She's Far From Hollywood

by Jo McNally

  “Hollywood.”

  He didn’t move. He was waiting for an invitation. He’d manhandled her last night—hell, they’d manhandled each other—but he wasn’t assuming anything tonight.

  “Plowboy.”

  She leaned against the door frame and lifted her chin saucily. The corner of his mouth twitched and threatened a smile until he glanced over her shoulder.

  “Why is my dog on your sofa?”

  “It’s comfortable. A lady likes to feel pampered now and then.”

  “Is that right?”

  She gulped as his eyes raked up and down her body before meeting her gaze. His hand cupped her cheek and he brushed his thumb across her lower lip. She was suddenly filled with emotion to the point of nearly choking. His proximity was sending her heart into double-time. This was just supposed to be a little fling, but that wasn’t how it felt right now.

  “Are you looking for a little pampering, Hollywood?”

  She swatted a mosquito on her neck. “Right now I’m looking to stop an invasion of insects. Come inside.” She forced herself to turn away, suddenly afraid of betraying the emotions she still hadn’t identified. As the door closed, Maggie jumped off the sofa and settled on the rug, not wanting to push her luck in front of her master. Cole stared at Bree, and a frown flickered across his face.

  “Did you see the news?”

  “Typical Hollywood nonsense,” she said with a shrug. “I’m worried the paparazzi bloodhounds will find me here, but for now they all seem to be in Utah.” She remembered his angry words right after she arrived, so concerned she’d embarrass his friends and family. “Cole, at the first hint of trouble, I’ll leave. I won’t let anything happen...”

  He shook his head sharply. “Don’t. I know why you’re saying that, but don’t. I was wrong to accuse you of being here for any reason other than the one you gave me.” He pulled her close and smiled slowly. “Now about that pampering...”

  Something fluttered inside her when she looked into his eyes. Something warm and sure and strong. Something that scared her half to death.

  Child, you’re already home.

  No.

  She had a life in California. It was fine to daydream about retiring to the country, but in reality it made no sense. She had catering clients in LA. She had a book coming out in a few months, which meant a publicity tour. She had a twenty-million-dollar mansion on the beach. People would say she was crazy for walking away from that. She would be crazy! Besides, no one had even asked her to walk away from it.

  Cole repeatedly said they were a bad idea. He was worried he’d hurt her. But he had no idea how much pain he could actually cause, because she was falling for him, and falling fast. She pulled back, then smiled brightly to soften the surprise in his eyes.

  “Pampering? Let’s start with a nice glass of cognac, okay? Are you hungry? Want some cheese and crackers? Let me just put something together...” She walked to the kitchen while she babbled. He was clearly doing his best not to laugh at her.

  “Why, that would be lovely, Miss Mathews. Brandy sounds delightful. And cheese. I can always use more cheese. Do you need any help finding the good china?”

  “No, no. Just stay there. I’m fine.” She scrambled into the kitchen, her face flushed. What the hell was wrong with her? She glanced up and saw him watching her, his arms folded, a curious grin on his face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a panic attack, but she was having one now, and she didn’t know why. Focus, Bree! The bottle of Courvoisier was still sitting on the counter, so she only had to find two juice glasses. That mission accomplished, she brought a brick of cheddar out of the refrigerator and started searching the drawers for a knife. The silence allowed her to think too much, so she started babbling again.

  “So did you buy the cattle hauler?”

  “Yup. It’ll be delivered next week.”

  “That’s nice. What color is it?”

  “You want to know what color my cattle hauler is?” He stepped up to the counter directly across from her. “Why are you freaking out? Is it the news story? Is it us?”

  “Us?” Her voice sounded high-pitched in her own ears. “What do you mean? I’m just being a g-good hostess...” She stuttered to a stop when she looked up at his knowing eyes. A nervous giggle bubbled up and she couldn’t contain it. “Oh, my God, you’re right. I’m totally freaking out.” She shook her head. “I guess it’s everything. My brain’s in overdrive.”

