Page 34 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

“She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault.”

Poppy snickered, which broke the mood as the other women joined in her laughter. But he was only conscious of the one who didn’t, and how she didn’t look at him, her gaze averted like she really didn’t want anything more to do with him.

And he could understand that. But didn’t know how to extract himself without adding further burden to an already crowded place of obligation.

He’d tried, but obviously had failed, to help Cassie. Just like he’d tried, and obviously failed, to help his mom. He might’ve saved his grandmother’s cameo, but Mom had only owned it for a few months until her heart stopped, like she’d decided that with the loss of her marriage she had no strength to live for anything more. Not even her only child.

He glanced across at Cassie, but she kept her gaze away. Regret kneaded. His head lowered, and he traced the mud smudges on his jeans.

He wished he knew what to do that could make it up to her.

Eight

Grr.

Sometimes it was very hard to be a Christian. Rather, some people made it very hard to be a Christian.

Cassie sorted through the clothes in the costume section of the prop barn, searching for the apron that Ainsley had used last season. It was here somewhere. If only she could remember where it was.

But ever since the incident on Saturday afternoon, she’d struggled to hold any thoughts with great coherence. She’d enjoyed church yesterday, but most of her memories of the weekend centered on those few hours between laughing at the creek, celebrating Hannah, when everything was as it should be, then the drama of Harrison’s unexpected arrival, and even more startling heroics when he’d saved her from a garter snake.

Her lips twisted. Of course, a girl didn’t really need to be saved from a non-venomous snake, but the fact he’d leapt into action painted him in slightly different colors than how he’d appeared before with his whining about mice. Or maybe that had more to do with how his arms had felt around her, his body close to hers, when she’d been wearing nothing more than a swimsuit.

Dust motes floated as she shivered. She had never been more thankful for deciding to wear her one-piece rather than the bikini that lurked in her closet. This whole encounter which already felt a dozen shades of awkward would have been ten times worse if she’d worn that little number Poppy had once given her as a dare.

It had been awkward enough anyway. Biting her tongue when the others had only wanted to talk about how brave Harrison had been, what a hero he’d been. Please. The man was scared of mice! Not that she was so ungracious that she’d told them about his mouse phobia. There was no need to add to their alarm about the ranch’s critters.

And while it might’ve been more Poppy’s fault that the man had returned to the ranch house after his hospital visit, he should’ve known not to give in—again!—to the others’ requests for him to stay. Instead of poking fun at the Austen adaptation, all talk had focused on him and his movie career. Hannah had said she’d enjoyed it, and it was a day nobody would ever forget, so that was something. But Cassie’s feelings were muddier. Yes, she resented the fact he’d stolen the show with his antics, but she wasn’t sure if it was based more on his intrusion or the way he made her feel at the creek, when he’d held her in his arms.

She shivered again. There’d been that moment when he’d looked at her, his face soft, his gaze intense, which had sent a ripple across her soul, and definitely not made her feel like a good Christian. The ongoing feelings of resentment didn’t either, but in a very different way. And now she didn’t know how to manage any of these…emotions. Which meant the best bet was to stay away, stay out here, with only Miranda for company while she tried to get her act together.

Cassie winced. What was wrong with her that she was applying acting metaphors to herself? The man was a menace. Invading her afternoons, her thoughts, her peace. God might’ve reminded her to pray a blessing on him, but she sure didn’t want to.

The door opened, and Poppy appeared. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” She pasted on a smile for her way-too-helpful sister.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Trying to find one of Ainsley’s aprons for continuity from last year.”

“For continuity? Who on earth remembers what she wears from year to year?”

“Apparently large numbers of her fans do.” Cassie shrugged. “There are blogs devoted to historical accuracy in shows like this.”

“Huh. I wish I could be so famous that people cared about my clothes,” Poppy grumbled.

“The downside of that is that people devote blogs to all kinds of other things too.”

Because she may have just seen a blog or two devoted to Harrison’s hairstyles which had seen her fingers accidentally slip to search for one about his girlfriends, and what she’d read there was eye-opening indeed.

She knew from Hannah and Franklin’s experiences that the internet could be a savage place. But there was a world of difference between the number of people commenting on a somewhat niche sport like hockey and the sheer volume who gossiped about Hollywood hunks.

Silence descended, which Cassie hoped would see Poppy reflect on whether she needed to stay. Unfortunately, when she finally looked up and met her sister’s gaze, it was to see amusement in the blue-green eyes they’d inherited from their mom.

---