She's Far From Hollywood

by Jo McNally

  “He’s a good man, honey. I know he’s a hard man, but he has his reasons. You don’t know where he’s been. What he’s seen. He was hurt serving in Afghanistan, in more ways than one. He’s doing the best he knows how.”

  Bree choked down the urge to ask all the questions that were right on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t need to know. Didn’t care. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “What time is dinner, Nell?” While they were baking pies yesterday, Nell had suggested the two women should share their evening meals. Nell stared at her for a minute before answering, and she had the distinct impression that the older woman knew she was intentionally avoiding any conversation about Cole.

  “Not until around six. Why don’t you go take a shower and a nap?”

  “I want to take care of the barn first, then I’ll go shower. I’ll save the sleeping for tonight.” Nights were her most difficult time. The darkness of the countryside was almost smothering, and she jumped at every noise she heard. Her dreams were a restless mix of lurking danger and slate gray eyes. The more tired she was, the better chance she’d sleep through the night undisturbed.

  * * *

  COLE WALKED ACROSS the country road and up the front path to Nell’s house Friday night with Maggie trotting at his side. It wasn’t unusual for Nell to invite him over for dinner, but this morning was the first call she’d made since her new tenant arrived. He’d started to politely decline, but then she’d asked him for help. There was a board on the horse corral that was split, and she wanted him to replace it. He would never refuse Nell. He owed her too much. He couldn’t bring himself to ask that Bree not be invited, but he was sure crossing his fingers that she wouldn’t be here.

  He’d avoided Nell’s place all week just so he didn’t have to see the sharp-tongued redhead. And he’d had plenty to do, with the young soybean crop needing pesticides to fight off an invasion of stink bugs. That kept him busy on the tractor all week. He’d seen Bree around the farm the past few days, and he had to admit she was working pretty hard for a city girl. But he still wondered when she’d give up on her little adventure and run back to California.

  He didn’t see her stretched out on the porch swing until his foot landed on the top step of Nell’s porch. Her soft lips were parted and her chest, under a gauzy leopard print top, was rising and falling slowly. She was sound asleep. One arm rested across her stomach, but the other had fallen off to the side, her fingertips trailing on the floor. Her dark red hair was swept to the side, partially covering her face. There were new cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, brought out by hours in the sun. Unlike the last time he’d been this close to her, she didn’t seem to have a drop of makeup on. Her porcelain skin was beginning to take on a soft honey hue. The only hint of sunburn was on the tip of her nose, where he could see just a bit of peeling red skin.

  A soft voice behind him made him jump. Usually so hyperaware of his surroundings, he hadn’t even heard Nell come outside. She looked at Bree fondly as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “She’s about wrung out, poor child. I told her not to worry about those last three rows to be weeded, but she’s a stubborn one. Takes everything as a challenge.” Nell glanced up at him. “She’s a good girl, Cole, and she’s a hard worker. I like her.” The last three words were said with some force, as if Nell was warning him to be on his best behavior. He nodded.

  “I assume she’s having dinner with us?”

  “Of course. Bree and I are teaching each other all kinds of recipes and having a great time doing it. There hasn’t been this much laughter in the house since Caroline moved away.”

  It came as a bit of a shock to realize Bree’s laughter was something he’d really like to hear. So far, he’d only seen her hissing and spitting like a feral cat. Of course, that might have something to do with him. Nell nudged his arm. “Wake her up and bring her inside, Cole. Dinner’s about ready.” She was gone before he could protest.

  He meant to wake her without startling her. Really, he did. But the swing rocked unexpectedly when he put his hand on the chain, nearly sending Bree to the floor and causing her to sit up with a jolt. Their eyes met, and he couldn’t help but admire the fire he saw flaring up in her emerald glare. She was like a wild horse just looking to be tamed, and he wanted to be the one to tame her.

  What?

  He scolded himself for thinking such a stupid thing. Her voice sliced into him, driving home exactly how stupid it was.

