“It’s you, man—your stepping up and calling attention to the cause. I still can’t believe you’re willing to write a fat check, help us out with the media stuff, and put your foot on the road, too.” Mitch grinned proudly. “I can think of a whole bunch of brothers—some sisters, too—who would pay a bunch of money to run with you.”
“Some of ’em are already paying a bunch, thank goodness,” Harriet laughed.
“It’s for a good cause. I’m glad to do it. But let’s get back to this list. I want to see if there are any donors that I can talk into upping their donations.”
“Good idea; research can always use more money.” Looking over AJ’s shoulder, Mitch pointed to a name. “There’s a buddy of yours.”
Dench Traylor’s name was in the middle of the page. AJ smiled. “If you can get that old boy to run, then I already know that my sister’s name must be on this list somewhere.”
“Yeah, she’s on there, a few pages back. Flip back a few pages to the beginning, and I think you’ll see some others you know.”
AJ flipped to the first page, and came across the names of a few old friends. Turning the page, he placed his finger at the top of the column and Bianca Coltrane’s name leapt out at him.
“Take this one off,” AJ said brusquely, causing the volunteers to look at him curiously.
Straining to see, Mitch strained to read the name over AJ’s thick shoulder. “Bianca Coltrane? But she’s already accounted for. Her check cleared, and she’ll be at the reception and everything,” he protested.
AJ was adamant. “No, she can’t bring anything but trouble. Tell you what, I’ll write the check. Cash it and get the money back to her.”
“AJ, that’s just silly. Money is money, and she gave us hers. She wanted to make the donation from the goodness of her heart.”
“Not this one.” AJ’s finger tapped the sheet. “She never does anything from the goodness of her heart.”
“You sound like you know something,” Harriet said, looking at him closely. Then it obviously dawned on her. “Oh, was that this Bianca Coltrane?”
“Coltrane?” Charles Ward repeated. “Was she the one you almost…”
AJ was saved from answering when Marlea and Rissa slammed through the kitchen and rushed down the long hall arguing.
Moving backward, Marlea rushed through the open door first. “I beat you!”
“Did not!” Hot on her heels, Rissa wasn’t giving an inch. “Dench, you saw. We ran the length of the driveway, but I got here first, didn’t I?”
“You did not, I left your slow butt in the dust. That back you were following? It was mine!” Finally noticing the startled group gathered around the table, Marlea stopped moving and lowered her voice. “Uh…excuse me…”
“Uh-uh.” Desperate, Rissa swiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and appealed to Dench again. “Who won?”
No fool, Dench Traylor raised his hands. “Far as I could see, it was a dead heat, and you’ve got company here, in case you didn’t notice.” Loping across the marble floor, he snagged a muffin from a silver tray and glanced around. “Morning, all. Sorry for the intrusion—what did we interrupt?”
“Putting finishing touches on the plans for the reception tonight.” AJ turned to the committee members. “This is my sister, Rissa.” She raised a sweaty hand in greeting. “And these two are our house guests, Marlea Kellogg and Dench Traylor.”
Sophia tapped her cheek. “You comin’ tonight?”
“Long as I don’t have to run, I wouldn’t miss it,” Dench promised, jamming a chunk of his muffin into his mouth.
“Will there be dancing?” Marlea’s voice held enough longing to prompt everyone in the room to look at her.
“No,” AJ said slowly, “it’s not that kind of party.” Lowering his eyes, he shuffled papers. “This is more of a meet and greet kind of thing—something to get the donors and sponsors and the media excited about our cause.”
“What is your cause?”
“Special Olympics,” Rissa answered. “I told you about the fundraising support AJ gives them.”
“Are you going to come?” Harriet looked to Marlea and Rissa.
“No,” Marlea said, “I’m gonna pass.”
“The heck you are!” Rissa jammed her hands against her hips. “No way are you playing Cinderella up in this camp.”
“I wasn’t planning on anything like that. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Like I can’t find something in my closet to fit you. Oh, I know the perfect thing. Dreen did this original wrap dress for me, and it is so your style.”
