their fiery meeting. The divorce papers had already been filed, no doubt, he rasped at his raw nerves. She had what she wanted. What game she was playing with him now? Whatever it was, he didn't want to play. He had been taken again by her beautiful smile and her sexy walk, by the dark fire in her eyes and the sweetness of her kiss. But he only had one heart to break and she had savaged it until not even her medical skill could put it back together.

He was better off without her, he reminded himself in the darkness, every ounce of his will required to keep him from running after her in the rain. He wanted her. God, he wanted her! Despite everything. But he couldn't trust her again. He didn't dare trust her again.

And he couldn't love her. If it meant cutting out his traitorous heart that jumped when she said those words, he couldn't love her.

Kathryn drove the car back into town and to the hospital, not thinking about what had happened or what she would do next. She felt drained and lifeless, not sure anymore that what she was doing was right.

Maybe Michael didn't love her anymore. Maybe it had finally died for him.

She parked the car and walked slowly, despite the pouring rain, until she reached the canopy covering the emergency room entrance. Wearily, she followed the sidewalk to the sliding glass doors. She walked into the ER and looked around the empty waiting room, then passed out on the floor.

"Hello!"

Kathryn opened her eyes and looked around the room. She was lying on a bed in a small examining room. The cheerful physician was Doug Ramsey but other than that, she wasn't sure about anything.

"What happened?" she asked when she could move her tongue. "Did I hit my head?"

"No," Doug told her with a shake of his earnest red hair. "You've been out for a few minutes though and we're not sure why. You just walked in and passed out. Have you eaten today?"

Kathryn started to answer, then looked at him. "I'm fine."

"Fine people don't pass out cold, Doctor," he replied calmly. "We'll have to do a few tests. Hospital policy."

The few tests took three hours. Kathryn waited impatiently, calling Stephano when Doug left her alone for a few minutes.

Stephano rushed into the hospital, his dark hair uncombed and a night of beard on his chin. He looked at her charts and took Doug by the arm, asking the other doctor for his opinion on his patient.

"Your patient?" Doug demanded.

"Naturally," Stephano responded. "We always take care of one another."

Doug glared at them both, then filled in his erstwhile colleague. They walked out of the room together while Kathryn sat back on the bed, waiting nervously.

When Stephano returned, alone, she sat up quickly, wanting to know at once if there was a problem.

Stephano looked at her test results on the chart and scratched his chin. "I suppose it all depends on your point of view."

"My point of view?" She gasped. "Stephano, tell me!"

He faced her, putting down her chart. "You're pregnant, partner. Just a couple of weeks."

"What?!"

"Remember biology, Kathryn? The sperm meets the egg? Presto! A baby is created and born about forty weeks later."

"I-I can't be pregnant," she denied in rasping tones. "I can't be!"

Stephano's eyes were sympathetic but his voice was stern. "Did you use protection? Did you think you were immune?"

No," she whispered, trying to come to terms with the miraculous discovery. "No, there wasn't time. I didn't think -- I didn't plan -- "

He held up his hand. "I think I've heard these excuses before. Let's not go any further unless you have something original."

"Stephano!" She looked at him, dark eyes full of dread and wonder. "What will I do?"

"Knowing you, Kathryn? You'll have this baby and love it with all your heart and soul."

She broke down then, crying wildly, soaking his shoulder with her tears. "Am I all right?" she asked finally, the physician in her asking about the patient that she had become.

"You're fine. You need to start taking some prenatal vitamins, I think. Your red blood cell count is down a little, you know; but otherwise, you seem to be healthy."

"Oh God, Stephano," she cried, pushing back her hair from her face. "A baby! I'm going to have a baby!" She hugged him tightly.

"That's what the rabbit says," he agreed, wishing Michael was there instead of him to receive those hugs and tears. Something was definitely going to have to be done about the two of them since now there was a third person involved.

Yet, as her physician, he couldn't tell Charlie about the baby. He was going to have to brainstorm this one himself.

Kathryn was released from the hospital and Stephano drove them back to the clinic in the early morning traffic. "You're going to have to be a little more careful, take care of yourself," he admonished her.

The sky was clearing, bright blue between the early morning pink and white clouds. The sun was actually coming up, burning away the last of the rain and the mist that had dogged them for the past two weeks.

The announcer on the radio joked that he could stop work on his ark and that local ball games scheduled for that afternoon weren't going to be canceled after all because of the change in the weather. "Go out and enjoy yourselves today," he said brightly. "You never know when the rain's coming back again."

Kathryn's mind seethed and raced with the knowledge of the new life she carried. She held her hand on her stomach, knowing she couldn't feel it yet, not even that first faint butterfly flutter. Yet knowing made all the difference. Within her, another life was forming. Another life created by their love. A second chance.

"You'll have to tell Michael," Stephano said aloud as though they were both thinking along the same lines.

