A Midsummer Night's Romp by Katie MacAlister Page A

caring for my husband as he was dying of cancer, and couldn’t take care of Cressida. There was no one else with whom she could be left, so Clarice suddenly contacted Gunner, told him he had a daughter, and left Cressida with him for six weeks. That was about seven years ago.”
    â€œI have to say, I have kind of a hard time reconciling the image of the drop-dead gorgeous Gunner, a man who felt it was perfectly fine to flirt immediately after meeting me, with Gunner the responsible dad.”
    Salma poured herself another cup of tea. “He does have a bit of a history with women—that’s true. And perhaps it was disapproval of his lifestyle that kept Clarice from telling him about Cressida. I do not know her reasons why she kept them apart; I simply am grateful that they have found each other at last. Despite what you may think, Gunner is truly an excellent father. He loves Cressida very deeply, and would, I believe, move heaven and earth for her.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it,” I said, keeping my lips zipped about the fact that Gunner evidently hadn’t changed his ways too much if he managed to proposition me pretty much within minutes of our meeting.
    â€œHe would love to have Cressida on a more permanent basis, but her mother retains custody of her until next year. After that, we will see. I hope Cressida chooses to live here, either with me or with her father.”
    â€œI can’t imagine what girl wouldn’t want to live in a real castle,” I said with a nod at the building in the distance. “Although to be honest, I can’t imagine anyone preferring to stay in a tent rather than luxury. Still, she seems to have a bunch of energy, so I’m sure she appreciates having the entire castle grounds to explore.”
    â€œIndeed. I used to worry about her, since her unique sense of enthusiasm is frequently taken for immaturity, but this summer, I began to see the potential that life holds for her. She’ll find her feet, just as I’m sure you will.”
    â€œMe?” I froze in the act of setting up a second camp chair, suddenly worried that Salma knew the truth about my plan. “What makes you think I need to find myself?”
    She watched me silently for a few seconds before answering. “There’s a sense of excitement about you, an aura of hidden agitation that leads me to believe that you’re undertaking a grave quest. One, I suspect, that you are unsure of completing. Or is it that you’re simply unclear why you’re doing it?”
    I dropped my gaze from hers, damning my inability to hide my emotions. How could she know so much about me after such a short acquaintance? And if she was that prescient, how on earth was I going to live next door to her without her ferreting out every last secret?
    I threw down a red herring tinged with just enough truth to hopefully distract her. “Well, hell. You’ve sussed the truth about me—I’m not really the experienced journalist that everyone thinks I am. They wouldn’t let me shoot everything for my book if they knew the truth, that I’m just a wannabe.” I slid a glance up through myeyelashes at her, trying to ooze sincerity from every pore. “I can only hope you won’t let others know my secret.”
    â€œWhy would you care if people knew that you weren’t an experienced journalist? Books are written all the time by people with similar lack of credentials.”
    â€œIt’s not so much the lack of credentials. . . .” I bit my lip, hating like the dickens that I was lying to this nice old lady, but I had to keep Sandy at the forefront of my mind. “It’s just that I’m afraid I’ll be asked to explain something and I simply won’t be able to make my brain work. I’ve never done well under stress, and if people are suspicious of me, if they think I don’t know what I’m doing, well . . .