  And I might be falling in love with you...

  “It’s after dark, Hollywood. That’s our moment in time, remember? Our safe place.” His voice did something to her skin, causing it to tingle all over. And his eyes. Those slate-gray eyes were her safe place. What the hell was she doing in the kitchen when Cole Caldwell was standing right there in her living room? She pushed the kitchen drawer closed, pulling her hand out at the same time. That was when she felt it. The chilling slice of a knife blade so razor-sharp that it didn’t even hurt as it cut across her palm.

  She braced for the pain that was sure to follow, letting out a hiss of breath.

  * * *

  COLE KNEW BREE was having a panic attack of some sort. She’d bolted into the tiny kitchen, babbling about cheese and crackers. Was she having second thoughts? If she was smart, she’d send him packing. If he was smart, he’d walk back home and leave her alone. But he couldn’t make himself do that. He wanted just one more night with her. As if one would ever be enough.

  She drew a sharp breath as she closed the drawer, her eyes wide with surprise, confusion and...pain. His skin instantly went clammy from her expression alone, because it reminded him of someone else’s face just two years ago. Lieutenant Walt Simpson had that same expression on a mountainside northwest of Kabul when a sniper’s bullet sliced through him. The shooter was so far away that the sound didn’t even register until it was too late. One minute they were trading jokes and insults while eating a cold MRE dinner, and the next, Simpson looked at him with wide eyes and paling skin. Cole saw the stain of blood spreading on his friend’s chest just before Simpson slumped to the side and died with that surprised look on his face.

  He closed his eyes and tried to focus on pulling air into his lungs. He wasn’t in Afghanistan. He was in Nell’s cottage, and this wasn’t Lt. Simpson. It was Bree. His eyes snapped open.

  She was looking down at her hand, frowning as a thin white line across her palm became a wider red line. She was bleeding. Damn it. She glanced back up at him and her brows knit together.

  “Cole, are you okay?”

  He stepped back and shook his head to clear it. She was the one bleeding and she was worried about him. A wash of shame moved over him. He could not have another flashback episode in front of her like he had at The Hide-Away, or in his house last night. She was going to think he was crazy. He moved quickly around the counter and slid one arm around her waist, reaching for her hand with the other. His voice was far calmer than his heart.

  “Hold it up, baby, and put it under running water. That’s it.” He pivoted her to face the sink and turned on the cold water. She let out a short cry of pain that nearly brought him to his knees. He ground his teeth together. He was a soldier, this was a situation and he could handle it. He heard himself murmuring words of comfort as he opened the cupboard near the sink where Nell stored a first-aid kit.

  Somehow he managed to hold himself together and inspect the wound before dressing it carefully with gauze. It was a clean cut, and not as deep as he’d feared. Whatever he was saying seemed to work, because Bree was leaning into him. But he’d never be able to recall the words. He was lost in a battle between the part of his mind that wanted to run, and the part of his mind that wanted to stay with this woman as long as possible.

  “Cole?” Why did her voice sound so far away? “Cole? Where are you right now?”

 
His eyes snapped up to meet hers. “What? What do you mean?”

  “You went somewhere else in your head for a few minutes.” She was facing him, her hands resting lightly on his chest as she leaned back against the counter. “I could see it. Feel it. Was it the blood? Is it like thunder to you?”

  He didn’t know how to explain that it was her eyes, going wide in pain and surprise, that took him away. How could he tell her about watching a twenty-two-year-old lieutenant die silently on a sunny day in the midst of a discussion about food rations? He didn’t want her to know about those things. It was bad enough that he knew. His skin felt tight and hot, and he started to move away, but she was too quick. Her hands wound into his hair and she pulled herself up to plant her lips on his, and just like that, everything felt good and right and safe again. He was on a freaking roller coaster ride of emotion.