Marlea took a step backward. “No, I wouldn’t dream of wearing something that was designed and made especially for you. Besides, I don’t have any shoes besides these—and what do you mean, my style?”
“Shoes are not a problem. I know exactly what to do about that. We’ll use that foam stuff that makes your running shoes fit.” Rissa looped her arm through Marlea’s, ignoring the pert style question. “We’ll do your hair up, and I’ll loan you my emerald necklace and earrings.”
“But…”
Dench shook his head. “Might as well give it up, girl. In case you don’t know, that’s Rissa-speak for ‘you’re going’.”
Rissa was already tugging her from the room. “And you’re going to look good when you get there, too.”
* * *
Dench Traylor looked good in the midnight-blue summer-weight wool shirt and slacks. He wore the tailored clothes well, but his best accessory was the smile on his lips. He looked like the big winner in the Lady Lottery, a beautiful woman on each arm. Tall and statuesque, Rissa Yarborough closed a possessive hand around his upper arm and smiled at him. Utterly charmed by the molten gold of her perfumed skin against the smoky gold-threaded cloth of her ankle-length dress, Dench flexed muscle he had almost forgotten he owned.
Seeing his sloppy grin, Marlea’s fingers became light on his other arm. Feeling like a third wheel, she let her hand drift to her side, setting the tall man and the object of his affection free to mix, mingle, and admire each other.
AJ saw them enter and smiled from the other side of the tent, immediately forgetting anything the man in front of him had to say. Rissa was right. Looking past Dench and barely seeing his sister, his eyes locked on Marlea. She was elegant in a way he had never seen before. Turquoise silk flowed in a sleek river of tiny pleats, from the halter at her throat to the wide-legged pants brushing the tops of the flat golden shoes she wore.
For a moment, AJ shifted into professional mode. He watched her walk, her gait smooth and even, her strength and balance apparent. Then the man took over and he lost himself in the curves of her body and the shift of her hips.
Her runner’s body, solid and gravity-defiant, teased and invited beneath the flowing silk. True to her word, Rissa had done something enchanting with Marlea’s hair, taking her workaday ponytail high and entwining it with gold. She looks like a goddess. AJ tried to come up with the name of some African equivalent to Aphrodite or Diana, the huntress. I got nothin’, he finally admitted, but damn, she looks good.
Totally unaware of her beauty or her presence, Marlea looked around the tent in awe. Her eyes rose to the crystal chandeliers adorning the tent’s roof and she smiled, fascinated. A pair of athletic-looking men stopped talking and headed in her direction, more than willing to explain the suspension of the lighting fixtures.
I don’t blame them; she’s stunning. Just gorgeous.
“You know her?”
The words snapped AJ back from the sight he had been enjoying. “She’s a house guest,” he said, eyes still trailing Marlea.
“Think I could meet her?” Kennedy Wharton, owner of Atlanta’s Best Bread asked, nudging AJ with an insistent finger.
“Maybe later.” The look on AJ’s face made the other man back off.
“And maybe not,” Wharton muttered, watching AJ head for the captivating figure in turquoise. Fortunately, he decided, spotting a pretty newspape
r writer in a red minidress, the tent had an abundance of lovely women. He followed the mini-dress.
“Having a good time?” The familiar voice at her ear brightened Marlea’s smile and marked AJ’s territory as she turned to accept the slender flute filled with something golden and fizzy. “Ginger ale,” AJ smiled back.
Recognizing the arrival of the alpha male, Marlea’s two companions mumbled gentle excuses and left with regretful glances and private promises to return as soon as the former-pro interloper turned his back.
Marlea never noticed. “I am so glad I let Rissa talk me into coming tonight.”
“I’m glad you did, too.” AJ offered his arm and felt like a king when she took it. Walking through the tent, stopping to introduce her to several sponsors and loyal long-time runners, he admired her social grace, especially when confronted with recognition.
“Kellogg,” a dark panther-like man in khaki looked at her closely. He repeated her name another time or two. “This isn’t your usual kind of race, is it?”
“Marlea won’t be running this one, Kessler.” AJ felt Marlea stiffen at his side. Maybe I should have let her handle that one on her own, he thought belatedly.
