Page 13 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

“Normal is overrated.” And no actors he knew could ever lay claim to that. Creatives couldn’t be boxed into whatever counted as “normal” these days.

She blew out a breath, and looked away at the horizon.

From this distance, he could appreciate how the sun gilded her hair, carving her silhouette in bronze and shadows.

She faced him. “I think it’s best if you stay away from me.”

Wow. Really? He shoved his hands in his pockets. Jerked his chin. “Probably safest for me. Who knows what you’ll do next time?”

“Me? I’m not the one acting weird. That’s all you.”

He had no comeback. Except, “Some people obviously bring it out of me.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the steam pouring from her ears. Then she surprised him by thrusting out her hand.

He eyed it. This felt like a trick, something else with the potential to go wrong. “What?”

“You and me.”

His heart stuttered. No way in Hades, lady. “You want a truce?”

“Get real. I want you to promise to leave me alone, and I’ll do the same.”

“Now that’s a promise I can keep,” he muttered. Except, “Don’t you work here?”

“Yes, but don’t let that stop you.”

“Fine, then.” He grasped her hand. Felt a strange warm current zip up his arm from their clasped palms. So he dropped it. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not with this she-devil of a woman. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go change this shirt you ruined.”

Her face softened for a moment. “I hope you didn’t get burned. It was an accident.”

He knew that, but it still didn’t stop his mouth from projectile-vomiting more snark. “Sure it was.”

“It was!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll live. Probably.”

Her lips pressed together.

He bit back his amusement at her obvious frustration. “See you around, Miss Cassie.”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered, then pivoted on her booted heel and walked away.

The rest of his day passed in breakfast, costume fittings, blocking scenes, running lines. Mal had promised they’d start filming tomorrow, and his character’s role meant he’d be in most of the filming. It’d stay that way over the first few weeks, as much of the interest would be in the new character and the new dynamics that would have to be established, especially with poor grieving widow Abigail, the character played by Ainsley. His introduction into the series would involve literally charging into town on a white horse—a sign as old as the hills that he was one of the good guys. But fortunately, that opening scene of the first episode wouldn’t be filmed for a few more weeks, which allowed for more of the interpersonal dialogue between himself and Ainsley.

As they ran lines, he was once again struck by what a professional Ainsley was. She knew her lines already while he was still struggling.

“Put it down to an early start,” he mumbled, when he’d fluffed his line for the fifth time.

“I heard you were up at the crack of dawn.”

He yawned as if her words reminded his brain what had happened this morning. “Not by choice.”

“Not an early bird, huh?”

“Nope.” Unlike a certain woman who definitely preferred that time of day. What was wrong with her? At least she’d kept her promise and he’d had nothing more to do with her today. He’d seen her in the distance once, but she was doing a great job of steering clear of him while he did the same.

Regret chased him. He didn’t want to be someone people chose to avoid. He didn’t want to be like his dad in any way shape or form. Hence no drinking. No mooching off others. No hitting a woman or kid. The fact he might’ve inherited the worst of both his mom and dad’s traits stung. He wasn’t like that. He’d do anything to prove them wrong.

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