Picture This (10 page)

“It's the perfect place,” Wendy persisted. “It's very nice, and they need people to practice on before they open up the inn to guests this fall. You'd really be doing them a favor.”

Niall started to come up with an excuse not to stay there, but Celia cut him off. “You know what? Mom's right. It's ancient history. Go ahead.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “It's no big deal. In fact, I'll call Casey for you.”

“I
can't believe you didn't drive him over yourself,” Celia's mother admonished her, stuffing her knitting into a large tapestry bag. “What if he gets kidnapped by rabid fans?”

Celia gaped. “You know who he is?”

Her father grunted. “Of course we do. You think we're a couple of rubes?”

“Then why didn't you say something?”

“Well. Couldn't let him get too full of himself now, could we? Gotta keep the boy humble.”

Celia shook her head and gathered up the end of the knitting at her mother's feet. “Unbelievable.”

Wendy Marshall giggled and took the yarn from her daughter. “We have to find our fun wherever we can. Sorry I can't make you dinner, dear. I would love to have a nice long sit-down and hear all about your new boyfriend. But I've got to get to the yarn bombing.”

“He's not my boyfriend, Mom.”

“It's about time you found somebody new.”

“Ain't that the truth,” her father chimed in. “Although I don't know about this guy. You can't trust celebrities. I'd prefer it if you found somebody decent.”

Celia ignored the fact that she pretty much shared her father's sentiment, which disturbed her greatly. “Niall's decent,” she protested, even if she wasn't sure that was true. “And you've never liked
any
of the men in my life.”

“I liked Casey.”

“That was
high school.
Ages ago.”

“I thought you two were trying to work it out a while back.”

“No, we're just friends. He and Georgiana Down are perfect together, so let it go, all right?”

Her father grunted again. “City's getting to you. You're getting . . . prickly.”

Celia laughed. “I think it's a good thing.”

“So do I,” her mother agreed, but she whispered it. “Although I think there's some justice in Casey playing host to your new boyfriend. It's good for Casey—it might make him start wondering what he missed out on.”

Celia flailed around for a few seconds, trying to figure out which part of that statement to attack. She ended up repeating, “Niall's
not
my boyfriend.”

“Casey was happy to hear from you just now, when you called to ask if he could put up Niall, wasn't he?”

“I talked to George, not Casey,” Celia said smugly. “And she was fine with it.”

 

Forty-five minutes later, Celia learned that while Niall hadn't been kidnapped by rabid fans, neither had he made it to Bowen Farms. She heard the growl of a vehicle in the driveway and went out to find the Corvette idling there, Niall stone-faced behind the wheel. She sauntered over to the car and leaned in the open window.

“Back so soon? Did they change their minds when they saw you?”

She watched a muscle working in the corner of his jaw.

“I never got there,” he admitted, not looking at her.

“You don't say. Did you get lost?”

“Yeah. I got lost,” he mimicked in a sing-song voice. “Took a wrong turn somewhere—how should I know exactly what happened? Then I got stuck behind some beat-up pickup truck going about half a mile an hour—”

“Oh, that's just Burt Womack.”

“How do you
do
that?”

“I told you, I grew up here! For future reference, Burt doesn't go any faster than that. Ever.”

“I'll make a note of it. Oh, and
then
I ended up in someplace called Whalen.”

She winced at the name of the dicey neighbor town. “Ooh, what did you do
that
for?”

“Believe me, it wasn't intentional. The horror, the horror . . .”

“Okay,
that
I'll give you sympathy for. Well, look, you drove in a big circle, but you didn't get anywhere near Casey's.”

“I tried to call your cell, but of course it won't work while you're on this side of the mountain, or whatever. Tell your NIMBY father thanks for that, m'kay?”

“Don't judge,” she scolded, although she wasn't the least bit angry. She usually felt at a disadvantage when she was around Niall, a little unsure of herself in the shadow of his sheer . . .
Niall
-ness. But being on her home turf was doing wonders for her self-confidence.

“Then some roads started to look familiar, and I followed one I recognized, and . . . here I am. I have no idea what happened. What the heck, have you got your own Bermuda Triangle around here?”

“You'll get the hang of it. You'll have to, if you're actually staying here for a while.”

“How many times do I have to say I actually am? Why don't you believe me?”

“This is Marsden. Your head is going to explode if you stay here for any length of time.”

“You don't know that.”

“I'm pretty sure I do.”

“Well, I'm going to prove you wrong. How'dya like them apples ?”

“Wow, you're already sounding like a native. Congratulations.”

“Just tell me how to get where I'm supposed to be going.”

“Why are you so bothered by this?”

“I'm not!” he insisted, then took a breath and said, in a calmer tone, “I'm just . . . used to knowing my way around at all times.”

“You're not just talking about roads, are you?”

After a pause, he muttered, “No.”

“So you're a control freak. Good to know. First a bunch of secrets, and now this little personality revelation? It's been quite a day already.”

His eyes slanted toward her, though he still didn't turn his head. “Would we call this progress?”

“Depends on what goal you think we're progressing toward.”

“Will you go with me to this Bowen Farms place? Please,” he added belatedly.

She sighed. “Okay. Back up so I can get my mom's car out of the garage. I'll lead you there; we just have to make a small detour to drop her off at her yarn bombing.”

“Does that sort of thing happen often around here?”

Celia stood up straight and stretched, keenly aware of Niall's observant eyes on her. “Pretty much.”

“Weird place.”

“Absolutely.”

 

“Holy shit, it's
Gone with the Wind.
”

“It is not.”

“It is! It's friggin' Tara! Look at this place!”

Celia looked up at the imposing Gothic structure and tried to see it through Niall's eyes. She knew the Bowens' house as well as her own; she'd spent enough time there during her teen years. “Well, what did you expect? Schrute Farms?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“You're going to have to get rid of all those preconceived notions—”

“Ashley!” he piped in a cheesy Southern accent. “Oh, Ashley!”

“Get your movie trivia straight. Ashley's plantation was Twelve Oaks. Scarlett's was Tara. And Tara was Greek Revival; this is Gothic—”

He wasn't listening to her; he was having too much fun with his Southern accent. “I do declare, Ashley—wait.” He interrupted himself, switching to his normal voice. “Is
that
Ashley?”

Casey had come out the back door to greet them, hands on his hips, a broad smile on his handsome face.

“If you mean Casey, owner of Bowen Farms, then yes, that's him.”

“Well, I'll be darned. So that's your Ashley.”

“He's not
my
—”

“Hey—does that mean I can be Rhett Butler in this scenario? I would
so
love that!”

“Oh my God, will you just get inside, please?”

She marched ahead of him, up the steps, before he could start calling her Scarlett, and smiled back at Casey. The dark-haired man, brilliant green eyes glittering merrily, enveloped her in a hug that Celia sank into without a second thought. He was warm, and so familiar, and felt like home.

“Hey, it's so great to see you!” Casey said.

“Same here!”

“It's been forever since you've been back.”

She laughed. “I was here at Christmas.”

A semi-discreet cough sounded behind her. She pulled away from Casey but kept one arm around his waist. “Casey, this is Niall. Thanks so much for putting him up.”

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 Georgi
ana
.”

“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, Georgi
ana
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?”