  “Bree...” He started to speak against her lips, but she pressed into him and he forgot what he intended to say. He just wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight, allowing her to explore his mouth while his hands explored her body.

  This, he thought. This was what he needed. This was a lifeline thrown into the wind to save him. He let her distract him with more kisses. He needed her here. Just for a little while.

  He lifted her up and set her on the kitchen counter, standing between her legs. They smiled stupidly at each other for a long moment, then he pulled her to him and started carrying her toward the bedroom.

  “No cheese and crackers?” She asked the question with a sarcastic tilt of her brow.

  “I don’t need food right now. But I do need you.” Stunned that he’d said those words out loud, he quickly amended them. “I need to be in bed with you.”

  Her eyes went soft and dark. “Is this part of my pampering?”

  “Sure, Hollywood. Anything you want.” He clicked off the hallway light with his elbow and pushed the bedroom door closed behind them with his foot. “Anything you want. I’ll give it to you all night long.”

  She sighed against his neck and nodded, knowing no words would be needed for a while.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BREE WAS SOUND asleep when a hand came in loud and shocking contact with her derriere. She sat up with a jolt, rubbing her butt cheek and glowering in the dark. Wait. It was still night. Why was she awake? Oh, yeah, someone spanked her bottom and woke her. It could only be one person, and he was about to pay for it.

  “Cole, what the hell? It’s the middle of the night!”

  His voice next to her ear made her flinch. In the darkness, she didn’t realize how close he was. “It’s almost dawn, Hollywood. Get dressed. We’re going to greet the sun in one of my favorite places.”

  “Unless that place has a cappuccino machine, I’m not interested. Wake me when the sun is up for real.” She started to lie back down, but a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her upright. An arm that had clothing on it. Her eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, and she realized he was already dressed. He pulled her to her feet.

  “Get dressed, Bree. We’re going for a little ride.”

  In less than fifteen minutes, they were stretched out in the back of Cole’s pickup, wrapped in a blanket and sipping on hot coffee from the thermos he’d filled. He’d driven up behind Nell’s house to a stand of trees at the top of the hill. He’d swung the truck around and backed up so that they faced the eastern horizon, where a thin slice of pink was beginning to show. To the left was the small gully where Trixie had given birth to Malibu. The cattle were grazing and casting curious glances at the big truck parked in their midst.

  “So this is a favorite spot, huh?” She was sitting between his denim-clad legs, leaning back against his chest. His arms wrapped loosely around her, and his fingers intertwined with hers. She felt him nodding against her head.

  “One of them. The best morning spot, for sure. Wait until you see all the farms spread out in front of us as the sun rises. It’s really something.”

  “Where are your other favorite spots?”

  “Other than inside you?” The words were murmured low into her ear, and she closed her eyes and sighed before answering.

  “Yeah, besides that.”

  “There’s a little swimming hole back behind my place that’s a good thinking spot in the evening.”

  “The one you talked about on the tractor? Where you have bonfires?”

  “Nah, the bonfire place is farther up the road, where there’s room for a crowd. This is a private spot. The river has a pretty good current, so my great-granddaddy dug out a swimming hole for his boys where the water would be more still. There’s a big old tree there with a rope on it. Ty and I grew up swimming in that hole, and I still drive back there at night and just think.”

  “You have a lot of thinking spots, Cole. What are you thinking so much about?”

  “Things you don’t want in your head, Bree. Things I don’t like to talk about, but that I need to think about, to try to exorcize them from my brain.”

  “You know they have counseling for those kinds of thoughts, right?” Nell had told her he didn’t believe in therapy, but surely a professional could help him.

  “I’m not a big believer in that stuff. Chris dragged me to his therapy group, but I couldn’t take more than a couple sessions. They want to make you relive everything, in detail, in front of a group of guys who all have their own horrible memories. Instead of unloading, it feels like I’m just piling my shit on top of theirs, and vice versa. I have enough nightmares of my own. I don’t need theirs.”

