Page 59 of A Cameo for a Cowgirl

Was no part of her life to be kept from this man? “Mom said you had dinner with them.”

He shrugged. “I actually went there to have dinner with someone else, but she was away.”

He meant herself, didn’t he? But the second-guessing regarding Poppy and whether he might hold the slightest interest in her prettier dancer sister made her ask, “Who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.”

His eyes fixed on hers. “You.”

Connection flowed between them, drawing her chest tight, her heart to beat faster.

“But you weren’t there and so your mom felt sorry for me and invited me in.”

“She has always had a thing for strays.”

He flinched.

Remorse bit. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess that’s fair. I know I’ve been in your space a lot, but…” He swallowed, looked down, his lips pulled in.

For a moment she thought he was going to cry.

Her heart softened. How she hated this high horse of indignation she sat on. The man was obviously feeling vulnerable and here she still was, six guns blazing.

He glanced up. “You don’t know how lucky you are. With your parents, I mean. Well, that, and growing up here. Having a family who loves you.”

Compassion drew her chest tight, tickling the backs of her eyes. Oh dear. If he kept this up, she might start to cry. She swallowed and gestured outside. “It’s a bit cooler outdoors. If you want to talk, that is.”

His lips twisted then he nodded, picked up the Bible and his phone, and passed her. She closed the door, and joined him on the porch, sitting near but not too near. She peeked across.

Harrison stilled. Swallowed. Then, gazing straight ahead, said in a low voice, “My dad kicked me out of home as soon as I finished school.”

Cassie’s heart panged. But she couldn’t offer a word of sympathy. If she spoke, he would certainly shut down this rare moment of vulnerability.

He hunched forward, hands gripping the edge of the porch’s wooden boards, and she had to strain to hear his next words.

“I’m a disgrace to the family. That’s what he told me. That I’m weak, too soft playing make believe, not doing a real man’s job.” He peeked across at her. “He’d probably prefer someone like you to be his son rather than me.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re good at all the things he values. You can fix pipes and bathrooms and you can ride a horse like a boss—”

Wow.

“—and you’re tough and smart and pretty and everything I’m not.”

Whoa. Okay, so maybe she didn’t need to jump on the high horse of offense and go riding for the hills. But more than taking pleasure in the fact he thought her pretty—was he for real?—she recognized his comment for the plea it was.

“I’m sure your dad loves you, and is proud of you,” she assured.

“Yeah, you’d think he might be, but it’s hard to believe that from a man who burned my birth certificate.”

She felt her eyes widen. “No way.” How could any father do that to his son?

“Way,” he rasped.

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