"I can't," she disagreed, shaking her head. "How can I? Last night, he told me that I should go home and find someone else. He thinks I've decided to trust him because of something that Carrie said to me. If I tell him about the baby, he'll think I wanted him back to have a father for the little one."

"Is that so bad?" Stephano inquired sharply. "Haven't the two of you been through enough? Can't this be the thing that brings you back together?"

She stared out the window, silently, until they reached the clinic. "If it was different because of this, he would never believe that I love him," she explained sadly.

"Kathryn," Stephano groaned, depressed. "He's going to know anyway. It's not something you can hide for long."

She shrugged and climbed out of the car. "We may never see one another again after the charity is over. We didn't see each other for the first six months I was back in Olympia. We don't travel in the same circles."

"Reconsider," he advised, putting a hand on her arm to detain her before she went into the house. "He has a right to know. You and the baby have a right to his protection."

"I'll think about it," she promised. Inside, she moved her hand across her stomach, looking at herself in the mirror in her office. She was pregnant. Pregnant with Michael's child again. She was scared and elated. She didn't know if she could live through another lost child like Cetta but the notion that she could hold a baby in her arms, her son or daughter, made her take her fears in hand and try to put them aside.

The morning was busy with a steady stream of patients who exclaimed over the bright new clinic, then told their doctors of their illnesses and fears. Many were actually paying patients, but most were there because they knew they could go without having the money.

More checks came with the mail. Kathryn looked through the day's mail, pleasantly surprised to see the lapse in the charity affairs hadn't meant a lapse in the clinic's funding. There was also a letter from the Azalea children's charity thanking her for her participation and telling her that there would be a luncheon to be held in September on behalf of all those who'd worked for the charity.

September, she mused, putting down the mail and staring thoughtfully ahead of her at the blank wall. She would be well into her sixth month of pregnancy by that time. There would be no way to hide it, as Stephano had proclaimed. She could deny that the baby was Michael's, she considered, biting her lip and frowning. She could pretend there was someone else. But she knew that if Michael saw her at the luncheon in September, his -- and her -- pain would start all over again...

Tell him, a tiny voice inside her urged. Tell him and live with him again. Maybe in time, he would learn to love you again. Yet, though she had put her pride aside in pursuing his forgiveness, she couldn't face the idea of waking up beside him every day, knowing he was only there because he felt responsible.

Thinking that when he made love to her, he was only doing his duty by her, taking the responsibility for her and the baby.

Meg burst in the back door as Kathryn started back for her office. "Can you get the afternoon off?"

"I suppose." Kathryn shrugged. "Why?"

Meg started to explain about a house that was being built for a family of five. It was a project of Michael's. The family couldn't afford housing without it. The rain had delayed construction to the point that the family would be in the street if it wasn't finished.

"So, we're all getting together to finish it off today. Travis said Michael got the loan expedited so that the family can be in the house as soon as it's finished," she concluded.

"What can I do?" Kathryn asked. "I'm not much good with a hammer."

"There's lots to do, if you can come," Meg promised, putting her arm around her friend's shoulders and leaning her head close. "And Michael might be there."

Kathryn sighed and closed her eyes. "I'll come anyway."

"Anyway?" Meg frowned. "I thought you just spent the last two weeks trying to see him and talk to him."

"I have," Kathryn explained briefly. "And I finally talked to him last night."

Meg looked closely at her friend's face. "Don't tell me that idiot said he didn't love you or something equally as moronic?"

Kathryn smiled. "I'll tell Stephano I'm going. We can talk about men and their idiosyncrasies on the way."

Stephano cautioned her about being careful and not overdoing it, then Kathryn was climbing into the back of the pick-up truck that had brought Meg. They picked up another few volunteers, and the back of the truck, as well as the cab, was full.

The sunshine was hot on their heads but the wind from the river was strong, cooling the air. There was already a crowd of people on the site when they arrived, tramping through the red mud carrying lumber and sheet rock and working on the loosely framed structure.

Glad that Meg had remembered to bring a pair of boots for her, Kathryn jumped out of the truck and was issued a yellow hard hat and a set of instructions for the day. A local fast food restaurant was setting up to feed the crowd of volunteers. A local radio station that had caught wind of the project had decided to broadcast live from the job site.

"Here." Meg handed Kathryn a pair of dirty brown gloves. "Better protect those hands. What are you doing?"

"Putting nails into cans and carting them around to people," Kathryn replied. "You?"

"I'm roofing," Meg proclaimed brightly, her blond hair sticking out like grass from under her helmet. She hefted her tool belt high and grinned.

"Have you ever...roofed?" Kathryn searched for the verb.

"Nope," Meg answered. "But they've got Travis putting up sheet rock and he's never even painted a wall in his life!"

