The Girl From Summer Hill

by Jude Deveraux

  Tate turned off the engine, then reached across Casey to the glove box and pulled out a baseball cap and a little packet. She watched him tie back his hair and slide the cap down over his eyes. Next went a huge, bushy mustache, which didn’t seem to want to stay on, and aviator glasses.

  “I should have shaved,” he said.

  “And ruin your image?” Casey said, making him smile. “Okay, everyone know what to do?”

  “Sure.” Jack handed his pile of papers to Gizzy. “We work together.” He opened the truck door.

  “But that’s not—”

  Tate took Casey’s papers and put them with his. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

  Casey started to protest, but the truth was that she didn’t look forward to wandering about the ratty old place by herself. She got out of the truck and joined the others. “If anyone gets hungry or thirsty, food is in the back of the truck.”

  They left the parking area, and when they rounded the corner they looked up at the house. Up close it was downright scary. A gutter hung down, some of the windows were cracked, and a roof at the far end appeared as if it might collapse at any second.

  “Welcome!” said a little man standing by a table where a woman sat with a cash box. “There’s a twenty-dollar-per-person cover charge to see it all. If you buy anything, it’s refunded, but I have to get something from the looky-loos.”

  “This is your house?” Jack asked.

  “It is now. My great-aunt’s family owned it. Monster, isn’t it?”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Gizzy asked.

  “Sell everything I can, then bulldoze the house and plant kale. This whole country is kale-mad. There’s money to be made in anything kale.” He was staring at Tate. “You look like—”

  “Don’t say it,” Tate said in a heavy Southern accent. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Jack handed over four twenty-dollar bills and they went through.

  In front of the house were tables covered with dusty items. Chairs and small tables were set around on the grass, which seemed to have been freshly mowed. The couples separated.

  “Big stuff is in the house,” the little man called to them. “The prices are on everything, and I won’t sell anything before ten A.M. But I might be persuaded to bargain.”

  “He dreams of bidding wars,” Tate said and Casey agreed. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’d like to see this place before the hordes get here.”

  Casey knew she should start searching for the items they needed, but she stuffed the papers into her pocket and followed him. He didn’t go in the front door but through the side. They came out into what seemed to be a basement passage with lots of doors leading to side rooms.

  “It looks like a movie set,” Casey said.

  “My thought exactly. Can’t you imagine a guy with an ax chasing the pretty girl through here?”

  “He wants her kale?”

  Tate laughed as he went through a doorway into the kitchen. A row of copper saucepans hung over the big stove, and against a wall were a dozen copper cake molds.

  “Ooooh,” Casey said.

  “Your idea of heaven?”

  “Close to it.”

  They wandered about the old house, all four stories, and found most of the items on the list. High up was a bedroom that looked to be the master. An old inlaid-wood jewelry box caught Casey’s eye, but the price was too high. She and Tate agreed that it was sad that the house was to be torn down.

  They lost track of time and only realized the sale had begun when people began arriving. Tate and Casey raced down the stairs. Jack was already at the sale table, handing over a stack of hundreds to the little man.

  “You find everything?” Tate asked.

  “Most of it. There are some small items we didn’t see.”

  “Your voice!” the man said. “You are him.” His small eyes glittered. “I forgot to tell you that some of this stuff has been priced incorrectly. The sofa you want is an antique. It’s about three hundred years old. I don’t know who priced it at four hundred dollars, but they left off a zero. It’s four thousand dollars.”

  “Listen, Buster—” Jack looked as he did in the movies, like he was about to punch the man in the face.

  The screams of a woman cut him off.

  They all turned in the direction of the sound. At the far end of the house, a woman stared up at the roof, her face showing her fear. Sitting on the edge, three stories up, was a little boy, smiling, his chubby legs hanging down. It was as if he was getting ready to leap down into his mother’s arms. But then, the roof seemed almost too rotten to hold him.

