Jo McNally - She's Far From Hollywood

Once I have an opening that sets the mood I want, I let the stories spin out from there. The funny thing is, the story doesn’t always end up where I expect! I love the opening scene of She’s Far From Hollywood with Hollywood diva Brianna Mathews driving through the Carolina countryside arguing with herself in the rearview mirror. When I wrote that, I expected this to be a light romance between city and country, but the characters took me so much deeper. Writing Bree and Cole’s story sometimes made me laugh out loud, but it also brought me to tears more than once. I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. Having this, my debut novel, published by Harlequin Superromance is a dream come true for me, and happily there’s more to come, so stay tuned! Dreams don’t happen in a vacuum, and none of this would have been possible without the loving support and understanding of family and friends. Wishing you forever love, Jo McNally PS: My research into PTSD revealed an average of twenty-two veterans commit suicide every day. And while I really do believe love can conquer anything, love can’t always do it alone. Please reach out to maketheconnection.net or one of many other organizations out there ready to assist. A portion of the proceeds from this book will go to support programs for veterans.

Title Page She’s Far From Hollywood Jo McNally www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author JO McNALLY lives in coastal North Carolina with one hundred pounds of dog and two hundred pounds of husband—her slice of the bed is very small. When she’s not writing or reading romance novels (or clinging to the edge of the bed), she can often be found on the back porch sipping wine with friends while listening to great music. If the weather is absolutely perfect, Jo might join her husband on the golf course, where she tends to feel far more competitive than her actual skill level would suggest. She likes writing stories about strong women and the men who love them. She’s a true believer that love can conquer all if given just half a chance. You can follow Jo pretty much anywhere on social media (and she’d love it if you did!), but you can start at her website, www.jomcnallyromance.com .

Dedication I’m lucky enough to know what forever love looks like. My husband of twenty years is my hero, my lover, my cheerleader, my coach and my very best friend. To John. I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

BRIANNA MATHEWS HATED North Carolina.

Seriously.

She hated it.

She’d left the cosmopolitan appeal of Charlotte a couple of hours ago, and now it was just field after field of...what? Corn? Tobacco? Cotton? What did they grow in North Carolina, anyway? Cotton, right?

Some of the fields looked like golden-green grass and were undulating prettily in the wind. Was that wheat?

...amber waves of grain...

Wasn’t wheat a grain?

She cursed softly behind the wheel of her rented red Mercedes. She was completely out of her element driving through farm country, and she laughed at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“You’re a long way from Hollywood, girlfriend.”

This seemed like such a good idea last night. But last night she was still in the civilized world. She’d been happily ensconced at her cousin Amanda’s palatial stone castle, Halcyon, in the Catskill Mountains of New York, sipping pink champagne at Amanda’s baby shower. Then she got the news that upended her tidy little world. The consensus was she needed a place to stay that was out of the public eye. Amanda’s best friend, Caroline, offered her mother’s rural farm as the perfect place to avoid both paparazzi and crazed stalkers.

“‘Go to North Carolina,’ Caroline said. ‘You’ll be safe there.’” Bree glared at her reflection as she continued her one-sided conversation. “‘Mom has a cute little cottage you can use.’ Didn’t that all sound so delightful last night at Halcyon? And look at me now. Driving down country roads in the middle of nowhere. Me! Miss California!” She shook her head. “I haven’t been here three hours and I’m already talking to myself. How am I supposed to last a month?”

According to Caroline’s scribbled directions, the small town of Russell should be coming up anytime now. Thank the good Lord for that. This was not how her life was supposed to turn out. She was not supposed to be driving past feed mills and dusty double-wides that had signs in their front yards advertising things like Steve’s Stump Grinding and Bob’s Deer Processing. She didn’t even want to know what “deer processing” was.

No. North Carolina was not her life. Her life was back in Los Angeles. She owned that freakin’ town. Clerks in the shops on Rodeo Drive knew her by name. The waiters at the finest restaurants knew which tables she preferred, and had a Sapphire martini waiting for her before her ass hit the chair seat.

Then it all went to hell. And now she was driving to East Bejesus, USA. To hide. The whole situation ticked her off royally.

Village of Russell, North Carolina

Founded 1820

Population 249

She nearly wept with relief when she saw the faded wooden sign. Russell looked like so many of the other towns she’d driven through since leaving the Charlotte airport, except it was even smaller than most. Downtown, for lack of a better word, consisted of five or six buildings, washed out and faded in the scorching-hot summer sun. It looked like the set of a movie out of the 1950s, with aged and dusty brick storefronts. The Methodist church at the edge of town was the largest building, with the exception of the towering metal silos gathered directly across the street. It was midafternoon on a Monday, and the streets were quiet. A few pickup trucks were parked along the side of the road. Four in front of the farm supply store. Two in front of the bank. And one particularly dirty one sat in front of the only restaurant in town. A sign identified the business as The Hide-Away, and there was a neon beer sign in the window. She grinned at the irony—it was just what she was looking for.

She hadn’t eaten anything since that reheated egg and biscuit concoction she bought at the airport, and she could most definitely use a drink. Caroline told her to stop in town and ask for directions to “Miss Nell’s house,” and the restaurant was as good a place as any to do that. Apparently Caroline’s mom was so well-known in town that last names weren’t necessary. Bree uncharitably wondered what it took to become famous in a place this small. She pulled the Mercedes into a spot next to the enormous black pickup truck caked with dried mud. Her car was as out of place in this dirty little town as she was.

The Hide-Away was dark and cool inside, with the blinds narrowed to block the heat of the sun. As her eyes adjusted, she saw an old-fashioned wooden bar that ran down the right side of the room, complete with a massive etched mirror on the wall behind it. The wooden bar stools had seats of well-worn dark leather. The place was straight out of a John Wayne Western. Dining booths lined the left wall, with more tables in the back of the room. A wide accordion door was pulled across an opening that seemed to lead to whatever business was next door. She didn’t see any other patrons, and she wondered for a moment if the place was closed. Then she saw the good-looking man standing behind the bar.

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