  “What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?” She blinked rapidly, trying to catch her bearings.

  “I’m an invited dinner guest, Hollywood. Sorry for startling you, but dinner’s ready.” He couldn’t resist giving her a jab. “And real farmers don’t sleep while the sun’s still up.”

  She stood, her back ramrod straight. In flat sandals and skin-tight black leggings, she was only a few inches shorter than him. What little she lacked in height, she made up for in spirit.

  “Don’t give me that crap.” Her lips curled in anger. “I’ve worked my butt off since I got here. Now excuse me, but I’m going to see if Nell needs my help with anything. I didn’t know we were having company tonight, but it figures you wouldn’t turn down a free meal.” She brushed past him with her head held high, looking like freaking royalty as she slammed the screen door closed behind her.

  Well...damn...

  It seemed as if all their conversations ended with her storming off mad as a hornet. But she sure put on a fine show while doing it. He followed her into the house in bemused silence.

  Dinner was more relaxed than he’d expected. Bree and Nell had obviously become close in their short time together, and he finally got a glimpse of Bree’s softer side as she interacted with his neighbor. Nell told him about Bree’s lessons in farming, laughing as she described Bree’s first few failed attempts at pushing a wheelbarrow full of horse manure up the ramp to be dumped behind the barn.

  “I swear, I think this woman filled every wheelbarrow load two or three times as they kept spilling, but she didn’t give up! And then she went into the pigpen and found out how good Spot is at the sneak attack. Bree ended up sitting waist-deep in the mud, surrounded by squealing piglets! My God, the look on her face...”

  And that was when it happened. Bree’s cheeks blushed pink under the freckles, and she laughed out loud. Her green eyes were sparkling and clear, just like the sound of her laughter. She rested her hand on Nell’s arm.

  “Nell, stop it! Pretty soon you’ll be telling him about me getting stepped on by that stupid horse, and then I’ll be forced to tell him what happened when you tried to fold a napkin into a swan. It looked more like a phallic symbol!” The two women were both laughing hysterically now, with Nell wiping tears from her eyes. Bree glanced across the table at him, and for once, she didn’t put her armor up. She just smiled at him as her laughter faded into giggles.

  Brianna Mathews was a drop-dead gorgeous woman when she smiled, and damned if he wasn’t attracted to her. The feeling was unexpected and unsettling. He hadn’t been attracted to a woman in a long time. It was more than lust or the need to scratch a long-overdue itch. He wanted to know this woman. He sat back and frowned in confusion. Why now? And definitely why her?

  She saw his dark expression and stopped midgiggle, as if remembering she wasn’t supposed to be smiling at him. There was a split second of awkward silence before Nell jumped in.

  “Emily told me you were in beauty pageants, Bree. What got you started in that?”

  She clearly wasn’t comfortable talking about herself, but she opened up under Nell’s gentle nudging. She told Nell—she was back to avoiding looking his way—that she entered her first teen pageant at her mom’s request. Her mother was ill, and Bree wanted to please her. She made it sound like money was tight, and she’d started doing more pageants to earn scholarship money and prizes. Her m
om died on Bree’s eighteenth birthday, and Cole couldn’t miss the shadow of pain that crossed her face when she said that. Half his meal was cooling on his plate, and he didn’t care. He was too absorbed with her story and the swirl of emotions in her eyes as she spoke.

  She quit the pageants, but then some pageant coach tracked her down and convinced her to try for Miss California. She won that and was a runner-up in the national competition.

  “So is that where you picked up this stalker of yours?” Nell’s question was said kindly and with concern, but the effect on Bree was immediate. Color drained from her face, and her fork clattered noisily against her plate.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry...”