  Tate looked at Jack. “You go. I’ll get the rope. I hope you don’t have to play catch.”

  Casey’s mind raced. “Where is Gizzy?” She ran to the back of the truck.

  Tate flung open the doors, climbed inside, and got the box of ropes and bungee cords. “I have no idea where she is. Call 911 and get the fire department here.” He took off running.

  “You can’t go out on that roof,” she called after him, but he didn’t hear her.

  Casey took her phone out of her pocket. The signal was weak, but she got through to 911.

  The dispatcher answered right away. “You’re our third caller,” she said. “The truck is on its way, but it’s going to be twenty to thirty minutes before they can get there. Can someone talk the child into holding still?”

  “We’ll try,” Casey said and hung up.

  “What happened?” Gizzy asked from behind her. “I was looking for—”

  Casey grabbed her sister’s hand and started running. “They may need you.” People were gathering around the front door and blocking it, so Casey ran to the side. “We’ll take the back stairs. I hope I can remember how to get there.”

  There was a big man at the head of the main staircase, and he was keeping people from going up. A flash of a badge showed that he was a deputy sheriff.

  Casey turned to Gizzy in question and she nodded. While the deputy was distracted by some guy with a camera, the two women sneaked past the crowd and ran down the hallway.

  “I think this is it.” Casey flung open a door to reveal a narrow staircase leading up. There were a lot of footprints in the thick dust.

  “Those are from Jack’s boots,” Gizzy said. “I recognize the print.”

  At the top was a closed door, but when Casey tried it, it was locked. She knocked. “It’s us. Let us in.”

  “Wait for us in the truck,” Tate said through the door. “Jack’s going out on the roof to get the kid.”

  “He’s too heavy!” Casey shouted. “He’ll go through. Landers, if you don’t let us in—” She couldn’t think of a good threat.

  “Please,” Gizzy said. “Please.”

  Her sweetness made Tate open the door. Jack was by the wide window, with a rope looped about his waist, one end on the floor, the other end in Tate’s hands.

  Tate was frowning. “We’re handling this.”

  “No,” Casey said as she looked at Jack. “You’re too heavy. Gizzy will go.”

  “Absolutely not!” Jack said.

  Ignoring him, Casey asked Gizzy, “Can you move in those skinny jeans?”

  “No.” She unzipped them.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jack spat out.

  Casey knelt to unbuckle Gizzy’s tall wedge sandals. When Casey stood up, Gizzy was wearing only her pink underpants and a shirt. Her long, trim legs were bare.

  Tate was standing to one side, still holding the end of the rope. He seemed to understand what the women were doing because when Casey looked at him, he stepped forward. This wasn’t a time to argue. As he looped the rope around Gizzy’s waist, he talked to her in a calm voice. “The roof is in bad shape and the old tiles are falling off. You need to step carefully. Test every tile with your foot before putting your weight on it. Understand?”

  Gizzy nodded.

  “Jack will keep the rope around him and he won’t let you go. If you fall, he’ll hold on
and all of us will bring you up.” Tate put his hand behind him, and Jack handed him something they’d tied together out of a bungee cord and another piece of rope. “The stunt coordinator on one of Jack’s movies made a harness like this for a scene. You need to get it around the kid, then fasten it to you. That way—”

  “If I drop him, he won’t fall.”

  “Yes, exactly.” Tate nodded at her. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” Gizzy said.

  Jack’s face was solemn as Gizzy came to him. He kissed her, then helped her out the window.

  Tate was standing beside Casey. “What the hell were you thinking?” he said quietly. His calm, soothing voice was gone. “This is dangerous. She has no training. She can’t—”

  “She can!” Casey said. “Gizzy can walk a tightrope, race motorcycles. Whatever. She inherited Dad’s inner bad boy.”

  “Whatever that means,” Tate said.

  Casey went to the open window beside Jack. He was talking Gizzy through walking on the roof. The child had lost his smile and was now clearly afraid. His mother was still below, talking to him and telling him not to move. Around her was a growing crowd of onlookers.

