Merely Players by Kathleen E. Kovach

Author:Kathleen E. Kovach
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barbour Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2013-04-24T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

“I’m so happy,” Judy told Bethany after the auditions. “Since you’ve played the part of Rosalind twice before, I wouldn’t trust it with anyone else.” The director of As You Like It stuck a pencil in her hastily banded ponytail, apparently forgetting the two she already had in there.

It thrilled Bethany to be in the community auditorium again.

The next morning, Bethany woke refreshed. She opened her window and drew in a big breath. It had rained in the night, and the air smelled crisp, reminding her that autumn would soon paint the leaves yellow on the tree outside her window.

She reached for her robe that lay in her chair. Willy, who had curled up on it, glowered at her with one eye, the other buried somewhere beneath a furry paw. Bethany scooped her up and draped the limp body over her shoulder like a silk scarf. Willy protested weakly as Bethany began to dance around the room, pulling clothes from her closet.

After she had showered and dressed, she found Willy in a much better mood.

“Hungry?”

Willy’s tail shot up and crooked on the end like a staff. With a flurry, Willy beat Bethany to the stairs and noiselessly maneuvered them. Bethany followed, rapping each wooden step with her sandaled feet.

She’d heard the teakettle whistle while still upstairs and knew her father had already started breakfast.

Willy reached the kitchen first but stopped abruptly, raised her middle, and turned to flee the way she had come. When the cat collided into her legs, Bethany had to fancy-dance to keep from crushing the black-and-white ball beneath her feet.

“What is wrong with you?”

Bethany extracted the cat from her ankles and carried her into the kitchen. She put the cat down and glanced at the figure sitting at the table, his face hidden behind a newspaper.

“Hey, Dad,” she said after opening the refrigerator. “Do you have the orange juice behind that paper?”

“No. And you’re about out of milk, too.”

That was not her father’s voice. She whirled, bumping her head, making the salad dressing bottles dance in the door.

“Hello, Bethy.”

Slowly, the newspaper lowered to reveal the source of the voice that made her toes curl. She expected the dark, neatly groomed actor named Brick Connor to meet her gaping stare. However, the man leisurely enjoying the Saturday morning paper had a softer look, as if he’d suspended his workout routine. Tousled light brown hair brushed the top of wire-rimmed glasses that enhanced his—she looked closer—yes, forest green eyes.

When she finally managed to dislodge her heart from her throat, she croaked, “Rick—Bri—Ricky! What are you doing in my house?”

“I invited him.” Her father sauntered into the kitchen as if a mega-box office star was not sitting at his table, drinking from his favorite mug, and reading his paper. Glenn held out a bakery box. “Muffin?”

❧

Brick had to steel himself from cracking a grin. Bethany looked so cute flustered. She stood there stammering, “But. . . Wha—I don’t. . .”

“Ricky is taking a little vacation while researching a role, so I offered to let him stay in our guesthouse,” Glenn explained.

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