The Girl From Summer Hill (Summer Hill 1)

She had to shake her head to clear it. “Did you make that up?”

“Nah. Lines from one of my movies. It’s either more of that or you walk across the log with me.”

“Tree!” she said, and pushed past him. “Give me a boost, and watch what you do with your hands.”

He lifted her up so she was facing him. He did watch his hands—as they ran down her body. In the next second he was on the log with her.

Casey tried to hide it, but she really was afraid of the height, the narrow roundness of the tree, and maybe a little scared of Tate Landers. If he’d kept on with his hand-kissing and his words, she might have fallen into his arms. She tended to take lovemaking seriously, but it seemed to be a game to him. He could turn the seduction—the electricity between them—off and on at will.

Tate held both her hands as she stepped backward on the log. No matter what else she felt about him, she trusted him to not let her fall.

“We needed the money,” he said. “My dad died when I was four and Nina was just a baby.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I grew up seeing my mom struggle to pay the bills and raise us. I wanted to help, but how could I? I was only a kid.” They were in the middle of the log, and he let go of one of her hands.

“We were living in California, and a kid at school said his mom was taking him to try out for a role in a movie.”

“And you went too and got the job, which means that you were born talented.”

“Just the opposite. My mom took me to the audition and it was a cattle call, with over three hundred kids. Most of them were eliminated before the director saw them.”

“He only wanted pretty boys?”

Tate gave a half smile. “Physical appearance has a great deal to do with how you’re cast.”

“A diplomatic answer. But I guess you were the cutest child there.”

“I was certainly the most scared kid. But not by the audition. That morning my mother had one of her asthma attacks. It was so bad I thought she was going to die.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “I really am sorry.”

“Thanks. Anyway, that day I was pretty gloomy. The director put all the kids who were possibilities on a stage. He wanted to see if we could follow directions, so he told us that we weren’t to laugh no matter what we saw. He then paraded people past us. They did pratfalls, funny dances, made faces, et cetera. One by one, the kids were eliminated.”

“But not you.”

“No. I was so worried about my mother that nothing on earth could make me smile. After a while there were only three boys left and the director told us to cry. One kid couldn’t do it, one faked it, but I…”

“You cried for real.”

“Oh, yes. The director joked that I was either a great actor or one seriously unhappy kid. He said, ‘Okay, so let’s see which one it is.’ He told me to smile. I don’t know if it was fate or what, but just then my mother walked in and gave me a thumbs-up. She had recovered from her attack.”

“And you smiled.”

“With all the joy I felt. The director said, ‘You’re hired. And it’s my guess that we have a star in the making.’?” Tate stopped talking and looked at her.

“That’s a wonderful story.”

“Think so? To my mind, I got the job on false pretenses. I had no idea how to act, so I had to learn. For years I used my emotions about my mother to portray whatever the director asked for. But eventually I learned to cry, laugh, whatever, without having to tear out my guts to do it. That wasn’t easy.”

“What about the smoldering that I’ve heard about?”

“That is a natural talent. Want me to show you?” He was leading her backward, toward the end of the log.

“No thanks.”

“My loss.”