  “Watch the pretty lady,” his mom called up to him. “She’s going to get you down, then I’m going to buy you so much ice cream you can go swimming in it. Would you like that?”

  When the child twisted his body to look at Gizzy, half a dozen tiles fell to the ground and the crowd below gasped.

  “Stay calm and test the tiles,” Jack said.

  Gizzy stepped carefully, but she didn’t seem to be afraid.

  Tate stood behind Casey, looking over her head. “She’s good. Just so she doesn’t freak when she gets to the edge.”

  “She won’t. She never does. She’s helped the Summer Hill Fire Department many times.”

  They all watched as Gizzy slowly made her way to the boy. Every time tiles fell, the crowd reacted loudly. Gizzy would pause and wait, then take another step. She smiled at the boy. “Hi,” she said. “Want me to get you off this roof?”

  The child nodded, but when he held up his arms to her, more tiles fell down.

  “His name is Stevie,” Jack said. His hands were white from gripping the rope so tightly. He was very aware that this wasn’t the movies. There were no nets a few feet away, no crane on standby.

  Stevie began to cry, and when he did, he moved just enough to make everyone gasp in fear.

  “I need you to hold absolutely still,” Gizzy said to the boy. “Can you do that?”

  The boy gave a nod, but he was beginning to shake.

  Gizzy changed tactics. “Isn’t this fun?” Her voice was happy, full of adventure. “I love walking on roofs. But I guess you do too or you wouldn’t be sitting on the edge.”

  The child stared at her in surprise—and his trembling slowed down.

  “When I was your age I climbed on every roof there was. I scared my mother a lot.” Gizzy stopped as half a dozen tiles tumbled to the ground and loudly smashed into pieces. Through the ensuing noise, she kept her eyes on the boy and never lost her reassuring smile. When it was calm again, she held up the harness the men had made.

  “Stevie, I’m going to slip this around you so the men in the window can pull us inside. How does that sound?”

  The child nodded. There were tears glistening in his eyes, but he seemed stronger, more determined.

  “I just need for you to sit very, very still. Don’t move your arms or your legs. Okay?”

  Again he nodded as Gizzy slowly slipped the rope over his head and down to his waist. It was harder to get the bungee cord between his legs and fasten it. Twice Gizzy had to wait for falling tiles to settle. When the old gutter broke off and crashed to the ground, the gasp of the onlookers made the child throw his arms around her.

  The unexpected weight almost made Gizzy lose her footing, but she balanced and managed to sit down.

  —

  Below them in the crowd were Mr. and Mrs. Johnson from Tucson, Arizona. They were one of the few remaining retired couples who could afford to spend their summers driving around in a gas-guzzling RV. Mrs. Johnson liked estate sales and had an eye for a bargain. She shipped lovely things back home to her sister, who sold them in her antiques shop. Mr. Johnson’s passion was photography, and the RV was fitted with deep drawers full of equipment. Right now he had his new Nikon Df equipped with a 200- to 400-mm lens, and he was recording the rescue. It was his wife who’d identified Tate Landers, while he loved Jack Worth’s movies. The Df didn’t have video, but it did contain a very fast 256GB memory card. Mr. Johnson put the camera on continuous shots and kept snapping.

  —

  Gizzy’s grip was strong, and she was able to hold on to the sturdy little boy and stand up.

  Now that Stevie was with Gizzy, Jack began talking to her, his voice encouraging. “Just a few more steps, baby. I’m right here.” He was steadily pulling on the rope, taking up the slack as she came forward.

  She was almost to the window when the tiles under her feet flew out from under her. Gizzy and the boy went down. Her arms stayed around him and she made no attempt to catch herself. She had absolute faith that Jack would hold her—and he did.

  Tate grabbed the rope behind Jack and helped hold the weight of Gizzy and the boy.

