She's Far From Hollywood. Jo McNally

been that morning. She’d never expected to spend so much time laughing, or to actually make friends. She took a sip of wine and leaned against one of the tapered pillars supporting the porch roof. The sultry air was thick with the luxurious scents of nature: a heady blend of sweetness and earth and spice and green. The color actually seemed to have a scent of its own here in the South. A background chorus provided by an assortment of insects, frogs and birds serenaded the otherwise still countryside. Unlike the screeching seagulls of Malibu, the birds in North Carolina actually sang.

      Southern California tended to be a perpetual assault of noise. There were always a few annoying photographers shouting at her from the outer gate of the beach house, trying to catch her doing something “newsworthy” that a magazine would pay good money to publish. She might be stuck here in Podunk, USA, but at least she didn’t have to worry about paparazzi hiding in the hedges. She could stand outside with a glass of wine and enjoy the solitude, and not hear a single man-made sound. It was a rare moment of peace for a woman normally so driven by the demons of her past that she never took time to savor a respite like this.

      She pushed away from the pillar and turned toward the house. A dog barked, and her eyes followed the sound. A dark-colored dog ran around the corner of the big white house across the road. There was a man walking slowly into the enormous field that stretched along the road as far as she could see. He was dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt, with a ball cap pulled low on his forehead. It was the same man she’d seen on the tractor early that morning. Looking down, he moved slowly along the edge of the field, stopping occasionally to kick at the dirt with the toe of his boot. Once in a while he’d bend over and examine one of the young green plants growing in long, neat rows. His movements were sure and measured, and he appeared totally absorbed in what he was doing. There was something about his lean build and the way he moved that captured her full attention.

      Bree walked over to the top of the steps for a better view, and the dog began barking more insistently, looking in her direction. The man, still a good distance away, turned to the dog then raised his head to see what the dog was barking at. That was when the breath vanished from her lungs. She’d know the hard lines of that face anywhere. She could feel his gray eyes on her, even if she couldn’t see them beneath the shade of his hat.

      Cole will take you out to Nell’s place in his truck. He lives out that way...

      Cole Caldwell was her neighbor.

      Before Bree’s brain could fully absorb what that meant, Maggie bounded down the driveway and across the road. She’d never been a fan of dogs, but she knelt on one knee to greet the happy girl. She was a pretty thing with those expressive brown eyes.

      “A little early for drinking, isn’t it?” Bree’s head snapped up. Cole was standing in the middle of her yard. He’d stopped there as if that was as far as he dared go, which made her smile just a little as she rose to her feet.

      “That’s rich coming from the guy who was drinking at a bar in the middle of the day yesterday.”

      “Yeah, well, I’m a man.” He made a point to look her up and down, taking in her bare feet, jeans and T-shirt. Women in the South tend to act more like ladies.”

      “Sorry to offend your Southern sensibilities, but I’m afraid I left my hoop skirt at home.”

      His eyebrow arched and she saw a touch of admiration there. The two of them had scathing sarcasm down to an art. She bit back a smile of triumph and turned to the door to leave him standing there, but Maggie’s soft whine stopped her. She looked down and couldn’t resist scratching the dog’s ears one more time.

      “Maggie hasn’t seen anyone at the cottage in a while, and she seems to like you for some reason.” His expression made it clear he couldn’t understand the dog’s logic.

      “You never mentioned you were going to be my neighbor.” The words tumbled out without warning, and she knew they sounded like an accusation.

      His stoic expression never changed, even as he shrugged a shoulder in dismissal.

      “Didn’t see a need to. Doesn’t change anything. You’re Nell’s guest, not mine.”

      He gave a sharp, short whistle and Maggie immediately trotted back to his side, leaning against his leg and closing her eyes as his fingers moved against the top of her head. Some of the ever-present tension seemed to leave his body when he touched the dog. Bree wondered what made him so uptight all the time. Then she shook off the thought. She shouldn’t care about a guy who had been nothing but rude to her. She lifted her chin.

      “Yes, well, I think we can all agree that the chances of me being your guest are slim to none. What were you doing walking in the field?”

      “My job.”

      “Which is...?”

      He heaved a heavy sigh and his eyes met hers with the force of a sledgehammer. She almost took a step back, just from the intensity of his angry stare.

      “Seriously? I’m raising a crop. Checking the soil, inspecting the plants for insects and disease. Just another day in the life of a farmer, Hollywood.”

      She didn’t miss the not-so-subtle jab of that ridiculous nickname. He’d made it clear yesterday he thought she was some prima donna who’d faint dead away at the thought of a little hard labor.

      “I was just trying to show an interest, Plowboy.” Two could play the nickname game.

      He looked as if he was going to reply, but stopped. He started to turn away then turned back toward her with a fierce expression on his face.

      “I saw you with Nell, Tammy and Emily this afternoon, laughing it up on the porch like you belonged there.” Her back stiffened at his insinuation that she didn’t belong. “Everyone around here loves Miss Nell, and you’d do well to remember that. I don’t want you bringing any trouble to her or to my family.”

      Bree bristled. “Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

      “I don’t know what to think or what your real motivation is. For all I know, cameras are going to come swooping in here at any minute.” He took a step closer, his eyes icy gray and threatening. “You don’t really strike me as the victim type, so maybe you’re just pulling some kind of publicity stunt. I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as you don’t bring embarrassment to the people I care about.”

      He thought she was making up the story about being stalked? That she was here as some kind of joke? This man really was a jackass of major proportions.

      “Do you have a computer, or is that too twenty-first century for you?”

      “I have a computer. And no, you can’t borrow it.”

      “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her hand rested on the knob of the front door and she looked over her shoulder at him. “If you really think my story is some kind of joke, type in the name Nikki Fitzgerald and see what you find.”

      “I have better things to do with my time than to look up Hollywood gossip.”

      His cool dismissal made her want to stomp her feet in frustration.

      “Fine.” She spat the word at him. “You did your good deed and delivered me to Nell’s. Why don’t you just go home and leave me alone?”

      He stared at her hard for a long, silent moment. Then he gave another careless shrug.

      “No problem, Hollywood. I’m gone.”

      He turned away without another word. Maggie looked over her shoulder at Bree and gave a quick wag of her tail, then trotted away at Cole’s side. Bree watched them walk back to the big white house. A porch wrapped around all four sides. Did he live there alone? I wasn’t like she knew anything about the man. She went into the cottage to find more wine. Maybe he was married to some unfortunate woman and had a houseful of grumpy, gray-eyed children. Instead of making her feel better, the thought soured her mood even more.

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