Golden Threads

Imprisoned by fate-and the FBI-in a strange town with a new identity, Lara Mason longed to escape the painful memory of her father's
murder
. Playing Rapunzel in a local production would distract her, she hoped-until broodingly sensual Devon Shane was chose as her prince in the play...and cast himself as her bodyguard when shadows from her past threatened her. Captured by his sapphire gaze and a voice that compelled her surrender, Lara had trusted no one with her secret, but Devon drove her wild with sensation, demanded and took what belonged to him. Furious at being a pawn in his dangerous game, Lara told Devon she wouldn't run anymore--but could he keep her safe? Desperate to end the limbo that denied them a future, Lara was willing to gamble with her life... but not his love. Devon had scaled her tower and won her, but now he had to set her free. Could she show him that taming his savage heart was the only happy ending she wanted?

"Next!" Nick Rhodes glanced at the man sitting beside him and added in a much lower voice, "That makes eleven we've seen, and the last three could have—"

"No." The voice was deep, rich; the dark eyes twinkled gently in a benign face. "I haven't seen her yet."

Sighing, Nick nodded toward his assistant to bring the next potential Rapunzel onto the stage. He wanted to swear over the lengthy selection process, but the old man beside him possessed the trick of making those around him mind their tongues. Besides that, he was putting up the money for the play—which meant that he called the shots. Nick glanced at Cyrus Fortune again, thinking that he probably got chased down streets by children. Put him into a red suit, and he'd be the image of Santa Claus.

"This is a small town," Nick reminded Mr. Fortune. "Not many actresses to choose
from,
and half of them are completely wrong for the part. If we don't find her soon—"

"There she is." Mr. Fortune was gazing toward the stage. He was beaming happily. "There's our Rapunzel."

Nick's head swiveled toward the stage. He was prepared for almost anything, since Cyrus Fortune struck him as such an odd man. Now, seeing the young woman onstage, cautious relief was his strongest emotion. She waited somewhat nervously for instructions and could have been any age between twenty and thirty. She matched his mental vision of Rapunzel. She was petite, almost fragile, her pale gold hair pulled back from her face and held with a ribbon.

Nick studied her with the critical eye of a director. A lovely face, he decided judiciously. And there was something about her, a quality he could see or sense even from his seat in the empty, darkened auditorium.
Wariness?
A look of loneliness?
His gut reaction was that she would know just how to play a forlorn maiden locked in a tower.
If she could act, of course.

He leaned forward, propping his forearms on the seat in front of him. "What's your name?" he called.

"Lara." Her voice was soft but curiously clear and distinct, reaching him easily. "Lara Callahan."

"All right, Miss Callahan. If you'll read page twenty, please? Tim will cue you." He nodded toward his assistant. Then he settled back and listened as Rapunzel pleaded with the witch to allow her to go free. Lara Callahan's voice was sweet and unbearably sad, her plea so eloquent that Nick felt a feathery chill brush his spine.

Cyrus Fortune was nodding, beaming. Above the bushy white beard, his cheeks shone like polished apples. He was leaning forward slightly in his seat, his elegant hands resting on the gold-handled cane between his knees. "There," he said softly. "There."

There, indeed, Nick thought. He wondered why Lara Callahan had never auditioned for him before. Was she new to the relatively small town of Pine-wood, Virginia?

"Fine, Miss Callahan," he called as soon as she had finished the scene. "Rehearsals start day after tomorrow.
Monday, six p.m."

She looked almost comically startled. "You mean I got the part?"

"Didn't you want it?" Nick laughed a little as Tim, clipboard in hand, led the bemused Rapunzel into the wings. "Tim," he called, "
ask
the crew to wait for a few minutes, will you?"

"Sure, boss," Tim replied.

Turning to face Mr. Fortune, Nick said, "The biggest part cast. Now we just have to worry about the parents and the witch."

"And the prince," Fortune reminded him.

Nick was conscious of his impatience, and tried to repress it. "Four actors showed up to audition for that
part,
and you dismissed all of them. We have to pick one of them—"

"You replaced the notice on the front of the building?"

"Yes," Nick admitted. "You told me to. But I don't see what you hope to gain by it. We ran a notice in the papers for three days setting today only for auditions. No one will wander in off the streets to read for the part, not this late."

"You never know," Cyrus Fortune murmured. "I’ll make my decision by the end of the day. Have you assembled the stage crew?"

Nodding, Nick said, "Of course. Most of them are people I've used before, though I couldn't get my usual foreman. They're moonlighting, like the actors. Most of the sets will be built while we're rehearsing in the evenings, and on Saturdays.
As usual.
You've approved the set designs and the script; I have the costume sketches in my office, if—"

Cyrus Fortune heaved himself to his feet with a considerable effort.
"Certainly, certainly."
His voice was a gentle baritone. "Your wife is an excellent designer and seamstress, Nick. I'm sure I'll have no complaints."

