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There was a brief moment of silence before Amanda answered. “No, it’s not funny. You need to remember why you’re there in the first place. You’re safe, and you’re giving everyone time to track down the monster who’s stalking you. I don’t want you to be the next Nikki Fitzgerald.”
Bree swallowed hard. It was a little over five weeks ago that Nikki, a pretty up-and-coming actress, woke to find a crazed “fan” in her Hollywood Hills bedroom. He raped her, stabbed her repeatedly and then slashed his own throat at the foot of her bed. The gruesome murder-suicide made headlines around the world and sent a convulsion of fear through Hollywood. That was the moment Bree started to take her stalker a lot more seriously.
“I’d trust Caroline and her husband with my own life,” Amanda continued, “so I certainly trust them with yours. This is what they do for a living.”
Andrew and Caroline McCormack ran a security firm that provided protection for celebrities and politicians around the world. When Caroline heard about the stalker at the baby shower, it was her idea to send Bree to Nell’s. Bree leaned back against the cushions of the sofa and closed her eyes.
“I’m not sure we really thought this through. There must be other options. Instead of being cooped up in this miniature farmhouse, why couldn’t I stay in a luxury resort somewhere? Surely your husband has a suite open in one of his places?”
“Of course you could have gone to one of Blake’s resorts, but the celebrity websites all have standing offers to employees of hotels to leak information about famous guests. Blake does his best to control that sort of thing, but this is your life we’re talking about. Besides, this nut case knows we’re family, so he surely knows about all of Blake’s properties. Everyone agreed the best solution was for you to go somewhere totally off the grid where no one, including the stalker, would think to look.”
“Yeah, but I was still recognized an hour after I arrived.” She cringed at the memory of Emily’s reaction in The Hide-Away. “I should have left right then.”
“Yeah, probably not your best idea to rent a ridiculously expensive car and park it in front of a bar in the center of town in the middle of the afternoon. Why not just hire a marching band to announce your arrival while you were at it?”
She held her phone away and looked at it in surprise. Her cousin wasn’t usually so...blunt. Amanda noticed her silence, and rushed to apologize.
“Oh, damn it, I’m sorry! I swear it’s the hormones talking. I have no filter anymore. I’ve turned into that crazy pregnant lady who’s laughing one minute, crying the next and throwing a tantrum after that. Everyone is tiptoeing around me.”
Bree sighed. “No apology necessary. You’re right. I was an idiot yesterday, sweeping into town like I did. And then I made a scene by arguing with that guy in the bar. You know how I fall back on that snob routine when I’m nervous.”
Her skin tightened at the memory of the one man who didn’t take her crap for one second. Cole Caldwell had ripped through her carefully crafted persona with a couple of grunts and well-aimed insults.
“I get it,” Amanda said softly. “I know all about defensive walls and how to build them.”
Bree nodded. Amanda’s childhood had been dark and painful, and she’d buried that trauma deep until she’d met Blake Randall last summer, along with his orphaned nephew, Zachary, whom they’d now adopted. They lived in Blake’s century-old castle in the Catskills, along with that romantic ghost Amanda credited with their happiness. She’d married Blake six months ago, but they’d gotten a bit of a head start, and she was now eight months pregnant.
“Bree? Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just daydreaming.” She stood again, feeling restless. “This isn’t where I belong. I know that sounds awful and pretentious or whatever, but I don’t belong here. I mean, Caroline’s mom seems like a nice woman, but there’s a vegetable stand in her front yard. She bakes pies and bread. We have nothing in common.”
“Wait. She cooks? Didn’t you just write a whole book about cooking?”
“The title of the book is Malibu Style, and it’s about entertaining, not just cooking. Somehow I don’t think Nell would be interested in swapping recipes for my famous caviar and gruyere canapés.”
“You’ll never know until you ask. Maybe your next book will be about country style and bread-baking.” Amanda started to giggle. “Sorry, I just had a mental image of you posing for the cover in a ruffled country apron over your designer evening gown!”
They both laughed at that and ended the call with promises to stay in touch as they each counted down the next few weeks: Amanda to deliver her baby girl, and Bree to return to her real life in California.
After a shower and a bowl of cereal, Bree pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a T-shirt from Gallant Lake, advertising her cousin’s resort.
Beyond the compact kitchen, the rest of the cottage consisted of one more bedroom, a small bathroom with a claw-foot tub, the living room and the front bedroom she’d slept in. The living room opened to a covered front porch facing the road. While the decor wasn’t awful, it was...simple. It reminded her of the plain suburban home she’d grown up in back in Corona, California. That might be why it made her slightly uncomfortable. It represented everything she’d been trying to run away from since her eighteenth birthday.
