Page 49 of A Whim and a Prayer

And Beck fully intended to do just that. Because the truth was Winnie was lying through her teeth when she said she wasn’t attracted to him romantically, and he knew it. He’d seen it firsthand when he’d kissed her during the dress rehearsal, and he’d confirmed it last night during the actual fundraiser play. Glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, rapid breathing as shallow as his, and knees that might have buckled if he hadn’t held her up. Oh, yeah—Winifred Dennehy was as attracted to him as he was to her.

And Beck planned to prove it tonight, once and for all.

Jaw set, Frank stepped right into Annie’s space after the shooting contest was done and people had dispersed, rifle flung over his shoulder while he stared her down hard. Just like Beck wished he could do with Winnie.

“Why don’t you just come out and admit it, Annie? You’re missing those shots on purpose.”

“Why don’t you just come out and admit it, Winnie? You’re denying your attraction to me on purpose.”

“Am not!” Annie said, slapping her rifle down on a wooden crate before slanting in with hands plunked to her hips.

“Are too,” Frank said, stepping in to match her bent with an ominous one of his own. “Your aim is suddenly inconsistent, you’ve been rushing the shots, and the misses feel intentional. Admit it, Oakley, you’re holding back.”

Beck had no problem performing this scene to the hilt because he was living it and breathing it on his own—with Winnie.

“Your moods are suddenly inconsistent, you’ve been rushing our time together, and your denial feels intentional. Admit it, Dennehy, you’re holding back.”

“No, I aint.” Annie crossed her arms with a thrust of her chin.

“Yes, you are,” Frank said, dropping his rifle next to Winnie’s on the crate. He aimed a menacing finger. “You’re patronizing me, Annie Oakley, acting like you’re not as good as me when you are!” Breathing hard, Beck wished he could just shout his own version to the rafters.

“You’re patronizing me, Winifred Dennehy, acting like you’re not attracted to me when you are!”

“You’re darn tootin’ I am,” Annie shouted, “because I can do anything better than you!”

Beck’s heart always picked up pace at this point in the play when they battled wills in one of his favorite songs, “I Can Do Anything Better Than You.” Because yes, Winnie did do something better than him—she was able to shove her true feelings, her true attraction to him, so deep that she could deny it like a champ. But Beck couldn’t do that.

At least … not anymore.

’Round and ’round they went in song until the pivotal moment.

The kiss.

“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 finger to her lips, heat engulfing him as always at this point in the play when his eyes locked with Winnie’s. “You did, Annie, and you know it. You may be able to do anything better than me, Miss Oakley, but lying sure isn’t one of them.” He paused to lift her chin with his finger. “So, why’d you do it?”

Her lips were trembling while her lashes fluttered low, avoiding his stare. “Sure, I could’ve won, Frank, but I didn’t want to.” Her gaze finally rose to his with tears that seemed all too real. “Not if it meant losing you.”

Beck swallowed hard, her words far too real to suit because the fact was that Winnie really could lose him if she didn’t face the truth. “So … so, all this time …” His hands burned hot as he carefully cradled her face in his palms, pulse pounding hard, “you weren’t trying to beat me. You were trying to stand beside me.”

A single tear slowly slid down Winnie’s cheek, and it took everything in him not to kiss her right then and there, her lower lip quivering as she peered up. “I don’t need to be better than you, Frank. I just need to be with you.”

Beck stared, wishing with all of his heart that those words were meant for him. In natural reflex, his breathing spiked, rough and ragged as his heart rate surged, fingers burning as they slowly skimmed down her arms. “Well then, Annie Oakley…” he whispered, voice suddenly husky and hoarse, “that’s one contest I’m happy to lose.”

This was his moment. Maybe the only one he would ever have again, when he might finally convince Winnie that he didn’t just want to protect and love her till she married someone else, but he wanted to protect and love her all the days of her life.

As a friend.

As a husband.

As a lover.