The Girl from Summer Hill (6 page)

The bird, now trapped in the room, leaped onto a chair by the window and tried to tear its way out through the screen.

Tate stood where he was and shrugged in puzzlement. Now what should he do? he silently asked of his niece.

Emmie made motions that he was to take off his shirt.

Tate showed shock and modestly crossed his arms over his chest.

Giggling, Emmie shook her head. He should take off his shirt and throw it over the bird.

There was more feigned fear from Tate, but he took off his big shirt, leaving a T-shirt on underneath. Like a matador in the bullring, he held his plaid shirt out, challenging the bird to charge forward. He had his shoulders back, his head cocked at a bullfighter's angle, and his swagger was a perfect imitation.

Emmie was laughing and shaking her head no, no, no. Throw the shirt
over
the bird.

With reluctance, Tate quit the matador strut and fearfully held out his shirt toward the bird. After some elaborately missed attempts, he dropped the cloth over the bird's head, threw his arm around it, then looked at Emmie. Now what? he seemed to ask.

She pointed at the window in her own bedroom. He should let the bird out.

Tate nodded as though that was the wisest thing he'd ever heard. With one hand, he slid up a screenless window, lifted the bird, and tried to pull his shirt off its head. But to Tate's shock, the terrified creature leaped back inside. As Tate attempted to wrestle it into going in the right direction, its long tail slapped him in the face. His very genuine coughing fit made Emmie fall over in laughter.

When the chaos finally settled, Tate was sitting on the floor, the bird was on the roof of the front porch, and Tate's shirt was hanging by a button from the gutter.

Emmie howled in laughter.

Tate tried to get up, pretended to stumble, but when he reached the level of the window, there was the bird, its beak about three inches from his nose. The creature gave its loud, hideous scream right into Tate's face.

Genuinely startled, Tate fell backward onto the floor, and the bird ran to the edge of the roof and fluttered down.

A bit dazed, Tate got off the floor, closed the window, and dramatically wiped the sweat off his brow. A survey of the room showed that it was a mess. Emmie motioned for him to clean it up.

Tate gave an exaggerated, silent groan. He lifted his hands in a way to indicate that he was a man. He did
not
clean rooms.

Emmie shook her finger at him. He had to!

With a sigh, Tate straightened the bed, used tissues to wipe bird droppings away, and put things back on the dresser. The pajamas he remembered so well were on the floor.

He stepped back as though they were poison.

Emmie motioned for him to pick them up.

Tate, his face serious, shook his head no. He pointed to them, then made a motion of cutting his own throat. If he touched those PJs, the woman who owned them would murder him.

Emmie tried to get her uncle to put the pajamas away, but no matter what she suggested, he wouldn't do it.

As Tate went downstairs, he made motions that he was a hero—but then his stomach growled so loudly that Emmie heard it over the music. He rolled his eyes, showing that he was dizzy with hunger. In the kitchen, he looked at the pies on the side counter with true longing, then back at his niece, his eyes pleading.

She gave in and nodded. Yes, he had earned a slice of pie.

But Tate didn't get a plate and a knife and cut himself a piece. He propped the phone up on the counter, then picked up a big cooking spoon. Grabbing the pie with the flower-like crust, he scooped out the entire center with the spoon. He ate with such gusto that he got dark-red juice all over the lower half of his face, pieces of berry lodging in his stubble.

As he chewed, he showed his ecstasy over the flavor with his eyes and smiles. He dropped down onto a stool and ate, enjoying every bite. Juice ran down his chin; berries fell onto his T-shirt. As he scratched his ear, he got pie filling in his hair. When there was only a shell left, he used both hands to break it apart and eat it, all while using his eyes to show how delicious it was.

Emmie was laughing very hard.

“What the hell are you doing?” came a woman's angry voice. The damaged screen door slammed behind her.

Nina sat straight up in the tub, and Emmie yelled, “No!” Tate slipped his phone into the pocket of his T-shirt, camera pointed out, as he stood to face the woman in whose house he'd just trespassed. Miss Pajamas Lady. The woman who hated him. And right now she looked so angry he was almost afraid of her.

“Look what you did!” Casey said. “You ate an entire
pie
! The whole thing. Or did you just tear it up for the sport of it?”

Tate stepped away from her. “Ate it,” he said.

“Oh, really? From the look of you, you took a bath in it.”

Tate put his hand to his hair and pulled out a couple of blackberries. Sometimes he felt silly having such long hair, but his contracts called for it. No wig, no extensions, just lots of real hair.

“I guess you did all this because you think you can. You own the place, plus you're a movie star, so you can walk into someone's home and steal her food. Is that what was in your mind?”

When Tate backed into a stool, he sat down.

Casey glared at the ruffle-edged pie plate. It was an Emile Henri, and her mother had given it to her for her eighteenth birthday. Last night she'd put her favorite pie in it, but now it was nearly empty. Just a piece of crust clung to the bottom. “I promised Josh and Kit some of that pie, but now it's gone.” She looked back at him as he sat there in silence, watching her. “This morning I felt really bad about what happened. I should have told you I was there as soon as I saw you strip naked. But I didn't.”

Tate raised his eyebrows.

“I sat there and watched you and later I was prepared to lie about it. I was so afraid that you'd throw me out of my house that I planned to deny being where I was and seeing what I did.” Her motion included his entire body.

“But I can't take this,” she said. “I have to have privacy.” She went to a far cabinet and opened an overhead door, but the two big plastic pie carriers were at the top. She stretched but couldn't reach them.

