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.”
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
