Page 61 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

“Me too.” He smiled again, and again her heart begged to get carried off to fantasy land. But she wouldn’t go there. She wouldn’t, she told herself fiercely.

Because this man dealt with make-believe fiction, while she dealt with cold hard facts. And while God might hold their futures in His hand, she wasn’t going to let her heart bob up and down like an air mattress on the creek, waiting, wondering, hoping for something that surely would not be. She’d have to trust God to have His way.

“I, uh, haven’t really said any of that to anyone before. It’s definitely not on my IMDB profile.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You sure?”

She mimed zipping her lip and throwing away the key. “Mm-hm.”

His lips tweaked wryly, and she was glad to get that much amusement from him.

“You’re all right, Ms. James.”

Her throat grew tight. Only all right? Maybe she wasn’t as oblivious to him as she wanted to be, after all.

She pushed off the porch, dusting her hands on the back of her jeans. Stole a look at him as she repositioned her cowboy hat. “I don’t think you know just how right I can be.” She permitted a small curve of her mouth and pistol-pointed at him. “You better watch out. I’ll be praying.”

“Really?”

She dipped her chin, and secured her hat more firmly.

“Thanks.”

Her lips lifted, and his did the same, and she was tempted to maintain the connection. But it wasn’t wise. Would only end in heartbreak. So she muttered an excuse and walked away.

* * *

Harrison watched her stride away, her jeans hugging her like an ad for Levi’s. He exhaled, glanced down at his scuffed boots. He really shouldn’t be paying attention to things like that. Especially when it now felt like that by sharing his past she was now walking away with a tiny piece of his soul. And he hated the fact that she’d seen him so weak. He already knew himself to be so pitiful in comparison to her general awesomeness, that to expose himself to her pity made him feel even more like the dust under her boots.

He snuck another look at her. He’d seen how she’d wiped her hands of him. Literally. He’d savored her touch—heck, he wouldn’t have said no to a hug, he’d been so desperate—but she obviously didn’t want any part of that. Instead, she’d wiped away his touch like she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. Just like she’d walked away as quick as she could after he’d poured out his heart to her. She didn’t want him. And who could blame her? He’d revealed his brokenness and perfect her with her perfect family hadn’t liked what she’d seen.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his grandmother’s cameo brooch, and traced the perfect lines on the woman’s face.

Thirteen

She didn’t know what to do. Harrison’s salvation was an awesome thing, a miraculous thing, a wonderful answer to prayer, but what was she now supposed to do with this information?

She returned home and told her parents, who were both so overjoyed her mom insisted that Cassie invite him for a meal. But that sounded too much like a set up for a date, and because she was still unsure about so many things about him, she wasn’t certain she could do that right now.

“Besides,” she told her mom, “I don’t have his number.”

“But I do,” her dad said.

“Why?”

Her dad shrugged. “Because I told him he could call me if he wanted to discuss some of those verses we talked about the other day.”

Oh.

“Then you call him,” Mom said.

Her dad did, but was met with a polite decline. Dad finished the call and studied Cassie. “He said he doesn’t want to come and bother you by being in your space.”

Way to go by laying on the guilt.

“He does have a point,” Mom said. “This is Cassie’s home, and while it’s wonderful to encourage a young Christian in matters of the Lord, I can see the potential for complications if it happens here.”

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