Following the impressive bulk of his backer down the aisle toward the stage, Nick reflected that Susie had indeed done a fine job with the costume designs — but what was Fortune's knowledge of her reputation based on? Nick had certainly never heard of the man, not until he's appeared at this theater a few weeks before with a proposition. He would provide the financial backing for a production of Rapunzel, he'd said, with all profits going to local charities.

Rapunzel, of all things! Susie had been delighted by the opportunity to design romantic costumes for a fairy tale, but Nick had nearly torn his hair out over the script. He had persevered, mainly because his generous backer had made a large deposit to the theater's bank account and—except in the area of the principal players—was placidly uncritical and did not interfere.

And so, the Pinewood Community Theater was due to stage a production of Rapunzel in less than a month.

Provided, of course, that a prince could be found.

Nick hardly shared his backer's sublime belief in the intervention of providence to supply them with a suitable prince, but he was somehow unsurprised the following morning to look up from his desk at the sound of a knock—and behold Rapunzel's prince.

"Mr. Rhodes?"

"Yes?" Nick rose to his feet. "What can I do for you?"

"One of the workmen said to see you. Have you completed auditions for your play? I saw the notice out front."

Nick hoped that Fortune wasn't the type to say I told you so. "We have one part left," he admitted.
"The prince."
Nick half-expected this big, powerful-looking man to turn and leave, for he didn't seem the type to contemplate with anything but a sneer the idea of playing the role of a prince in a fairy tale.

"May I read for it?"

Nick decided that he was getting old; his intuition wasn't what it used to be. "Certainly," he murmured. And, again, he was unsurprised when Cyrus Fortune beamed happily upon seeing the dark prince.

"Now then," Fortune said softly, nodding. "Now then, we'll see."

Nick didn't have the nerve to ask what they would see.

On Monday evening, Lara sat on one side of the stage, not quite in the wings. She had meant to study the script, which she hadn't yet read since Nick had just handed her a complete copy, but found her fascinated attention on the stage crew milling about. What they were doing—hammering, bellowing at one another, carrying bits and pieces of lumber here and there—looked like total chaos, but she assumed there was a logical pattern to the activities. She reminded herself that there were at least three very different sets to be constructed, and wondered how on earth they could be built in the time available.

"You're sitting on our tree."

Startled, she blinked up at an extremely handsome masculine face in which blue eyes danced merrily. He was standing, hands on slim hips, directly in front of her.

"I beg your pardon?" she managed to say.

"Our tree."
He gestured to the bogus log she had chosen to sit on. "I wouldn't bother you about it, but we're trying to build the garden first, and we need the tree."

Lara got up hastily. "Oh. Sorry."

"No problem." His deep voice was cheerful. "I'm Luke Brady, by the way, foreman of the stage crew."

"Lara Callahan," she said.

"I know.
Rapunzel.
Lovely golden hair and all."

"Are you sure your last name isn't Blarney?" she asked dryly.

He grinned. "I'm sure."

"But you do admit to being Irish?"

"Oh, of course.
Would I be tryin' to deceive a fine Irish lass like yourself, darlin'?"

She couldn't help laughing; the brogue was marvelous. And with his flaming red hair and wicked blue eyes, he had doubtless been a heartbreaker for years. "I wouldn't bet against the possibility," she told him.

Luke Brady assumed a wounded expression. "It's cruel you are," he said sadly.

"Luuuke!" one of the other men wailed desperately.

Moving quickly out of his way, Lara said, "You'd better get your tree before somebody over there has a fit."

Chuckling, he bent and got the tree, tucking it easily under one brawny arm. "I am the foreman, you know," he said, dispensing with the brogue. "If anybody has a fit, it's going to be me."

Lara watched him stroll back toward the other side of the stage, carrying the tree. She knew it was hollow, of course, little more than a shell with the appearance of solid wood, but he looked as though the real thing would have presented no problem.

"Lara?" Nick appeared from the wings, looking harassed. "We're going to try a read-through backstage, so—" He broke off, staring across the stage, then yelled, "Luke! The tree's for the outside of the tower, not the garden!"

"Sorry," Luke called back, standing the tree on end and leaning it against the skeleton of a cottage. He sent Lara a wink.

She felt herself flush. Had it been an excuse to talk to her?

"Study the set designs, people," Nick requested in a voice that held despair. He took Lara by the arm and began drawing her backstage. "Half those guys don't know what they're doing," he said under his breath.

Lara glanced at him as they made their way through a tangle of ropes and electrical cords, props and lumber. He was a man somewhere in his forties with a salt-and-pepper beard and dark eyes; he was fast-moving and prone to get excited about things. Lara didn't know what kind of producer and director he'd be, but his script for the play was just beautiful, she thought. He had taken a brief fairy tale and fleshed it out, giving it humor and substance. She liked him for that alone.