  “No, Nell, it’s okay to ask. After all, that’s why I’m here.” Her smile was tight and forced, but he had to give her credit for trying to make Nell feel better. “That didn’t start until recently. Unfortunately, Hollywood breeds weirdos. At first it was just letters in the mail signed ‘Your Loving Husband,’ and I knew they weren’t from my ex. The letters referred to specific events or outfits, making it clear that he was watching me. He said I needed to remember that my appearance reflected on him, too. He started texting photos of me that he’d taken with a cell phone, and he’d give me his opinion on whether my clothing was ‘appropriate.’ I changed my number, but he had the new one in just a matter of days and started again as if nothing had happened. He said I should start acting more—” she glanced across the table at him “—more like a lady.” Cole winced, remembering his comment to her a few nights ago. “There were odd phone calls that I figured were from him. It was only in the past month or so that I felt someone might be watching my house.”

  “Your house? While you were there?” Nell put her hand on Bree’s. Cole’s own hands were clenched tightly.

  She frowned. “I thought I was imagining it at first, because it was just a feeling that sometimes I wasn’t alone. But he confirmed it when he sent a picture of me inside the house, taken from outdoors. He was looking through the windows somehow. And then, after Nikki Fitzgerald...”

  “Oh, Lord, that poor young thing,” Nell said.

  Cole was really regretting not looking up that damned name, because he had no idea why the heavy silence fell on the table. As if she felt the weight of it, Bree suddenly stood and started grabbing plates.

  “I’ve forgotten my manners, Nell. This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation. Let me get that dessert.”

  While they enjoyed Nell’s blueberry pie and talked about the farm, he glanced at Nell and was surprised to find her staring straight at him. She raised an eyebrow and he realized he was leaning forward, toward Bree, as if he was hanging on every word. He frowned and pushed himself back into the chair.

  “I’d better get to work on that fence before it gets dark.” His chair scraped across the tile floor as he rose abruptly to his feet. “Thanks for dinner, Nell. It was great, as always.”

  She had an odd smile on her face, as if she was holding back some sort of joke. She nodded at him and winked. What the hell was that about?

  “Come on, Bree, let’s take care of the kitchen while Cole does his chores.”

  Bree didn’t answer, but she collected the dessert plates and followed Nell. Maggie trotted behind him out the back door as he headed to the barn for a toolbox and a fresh fence board. Old Shep started to join them then thought better of it and stretched out on the back steps to the house.

  Twenty minutes later Cole slid the newly sawed board into place at shoulder height and leaned against it, holding it against the post while he fished for two more nails in his pocket. The board started to slip and he cursed as it dropped. But it was caught and lifted back into place. He looked up to see Bree on the other side of the fence, holding up the board and giving him a crooked grin.

  “Farmers help each other, right?”

  He looked at her long fingers supporting the rough-cut 1x8. Most of her fingernails were chipped and devoid of polish. Three nails were broken, one nearly to the quick. There was an angry blister on her palm. His eyebrows rose. Nell wasn’t bluffing when she said Bree had been working hard. But instead of complimenting her, he fell back to his standard snarl.

  “You should have gloves on. You’ll be full of slivers.” He lifted the hammer.

  “Yeah. You’re welcome. Glad to help.” Sarcasm dripped from those pretty lips. Wait. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her lips. Those full, rose-colored lips that had haunted his sleep every night this week. The lips he was staring at right this minute. The lips that were now moving, speaking to him.

  “Take your time, Cole. I’ll stand here all night if you need me to.” Her forearm trembled, and he realized she was holding the full weight of the ten-foot board.

  “Sorry,” he said automatically. Damn it, that wasn’t the first time she’d gotten him to say that word since she arrived, and the thought annoyed the daylights out of him. He swung the hammer, making quick work of the final two long nails that now held the fence firmly intact. Bree shook her hand, wincing. He grabbed her wrist, sliding off one of his leather gloves to examine her palm. A dark half-inch sliver was visible just under the tender skin at the base of her thumb.

  “I tried to warn you...” he muttered, half to himself. He held her hand firmly and fished his jackknife out of his pocket. With one swift move, he opened the knife, set it under the tip of the sliver and pulled it out. When a dot of blood appeared, he was surprised how much it affected him. He brushed the blood away with his thumb, still holding her hand in his.