There was a small bookcase in the back bedroom, and she pulled out a well-worn paperback. The cover featured a bare-chested man with long, dark hair, clutching a red-haired woman in a green velvet gown. A rearing horse in jousting gear was in the background, in front of an imposing castle.
“If I’m going to be here alone for the next few weeks, I may as well enjoy a trashy romance novel.” She grimaced, partly at the book and partly at the realization that she was once again talking to herself. Out loud.
The brave heroine was just beginning to succumb to the brooding charm of her medieval captor when Bree was startled by a knock at the door. She was surprised to see it was almost noon. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment for losing herself so completely in a bodice-ripper, as if she’d been caught being naughty. She tucked the paperback between the cushions of the sofa and went to the door. On the porch stood her biggest fan in the entire town of Russell, North Carolina: young Emily Caldwell. Emily grinned and raised her hands.
“I don’t have a camera, I promise! My mom and I are having lunch over at Miss Nell’s, and we thought you might want to join us. She made sweet tea and we’re having pimento cheese sandwiches on the porch. I promise not to act like a starstruck idiot today.”
The girl’s humor and friendliness touched Bree unexpectedly. She had no idea what a pimento cheese sandwich was, but she suddenly wanted one more than anything. If she didn’t find a way to socialize while she was here, she’d lose her mind. Or end up addicted to historical romances.
“I’d like that, Emily. I’d like that a lot.”
CHAPTER THREE
NELL PATTERSON SAT in her rocking chair and sipped from a tall glass of cold sweet tea. Emily was seated on the steps leading to Nell’s front yard, her hand idly scratching Shep’s ears as the old dog snored by her side. Emily’s mother, Tammy, was on the porch swing with Bree, humming softly to herself as a light breeze brought some blessed relief from the sweltering humidity of the afternoon. The four women had fallen into a comfortable silence after hours of nonstop talk and laughter.
Nell had quickly dispensed with everyone’s initial awkwardness during lunch by asking thoughtful questions and showing genuine interest. Bree found herself giggling at the stories Nell told about the farm animals and some of the customers who came to her fruit and vegetable stand. Tammy talked about her job as a teacher and the bar that was Ty’s pride and joy.
After a bout of shyness, Emily opened up and shared a story about the sophomore class pulling a prank on the high school principal, filling the floor of his pickup truck with ping-pong balls that came bouncing out when he opened his door. Tammy rolled her eyes and winked at her daughter, and Bree felt a pang at the look shared between mother and daughter. It reminded her of times she’d shared with her own mom. The memory was like a paper cut on her heart, unexpected and sharp in its sting.
Bree was reluctant to join in, worried that talking about her Hollywood life would sound pretentious. Which made her wonder if perhaps it was. She sighed.
Tammy turned. “You okay over there?”
“Just feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment.”
“You have friends here. You know that, right?” Tammy rested her hand on Bree’s leg. “Ty told me everything while we were on our way back from Fayetteville.” Ty and Tammy had returned her rental car early that morning. Bree glanced down at Emily, but Tammy went on. “Emily knows, too. I appreciate that you tried to shield her from it, but she’s almost sixteen and more mature than she may have seemed yesterday. It must be scary for you, going from your life to...this.”
“Please don’t take offense, Tammy, but I’m a fish out of water here.” She liked these women. They were so different from women she’d met in Hollywood, who tended to view all other females as adversaries and threats. A simple dinner party there was often nothing more than a prettily disguised battle, with winners and losers clawing for social status.
She didn’t feel the need to be on guard while sipping tea on Nell’s shaded front porch, moving slowly back and forth on the swing. There was no sense of competition, no furtive glances to see what the others were doing or wearing.
Tammy laughed softly. “Why would I take offense? I’d feel just as out of place if you dropped me in the middle of Hollywood.”
“Sweetheart, you’re doing fine,” Nell said. “You broke bread with us today, and we had some good laughs and told stories and passed an afternoon together.”
Bree nodded. “Yes, but it’s day one of what could be several weeks. What am I going to do? I hardly have any clothes, and I’m afraid to go shopping for fear I’ll be recognized. I’ll go stir-crazy if I don’t keep busy, but how can I do that if I don’t do something to look...different?”
“Are you saying you want to change your looks? Like a disguise?” Emily’s interest in the conversation had shifted back into gear. “We could take you to Aunt Melissa’s and she could change your hair! And Mom and I could go shopping for clothes for you. We could give you an alias. It would be perfect!”
“Who’s Aunt Melissa?”
“My sister,” Tammy said, looking thoughtful. “She has a hair salon over in Benton. She’d never tell a soul. It might just work...if that’s what you want. And I could run up to Fayetteville and pick up clothes for you...”
