Page 42 of A Whim and a Prayer

And yet, seldom had it been this easy, this unsettling, to fall in love with the hero on stage, the butterflies in her stomach multiplying with every passing scene.

Just like it had with Brayden after the kiss.

Winnie froze. The kiss.

Her body instantly flushed hot and then cold, the thought of the final scene unnerving her completely. No! She shook her head hard to dislodge the very thought. It was Frank Butler who made her feel like a woman, not her best friend who always treated her like a little girl. And it was Frank Butler who would kiss her, not the man she loved as a best friend and only a friend.

Never had Winnie been more grateful for an intermission at the end of Act One. The company crescendo of “There’s No Business like Show Business” helped to alleviate some of her jitters because that’s all this was—show business. Two actors on stage that develop the love story for the audience, scene by scene, giving it their all.

Only, she didn’t want Beck’s all … at least not that way.

Winnie expelled a shaky breath as the curtain came down, grateful Beck was on the other side of the stage as she made a mad dash for the changing room. Darting between crew and ensemble members who offered their congrats on a great first act, Winnie rushed into the female dressing room where Abby waited to assist her change of costume.

“You were wonderful, Winnie!” Abby said, jumping up from the makeup chair. “You and Beck are so good together even I almost believe you’re falling in love!”

Winnie drilled her with a warning look. “It’s called acting, Abs, so don’t jump to any conclusions.”

“I know, I know”—Abby sighed as she lifted Winnie’s 2nd-act costume off the hanger—“but honestly, Win, you two look so good together.”

“On-stage,” Winnie emphasized as she tore off her buckskin jacket and matching skirt, trading them off to Abby for the fancier Wild West show costume. She quickly buttoned up the bright-red tailored shirt with its bead-studded filigreed collar fringed at the yoke, then stepped into the matching calf-length split skirt which cinched tightly at the waist. “Neither Beck nor I think of each other that way, at all, so just let it go. We have a job to do and we’re doing it to the best of our ability, and that’s all.” She snatched the matching beaded vest off the back of her chair a little too roughly and put it on.

“Boy, I’ll say,” Abby teased as she handed Winnie a showy pair of leather boots buffed to a shine. “But either way, you two gotta be having a lot of fun, right?”

Winnie plopped into the chair to yank on one of the boots with a grunt. “Yeah, sure,” she said as she wrangled the other, lips tamped in a tight line.

Loads.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Good news. Bad news.

Lips grim and arms folded across his chest Beck watched as Winnie took her final shot at the target, missing for the first time in the play. Shocked gasps filled the stage as the ensemble crowd stood wide-eyed that the indomitable Annie Oakley had lost to Frank Butler. All at once, they burst into applause when they realized Frank Butler had finally won a competition over Annie.

Frank Butler grinned as the crowd surged around him with handshakes and slaps on the back, while Annie stood off to the side. But inside he wasn’t celebrating ...

Just like Beck.

Because the good news was the dress rehearsal was almost over.

But the bad news loomed large and loud in Beck’s brain … because the kiss was still ahead.

The strains of “I Can Do Anything Better Than You” drifted softly as the crowd onstage slowly dispersed, leaving Frank and Annie alone to butt heads in one of the play’s most popular songs.

“Well, I can do anything you can do!” Annie shouted, laying her gun aside to confront him with hands on her hips while the orchestra rose in volume.

“Oh, you can, can you?” Frank stepped in to stare her down, kicking off the back-and-forth song of verbal competition that Beck so enjoyed … until it slowly came to an end.

“So, why’d you do it, Annie?” Beck said quietly as he moved to stand in front of her.

“Do what?” she asked, picking at her nails with eyes downcast.

“You know what—throw the shooting match.”

Her head shot up. “I didn’t thr—”

Beck silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips, warmth rippling through him when his eyes locked with Winnie’s. “You did, Annie, and you know it.” An affectionate smile twitched at the edge of his lips, as natural as breathing for Beck when it came to Winnie. “You may be able to do anything better than me, Miss Annie Oakley, but lying sure isn’t one of them.” He paused to lift her chin with his finger. “So, why’d you do it, then, huh?”

Her chin nudged high while her lashes fluttered low, avoiding his stare. “Sure, I could’ve won, Frank, but I didn’t want to.” The beads on her fancy blouse rose and fell with a shaky quiver before her gaze rose to his, shocking Beck when tears pooled in her eyes. “Not if it meant losin’ you.”