  “You have nightmares?”

  He nodded. “I told you I’m a mess. Some days are fine, but there are days when I’m just barely hanging on. Far worse than what you saw during the storm or at the bar...”

  Looking to lighten the mood, she wiggled back against him and peered up at his face. “I kinda liked you during the storm, Plowboy.”

  He kissed her lightly. “I’m sure you did, Hollywood. But you’re missing the show.”

  She turned back to the east and smiled as the sky slowly turned from black to dark blue to pinky-peach. The soft light shifted across the farms below them, making the haze on the fields glow like fire. But she was distracted at the thought of him not reaching out for help to deal with his issues. In Hollywood, everyone went to counseling for something. She couldn’t comprehend why he didn’t want professional help.

  “So if a group wasn’t for you, how about private sessions? Have you tried that?”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” She didn’t answer right away, so he filled the silence, just as she’d hoped. “I’ve looked into all that stuff. Chris and Ty want me to go to the Flat Rock Retreat, which is an inpatient program over in the mountains that specializes in PTSD. But I can’t just walk away from the farm for two months and go to some fancy place. It’s not covered by the VA and it ain’t cheap. I’ll deal with this on my own. Lots of guys do. In fact, I was visiting a kid who agrees with me that day you helped Trixie give birth.”

  “Really?” So that was where he was. “How’s he doing?”

  He shrugged. “He’s good. He’s working on his father’s farm. Travis and I believe working on the land and just putting all that crap behind us is the best way to go, and it seems to be doing the trick for both of us.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “And that’s enough on that topic. Now it’s your turn. Are you really okay with all this media business?”

  She considered a moment.

  “It was hard to see all those clips about my marriage, the reality show meltdown, the divorce. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” He pulled her in close. She didn’t want to, but it wouldn’t be fair to refuse after she’d pushed him so hard. So she leaned against him as his fingers traced circles on her arms and she told him all
about the romance made for Hollywood—a beauty queen and a popular actor who’d just been voted the year’s sexiest man.

  Their wedding had been paid for by an entertainment magazine in exchange for exclusive rights to the photos. It was a surreal experience, saying her marriage vows on the lawn of the Beverly Hills Hotel while helicopters full of paparazzi hovered overhead. The mix of opulence and chaos was a foretelling of what their life together would be like. Money flowed like champagne, and it gave her a feeling of security that she hadn’t experienced since her mother died. Nothing bad could happen as long as she had enough money and influence to deal with it.

  “Then Damian’s show was canceled, and things went to hell. He started drinking and I suspected he was using cocaine. Damian had this reputation as Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, but he got angry a lot those days.” Cole’s arms tightened around her. “Every time he went to an audition and didn’t get the part, he’d come home and...vent.”

  “Tell me exactly what that means.” Cole’s voice was low and tense.

  “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking. Just a lot of yelling and breaking things. He finally checked in to rehab after things got a little too crazy one night.”

  “Define crazy.”

  “He was high, and I was furious. We had a horrible screaming argument. You know I have a hot temper, and I was in his face...”

  “Don’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions, Bree. What happened?”

  “He shoved me up against the railing on our third-story balcony and it started to give way. We both felt it, and for just a second, he pushed harder before yanking me back to safety. It scared both of us, and he went off to rehab. He begged me to wait for him, and I did. Not as much for him but because I liked our lifestyle, and I didn’t want to lose it. I loved our home in Malibu, the parties and all of it. That sounds shallow, but that’s who I am. Or was. I don’t know...”

  After a brief pause to control her spinning thoughts, she quietly finished the rest of the story. She and Damian joined Hot Hollywood Housewives to jump-start his career. In the third season, with no good roles being offered, Damian started to unravel. Her husband became a cliché, inhaling white powder off cocktail tables through rolled hundred-dollar bills on camera. And he was cheating on her with one of the other wives. The show set it up so she’d walk in on them having a romantic dinner while on camera.