Page 33 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

“Because it was unnecessary. The snake wasn’t venomous.”

“But how was he to know that? Cassie, I don’t understand why you’re so antagonistic to this man.”

“That’s because you haven’t met him,” she grumbled.

“Cassie.” Her mom’s inflection held the same layers of disappointment as when Cassie had plucked out the rooster’s tail feathers or given Franklin a black eye as a kid. “That’s not how we treat people.”

She ducked her head. She knew that. Knew it. But despite her best efforts to rein in her tongue, she kept failing. Lord, I’m sorry. Please help me.

“Cassie.”

Her mom’s arms slipped around her and squeezed, and she rested there for a moment, letting love hold her, until she finally straightened, wiped under her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I know you’ve been busy, honey.” Her mom stroked her face. “But don’t let the outside pressures inside your heart. Remember Who you belong to.”

She nodded, and sucked in a deep breath, releasing it shakily. “Do I look like I’ve been teary?”

Mom patted her cheek. “You look fine. And Hannah is enjoying herself. Hear that?”

Hannah’s laughter floated from the living room, and hope filtered through her heart. Maybe this afternoon could be redeemed after all.

It soon grew apparent that this afternoon would not be redeemed at all.

No sooner had Poppy arrived, then the man himself was met with squeals and calls to “sit down” and “put your leg up” and “would you like something to eat?” and he was peppered with questions about his bite.

He glanced apologetically at Cassie—that was something at least—when her mother met him and insisted he eat something, cooing over him and glancing between him and Poppy like she’d finally found a potential son-in-law. Please.

Cassie glanced at the paused movie, frozen in a frame with the heroine in a ridiculous pose that wasn’t in the book at all. Her gaze trickled to her glass of punch, as the murmurs continued around her. Why couldn’t she be like the others here and simply be bubbly and sweet and something like the girl she used to be? The girl who used to tease and banter and be nice. Ever since this man had come along she’d felt extra tense, edgy, the kind of girl she neither liked nor wanted to be. And now, she had the strangest sense that she no longer fit in with these people, with her own family. Tears pricked. She blinked them back.

“Cass?”

She rubbed her face and stood. “Excuse me.”

Ignoring the questions of whether she was alright, she hurried to the bathroom. No, she wasn’t. Right now she felt all wrong, and staying out there, listening to the adulation he was lapping up, was likely more than even Mother Teresa could’ve mastered.

She gripped the sides of the stone vanity, wishing she could simply will strength to her emotions instead of this feeling of fragility akin to one of Mom’s delicate teacups. This was ridiculous. Petty. Childish. And felt impossible to wade through.

A peek at the mirror wasn’t kind, and required ducking into her room to apply the lightest mask of makeup to hide the red nose and eyes. There was no need to let the world know she’d been so close to crying.

But when she returned, it was to find that the Austen movie had been replaced with one of Harrison’s own, an action/fantasy flick that he was offering explanations on, like he thought himself Tom Cruise providing a personalized director’s commentary. Suddenly the fact they were eating scones with jam and cream and drinking tea felt so incongruous. The high tea vintage vibes of before now felt so last century and old lady-like. What—so now he’d hijacked her best friend’s bachelorette party? What more could the man do to wreck things?

Maybe she should go check on Buddy. Or find a quiet corner and down a pint of her mom’s homemade honeycomb ice cream. It didn’t seem she was needed here.

* * *

Harrison glanced across the room to where Cassie sat poised, fingers gripping the arms of her chair like she was planning to flee. He hoped she wouldn’t. Her presence was the only reason he hadn’t argued harder when Poppy had insisted on bringing him here. Then, when Mrs. James had practically forced him to sit down, he hadn’t wanted to be rude, so he obeyed, heart filling with gladness when he realized his position would be nearly opposite Cassie. He didn’t care about the movie, only wanted to speak to her, try to get her to understand that the last thing he wanted to do was interrupt her time with her friends. But an injured man without a vehicle or a horse was at the mercy of others to get home, and he couldn’t very well plead for the use of a car, not when everyone was being so kind to him.

Then she’d left suddenly. He’d wanted to follow but knew that’d look weird. And when some of the women had complained about the movie they were watching and asked about his instead, Poppy had insisted on finding one and pressing play. He’d then been forced to explain various things as they asked questions about this actor or that. Cassie’s look of dismay when she returned had been enough for him to want to hike back to his room in the back of the barber’s shop, but Bree had asked another question and he’d been duty-bound to answer.

He sipped from the glass that Mrs. James had plunged into his hand and swallowed overly sweet punch that reminded him of what his grandma used to make. His throat tightened. This house, this place, this family. This was what he wanted. He glanced around the room—he didn’t like watching himself in movies—taking note of the aged furniture, the paintings of the Rockies, the pictures and photos of those he assumed were long gone family members.

He glanced at a nearby dark-toned wood frame holding a photograph of a pretty woman standing with a man, both dressed in the style of a century ago. He peered closer at the woman, his skin prickling. His grandmother had a cameo brooch like that. It was one of the few things he took with him wherever he went, a keepsake from a past he would otherwise prefer to forget.

“Harrison?”

He glanced at Jess, then realized how it must look with him staring at the photograph like a weirdo. “I just saw something that reminded me of one of my grandmother’s possessions.”

Cassie peeked across at him, as Jess said, “Your grandmother is still alive? Lucky you. Our grandparents have all died.”

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