Free The World is a Stage by Tamara Morgan Page B

arrival to their jaws, most of them in light jackets as though they were impervious to cold. Rachel couldn’t help looking around for the woolly mammoth tusks and loincloths.
    “They’re probably Eric’s teammates. I’m kind of dying to see them in action. Can you imagine all these guys running around in skirts?”
    “Um…I can now .” She turned her head sideways and took in a particularly nice pair of calves. “What did you say Eric did for a living again?”
    “I didn’t.”
    Rachel caught the stiffness in her sister’s voice, but the nice pair of calves turned around, providing the perfect distraction. They were attached to a rather gnarly set of knees and led up to…well, crap.
    “You made it!” Michael-the-Mule said, his arms wide. Was it just her imagination or were his eyes glinting, mocking her sudden flush?
    “Of course we did,” Molly said warmly, accepting the hug he offered. He moved as if to do the same to Rachel, but she snarled.
    “Point taken,” he said easily, backing away. “Rachel Hewitt—not a hugger.”
    “I just don’t like unsolicited hugs,” Rachel countered.
    “So I can hug you if you ask?”
    “I won’t ask.”
    “Hmm.” His eyes glinted again. “We’ll see about that. So, would you ladies like to see the castle?”
    “Is that what I’m looking at right now?” Rachel asked, nodding toward the shiny metal mobile homes. “Because I think I’ve seen all I need to.”
    “Rach, don’t be rude,” Molly whispered, though they all heard her just fine. Louder, she added, “Is Eric here yet, by the way?”
    “Nah. I think there was an issue with too much juice and a locked gas station bathroom. He had to turn around and grab some clean clothes.”
    “Oh, the poor thing.” Molly clucked. “I hope it’s not going to ruin his evening.”
    Rachel stared at her. Last week, Molly had been so upset by their mother’s impromptu stage debut she’d left rehearsal early and gone to a matinee of the latest romantic comedy. That was what she did when she was upset—not the regular things like eat or cry or take to her bed with a box of tissues. Oh no. Instead, Molly filled up on sappy plotlines and unlikely happily ever afters. After she’d lost the baby last year, it had been a nonstop marathon of Hugh Grant and his bumbling affectations.
    Apparently, their mother’s inability to hold her alcohol was a disaster. In Eric, it was a point of sympathy and charm for him to pee his pants on the way to a party.
    This was worse than she thought.
    “Well, if my humble abode is a bit much for you right now, can I at least introduce you to a few people?” Michael asked. Rachel thought he was talking to them both, but Molly had bounded away toward a kindred spirit in the shape of a slight, pretty woman with dark blonde hair and the kind of floaty layers that always made Rachel feel like an Amazonian in drag.
    “You don’t have to play the charming host for my benefit. I’m fine right here.”
    “I’m sure you are,” he said with a chuckle. “But I didn’t invite you to stand here and stare my guests into submission.”
    “I’m not staring.” She crossed her arms. “Okay. Maybe I am a little. But you have freakishly large friends.”
    He puffed up and preened like a peacock spreading its feathers. He probably screamed like a peacock too. The big ones always did. “You should see us in our kilts.”
    Rachel stopped. “That’s the second time someone has said that. Is that what you were wearing the other day? Are you in some sort of fetish club?”
    “Now, I like the sound of that.” He beamed. “No—the truth is I’m a Scottish Highland Games athlete. Most of the guys here are. You know, caber tossing and stone put. Manly stuff. Do you want me to roar?”
    Oh, for crying out loud. “You throw rocks and sticks? And you live in the woods? In a tin can?”
    “Not the woods—a lentil farm. It’s my cousin’s. I bought us the Airstreams a few years ago. I think