by Jayne Denker
Casey extended a strong hand to the other man, who shook it firmly—possibly a little too firmly. They looked one another in the eye sharply. “Hey, good to meet you, man. Love your movies.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”
“Come on inside. Got a bag?”
“It’s being sent.”
“Oh.” It was obvious Casey was puzzling out the strange behavior of celebrities who couldn’t be bothered to bring their luggage with them. “Well, if you need anything in the meantime, just let me know, okay?”
“Will do.”
“A toothbrush, I think Niall said earlier,” Celia chimed in.
“We can do that.” Casey smiled at her again. “So how do you two know each other?”
“Um . . .” She tried to figure out a quick explanation that would sound less sordid than Niall felt me up on a photo shoot, came up empty, and just said, “Victor, my boss, was shooting a print ad that Niall was in.”
“McManus scotch,” Niall supplied.
“I love that stuff.”
“I’ll have the company send you a case.”
Celia raised an eyebrow at Niall. The testosterone was thick around here all of a sudden. He just grinned at her and mouthed “Ashley!” silently while Casey’s back was turned.
She rolled her eyes and followed Casey down the back hallway. A terrific rumble sounded from the front of the house and grew louder by the second. Casey shouted, “Heads up!” and jumped aside, reaching back for Celia. She and Niall pressed up against the wall only seconds before a projectile flew down the middle of the hallway, nearly taking off their toes.
“What the hell was that?” Niall squeaked.
“Amelia,” Celia and Casey chorused wearily.
The little girl stopped her low plastic trike before hitting the back door, jiggled it around until she was facing their way again, and started barreling toward them once more. Niall stepped away from the wall, blocked her path, and grabbed the handlebars, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
“Hey, kid, be careful!”
“Ou’ my way, co’sucker!”
Shocked, Niall let go, and the girl blasted through his legs. Celia winced, hoping she wasn’t going to hit him where it counted. Luckily Amelia was short enough, the trike low enough, and Niall tall enough that she breezed through the opening without harming the man.
“Did she just call me a cocksucker?”
“She may have,” Celia said.
“Cute kid. Yours?” he asked Casey.
“Definitely not.”
A shout came from farther inside the house. “Amelia! What did I say about your language?”
The little girl just squealed in reply and did a doughnut around a pedestal table in the marble-tiled foyer.
Celia plucked at Niall’s shoulder. “In here.” They stepped into a sitting room before Amelia could mow them down again.
“I’ll get her,” Casey said, charging after the child.
“Whose demon seed?” Niall asked.
“George’s niece.”
“And George is—?”
“Oh. Sorry. George is a friend—Casey and George are getting married, and—”
Niall crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “Ohhhh. I get it.”
“What do you get?”
“Casey and George. Is that why you guys broke up? Did he know he was gay when you were going out, or did he realize later—?”
Celia started laughing. “No, no, no. George is Georgiana.”
“Oh.”
“What’s me?”
The woman in question paused in the doorway of the room, her amber eyes alight, strawberry blond curls escaping from a sloppy bun on top of her head.
“Hey!” Celia cried, doing her best to hug her friend around the armload of linens she carried.
“Hey, yourself! Welcome home!”
“Thanks. George, this is Niall; Niall, Georgiana Down.”
Niall nodded at her. “Hi.”
“Welcome to Mars.”
“Mars?”
“Mars—den,” Celia explained. “George named it that in high school. She thought this place was like another planet.”
“I still do,” the other woman said. “Sorry I can’t shake hands. But these are for your bed, so . . .”
“Thanks for having me.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We’re still working on the place—and working out the logistics of having overnight guests. It’s going to be a little bare-bones.”
“I can handle it.”
“Can you handle my cooking, though? That’ll be the real test.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great.”
“Sucker.”
“Try the pie,” Celia advised. “She makes amazing pies.”
“This is a great place,” Niall said, looking around appraisingly.
“It’s our own Tara,” George answered.
“Exactly,” he said, with a firm “so there” look at Celia. She smirked back. “Mind if I look around?”
“Feel free.”
As he wandered around the room, Celia said to George, “So Amelia is talking a lot more, I see.”
The other woman winced, her freckle-spattered nose crinkling. “Hard to miss, huh?”
“So much for your sister’s ‘no swearing around the baby’ campaign. Did she give up or something?”
“Sera insists she’s always kept it clean at home. Blames Daisy’s day care, says she picked up everything from the other rug rats. Especially the Glover twins.” She shuddered. “Those apples didn’t fall far from the family tree’s twisted trunk.”
“She’s put Amelia in day care?”
George shrugged. “You know how it is. I can’t watch her and put this place together at the same time. Sera can’t keep her home and make a go of her pottery business at the same time . . .” She drifted off, watching Niall as he walked into the hallway, still looking around, then continued, a little distractedly, “And now with Jaz picking up more business—she’s doing our books, did you hear?—Sera had to bite the bullet. It’s time to get the kid socialized anyway . . . and this is what happens. Personally,” George added conspiratorially, “I think Amelia’s teaching the other kids the fine art of profanity. But you didn’t hear it from me, got that?”
