Maxine Morrey - Second Chance At The Ranch

MAXINE MORREYhas wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember and wrote her first (very short) book for school when she was ten. Coming in first, she won a handful of book tokens – perfect for a bookworm!

She has written articles on a variety of subjects, as well as a Brighton Ghost Walks book for a Local History publisher. However, novels are what she loves writing the most. After self-publishing her first novel when a contract fell through, thanks to the recession, she continued to look for opportunities.

In August 2015, she won Harper Collins/Carina UK’s ‘Write Christmas’ competition with her romantic comedy, ‘Winter’s Fairytale’.

Maxine lives on the south coast of England, and when not wrangling with words loves to read, sew, and listen to podcasts. As she also enjoys tea and cake, she can also be found either walking or doing something vaguely physical at the gym.

Her website is: www.scribblermaxi.co.uk

Email: scribblermaxi@outlook.com

You can also find her on Twitter @Scribbler_Maxi

On Facebook www.facebook.com/‌MaxineMorreyAuthor

On Instagram @Scribbler_Maxi

On Pinterest @ScribblerMaxi

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Maxine Morrey 2018

Maxine Morrey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © September 2018 ISBN: 9780008318505

Version: 2018-09-21

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Acknowledgements

Coming Soon

Dear Reader

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To all those who still love to read a Happy Ever After …

‘Yes! Just like that! More! More!’ Hero Scott turned her head this way and that, lifted her arms up, then down, the movements almost automatic now as the photographer prompted her unnecessarily. Her long dark hair swayed like a glossy curtain as she tilted her chin down further, maintaining the serious look the photographer had demanded for the shoot.

The studio was lit, almost over-lit, in accordance with the style wanted for the designer’s advertising campaign. Loud music by the hottest current DJ blasted from speakers. Hero closed her eyes briefly from the glare, trying to halt the progression of a headache that had been rumbling in her skull for the last half an hour. Her throat was dry and she turned to one of the assistants hovering around the set and made a quick mime of drinking. The assistant grabbed a bottle of water, undid it and stuck a straw in the top. Just as she stepped towards Hero, the photographer roared.

‘What are you doing?’

The assistant froze, colour immediately flooding her face as she stood, half on, half off the background roll.

‘I … erm …’

‘You’ve ruined the perfect shot! Ruined it! Where do we find these people, for God’s sake?’ he asked, turning on one of the others hovering around the shoot.

‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,’ came the reply from a short but perfectly dressed woman, as a vicious glance was sent towards the assistant whose eyes were now brimming with tears.

‘I cannot work with such—’

‘It’s my fault, Armand.’ Hero’s educated tones rose above the noise, interrupting the photographer’s rant mid-flow.

Everyone turned to look at the supermodel. She casually tucked one hand behind her, the pose confident yet aloof. Behind her back, her other hand balled into a tight fist.

‘I was thirsty and asked her to get me a drink. I’m sorry if it upset your process but I thought you were taking a break for a moment. So, the fault is completely mine, not hers.’ Hero gave the briefest of smiles as she turned back to the young woman and took the bottle from her, placed the straw between glossy, deep-plum-coloured lips and took a brief sip. It wasn’t enough, but Hero knew better than to test this particular photographer. He was well known for his diva-type tantrums and had the ability to end a budding career with just one vicious text. Hero had known him for over fifteen years now, both of their careers blooming at a similar time. Unfortunately, as Armand’s career had blossomed so had his ego – something which hadn’t been all that small to begin with.

No one spoke. No one moved. All were waiting for the explosion they knew was to come.

Instead, Armand let out a dramatic sigh and made a Gallic ‘pfff’ sort of noise. Hero met his eyes, the short nails on the hidden hand biting in to the soft skin of her palm.

‘Fine. Let her keep her job. This time!’ He held up his finger, highlighting the magnanimity of his decision. Hero nodded, and beside her the young assistant let out a strangled sob of relief.

‘OK. Now! Can we get on?’

Hero dropped back into action as the shutter continued on and on, the music still pounding, her throat still dry and the headache now full blown. Armand had returned to the shoot with even more drama than it had already been infused with. Hero had been there since 5 a.m., having make-up applied, touched up, and completely changed as fashion editors assigned assistants to curate outfits for the shoot. Hero stood patiently, being handed various clothes to try. Belts put on, belts taken off, her body moved this way and that as if she were no more than a shop mannequin. Which, in some ways, she supposed she was.

The incessant shutter finally ceased as Armand scrolled through a few of the last frames, his thin face becoming even more pinched as he frowned at the back of the camera. Hero took the opportunity to stretch her body, trying to ease the tension in her back and neck as she did so. Glancing across the studio, she smiled as she saw her best friend, Anya, a blonde, willowy Swede, talking to the assistant from earlier. Anya gave her a hug and bent to say something private to her. Whatever it was, Hero was glad of the smile it brought to the young woman. There were days she hated this world. But she knew she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Anya glanced up and over at Hero, her beautiful smile and funny double thumbs up making her friend grin and giggle.

‘What are you doing?’ Armand’s attention, and ire, was now directed at Hero. She’d protected someone else, but Armand had to be seen to win. She knew the game.