Remember the Time (46 page)

Smiling broadly, Mike said, “It’s been a long time, Mrs. Armstrong. Patricia. Gordon.” He reached across the table and heartily shook Gordon Swope’s instinctively offered hand. Donna Estes hovered behind the family and Mike nodded at her. “Nice work, Donna.”

The irony in his words soared over Donna’s head, and she beamed at him, nearly forgetting the scene she had just witnessed.

No one had spoken a word to Kate yet. Mike waited till the Armstrong clan was seated, then said, “And you all remember my fiancée, Kate?”

The question had the desired effect. Patricia’s and Gordon’s heads simultaneously swiveled to gape at Mrs. Armstrong, who resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

Kate nearly laughed out loud when a small delighted squeal issued forth from Donna. The word “congratulations” was barely out of her mouth, when she hurriedly excused herself, unable to wait to convey the news.

“We’re planning a fall wedding. My nephew is the best man and he won’t be available till then,” Mike went on. “Hey, but listen to me. I’m doing all the talking.”

Salads sat untouched. Paul’s mother finally managed to say, “This is rather … sudden.”

Kate knew what those four words really meant. As far as Margaret Armstrong was concerned, Kate should still be wearing black. Preferably a nun’s habit, if it came to that. But take another husband, after she’d had Paul Armstrong? God forbid.

“Sudden in what way?” Mike asked, his face the picture of innocence.

Kate found her voice at last. “Mrs. Armstrong, I know this is hard for you, but Paul has been dead three years today. I wasn’t buried with him. I don’t want to mourn him anymore. I’m very happy right now. I’d very much like it if you could be happy for me, too.”

Plates of some sort of unrecognizable chicken dish appeared in front of them. While the student finished serving their table, no one spoke. When he was gone, the silence became unbearable.

Gordon finally put his hand out to Kate and said, “I hope you’ll be very happy.” Kate gratefully took his hand. And then he added, “You deserve it.”

Kate looked into his eyes and saw a sympathy that could only come from understanding. “Thank you.” She smiled.

The congratulatory words from Paul’s mother and sister were less than heartfelt and the next twenty minutes went by excruciatingly slowly, with Mike trying to fill in the enormous conversational gaps on his own.

The background music stopped mid-lyric, and there was a deep, hollow thudding noise as Donna Estes tested the microphone at the podium. The seventy-plus diners grew quiet, and sounds of silverware clattering on plates and throats being cleared filled the gym. Donna spoke into the mike and a squeal reverberated through the room, causing some laughter.

Backing away a few inches, she said, “Sorry, folks. That was almost as bad as that blackboard thing Mr. LaPlante used to pull on us.” A sea of grins greeted her as they all remembered the English teacher who truly knew how to get a class’s attention. “I’d like to introduce the principal of Staunton High School, Mr. Mark Lewis.”

Applause greeted the lanky young man.

“Thanks for coming and thank you all for your donations of time and money. This beautiful new facility is a testament to your hard work and generosity. The state of Virginia paid for half of it. It never would have been built without all of you.”

Once again, applause broke out.

“I’d like to ask Kate Armstrong to join me.”

Mike squeezed Kate’s hand as she shakily stood. All heads turned to watch her walk to the podium.

Shaking the principal’s hand, Kate stood back, waiting.

Mark Lewis turned back to the microphone. “Every student who passes through this school is special, in his
or her own way. But there are some who seem to stand out. Who make us all proud to say that we shared the same halls of learning. Paul Armstrong was one such student.

“Paul Armstrong died three years ago today, but he left behind a legacy of what one can achieve with talent and hard work. Yes, Paul Armstrong played baseball here before he went on to become a star in his field, but more importantly, he also maintained a three-eight grade point average. We would like all the aspiring athletes who come through this building to know there is a place for learning in sports.

“Therefore, I am enormously pleased and proud to welcome you all to the Paul Allen Armstrong Memorial Gymnasium.”

Mark Lewis gestured for Kate to step forward, and as she neared the podium, the applause drowned out her introduction. When it was quiet again, the principal said, “Mrs. Armstrong, we’d be honored if you’d say a few words before revealing the plaque.”

Kate gripped the sides of the podium and looked down for a moment as another smattering of applause broke out. When she raised her head, she looked out across the vast room. Her husky voice—steady—reached everyone. “You all probably already know this, but I’m Kathleen Moran Armstrong. Everyone calls me Kate. I haven’t been Mrs. Armstrong in a very long time.”

She hesitated only a moment, as she sought out Mike’s face. When she found him in the dim light, she noticed someone sitting at the table who hadn’t been there before. Julia winked at her and Kate smiled. She went on, strengthened by the two people she could truly call friends. “I think I can safely say that Paul would have been thrilled by all this. He loved children of all ages and I know that if he were alive today, he would be spending a good amount of
time here doing what he could to help these kids reach their goals.

“I also know that Paul Armstrong, besides being a great baseball player and a brave man, was only human. And those are the only things I can say about Paul with any real certainty. He was just like any of you. He had his moments of doubt. He had his flaws. And even though I knew Paul for seventeen years, I never really
knew
him.”

The room had gone completely silent. Kate found Mike’s eyes again and saw not only love in them, but pride. She raised her chin, knowing it was time to finish this thing once and for all.