“No!” Emily was almost bouncing with excitement. “I want to be the one who picks out her clothes! I want to make her a country girl!”
Nell shook her head. “Emily, you know full well that clothes don’t make a country girl. It’s the living that does it.” She’d been watching Bree carefully all through lunch, and there were moments when Bree distinctly felt as if the older woman was sizing her up.
“You’re right, Brianna—you’re going to go stir-crazy if you don’t keep yourself busy. I told you yesterday that I needed some help. Get yourself over here in the morning and help me pick vegetables and clean the barn. If we have time, I’ll show you how to bake some of my bread you like so much. New clothes are fine, Emily, but make them working clothes. Miss Mathews is going to learn how to farm.”
“Oh, Nell, I don’t think so...” She tried to come up with an objection, but her mind went blank. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do.
“You don’t need to think. You just need to show up and let me teach you how to be a country girl, not just look like one.”
Within an hour they had a plan in place. Tammy would take Emily to Fayetteville to shop, using a couple of the untraceable gift cards Bree had purchased at JFK before flying to North Carolina. Since Emily would be shopping at Target instead of Escada, Bree was pretty sure no one would recognize her in her new clothing. But just in case, they would make a clandestine visit to Tammy’s sister’s salon on Saturday before it opened, so Bree could get a new look.
Bree was far more relaxed that evening when she walked out onto the front porch of the cottage than she’d 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.
CHAPTER FOUR
BREE SAT DOWN on the grass in front of Nell’s house Friday afternoon with a loud sigh that morphed into an even louder groan. Every muscle cried out for mercy. Scratches covered her arms and legs, exposed by her denim cutoffs, which had been created when Nell took a pair of scissors to Bree’s three-hundred-dollar designer jeans. Her sweat-soaked lavender tank top was borrowed from Tammy. Her white running shoes were brown with dirt. Her skin was taking on a surprising golden hue already, despite the sunscreen she slathered on every morning and again at lunchtime. Her acrylic nails were cracked and broken. Three were missing entirely, exposing her real fingernails to the air for the first time in years. Rivers of sweat drifted aimlessly down her back in the stifling humidity.
She’d already learned a lot in just a few days working on Nell’s farm. The work had to be done, regardless of sweltering sun or pouring rain or protesting muscles. Animals needed fresh bedding every day. Eggs had to be gathered. The piglets liked to have cool mud to squirm around in. Even though they were out to pasture, cattle needed to be fed and checked routinely. Vegetables needed to be picked at the exact moment of perfect ripeness. And weeds grew like...well, like weeds. Weeds were evil and must be destroyed. She leaned back on her arms and looked up through the thick canopy of leaves on the tree above her. She’d been weeding Nell’s enormous vegetable patch for two hours now, and she still wasn’t finished.
“Darlin’, you look about done in. Why don’t you call it quits for today? You can finish the weeding tomorrow.” Nell was walking toward her with a tall glass of her famous sweet tea. She started to hand it to Bree then frowned. “Oh, honey, you should get up off the grass. You’re sitting right next to a fire ant nest.”
Sure enough, there were already several dots of six-legged misery crawling on her right arm and hand. She jumped up with a squeal and started brushing them away, but they were already biting her. She frantically danced around, slapping and cursing at the tiny pests who bit with the ferocity of lions. When she was free of them at last, she looked up at Nell and saw laughter dancing in the older woman’s eyes.
Bree started to laugh out loud. “It’s not funny! I already have welts on my arms from those little devils! You told me not to sit on the grass, but I was too tired to walk to the porch.”
“Child, it’s too hot to be out here weeding in this sun today. You need to slow down. It isn’t a race, you know. Those weeds aren’t going anywhere.” Nell looked at Bree’s dirty, shattered fingernails and smiled. “You don’t have to keep trying to be the best farm woman ever.”
Nell was always telling her to slow down, but Bree didn’t want to. She needed to be too busy to think about where she was and why. Too busy to think about the guy who wanted to kill her. Too busy to think about the difference between women like Nell and Tammy and the supposed friends she had in Malibu. Too busy to think about the man with the gray eyes who was riding his tractor in the field across the road from her right now. And she needed to make herself tired enough to sleep through the quiet, lonely nights.
She took a long draught of the teeth-clenching sweet tea. It was amazing that something so sweet could be so refreshing on a hot day. It was an even bigger surprise that she was truly enjoying these long days of hard work and easy laughter, and the warm friendship she was developing with Nell. They’d baked together in Nell’s kitchen yesterday, and she already had a deep respect for the woman’s skills. Nell muttered something, and she looked up to see her staring across the road. Bree followed the direction of her gaze and saw Cole in the distance, driving his tractor across the field behind the barns. She stiffened, and Nell noticed.