Page 49 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

“Amen,” Cassie echoed, surprised at the force in Poppy’s tone. It’d been a long while since she’d heard her sister pray with such conviction.

“Look out!”

Cassie jerked the car to a halt, as an elderly man jay-walked in front of them, bag trundling behind him.

“And that is why God created pedestrian crossings,” Poppy yelled out the window.

“He’ll hear you,” Cassie murmured.

“I doubt it. He’s old.”

But from the way the man looked at them, then made a rude gesture, his hearing worked just fine.

Poppy snickered, as Cassie moved to the drop off zone. “I hope he’s not on the same flight as me.”

“I bet he’s thinking the same.” Cassie parked, popped the trunk, then opened the door. She only had a minute before the parking patrol officers would tell her to move on.

Poppy grabbed her bags. Then caught Cassie in a hug. “Thanks so much.”

“Have fun. Let Mom know when you arrive. I’ll be praying for you.”

“And I’ll be praying for you, sis.” Poppy grinned. “And for him.”

Cassie nodded. And now, so would she.

* * *

Cassie’s words chased Harrison through the day, causing him to flub some lines.

“Come on, Harrison,” Mal snapped. “Get your focus. Where’s your head at?”

“Sorry.”

But seriously. She didn’t want to go out with him? Would only go out with a Christian man? Wow. He’d only had a handful of rejections in his time, but never something that felt so cold.

It was dusk by the time Mal called cut, and he was released to his meal. He was entering the dining room just as Brenda, the stuntwoman who often doubled for Ainsley, exited. “Whoa!”

Brenda flinched, and a soul tremor recognized that action. His mom used to do the same.

“Sorry, Brenda. I didn’t see you there.”

She tugged down her sleeves. “It was my mistake.”

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She bit her lip, and his gaze fell to her wrists. Wrists ringed with big dark bruises.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I fell.”

He nodded slowly. Those bruises didn’t look like any that might be expected from the rough and tumble of a stuntwoman’s role. “My mom often ‘fell’ like that too. Usually when my dad hurt her.”

Her gaze veered sharply to him. “It’s not like that.”

“I hope not. Because I know how terrible it was in my family, and I wished my mom had found the courage to leave him. Nobody deserves to be beaten. That’s not how a man should treat anyone.”

“It’s not like that,” she repeated stiffly.

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