Spotlight: The Move by Whitney Dineen

The Move
Whitney Dineen
(The Creek Water Series #2)
Publication date: January 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

When Lexi Blake was twelve years old, a fortune teller gave her the following cryptic message:

In your thirtieth year, once the dog jumps over you, your life will change in the most unexpected ways.

Lexi is thirty now and the following unexpected things have occurred:

•While walking through Central Park enjoying a beautiful fall day, Lexi eats dirt when a careless dog owner throws a frisbee at her head. A dog jumps over her.

•Lexi gets a promotion that pays less than her current job.

•Her crush announces that he’s engaged.

•Her apartment turns condo and she can’t afford the down payment.

In order to escape her bad luck, she takes a vacation to visit a good friend in Creek Water, Missouri. But as it turns out, fate has a lot more in store for Lexi Blake.

Will a good friend, an unexpected love interest, and a historic house have her scrapping her plans and moving to a small town on the banks of the Mississippi River? Find out in the delightfully funny rom-com that’s sure to make you believe in happy endings!

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EXCERPT:

I turn to give Emmie’s cousin a wave of greeting. We haven’t met yet, but I’ve heard so many Beau stories over the years that I feel like I already know him. I’m not at all prepared for the sight that greets me. I imagined Beau would look a lot like Emmie: tall, blond, medium build. What I see instead is a masculine tower of solid, dark, brooding, hunka-hunka burning love. I mean seriously, WOW. My mouth hangs open in a most awkward fashion, and I force it shut before I drool on my shoes or something.

Beau glides by in his perfectly faded jeans that fit like they were made for him—every contour deliciously showcased, like the mice from Cinderella sewed them especially for him. He’s wearing a blue dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, highlighting forearms that are no stranger to physical work. He must not have seen me—maybe because I’ve already climbed two steps to the second floor—because he says to Emmie, “That woman is going to be the death of me.”

“Shelby?” Emmie asks.

“Who else? I swear to God when Cootie was pregnant with her she must have drunk a gallon of vinegar a day. That gal is as ornery as the day is long.”

“Before you tell me what she did, I’d like you to meet my friend Lexi from New York.” Emmie gestures in such a way as to let Beau know that I’m standing behind him.

He turns to say hello, and my jaw drops open at the sheer impact of looking straight into his piercing eyes. I snap my lips shut, realizing my open-mouthed sea bass look might have him wondering if I’m mentally challenged.

Beau’s stare is so intense that I hurry to say, “I’ll go on upstairs so you two can talk.” God knows what personal things he might have said had Emmie not alerted him of my presence. I don’t wait for either of them to reply before dashing up to the sleeping loft. Of course, it’s an open loft, so I can still hear every word they say, but at least the privacy is implied.

“You know the dance the club has right after Thanksgiving?” I hear Beau ask.

Emmie replies, “The Cornucopia Ball? What of it?”

“Cootie has proposed that this year the club members elect a king and queen of the ball and she wants me and Shelby to campaign for it.”

Emmie starts laughing. “No! You know they’ll make you wear a cornucopia on your head if you win.” She’s giggling so hard she can barely catch her breath.

“Can you imagine?” Beau asks. “I’d feel like Henry the Eighth or something. No, sir, I’m not doin’ it.” A moment later he adds, “Shelby thinks it’s because I hate her mother.”

“Well you sort of do,” Emmie tells him. “We all do.”

“I told her, ‘Shelby, it’s not just ’cause I hate your mama, it’s because it’s the darned stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of and I won’t be a party to it.’ I may have also mentioned that I don’t even want to go.”

“Beauregard Frothingham, you cannot skip the ball! My god, Cootie would never let you live it down.”

“Those demented club ladies are not the boss of me, Emmie. I have never danced to their tune, and I’m not gonna start now.”

“I’m guessing you mentioned that to Shelby?”

“I did,” he says. “It did not go well.”

“Ya think? Beau, that dance is the second biggest event the club throws next to the New Years’ Eve gala. They nominate the committee who organizes the following year’s ball the day after the current event. For a whole year, they’re girdle-deep in the trenches, planning it.” Then she calls up the stairs, “Come on down, Lex, I want to show you the rest of the first floor.”

I quickly descend as I was sitting at the top of the staircase blatantly eavesdropping—while trying to catch the breath that was stolen from me when I saw Beau.

When I appear, Emmie’s cousin looks at me and his gorgeous green eyes squint together before he blatantly frowns at me. I come to a quick stop. I’m not sure if it’s because I look deranged from traveling or what, but I get the sense he’s taken an immediate dislike to me.

I step forward to shake his hand, having forgotten I’m still on the second stair and I wind up falling down like a drunken circus clown. Emmie rushes to my side, “Lexi, are you okay?” She reaches to give me a hand up while her cousin does nothing more than stand there and stare at me.