  Immediately, Casey saw what needed to be done. It was going to be impossible to pull Gizzy in with only the rope without removing a lot of her skin. The tiles were so loose that she’d never get a foothold. Casey ran to the door and shouted down the stairs for the deputy to come up: “We need you.” The big man was there in seconds, and he relieved Tate at his end of the rope.

  Casey looked at him. They both knew what she had to do, and his eyes asked if she was willing. She nodded.

  She pulled off her tennis shoes, then went to the open window, Tate behind her.

  “I won’t let you fall. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Just stop the electricity. For right now, don’t be a movie star in hiding.”

  In an instant, Tate pulled off the cap, unfastened his hair, and tossed the mustache into a corner. “Better?”

  “Yes,” she said as she climbed into the window, then put her hands down onto the roof. She was going out headfirst. Tate clasped her waist, and as she inched onto the roof, he slowly worked his way down her body to her knees.

  “Somebody’s been working out,” he said.

  Casey was looking at Gizzy, who was hanging by a rope around her waist, a heavy, frightened toddler clinging to her. “Can you believe that he’s flirting with me?”

  “Yeah. He likes you.”

  The sisters smiled, trying to reassure each other. Yes, Gizzy was a daredevil and seemed to be fearless, but Casey saw the worry in her eyes. The rope was around Gizzy’s waist and cutting into her with the pressure. She was bleeding in a dozen places and must have been in pain. It was clear that the boy was holding on so tightly that Gizzy could hardly breathe—but then, she was holding him just as tightly.

  When Casey held out her hands, Gizzy clasped them hard, hands to wrists. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” Gizzy said.

  Casey yelled, “Now!” and the three men began pulling, two on the rope, with Tate holding Casey’s legs and drawing her in. It hurt. The rough surfaces of the tiles and the old window took off a layer of skin on Casey’s arms. She couldn’t imagine what was being done to Gizzy’s bare legs.

  When Casey was nearly inside, Tate pulled her the rest of the way through the window. She never let go of her sister’s arms, didn’t break eye contact with her.

  Jack leaped forward to grab Gizzy’s arms.

  The door burst open and the boy’s mother ran in, her arms outstretched, her voice hysterically calling her son’s name.

  Only when Gizzy was standing in the room did she finally loosen her grip on the little boy. He fell into his mother’s arms.

  Behind them, Tate pulled Casey to him. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking. Tate’s hold on her was
comforting—with no electricity.

  He bent his head so his cheek was on her hair. “You didn’t inherit your dad’s love of adventure?”

  “None of it. I’m a total coward.” She knew she should break away from him, and she could hear Jack and Gizzy and the deputy talking. They said they were taking Gizzy to get medical treatment. Casey knew she should go too, but she didn’t move out of Tate’s arms. They seemed to fit together perfectly, and it had been a long time since a man had held her. Tate’s laughter at the story of her breakup had made her remember things that she’d blocked out. Maybe it was what she’d just been through or Tate’s humor, or maybe it was being held after so long without, but she thought about what had happened with her and Ben. Months before he moved out, he’d made some very unpleasant gibes about how Casey was the only one who could run the restaurant. She knew he’d been passed over for promotion, and she’d done her best to make it up to him. There had been fabulous dinners followed by great sex, followed by days of ego-boosting, but nothing she did stopped his endless little snipes.

  Before she knew it, tears came to her eyes, and she tightened her arms around Tate. He buried his hand in her hair and held her, saying nothing, just standing there with his arms around her.

  The tears lasted only seconds, then she became aware of where she was. It was silent in the room. Had the others left or were they watching?

  When Casey gazed up at him, Tate kissed her forehead—and electricity shot through her.

  She pushed away from him and glared. “You had to ruin it, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I did. My arms around a beautiful woman who I like very much turns me on. Sorry. My weakness. Are you okay?”

  She took a breath. “Yes.” Except for deep embarrassment, she thought. “We better go. The owner will sell everything and we’ll have a bare stage for the play.”