Cranking his jaw to one side, Adrian Kessler studied Marlea. “I’m a writer for Sports Today, and I do some things for Atlanta Sports and Fitness, and I know you…Didn’t you run the 400?” He fingered his ear, then stroked his chin. “Yeah, you did—you’re the ‘glamazon’. Tall for the race, but fast as lightening. I saw you take first in St. Louis a few months ago, then you dropped out of sight. Everybody thought you were a cinch for the Olympic team, but you haven’t applied. What happened?”
“I, uh…” Marlea’s eyes fell and then rose. Her hand tightened on AJ’s arm. His hand covered hers and squeezed. “I had an accident, and it kind of changed my plans.”
“Accident.” Kessler looked thoughtful. “Sorry to hear it, but you’re looking well—exquisite, in fact. Will you be competing again soon?”
Marlea’s dimpled smile was confident. “Who knows what the future will bring?”
“You’re right, but in the meantime…” The writer looked thoughtful and was silent until both Marlea and AJ directed questioning looks at him. “Would you consider being a part of a series I’m researching? Competitive female athletes living in Atlanta would be my focus, and your recovery and future would be a perfect centerpiece.” He glanced at AJ, seemingly asking permission. “I’d like to call and set up a time, if you don’t mind.”
Putting a finger to the writer’s chin, Marlea redirected his gaze. “I’m sure he’s flattered, but I make my own decisions, and I’ll consider it.” Marlea turned and gave her glass to AJ. “Will you gentlemen excuse me?” She left the men with the soft whisper of silk.
“Magnificent woman, beautiful and with a mind of her own,” Kessler murmured, raising his glass as he moved off into the crowd.
“Yes, she is,” AJ agreed, watching her cut a path through the growing crowd.
“Still talking to yourself, AJ?” Cool fingers trailed his collar as the woman stepped around to face him. “Charming habit.”
“Bianca.”
“In the flesh.” Her back and midriff bare, Bianca’s wrapped knit dress clung to her like a second skin. She moved closer to AJ. Her fingers lingered, tracing the open neckline of his jacket. “You know I’ve never been one to let our little disagreements turn into grudges.” Her alluring smile framed perfect white teeth and her sweet breath warmed his skin.
“This is not the time or the place.” Gripping her wrist, he removed her hand and turned away.
“But a time will come, AJ, and you can name the place. You just need to resign yourself.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Don’t be silly; of course you are.” Bianca’s eyes narrowed and followed AJ’s to find Marlea’s back. “Oh, that’s your new playmate?” Her eyes, feral and determined, returned to his. “She looks harmless, AJ. Just remember, I’m not, and I saw you first.”
“You’re being ridiculous, and it doesn’t become you.” AJ brushed her fingers aside. “I’m here on business, and you came to play. Why don’t you run along and do that?” Almost on cue, Harriet Blake rushed to his side, stood on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear. He nodded and followed her without another word.
Bianca’s eyes flashed icy anger, and she nearly swung on the man who strolled close enough to offer her a glass of champagne. “No, thank you,” she said through gritted teeth. Brushing past him, she followed the path she had seen Marlea take.
Entering the small bathroom, Bianca found her quarry at the vanity mirror, applying lipstick. “Nice shade,” she said, managing a smile behind the benign words.
“Thank you. It’s borrowed, but I like it, too.” Marlea blotted her lips delicately.
“This is a lovely party, don’t you think? But then, AJ always has nice affairs.”
AJ? The name caught her attention and Marlea turned from the mirror. “You know him?”
“I’ve known him for years and years,” Bianca snapped open her purse and studied the contents. “I almost married him. How do you know him?”
Almost married…Unless he’s almost married more than one woman, this is Bianca Coltrane. Surprised, Marlea fought to keep her face from telling on her. “I’m a patient…a client of his.”
“How interesting.” Bianca’s eyes traveled over Marlea, examining her from head to toe, trying to find the flaws. What she found was good skin, the color of caramel. The golden whisky-toned eyes were intelligent and the lushly bow-shaped lips seductive. She tilted her head, looking down at Marlea’s feet. “Pretty shoes, but I think I would have opted for a higher heel.”