They parted at the base of the house, Meg scooting up the ladder to the roof with quick, light steps.

"Thank you for coming." A man shook Kathryn's hand as she turned around to find the smaller cans for the huge nail bucket. "My family and I appreciate you being here! Dr. Richards! I'm so pleased you could be here. Do you remember me?"

Kathryn did remember the man and his three children, all who had come down with chicken pox within two days of one another.

"Congratulations on the house," she said with a smile. "I can't wait to see what it looks like when it's finished."

They worked side by side for nearly three hours until a low ache started in the middle of Kathryn's back and she decided it was time for a break. She looked up, shading her eyes against the sunlight with her hand, to watch Meg scamper across the beginnings of the roof, silhouetted against the clear blue sky. There were people from all over Olympia, drawn by others and the radio broadcast. With the speed the house was progressing, she measured, surely the house would be done by that night.

She hadn't seen Michael and perhaps that was for the best. She didn't know if she could face him yet, with the secret her body was carrying and lie to him. Once she was adjusted to the idea, it would be different. Wouldn't it?

She collapsed against a stack of lumber, cradling a soft drink in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Her yellow helmet slightly askew and her clothes and boots covered in red mud. Michael saw her at once when he parked the truck at the crowded site. His long legs ate up the space between them in minutes.

"Come with me," he commanded abruptly, taking her arm.

"What?" she demanded, startled.

"I said, come with me, damn it, Kit, Don't make me carry you and embarrass us both in front of everyone!"

Kathryn stared at him. "What's wrong? Wasn't I supposed to take a break yet?"

"Kathryn," he ground out, quickly losing his patience. "I'm not kidding. Come with me or I'll -- "

"Drag me away," she finished, nodding. She stood up and put her drink and sandwich wrapper in the trash. "I understand. Let's go." She followed him to his truck, seeing Meg's questioning glance and shrugging her shoulders.

"Thanks for coming!" Seth called out and waved as the pair climbed into the truck.

"I'll be back," Michael promised. "Keep an eye on 'em, Seth."

They drove away from the project in silence, Kathryn looking out the window, nervousness clenching her stomach.

Michael kept his eyes focused on the road ahead until he finally turned the truck into the driveway of a large house that overlooked the river.

"Michael." She balked as he turned off the truck and got out. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it out here. I don't want to go in there."

"I have something I have to check in this house in the next hour before it closes," he told her. "You'll just have to come along."

"I'll wait," she said defiantly, staring at him through the window.

"Come on, Kit." He opened the door and took her hand. "Get out of the truck. It's too warm to sit out here and talk. Come inside."

Reluctantly, she gave in, allowing him to lead her into the house. Partly because he was right and the truck was already heating up in the hot sun and partly because it was like having a tooth removed. The sooner she got it over with, the better. Whatever he had to say to her was probably going to be the end of their relationship after last night.

The house was the first one of the French village Michael had always wanted to build on the river. Tall, graceful gables swayed down to soft arched doorways and romantic balconies that faced the water.

"This is beautiful," she said in appreciation.

"The design is actually Charlie's from thirty years ago when he first started dreaming about building this village," Michael explained, closing the heavy oak door behind him.

The house was furnished with light, contemporary pieces that wouldn't weigh down the setting. Kathryn walked through the room towards the wide panoramic windows on the other side and looked down at the river below the hillside.

"Why did you do it, Kit?" Michael demanded roughly, advancing on her from the doorway.

"Do what?" she asked, breathlessly. She imagined at once that somehow he'd found out about her pregnancy. She tuned and faced him, her back against the cool glass.

He looked at her and she felt a very prey-like impulse to flee. His blue eyes were intense as the sky outside, demanding an answer she didn't want to give.

"I have to go," she said, trying to stalk past him with as much power as she could muster, wishing she hadn't taken her boots off at the door but the white carpet was too pristine for her muddy feet.

"Neither one of us is going anywhere until we both know the truth," he replied, reaching out and grabbing her in mid flight.

"You lied," she accused, struggling in his arms. "You aren't doing anything here."

"Yes, I am," he assured her hotly. "I'm doing what I should have done five years ago. I'm making you stand still and talk to me."

She glared at him mutinously, bringing her foot down hard on his instep.

He caught his breath a little but without shoes, the movement could only be so effective. "Okay," he decided. "If we can't talk then we'll resolve this another way."

Kathryn's eyes widened when he started to unbutton his shirt. "Michael, I don't want you anymore! This won't work! I won't let you do this to me!"

His mouth closed over hers, ending the stream of words she would have spat at him in two languages. He ripped his shirt from his chest then did the same with hers in one quick movement, buttons flying around them.

"Kit," he whispered, touching his mouth to her throat, her ears, while she struggled relentlessly against him. "There's nowhere else for either of us to run."