  “Go inside and have Nell put something on that so it doesn’t get infected.” He saw the angry red bites on her forearm and rubbed his fingers across them. “Fire ants?”

  “One of my many lessons in farm life this week. Look before you sit down in the yard to rest, because there might be an ant hill there.” She slowly pulled her hand out of his, and he felt a surprising pang of loss. “And today’s lesson is...wear gloves. And apparently naps are for sissies.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched toward a smile. “Nah. Naps are okay. For old people and womenfolk, anyway.”

  She grinned, and his body warmed. “And which category are you putting me in?”

  His eyes slid down her body. The gauzy top and snug leggings didn’t leave much to the imagination. Before he knew it, he was saying his thoughts out loud. “You’re all woman, Brianna. All woman.”

  “I won’t be for long if I keep this up. Look at my hands. And my skin. I haven’t had this many freckles since I was a kid. The sun is doing a number on me...” Her eyes met his and she stopped talking, as if she just now realized what he’d said. “Wait...did you just say something nice to me?”

  This conversation was heading in a dangerous direction. He forced the growl back into his voice.

  “What? By calling you a woman? Isn’t that how you make your living?” She stepped back and paled. But wasn’t it the truth? Pageant queen? Hollywood trophy wife? He wasn’t going to feel guilty for stating the obvious.

  Her voice settled to a steely level. “Right. I knew I must be mistaken about that ‘nice’ business. Are we done here?” She nodded to the fence.

  He barely managed to stop himself from apologizing yet again. Instead, he bent to pick up his tools and walked away without saying another word. He was pretty sure he heard her call him a jackass under her breath. So be it. She wasn’t wrong.

  When Cole got home, he paced the floors in agitation.

  That woman. That woman. That woman.

  Just being in her presence was enough to send his pulse jumping. She challenged him and pushed him and ticked him off. And that was the problem in a nutshell. She made him feel things. And Cole Caldwell didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to let his emotions out of the cage he’d stuffed them into. They were safe and controllable when they were confined. Bree Mathews was anythin
g but safe and controllable. She was too big a risk. Too dangerous for a man who used to face danger as part of everyday life.

  When he’d reached for her hand and held it...well, something happened. Something that felt profound, which was ridiculous. Her hand in his felt soft and smooth and perfect. And those freckles she complained about? He thought they looked like gold dust scattered across her ivory skin. In the bar on Monday afternoon, he thought her complexion was artificial, a product of cosmetics and Hollywood magic. But tonight she was scrubbed clean and glowing from a week in the sun. Tonight her skin, unencumbered with artificial enhancement, was perfect. He wondered what the parts of her body that he hadn’t seen looked like. Did she have freckles in hidden places? Did she have porcelain skin everywhere?

  He kicked an ottoman and sent it sliding across the hardwood floor. She was making him crazy. Thank God she was only here temporarily. Once that stalker was arrested, she’d be back home in Hollywood.

  Maggie settled onto her bed by the front door with a heavy sigh and stared at him with large, dark eyes. Most of the time she spent her nights outside on the porch, reminiscent of their days in Afghanistan when she’d stand watch outside the tents. Old habits died hard, even for dogs. But tonight she knew he needed her close.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BREE STOOD IN front of the mirror in the ladies’ room at The Hide-Away on Saturday night and laughed out loud. She looked nothing like the Malibu Barbie who’d walked into this same bar on Monday with long red hair and expensive taste in wine.

  Her hair fell in feathered curls around her face. Tammy’s sister had carefully removed all her extensions that morning, then cut, colored and layered her hair so that the soft, natural curls came back. The ombre coloring was an edgy mix of her original dark red fading into soft cinnamon, with champagne blond on the tips. The length barely brushed her shoulders after it was cut, but she’d taken a curling iron to it tonight so it fell just below her ears in a jumble of messy ringlets.