Tate's arm went over her head, pulled the containers out, and set them on the counter.

“Thanks,” she said, then corrected herself. “I mean, no thanks. I don't need your help. Look at these things. They were made to hold
six
pies. Six! But now I have only five of them.”

Tate went back to sit on the stool.

Casey began putting the pies in the carriers and loudly snapping the clasps. “Okay, I will leave. Since you believe that ownership and your…what? Celebrityship—if that's a word. No! Entitlement. That's what it is. Your sense of entitlement allows you to shower on my back porch and wander in and eat what I've cooked for other people. Since I can
not
live with that, I must leave. Where I'm going to find a house with a decent kitchen so I can cook for Jack, I don't know.”

“Jack?” Tate asked.

“Yes.” She glared at him. “While you were wandering about the grounds in your birthday suit, Jack and I became friends.” She gave him a look of triumph.

Tate seemed surprised—and very interested.

“Get your mind out of the gutter. Friends! That's what Jack and I are. Not that it's any of your business, but Jack is falling for Gisele Nolan. But then, that's understandable considering that she's so beautiful.” Casey waved her hand. “Not that anything in Summer Hill interests a big movie star like you, but anyway, your friend is going to spend the summer here so he can play Bingley. And Gizzy will be Jane. Jack is going to live in your big, unused house, and I'm going to cook for him. It would have been perfect since I live close by, but now you've ruined everything. Can you drive?”

Tate's eyebrows were high on his forehead as he gave a single nod.

She took the truck keys off the counter and tossed them to him. “Good. Get what's left of the pies and put them in the truck, then drive us to the auditions. I don't know why he'd want you, but Kit expects you to be there.”

Casey, still so angry she could hardly see, got into the passenger seat and slammed the door. When Tate got in beside her, she said, “I'd ride in the back but it's illegal.” She looked out the windshield. “Please tell me that isn't your shirt hanging from my roof!”

Tate bent forward to look up. His blue plaid shirt was still caught in the gutter, waving in the breeze. He got out, grabbed the tip of it, pulled it down, and got back into the truck.

Casey's teeth were clamped together. “Were you in my bedroom?”

Tate was looking at his shirt. There was a big hole in the front. “Do you know how to sew on a button?”

That made Casey so angry her hands went into fists. She started to go after his throat, but what sounded like a child's laughter stopped her. “What was that?”

“Emmie. She's my six-year-old niece.” Tate put his arm across the seat, backed the truck up, and headed toward the big gate. “Emmie truly loves it when someone yells at me. Her mother—my sister—does it all the time.” He gave Casey the smile he used onscreen to make the heroine say she loved him. It was the one the fan mags said made women start removing their clothes.

But it did nothing for Casey. She glared at him. “You're an egotistical jerk, and turn off your phone.”

She didn't say another word all the way to the auditions.

When they got to the warehouse, Casey started to get out of the truck, but Tate pushed the button to lock her in. She didn't look at him, just crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the front window.

“I want to say I'm sorry,” Tate said. “I never meant to invade your privacy. I was wrong to get angry at you this morning, and you are right. Even though I own the place, I should
not
run around in my birthday suit.”

Casey didn't meet his eyes. His apology didn't sound real. It was as though it had been scripted and rehearsed—and he was saying it all with a touch of humor. But worse was that his tone seemed smugly certain that she would immediately forgive him for whatever he'd done.

“I'm going to leave tomorrow.” He sounded sad. “I'm going back to L.A., where…well, I'm going home. Please remain in the house. If Jack stays here—”

She glared at him. “What do you mean?
If
Jack stays?”

Tate gave her a little smile. “I don't want to disparage anyone. I'm sure the girl he's attracted to is beautiful, but Jack has many obligations and people who depend on him.”

“Ooooooh,” Casey said. “
Important
people, who no doubt have barrels full of money. Jack can't possibly stay in little Summer Hill, Virginia, and be in a tiny local production and—”

“That isn't what I meant!” Tate said. “I just think that Jack won't stay. His agent will call and he'll—”

“Fly out on the next jet? For what? So he can spend more time with people like
you
? If you don't unlock this door and let me out of here, I'm going to start screaming.”

Right then Josh came out of the building and Casey started pounding on the window.

Frowning, he came over, and as Josh touched the handle, Tate unlocked the door. “Everything all right here?”

“It is now.” Casey slid to the ground.

Josh was glaring at Tate as though trying to figure out what was going on.

“Hi, I'm—” Tate began.

“I know who you are,” Josh said. “Why was Casey hitting on the glass to get my attention? Did you lock her in the truck?”

“Josh!” Casey said. “The door stuck, just let it go. Besides, he's leaving our town tomorrow. Help me with the pies, will you?”

It took Josh a moment, but he turned back to Casey. “Kit and I saved room for your berry custard.”

Casey gave a sound that was like a growl. “It's gone. Every bit of it was eaten!” She took a breath. “What happened while I was away?”

Josh got the pie carriers out of the back. “No surprise: Kit gave Jack the Bingley role, and Gizzy will be Jane.”

The truck door was still open, and Casey knew Tate was sitting inside. She raised her voice so he could hear. “Has Kit persuaded you to be Darcy?”

“He's tried, but I'm not sure I can do it,” Josh said.

She put her arm in his. “You'd be the best-looking man to ever play him—even better than
any
man in the movies.” Casey spoke so loudly she was nearly shouting. She walked with Josh back into the warehouse.