Infamous Read Free Page A

That’s what we gave her.”
    “We? Thanks
so
much, but next time leave me out of it. Because I will not do that again. And if I were you, I wouldn’t—”
    “Believe it or not,” Hugh said, “it’s part of my job. I handle the talent.”
    “Well …” Alison sputtered. “
Ew.
Big honking
ew
. It’s not part of
my
job and …” The cowboy was hovering. He’d backed off a bit in a show of giving them privacy, but he was clearly waiting to talk to her. She spun toward him, her voice more impatient than she’d intended. “Can I help you?”
    “Um,” he said.
    “You were told to find me for costume approval,” she guessed as she scanned his clothes, adding, “Oh, no. No. Nope. The jeans are too modern—they’re your own, right? They must’ve run out of your size.”
    He was tall—quite a few inches over six feet—with long legs. And while the faded jeans he was wearing looked good on him—extremely good—they wouldn’t do.
    “Paula!” Alison shouted. She’d spotted the intern across the street over by the Feed and Grain Store, talking with the second-unit director Frank or Fred or whatever his name was. And damnit, Hugh had taken the opportunity to escape. He’d vanished completely, so Alison turned back to tell the extra, “Even looser fitting jeans are still too snug in the crotch. Plus, I can tell you’re wearing briefs, which weren’t available until 1935. The things you learn from being on a movie set are amazing, aren’t they? The boots are good, but you’re going to have to lose the watch, and that shirt isn’t …”
    She reached out to touch the fabric of his pale blue work-shirt. It was a soft cotton, but it had been stone-washed, and the pre-fade was too uniform. No cowboy in his right mind in 1898 would’ve bought a shirt that was already worn out.
    “No,” Alison said again, asking, “Who dressed you? It’s allwrong. Except for the boots. And the hat. You can keep the hat.” That was one very authentic-looking off-white cowboy hat he was holding loosely in his big hands. She raised her voice again. “Paula!”
    “I think maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else, ma’am,” the man finally said in a soft voice that had a hint of a Western drawl. “I’m not an extra for this movie.”
    And Alison stopped examining his jeans and his shirt and looked up—he was so tall she actually had to tilt her head, which was rare—and into a face that she’d known for years.
    Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him.
    Wide cheekbones, narrow chin, big straight nose, elegant lips, blue, blue eyes …
    With the exception of his hair, which was golden blond, he looked remarkably,
eerily
like the few rare pictures she’d studied of Jamie “the Kid” Gallagher.
    And if he wasn’t an extra …
    That meant he was the actor they’d found to play Gallagher.
    Oh, big, wonderful hip-hip-hooray. This was too good. Casting had
way
outdone themselves this time.
    And sure, he wasn’t perfect. He was quite a bit taller than she believed Kid Gallagher had been. But he had the same slender build, with those long legs that she’d already noticed leading to narrow hips that angled upward to broad,
broad
shoulders.
    He was older than Gallagher, too, by a good fifteen years, but that was okay. The makeup team could take some years off the actor’s face, no problem, the same way they could darken his thick hair and make it wavier.
    Alison laughed. He was perfect.
    He was gazing back at her, one eyebrow slightly raised at her intense scrutiny of his face.
    “Sorry for staring, but …” She held out her hand to him, laughing again. “I’m … so impressed. I’m Alison Carter. And you’re our Gallagher. Congratulations and welcome to the set.”
    His hand felt cool against hers, despite the day’s heat. He had big fingers that were rough with calluses and a palm thatengulfed hers. Like many actors, this man no doubt had been forced to support himself between jobs by doing