Celia beamed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her Marsden friends till just now.
George leaned back, peeking out the doorway. Confident that Niall was far enough away, she widened her eyes at her friend and exclaimed, “So! A movie star, huh? You certainly run with a different crowd now. I knew New York would do you good.” She elbowed Celia in the ribs. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, cursing to herself as she felt her face grow warm for the umpteenth time. Was she going to have to keep denying a relationship with Niall to everyone, one person at a time? She knew the answer was yes—otherwise, the town gossip machine would take over. It just might anyway; she knew her old neighbors would prefer to believe a juicier story, never mind if it was true or not. She decided to change the subject. “How are the wedding plans going?”
“Slowly.” George laughed. “We’re in no rush. Opening the inn is more important right now. We’ll get around to it next year, probably.”
Another squeal rent the air, and Casey marched past, holding Amelia high and at arm’s length to put some distance between her and the offending trike, despite the fact that she was kicking mightily and shouting, “Down, dammi’!” Celia watched George’s face glow with adoration—as she gazed at Casey, not her niece—and once again she was thrilled that her two friends had finally gotten together after so many years denying their feelings for one another.
“Better get cracking,” Celia said. “I hear Grammy and Gramps Down want more grandchildren.”
“You heard wrong,” George muttered, walking out of the room and jerking her head for Celia to follow. “They came back from their extended tour of America—and Canada, it turned out—and it only to
ok a few weeks of living with the Down-Montgomery circus before they started making plans for a nice long vacation in Australia. Or New Zealand. I forget.”
“So they’re gone again?”
“I think they’re touring the entire Pacific Rim, come to think of it. Can’t say I blame them, really. Our family is better experienced in small doses.” When they reached the foot of the grand staircase, George said, “I’m going to make up Niall’s bed. We gave Mr. Celebrity the bridal suite.”
“You have a bridal suite?”
“Well, it’s the biggest bedroom, with the nicest view, so now it’s the bridal suite. And, for now, the celebrity suite. It’s got a really nice king-size bed. Plenty of room,” she added with a wink.
“Stop.”
“I won’t say anything if we end up with an extra guest some night.”
“He’s staying here, I’m staying at Gran’s. End of story.”
“Okay,” George said, but her smirk made it clear she wasn’t buying it.
“Which is where I’m going right now. So take good care of Mr. Celebrity, keep him out of trouble—”
“Not my job.”
“—and point him in the direction of Ray when he asks.”
“Why Ray?”
“I’ll let him tell you.” Celia turned in a circle. “Where’d he go, anyway?” Then she heard his distinctive, rich laughter coming from the back hallway. “Never mind. I’ll see you later, George. Thanks again.”
As George made her way upstairs, Celia headed for the back door. She passed Niall lounging in the doorway of Casey’s office, chatting animatedly with the person seated at the desk—George’s sister-in-law, Jazmine. Celia poked him in his side as she passed.
“See you around. Hi, Jaz!”
“Hi, honey! Welcome home.”
“Hey!” He spun around and followed her down the hall. “You leaving already?”
She nodded. “Going to Gran’s. Are you all set here?”
“Sure am. I like it here.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“What’s not to like? Seems to have all the amenities . . . plus the future Mrs. Crenshaw,” he said, with a significant nod toward the office.
Celia stifled a laugh. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah, really. Wow, that lady’s something. Jazmine. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I’m in love already.”
“I’m thrilled for you. I hope you have a long and happy life together.”
“Wait—”
She turned back to him. “What can I do for you?”
“Do? Nothing. I mean . . . I’m just trying to get all your friends straight. Help me out for a second. Ashley—I mean Casey—was your high school boyfriend.”
“Right.”
“And now he’s marrying George.”
“Right.”
“But that spawn of Satan isn’t theirs.”
“Nope. Amelia is George’s niece. She’s the daughter of George’s sister Sera and—”
“I can’t keep up.”
“—and her wife.”
“Okay, I think I’ve got everything straight so far. Who’s Sera’s wife?”
“Jazmine. Your one true love back there.”
“. . . Crap.”
She wanted to laugh at his exaggerated dismayed expression, but instead she just said evenly, “You have a good night, okay?”
“Wait!” Niall said again, grasping her arm, and Celia tried in vain to ignore the tingles his touch generated. “Where can I find you? If I need to. And let’s face it,” he muttered, moving in conspiratorially, “I think I’m going to need to, you know what I’m saying?”
“Um,” she stammered, feeling that now familiar pulse beating at the base of her throat—the one that only started up every time he touched her, “Casey and George can give you my grandmother’s address. Or you can call my cell. Most of the area is wired just fine, my parents’ side of the mountain notwithstanding.”
“I will, then.” Niall’s hand traveled up her arm, lightly, and she tried not to shiver. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Kind of hard not to in this town.”