“I’m fine,” I say, hurrying to my feet. “I thought I’d shake Beau’s hand and didn’t realize I was still on the second stair. I must be tired from my flight.” Or, you know, an idiot.

Way to go, Lexi.

“You poor thing,” Emmie says. “Why don’t you come on over here to the couch and sit down. I’ll get you a nice glass of water.”

I do as she suggests, wondering how a glass of cold water is going recoup my dignity after making a fool of myself in front of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Beau has not moved an inch, either to aid me or greet me. Emmie passes by him as she walks toward the open-concept kitchen. She punches him in the stomach and says, “Don’t be such a dolt. Be sociable.”

Beau’s feet eventually start to move in my direction. Once he reaches the couch, he stops right in front of me, nearly boring holes through me with the intensity of his gaze. He demands, “Who are you again?”

Author Bio:

Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries -- not always in that order.

Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.

She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.

Gold Medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2017.

Silver medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.

Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.

Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.

Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017

Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Facebook / Instagram

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Spotlight: The Little Bookshop on the Seine by Rebecca Raisin

It’s The Holiday on the Champs-Élysées in a great big love letter to Paris, charming old bookstores and happily-ever-afters! When bookshop owner Sarah Smith is offered the opportunity for a job exchange with her Parisian friend Sophie, saying yes is a no-brainer—after all, what kind of romantic would turn down six months in Paris? Sarah is sure she’s in for the experience of a lifetime—days spent surrounded by literature in a gorgeous bookshop, and the chance to watch the snow fall on the Eiffel Tower. Plus, now she can meet up with her journalist boyfriend, Ridge, when his job takes him around the globe. But her expectations cool faster than her café au lait soon after she lands in the City of Light—she’s a fish out of water in Paris. The customers are rude, her new coworkers suspicious and her relationship with Ridge has been reduced to a long-distance game of phone tag, leaving Sarah to wonder if he’ll ever put her first over his busy career. As Christmas approaches, Sarah is determined to get the shop—and her life—back in order…and make her dreams of a Parisian happily-ever-after come true.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

October 

With a heavy heart I placed the sign in the display window. 

All books 50% off. 

If things didn’t pick up soon, it would read Closing down sale. The thought alone was enough to make me shiver. The autumnal sky was awash with purples and smudges of orange, as I stepped outside to survey the display window from the sidewalk. 

Star-shaped leaves crunched underfoot. I forced a smile. A sale wouldn’t hurt, and maybe it’d take the bookshop figures from the red into the black—which I so desperately needed. My rent had been hiked up. The owner of the building, a sharp-featured, silver-tongued, forty-something man, had put the pressure on me lately—to pay more, to declutter the shop, claiming the haphazard stacks of books were a fire risk. The additional rent stretched the budget to breaking level. Something had to change.

The phone shrilled, and a grin split my face. It could only be Ridge at this time of the morning. Even after being together almost a year his name still provoked a giggle. It suited him though, the veritable man mountain he was. I’d since met his mom, a sweet, well-spoken lady, who claimed in dulcet tones, that she chose his name well before his famous namesake in The Bold and the Beautiful. In fact, she was adamant about it, and said the TV character Ridge was no match for her son. I had to agree. Sure, they both had chiseled movie star cheekbones, and an intense gaze that made many a woman swoon, but my guy was more than just the sum of his parts—I loved him for his mind, as much as his clichéd six-pack, and broody hotness. And even better, he loved me for me.

He was the hero in my own real-life love story, and due back from Canada the next day. It’d been weeks since I’d seen him, and I ached for him in a way that made me blush.

I dashed inside, and answered the phone, breathlessly. “The Bookshop on the Corner.”

“That’s the voice I know and love,” he said in his rich, husky tone. My heart fluttered, picturing him at the end of the line, his jet-black hair and flirty blue eyes. He simply had to flick me a look loaded with suggestion, and I’d be jelly-legged and lovestruck.

“What are you wearing?” he said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I held back a laugh, eager to drag it out. So far our relationship had been more long-distance than anticipated, as he flew around the world reporting on location. The stints apart left an ache in my heart, a numbness to my days. Luckily I had my books, and a sweeping romance or two helped keep the loneliness at bay.

“Tell me or I’ll be forced to Skype you and see for myself.”

Glancing down at my outfit, I grimaced: black tights, a black pencil skirt, and a pilled blue knit sweater, all as old as the hills of Ashford. Not exactly the type of answer Ridge was waiting for, or the way I wanted him to picture me, after so many weeks apart. “Those stockings you like, and…”

His voice returned with a growl. “Those stockings? With the little suspenders?”

