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brother, Branson Hawbaker – who occupied the seat beside her. “He looks like he’s going to pass out at any moment.”
    Bran frowned, stroking his fake mustache. “I told him to sit this rehearsal out, but he swore he was feeling up to it.”
    “He’d swear that if he was spurting blood from a pulmonary artery. Rainey’s playing the governess, right?”
    “Yeah, well, you know how it is, Al. He’s trying to save face. Getting the crap beat out of you in front of the person you want most to impress is a real ball shriveler, believe me.”
    “Thank you so much for that beautiful image.”
    “You know what I mean,” he murmured, his normally languorous voice tight. “It’s a manhood thing. And his has already been called into question.”
    Allie knew that Bran felt at least partially responsible for that. It was ridiculous, of course, but having lived her whole life in Sweetwater, she was all too aware that small towns often harbored small minds. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You did a great job disguising his black eyes, but with his nose swollen like that, he sounds… muffled. Stuffy. And he’s obviously in pain. I don’t see how he’ll be ready to perform by opening night.”
    “You want to tell him that? And maybe step in and replace him? Because we have no understudy for this part.”
    “I’ll do it.”
    Allie stiffened at the sound of the unmistakable voice. In the intervening hours between tiptoeing out of Sarah’s cottage and showing up to watch dress rehearsal, she’d almost managed to put Mason Armitage out of her mind.
    Of course, she hadn’t been able to think about anything but him while lying sleepless in the loft, listening to the mellifluous sound of his breathing arising from the sofa beneath her. The man even respired dramatically. Annoyed by the fact that he’d seemed to have no trouble drifting back off after Will’s appearance, while she’d lain there, curious and fretful and, well, turned on, damn it, she’d finally abandoned hope of getting any sleep and crept out the door just as dawn began to paint a rosy wash across the sky. Thank heavens the Dust Jacket was closed today, otherwise she’d never have been able to avoid him.
    Although considering the fact that he was currently sitting behind her, she guessed she hadn’t managed to avoid him after all.
    “Mason Armitage!” her brother exclaimed, the handsome planes of his face transforming into a mask of delight. “I didn’t think we were expecting you for several months yet.”
    While the two men clasped hands and exchanged pleasantries and expressed general giddiness at the other’s presence in the universe, Allie slumped down in her seat.
    It wasn’t that she resented Bran for liking Mason – after all, they had so much in common, both being actors and too handsome for their own good. And it wasn’t even that she resented Mason. She’d had plenty of time to forgive him for his deception when they’d first met.  Pretending to be a down-on-his-luck friend of Tucker’s rather than broadcasting his identity as a semi-famous British thespian was understandable. Lord knew the man got enough attention due to his looks alone, without throwing celebrity into the mix. All of that adoration from fawning women just had to get old. 
    Allie snorted.
    “Did you say something, Al?”
    Allie waved a hand toward Branson. “Don’t mind me.”
    She could feel Mason’s stare like a weight pressing against the back of her neck, but she kept her eyes focused on the stage. After all, the director was too busy yakking with visiting industry dignitaries to pay attention to his little production.
    But when Mason repeated his offer to take over for Tommy, she couldn’t resist interjecting.
    “Surely there are a few too many offs between Sweetwater and Broadway,” she said “to warrant your interest.”
    When Mason’s gaze locked on hers, she realized that she shouldn’t have turned around. His eyes were still