Page 47 of A Whim and a Prayer

“Yes, well, whatever. But Charity and I were so excited, we prayed for you both right then and there.” She shifted to face him, as skittery as a schoolgirl at prom. “So … how was it?”

“The rehearsal was fine, Mom,” he said stiffly as he rose to his feet. “Went quite well, actually, with lots of standing ovations, but boy, am I beat, so I’m going to head up—” He stretched and yawned for effect, hoping to make a quick getaway.

Yeah, fat chance …

“Not so fast, young man,” she said with a jut of her dimpled chin, patting his chair once more. “Sit. I’m happy to hear the rehearsal went well, dear, but that’s not what I meant.” She leaned close, too blasted giddy to suit. “I mean, Beckett, how was the kiss? Did she like it?”

“Mother …” This time Beck groaned out loud as he kneaded the bridge of his nose, wishing Mrs. Dennehy had never told his mom that he’d been snookered into the lead at tonight’s rehearsal. Because on top of being a romantic, his mother was also a theatre and movie buff like him, so she was well aware that Frank Butler kisses Annie at the end of the play.

“Now, don’t you skirt the issue with me, Beckett. I know good and well you had to kiss Winifred tonight, and I want to know how it went.”

In true Winnie fashion, Beck threw his head back with eyes closed, his voice a near growl. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you that a twenty-four-year-old man does not share those kind of things with his mother.” His mouth went flat. “Or with anyone, for that matter.”

She wagged a finger at him, the impish smile suddenly nowhere in sight. “Don’t you dare dodge the issue with me, young man. I’ve been praying for you and Winifred to fall in love since you were in knickers, and I want to know if my prayers are working.”

Eyes still closed, he sighed as he kneaded his temple. For me, yes. For her? Not so much.

She rattled his arm. “So, tell me—how was the kiss?”

Wonderful. Earth-shaking. It knocked me for a loop.

“It was fine, Mom.”

She blinked, nose in a scrunch. “Just fine? Well, then, how did she react?”

Shaken, shocked, and eyes glazed with desire, just like me.

“She reacted fine, Mom, nothing more than a scene in a play,” he lied, not one for advocating falsehoods, especially with his mother, but a man had to draw a line somewhere.

She flopped back in her chair, mouth dangling in disbelief. “Well, I just don’t understand that …”

Yeah? Well, neither do I.

Her lips pursed as she squinted hard at the oven, as if it held all the answers she sought. “Humph. Hundreds of novenas, thousands of candles lit, and prayers on my knees till I wore a hole in the rug.” She looked up at him, brows in a worried pinch. “Do you love her?”

“Okay, Mom, that’s it—I’m going to bed.” Shaking his head, he stood to his feet and pushed in his chair.

She fisted his wrist as tightly as she had that day he’d overslept junior year, almost missing his final exam. She’d dragged his six-foot-three, 180-pound frame out of bed with a strength that belied her small size. “I’ve always thought you loved her, Beck, but I have to know for sure because maybe I’ve been praying all wrong.”

He stared, a sudden glaze of tears stinging his eyes, thinking God had surely hit it out of the park when He’d given him such loving and caring parents like Mom and Pop. Bending down, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, figuring a mother as wonderful as her deserved the truth. “Yeah, Mom, I do—always have and probably always will.” He gave a listless shrug as he rose to his full height. “But … she doesn’t feel the same, so maybe you just need to pray that I get over it because it sure doesn’t look like it’s meant to be.”

“Humph.” She stood up as well, and gave him a voracious hug, so petite she only came to right above his belt buckle. “Well, we’ll just see about that, Beckett Liam Campbell! You best not forget about all the prayers, novenas, and candles I’ve lit because I have friends in very high places, you know.” She gave a nod toward the ceiling as she pushed her chair in with a wink. “And trust me, my boy, if they think the widow in the Bible was persistent, they haven’t seen anything yet.”

Chapter Thirty

One last time.

Eyes closed tight and body stiff, Winnie sat ramrod straight in the dressing room while Abby refreshed her makeup for Act Two, chattering nonstop. The room was abuzz with gabbing and laughing as cast members changed for the second half of the show, but Winnie never heard a word while she picked at her nails, desperate to have the whole thing over and done.

Just one last time, she thought with a nervous chew of her lip. The kisses at the dress rehearsal had been bad enough—but the kisses last night at the official fundraiser had all but melted her to the stage, glazing her eyes along with her mind. As if Beck was determined to not only pour his heart and soul into the scene, but his body as well, his solid frame flush against hers so tightly, he’d branded her in a bonding that had seared her to the very core.

A hot shiver shuddered her shoulders at the memory that, no doubt, scalded her cheeks even more than the rouge Abby had applied. Thank goodness tonight would be the last time his lips would dominate hers, so she could finally move on, away from these annoying feelings for Beck.

“For pity’s sake, Win, hold still,” Abby scolded before she stood back to admire her handiwork, brows suddenly creasing when she saw Winnie nibbling at her lip. She slapped at her shoulder. “Stop it, Winnie, you’re messing your lipstick and now you have it on your teeth too.”

Winnie jumped, finally focusing on Abby’s scowl. “Oh … sorry, Cuz, but I was somewhere else, I guess.”

“No kidding,” Abby said as she handed her a mirror and a tissue, then took a quick glance at her watch. “Here, get rid of that lipstick and we’ll do it again, okay? You’re on in five.”