I sat back into the chair behind the counter, fussing with my bangs. “The very same.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me. Take a photo…”

“There’s no need. If you’re good, I’ll wear the red ones tomorrow night.” I grinned wickedly. Our reunions were always passionate affairs; he was a hands-on type of guy. Lucky for him, because it took a certain type of man to drag me from the pages of my books. When he was home we didn’t surface until one of us had to go to work. Loving Ridge had been a revelation, especially in the bedroom, where he took things achingly slow, drawing out every second. I flushed with desire for him.

There was a muffled voice and the low buzz of phones ringing. Ridge mumbled to someone before saying, “About tomorrow…” He petered out, regret in each syllable.

I closed my eyes. “You’re not coming, are you?” I tried not to sigh, but it spilled out regardless. The lure of a bigger, better story was too much for him to resist, and lately the gaps between our visits grew wider. I understood his work was important, but I wanted him all to myself. A permanent fixture in the small town I lived in.

He tutted. “I’m sorry, baby. There’s a story breaking in

Indonesia, and I have to go. It’ll only be for a week or two, and then I’ll take some time off.”

Outside, leaves fluttered slowly from the oak tree, swaying softly, until they fell to the ground. I wasn’t the nagging girlfriend sort—times like this though, I was tempted to be. Ridge had said the very same thing the last three times he’d canceled a visit. But invariably someone would call and ask Ridge to head to the next location; any time off would be cut short.

“I understand,” I said, trying to keep my voice bright. Sometimes I felt like I played a never-ending waiting game. Would it always be like this? “Just so you know, I have a very hot date this afternoon.”

He gasped. “You better be talking about a fictional date.” His tone was playful, but underneath there was a touch of jealousy to it. Maybe it was just as hard on him, being apart.

“One very hot book boyfriend…though not as delectable as my real boyfriend—but a stand-in, until he returns.”

“Well, he better not keep you up half the night, or he’ll have me to answer to,” he faux threatened, and then said more seriously, “Things will slow down, Sarah. I want to be with you so much my soul hurts. But right now, while I’m freelance, I have to take whatever comes my way.”

“I know. I just feel a bit lost sometimes. Like someone’s hit pause, and I’m frozen on the spot.” I bit my lip, trying to work out how to explain it. “It’s not just missing you—I do understand about your job—it’s…everything. The bookshop sales dwindling, the rent jacked up, everyone going on about their business, while I’m still the same old Sarah.”

I’d been at this very crossroad when I’d met Ridge, and he’d swept me off my feet, like the ultimate romance hero. For a while that had been enough. After all, wasn’t love always the answer? Romance aside, life was a little stagnant, and I knew it was because of my fear of change. It wasn’t so

much that I had to step from behind the covers of my books, rather plunge, perhaps. Take life by the scruff of the neck and shake it. But how?

“You’ve had a rough few weeks. That’s all. I’ll be back soon, and I’m sure there’s something I can do to make you forget everything…”

My belly flip-flopped at the thought. He would make me forget everything that was outside that bedroom door, but then he’d leave and it would all tumble back.

What exactly was I searching for? My friends were getting married and having babies. Buying houses and redecorating. Starting businesses. My life had stalled. I was an introvert, happiest hiding in the shadows of my shop, reading romances to laze the day away, between serving the odd customer or two—yet, it wasn’t enough. In small-town Connecticut, there wasn’t a lot to do. And life here—calm, peaceful—was fine, but that’s just it, fine wasn’t enough anymore. I had this fear that life was passing me by because I was too timid to take the reins.

It was too hazy a notion of what I was trying to say, even to me. Instead of lumping Ridge with it, I changed tack. “I hope you know, you’re not leaving the house when you get home. Phones will be switched to silent, computers forgotten, and the only time we’re leaving the comfort of bed is when I need sustenance.” A good romp around the bedroom would suffice until I could pinpoint what it was that I wanted.

“How about I sort out the sustenance?” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “And then we’ll never have to leave.”

“Promises, promises,” I said, my breath hitching. I hoped this flash of longing would never wane, the sweet torture of anticipation.

“I have to go, baby. I’ll call you tonight if it’s not too late once I’m in.”

“Definitely call tonight! Otherwise, I can’t guarantee the book boyfriend won’t steal your girlfriend. He’s pretty hot, I’ll have you know.”

“Why am I jealous of a fictional character?” He laughed, a low, sexy sound. “OK, tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He hung up, leaving me dazed, and a touch lonely knowing that I wouldn’t see him the next day as planned.

I tried to shake the image of Ridge from my mind. If anyone walked in, they’d see the warm blush of my cheeks, and know exactly what I was thinking. Damn the man for being so attractive, and so effortlessly sexy.

Shortly, the sleepy town of Ashford would wake under the gauzy light of October skies. Signs would be flipped to open, stoops swept, locals would amble down the road. Some would step into the bookshop and out of the cold, and spend their morning with hands wrapped around a mug of steaming hot tea, and reading in any one of the cozy nooks around the labyrinth-like shop.