She stopped struggling and stared at him, as always her traitorous body turning hot and pliable in his arms. His hands moved slowly along her spine until she moaned and shivered against him.

Her jeans dropped to the floor around her feet and she stepped out of them. Her hands moved restlessly down his hips until his pants joined hers on the spotless white carpet.

Kathryn rolled back to the large sofa with him when their last shred of clothing hit the floor. His lips took any protests she might have made as he entered her in one swift, sure movement.

Hot and ready for him, she wrapped her legs around him while her tongue teased his own and her body whispered her surrender. The fast spiral of heat swept them both higher until their breath came faster and their hearts beat together in time to their wild lovemaking.

"I love you," she cried out when the brilliant cascade of color and light erupted through her. "I love you, Michael."

"Oh, God, Kit!" he rasped as he reached the crescent himself and plummeted back to earth. "Oh God, I love you!"

They lay in each other's arms for a long time, afraid to lose what they might have found together again.

"How did you know?" she asked at length.

"Charlie told me," he answered, kissing her forehead, her beautiful eyes and her love reddened lips.

"How did he know?"

"It wasn't hard to guess," he replied gently. "When he told me this morning, I started thinking."

"And you felt responsible." She sighed heavily, her head nestled on his shoulder.

"I felt that maybe I was wrong. If you'd wanted the divorce, you certainly wouldn't have left the papers there with Charlie."

"Papers?" She pushed herself up on one arm. "The divorce papers?"

"The divorce papers," he continued, cheerfully. "Charlie and Jake used them to start the grill that afternoon."

She laughed but tears seeped from her eyes. "You're talking about the divorce papers! That's what brought you to me?"

Michael stared at her. "When he told me this morning, I started thinking about what you said and I knew that I was wrong. Carrie couldn't have been the one who changed your mind."

"It's true," she admitted, crying with the joy of knowing he hadn't found out about the baby. "When I saw you that day, I knew that I had been wrong. I was so scared. I was afraid that you could talk me into looking the other way. I was afraid that you really didn't want me."

"Shh." He kissed her lips tenderly, stroking a gentle hand down her smooth body. "We were both demented. Losing Cetta was so devastating. I thought I could build over the top of it and push it aside. I knew that you were in pain and I wanted to take us both away from it."

"But I didn't want to think about her being gone." She shook her dark curls. "I couldn't cope with the idea of life without her. I couldn't see that you were in pain as well. I just wanted to block out everything."

He kissed her slowly, as though he could make up for the last five years with one long embrace. She helped him with her tears and her sighs.

They made love again, slowly. Discovering something about one another that they never noticed before, something precious and real to take with them into their new lives.

"Marry me again," he entreated as they stood at the window overlooking the river, bright with the slowly dying sun. "In the little church, where Cetta can see."

She closed her eyes and smiled, standing there with his arms around her, the warmth of his body at her back. "You have to promise not to try to always look for the right way for me to do everything," she replied, holding out despite the joy in her heart.

He groaned. "I can only promise to try," he answered, nibbling on her ear. "You know how I like to organize things..."

"And people," she agreed.

"And you have to promise not to shut me out when you get mad," he added, liking the way her fingers felt sliding across his back. "No matter how much I try to organize you."

"All right," she agreed. "We can include those in our marriage vows."

He bent his head and kissed her. "I love you, Kathryn. My life has been so empty without you."

She returned his kiss and smiled up into his face. "And mine has been so...disorganized."

He laughed and hugged her closer to him.

"I wonder what everyone at the site thinks happened to us?" she voiced, desperately trying to find the words to tell him about the little life that lay just under his hands.

"Exactly what did happen," he said calmly. "And they're probably all applauding."

They were quiet again for a long moment while Kathryn's mind raced in circles, trying to decide what to say to him.

"Kit," he said finally, nuzzling her neck with his lips. "There's just one more thing. I had a dream last night after you left me. I don't want to push. It's not something that has to happen right away. I dreamed that you were pregnant again. I dreamed that we had a little, blond haired boy with your dark eyes and my talent for organizing."

"Michael." She half turned in his arms, tears streaming from her eyes.

"It's okay," he whispered, not wanting to push too far, too fast. "When we're ready. It doesn't have to be now, Kit. Or even nine months from now."

He smiled and she kissed him gently, touching his face with a trailing finger. "How about eight and a half months from now?" she suggested intently.

He looked into her face and saw the hope and fear in her eyes. He knew. He kissed her again and smiled, tears in his own bright eyes. "Whenever you're ready, Kit. I'll be there."

Olympia Dispatch

Charles Bryan Helms was born, eight pounds, two ounces, on November 29 to rave reviews from his grandfather, Charlie Helms, and parents, Michael and Kathryn Helms.

To learn about other books Awe-Struck publishes, go to the Awe-Struck E-Books website at http://www.awe-struck.net/

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