Jo McNally - She's Far From Hollywood

“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 anything 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.