“After my surgery, high heels weren’t advisable.” Marlea looked at her feet and tried not to feel ugly.
“Surgical patient. Did you break something?” She looked Marlea up and down again, applying the new information. Noting the swell of her breast and the fine bend of her waistline as it flared into her hips, Bianca gave her points. “You certainly look athletic. Will you be running this race?”
“I’m afraid not. AJ doesn’t think I’m ready yet.”
“And of course, what AJ thinks is important to you.” Bianca’s hand-trimmed fake lashes brushed her cheek and she wrinkled her nose. “Running is such sweaty work.”
“I was a competitive runner.”
“Was.” Bianca hummed sympathetically. “No wonder he took you on. AJ has always had a soft spot for the underdog. That’s one of the things I’ll always love about him, even when we’re old and gray.” She wound a lock of hair around her finger, then leaned close to the mirror to inspect the resulting ringlet. She needn’t have bothered; her hair and make-up were flawless, but she already knew that. She wanted the chance to watch Marlea’s reflection.
“It must be hard to be treated like a pet by a man you can never have. He’s mine, you know. But it’s nice for AJ to have a pet, even if it can’t perform.”
“It must be even harder to know that whatever you did turned his heart from you, and you can’t find a way to turn it back.”
Bianca’s eyes went flat and reptilian. “You don’t know me like that, little girl. You don’t want to start a fight with me; you don’t have the ammunition.” Bianca’s tone was deadly, her meaning clear. “I always get what I want, and I want AJ Yarborough.”
“People in hell want ice water.” Marlea said the words, then had to force herself not to try to feed the borrowed tube of lipstick to the evil woman walking past her and out of the powder room. “And you can’t have AJ. I won’t let you.”
“As if you have a choice.”
Marlea had a clear vision of herself shoving Bianca’s head through the mirror, and she was still holding onto it when Rissa pushed through the door to find a hard-breathing Marlea standing in the midst of Victorian porcelain and gilt splendor. “I just saw Bianca slink out of here. What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously.
“I just met Bianca Coltrane.”
Oh, hell. No wonder she looks like she’s ready to breathe fire. Wonder what that witch had to say? Not sure what to say, Rissa took the lipstick from Marlea’s hand and dropped it into her small evening bag.
“I’m ready to go home.”
Okay, so whatever she said, it was about AJ—like I didn’t already know that would be the case. She handed the bag to Marlea and felt insane relief when she took it.
“Marlea.” Rissa’s hand was cool and firm when she touched Marlea’s arm, betraying none of what was in her heart. “If you leave now, she wins. You give her all she wants. You become the weak little nobody that she can push around anytime she wants to—and I know that’s not who you are. You have to stay. Suck it up, work that winning smile of yours, get drunk if you have to, but don’t leave, and don’t let that gold-digging heifer win.”
“I’m staying—until she leaves. Then I’ll be ready to go.” Straightening her shoulders, Marlea lifted her head and deliberately arranged her face. She could still see the mean veneer of smarmy self-congratulation cross Bianca’s perfect face before she swept from the powder room. When she looked harder, she could see the fine cracks in Bianca’s façade. On closer inspection, Marlea could name what she saw leaking through.
Fear.
It must be hard to be treated like a pet by a man you can never have. He’s mine, you know. But it’s nice for AJ to have a pet, even if it can’t perform.
The words were harsh, but Marlea knew the lie when it shattered against a wall of her determination. Marlea headed for the door with Rissa hard on her heels. “That woman is only afraid of what she can’t be sure of, and she knows that I touch a part of AJ she can never reach.” Hand on the door, Marlea put on brakes and faced Rissa.
“What?”
“You know her.” Marlea’s voice was low. “Is she a runner?”
“Does a chicken have lips?” Rissa blew amused air. “No!”
“Then that’s what she’s afraid of. “ Marlea pulled the door open and stepped into the reception’s bright din. “It’s what she thinks he loves about me. It’s what she can never give him. She only wins if I don’t run—and I’m running.”
Dream Runner Page 23
