The Girl from Summer Hill(2)

When he put his hand on the door handle, Casey’s heart started pounding. She didn’t dare move or he would see her.

He dropped his hand and went down the steps, picked up his sweatpants, and put them on—and she let out her breath. He would never know. Good!

But as he reached for his shirt, her cellphone rang. It had been charging and she’d forgotten it was on the counter. It kept ringing as she reached for it, then she fumbled and hit speakerphone just as it went to voicemail.

“Hey, little sis, I used a broadsword to cut down a couple of oaks and hacked out some tables. But I also borrowed a couple from the church. If you want me to pick you and your kettles up in my truck, let me know. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll see you at eight.” He hung up.

Casey hadn’t moved, nor had she taken her eyes off the man. When the phone rang, he’d dropped the shirt and turned to look at the door.

She was almost sure he saw her. She had on her white pajamas, the ones her mom had given her with the print of the dish running away with the spoon and the cow jumping over the moon. Too young for her, and they clung much too tightly to her curvy figure, but they were oh so comforting.

It had grown lighter outside and she knew she was probably visible inside the dark room. But maybe not. Maybe she could sneak upstairs and pretend she hadn’t seen him.

As quickly as she could, she put her mug down and slid off the stool.

But she wasn’t fast enough. He bounded up the steps and reached the door in seconds. When he tried to open it, the inside hook held.

Thinking she had a reprieve, Casey took a step toward the living room, but a sound made her turn back.

The man, naked from hip bones up, put his fist through the screen and unfastened the hook.

Okay, now she was scared. This man was big and he looked furious. She glanced at her cellphone but it was between her and him. Her little house was set in eleven acres of garden and woodland. If she screamed, no one would hear her.

“Did you get it all down?” He stepped closer to her.

His voice was deep—and menacing. Maybe if she ran she could reach the front door and get out. But then what? The only house nearby was the big one, and it was empty.

She put her hands into fists at her sides, took a deep breath, and faced him. Minutes before, his size, the muscles, the sheer masculinity of him had been enticing, but now they seemed threatening. She didn’t think she could escape him, but maybe if she didn’t back down he’d go away.

“I live here,” she said. “You’re trespassing.”

He stopped only three feet away. “Like hell you do! Who do you work for? Where is it?”

Casey took a step back. What a voice he had! Loud and deep. And what he was asking was thoroughly puzzling. “I work for myself. I cater and do private parties.”

He took another step toward her. “And this is a sideline? Where are you hiding it?”

Confusion was replacing her fear. “What is ‘it’? What do you want?”

He picked up her cellphone, the charging cord falling away. “Please tell me you didn’t use this! I think I deserve better than a mobile phone.” He put the phone back on the counter, then turned, his eyes roaming up and down her.

Casey knew she was looking far from her best. Who wanted a gorgeous man to see her wearing pajamas that were perfect for a five-year-old? And her hair was a rat’s nest of tangles and probably full of flour and raspberry jam. She’d collapsed last night, not bothering to shower.

Maybe it was pride, but all sense of fear vanished. She put her shoulders back. “I don’t know who you are but I want you out of my house. Now!” She grabbed her phone. “I think the sheriff would like to hear about a man stripping on my porch and tearing out my screen to get inside my house and threatening me. Unless you want to be in handcuffs, I suggest you leave immediately.”

He stood there staring at her, saying nothing, but looking shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. Turning, he left the house, the door slamming behind him.

For a few moments, Casey stood where she was, her nails cutting into her palms as she watched him leave. He didn’t stop to pick up his shirt but kept going, turned right, and moved out of sight.

Suddenly she felt exhausted. She made it into the living room and fell down onto the couch, her heart pounding in her ears. With her head back, she tried to use her breathing to calm herself.

The man had been so very angry!

When Kit had given her the little guesthouse to live in, she’d thought it was perfect. It had once been the kitchen of an old Virginia plantation, and the huge fireplace that had been used for cooking was in the living room. Years ago someone had added to the building, putting an excellent kitchen to one side and a bedroom and bath upstairs. There was even an herb garden just outside.