Chapter 10
Niall’s limbs felt leaden as he dragged himself down the grand staircase of Casey and George’s place. Squinting in the bright sunlight streaming in through the narrow windows on either side of the front door, he crossed the foyer and poked his nose into several rooms until he found George lounging at the large dining room table. She had one leg hooked over the corner, the lace tablecloth twisted under her calf, and was staring at her laptop.
Well, one thing was certain, he thought, working hard not to stare at that slender bare leg on display: Marsden was a hidden treasure trove of gorgeous women. Celia, Jaz, George. Of course, the other two women paled in comparison with Celia. Nonstop thoughts of her had kept him up half the night. It sure had been lonely in that huge bed. Not that he’d have dreamt of asking her to stay . . . but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what it would have been like if she had.
George glanced up from her computer. “Mr. Crenshaw—hi there. How’d you sleep?”
“Crappy,” he answered, sliding into a chair at the table and rubbing his eyes.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Bed too hard? Too soft?”
Too empty. “Too quiet.”
Her concerned look switched to one of bemusement. “You prefer creaky beds?”
“All this peace and quiet is just . . . disturbing. I kept wondering if the world had come to an end and nobody told me.”
“Well, city boy, I could get you a recording of some sirens, car alarms, music, and shouting people, if you like. Gunshots would cost extra, of course.”
“You’d do that?”
“No. I recommend you learn to relax and embrace country life instead.”
He stretched. “So much for a full-service inn.”
“Everybody has their limits.”
“I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you don’t seem the hospitality-industry type.”
“I’m not,” she answered, closing her laptop and standing up. “This is Casey’s baby. But it was a package deal—if I wanted to be with him, I got the inn, the conference center, the agritainment pumpkin and Christmas tree farm, and the art gallery as well.” George smiled. “It was a small price to pay.”
“There’s an art gallery?”
“It was a barn. Now it’s gallery space.”
“So you became an innkeeper after the fact.”
“I help out as much as I can, but I do Web stuff, mostly—build sites for people, maintain the farm’s site. My real money maker is my blog.”
Niall’s stomach lurched a little bit. He was in the lair of a blogger ? “Er—”
George immediately held up a placating hand. “Don’t worry. I don’t have a gossip blog. Your complete privacy is our top priority. The inn’s reputation is on the line too, you know.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I’ll still have to have you and your fiancé sign a confidentiality agreement. I can have my agent e-mail it to you. Nothing personal,” he rushed to add. “Just standard procedure.”
George leaned toward him, knuckles on the table, her long curls sweeping over her shoulders. He resisted the urge to shrink from her. She may have been tiny, but she had more power and menace per pound than the average woman. “Then you’d better print a couple thousand copies. Because everything you do, everything you say, is going to be noted, recorded, chronicled, probably videoed, and dissected at length out there.” She jerked a thumb toward the valley, where the town lay. “I can only control what goes on within these four walls. Otherwise . . . your business officially became everyone’s business the minute you crossed the Marsden town line. I think it’s in the town charter. Anyway, keep that in mind, and you’ll be just fine.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
She smirked. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime. Right now, though, how about I get you somethi
ng to eat?”
“What do you get if you order a hearty country breakfast around here?”
“Nothing. Not at this time of day. You’re in the lunch zone, buddy. Sandwich?”
“I suppose a venti Starbucks is out of the question too, then?”
“What? Nobody’s told you about the ban the town has on fast food franchises?”
“Suddenly I’m liking this place a little less.”
An hour or so later, Niall had to admit to himself it was nearly impossible to dislike Marsden, despite the lack of a Starbucks on every corner. Celia wasn’t kidding when she described the place as quaint. It was so quaint it verged on twee. He’d never experienced twee before, but now he felt like he was up to his neck in it. He wandered down the old-fashioned Main Street expecting the cast of The Music Man to come high-stepping down the sidewalks singing “Wells Fargo Wagon.” Plenty of trees, with wood-and-iron benches nearby, offered shade from the summer sun. Simply adorable storefronts, including an old-fashioned hardware store, antiques stores, gift shops, and restaurants, alongside art galleries and high-end boutiques, completed the look.
Once Niall had gotten his belated caffeine fix at a gourmet coffee shop—and suddenly he didn’t miss Starbucks at all—Marsden began to look even nicer. He smiled at the yarn-bombed town hall cannon and admired the other random artwork on nearly every block. George had told him Marsden was a busy artists’ enclave especially in summer—visual arts on top of the theater and music programs at the arts center just outside of town—and it showed.
He was so fascinated by the displays in the galleries’ windows that he wasn’t even skittish about standing around in one place for long periods of time. It was something he usually avoided, out of fear of being recognized.
There was a time, after the success of his first movie, that he’d enjoyed walking around out in the open, loved it when people approached him to ask for photos and autographs. It was like he had a sign hanging over his head: Famous Person Over Here—Come Say Hi. Being recognized was new and exciting, and he made a name for himself as one of the most approachable young stars—someone who would never turn away an autograph hound, who would spend several minutes making small talk with any fan who got up the nerve to strike up a conversation.
