Page 11 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

He just bet they were. Coming in on the tail-end of a conversation where it was apparent he was the topic of choice was never much fun. At least Ms. Annie thought him okay in the looks department. Miss Cassie, on the other hand, seemed determined not to look at him at all.

Well, good. He pushed down the little internal huff of disappointment—seriously? She didn’t think him good-looking?—and nodded to the coffee urn. “Is it ready yet?”

“Sure thing, Sweet Cheeks,” Annie answered.

Sweet Cheeks?

He rubbed a hand over his jaw then glanced over at where Miss Cowboy Hat stood, sipping her coffee, watching him like she couldn’t believe it was him.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“I’m just surprised to see you up. I got the impression before that mornings weren’t exactly your thing.”

Ah, that. He scratched the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her brow puckered. “I hope your visitor didn’t return.”

“Nope.” Thank goodness. How embarrassing had that moment before been? And, conscious that people talked, and he hadn’t exactly given off good vibes before, he’d decided he needed to make an effort and appear less wussy than that impression had certainly given .

“Good.”

He yawned. Rubbed his face with his hand. “Do you get many critters around here?”

“This is the country. Critters are part of the deal.”

His lip curled. “That’s why I like the city.”

“Each to their own.” She sipped her coffee, her gaze straying to where the cook watched them.

He nodded to her, but it was the cowgirl wannabe’s calmness that rankled him. Made him want to puncture it. “I hope the accommodation will improve. That trailer was barely habitable.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he challenged.

“Whoa. You need to calm down. You’re acting like a diva.”

“I’m not a diva,” he snapped.

Her mouth curved.

“I’m not!”

Wait—was she chuckling now? Was this no-name chick actually laughing at him? Who on earth did she think she was? “I don’t know who you think you are, but your attitude is definitely not appreciated right now.”

“Right back atcha, mister.”

Mister? Did she seriously not recognize him? Wow.

He turned, poured himself a cup of joe, hating how early starts made him snarly and less able to shrug off the echo of his dad’s opinion. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t a diva. He just needed caffeine, stat. Enough to drown the echoes of the past.

By now some of the crew were wandering in, and he was forced to exchange greetings, to pretend he loved getting up with the sun. The coffee was good, made the synapses work in his brain, so he might get a redemption round after the horrific start.

He glanced back at the cowgirl. Her lips tilted for a second as she eyed him over her cup, then she nodded, her hat slipping slightly.

Honestly, what was the deal with her cowboy hat? His gaze trickled down her attire, to her collared long-sleeved pink shirt, jeans and boots, like an advertisement for Wranglers. Wasn’t she just a production assistant? Why did she dress like she thought she was Annie Oakley?

“You know your shirt is on inside out?” the cook said to him.

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