“We are, after all, only human, too. We see what we want to see in those we love. But I don’t think we ever really know them. And I believe that’s the way it should be. I think everyone needs to keep a small piece of themselves. Something you can say is truly yours. Something no one can take away.

“When Paul died I thought I’d lost that little piece of me. But I’ve found it again. Paul’s life ended three years ago. Thank God I’ve just recently discovered that mine didn’t. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with the business of living.”

Kate turned away from the astonished crowd and in a few short steps stood next to the curtained plaque. Whisking aside the fabric, she kept walking until she reached the disc jockey who’d been providing the musical entertainment for the evening. She bent down and whispered something to him. He nodded and flipped through his stack of compact discs.

The gymnasium had filled with the echoing sound of applause, but Kate didn’t hear it. As she walked toward Mike, who now stood, she never took her eyes off his face. Her hands reached out for his, and as the clapping died down, she softly said, “Can I have this dance?”

The unmistakable bass notes of “My Girl” filled the room as he pulled her into his arms. Pressing his lips into her neck, he said, “All the dances have always been yours, darlin’. I was just waiting for you to ask.”

Annette Reynolds was born in Greece, grew up in California, has a degree in arts management from Mary Baldwin College in Staunton, Virginia, and now lives in an eighty-six-year-old house in Tacoma, Washington.
Remember the Time
is her first novel, and she is at work on her second.

THE EDITOR’S CORNER

Welcome to the new Loveswept!

It’s really thrilling to unveil the first eight Loveswept titles and to share with you these treasured classics:

Iris Johansen’s voluptuous historical
THIS FIERCE SPLENDOR
.

Sharon and Tom Curtis’s heartbreaking
LIGHTNING THAT LINGERS
.

Debra Dixon’s searing western
TALL, DARK, AND LONESOME
.

Juliana Garnett’s magical medieval
THE VOW
.

Sally Goldenbaum’s sexy romp
THE BARON
.

Annette Reynolds’s heart-melting contemporary romance
REMEMBER THE TIME
.

Adrienne Staff’s alluring
DREAM LOVER
.

Deborah Smith’s legendary
LEGENDS
.

These very special novels made hearts beat faster when they first appeared in the 1980s and 1990s, and we haven’t changed a word of the original text or updated them in any way—they are as seductive, intimate, warmhearted, and sizzling as when they first appeared. I know that you’ll love them as much as we do—whether they are new to you or beloved reads from your past that have been far too long out of print and unavailable.

Going forward, we promise to bring you the very finest in both classic romance titles and brand-new works from authors who will quickly become your favorites.

If you love romance…then you’re ready to be
Loveswept
!

Gina Wachtel

Associate Publisher

P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming this fall: in September,
SPELLBOUND
by the wonderful Adrienne Staff; in October, the red-hot
TENDER LOVING CURE
by Gayle Kasper; November will bring the scorching first novel in debut author Jessica Scott’s Coming Home trilogy,
BECAUSE OF YOU
; and Rexanne Becnel’s spellbinding
ROSE OF BLACKSWORD
is our December title. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I guarantee that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come….

Read on for excerpts from more
Loveswept
classics …

Read on for an excerpt from Juliana Garnett’s
The Vow

I
F
YOU
ARE
too cowardly to defy the Normans, I will go to fight in your place.”

The words hung in the suddenly still air like drawn swords: a challenge. All motion and conversation ceased; eyes turned toward the slender blond woman standing in the center of the hall. She stood steadfast, chin firm, ice-blue gaze steady beneath a sweep of insolently long brown lashes. No errant thrum of lute or lyre by careless minstrel, no casual comment, could be heard in the hall awash with light from lamp and torch. Those perched on benches or leaning against stone walls seemed to hold their collective breath. Ceara, daughter to the Saxon lord of Wulfridge, waited with nervous defiance for her father’s reply.

Some would like to see her fall, she knew well enough. Fah, she did not care what they thought. Their anticipation was as pungent as the sharp scents of burning pine knots and oil lamps. But all that mattered to her now was vengeance and pride—for ’twas all she had left.

Wulfric is dead, and with him have gone laughter and hope.…

She saw rage in the pinpoint flames that lit Lord Balfour’s
bright blue eyes. She did not look away. Their gazes were almost level, for she was as tall as most men—even the Norman foes who raped their lands.

Ceara lifted her chin and her long, loose hair drifted over a bared shoulder, cool and soft against her skin. The gunna and kirtle she wore were her own style—pagan some said, though not usually the men who eyed her shortened attire with sly appreciation. Lecherous fools. Around her waist, instead of a gold-linked or woven girdle, she wore a sword; no mere eating dagger, but a lethal Roman gladius—taken, the tale went, by a long-dead Celtic ancestor from a legionnaire. The weapon had been handed down through her family for hundreds of years. And she could use it most agilely, so that no man dared approach her without good reason.

A sword clinked against stone. Someone coughed, and a slight mutter was quickly silenced. Drifts of smoke lazed across the hall, carried by an errant breeze that stirred flame and bright woven wall hangings indiscriminately. Light from a flickering torch gilded her fathers hair with silver and played across his craggy features. Had he always had such deep creases in his face?