I loved having a place for customers to languish. Comfort was key, and if you had a good book and a hot drink, what else could you possibly need to make your day any brighter? Throw rugs and cushions were littered around seating areas. Coats would be swiftly hung on hooks, a chair found, knitted blankets pulled across knees, and their next hour or two spent, in the most relaxing of ways.

I wandered around the shop, feather duster in hand, tickling the covers, waking them from slumber. I’m sure as soon as my back was turned, the books wiggled and winked at one another, as if they were eager for the day to begin, for fingers of hazy sunlight to filter through and land on them like spotlights, as if saying, here’s the book for you.

Imagine if I had to close up for good, like so many other shops had in recent times? It pained me to think people were missing out on the real-life bookshop experience. Wasn’t it much better when you could step into a dimly lit space, and eke your way around searching for the right novel? You could run a fingertip along the spines, smell that glorious old book scent, flick them open, and unbend a dog-eared page. Read someone else’s notes in the margin, or a highlighted passage, and see why that sentence or metaphor had dazzled the previous owner.

Secondhand books had so much life in them. They’d lived, sometimes in many homes, or maybe just one. They’d been on airplanes, traveled to sunny beaches, or crowded into a backpack and taken high up a mountain where the air thinned.

Some had been held aloft tepid rose-scented baths, and thickened and warped with moisture. Others had childlike scrawls on the acknowledgment page, little fingers looking for a blank space to leave their mark. Then there were the pristine novels, ones that had been read carefully, bookmarks used, almost like their owner barely pried the pages open so loath were they to damage their treasure.

I loved them all.

Excerpted from The Little Bookshop on the Seine by Rebecca Raisin. Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Raisin. Published by HQN Books.

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About the Author

Rebecca Raisin is the author of several novels, including the beloved Little Paris series and the Gingerbread Café trilogy, and her short stories have been published in various anthologies and fiction magazines. You can follow Rebecca on Facebook, and at www.rebeccaraisin.com

Connect:

Author Website

Twitter: @JaxandWillsMum

Facebook: @RebeccaRaisinAuthor

Instagram: @RebeccaRaisinWrites

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Spotlight: Much Ado about a Widow by Jenna Jaxon

Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick defied her family, jilted her fiancé, and married the man she loved. But when her husband died at Waterloo, she was delivered right back into her father’s power . . . Victory is sweet—but England’s triumph was Georgie’s rout. Now that she’s widowed, the loathsome marriage her father first arranged has simply been renegotiated. With neither money nor rights, and nowhere to flee, all she can do is cherish her last weeks of freedom. . . . Until a band of ruffians overtake her carriage and kidnap her. When she escapes in seaside Brighton and encounters her brother’s rather wild friend, Lord St. Just—whom she suspects aspires to be a pirate—she’s prepared to entertain more of his adventurous suggestions than usual . . . St. Just knows his mind and his duty, and he loves a challenge. Helping a fair lady make her farewells to hoodlums suits his talents well. Within the hour he has Georgie, her lady’s maid—and her little dog too—sailing for his castle in Cornwall. Meanwhile, the lady’s entire family, her kidnappers, and her scheming intended are in pursuit. But as he and the indomitable Georgie grow closer, he begins to suspect that together they will prove a match for them all . . .

Excerpt

“What is all this fuss about, Lulu? You can’t need to go out again so soon.” Peering over the dog’s head, Georgie looked at her father’s outrider cantering beside the carriage. “Goodness.” The maid stretched and stifled a yawn. “I must have fallen asleep.” “That’s quite all right.” Georgie’s attention was fixed on the rider. “Look at the man riding alongside us, Clara.” The maid glanced out the window and shrugged. “What about him?” “He’s not one of my father’s outriders.” Frowning as she pressed her face against the cold window pane, Georgie moved her head this way and that, seeking a better look. “He’s not?” Clara slid over to gaze out the window as well. “Then who is he?” “He’s the man I told you about, the one with the flattened nose who was watching me in the inn yard.” Georgie bounced over to the other side of the carriage, panic rising at the sight of another unfamiliar outrider. “This one too. Folger!” She leaped to her feet and banged on the trap. “Folger! Who are these men? What is going on?” The chilling silence that ensued was punctuated by the high crack of a whip. The carriage shot forward, throwing Georgie back into her seat, where she narrowly missed Lulu, who was barking wildly. “What’s happening, my lady?” Eyes wide and wild, Clara clutched her arm. Georgie’s composure slipped, and dread threatened to engulf her, but she took a deep breath to steady herself and announced, “I am very much afraid we are being kidnapped.”

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About the Author

Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage.

She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate because once she starts she just can't stop.

Connect:

Blog:  www.jennajaxon.wordpress.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jenna.jaxon

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Jenna_Jaxon

Instagram: passionistimeless

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Spotlight: The One for You by Roni Loren

The highly-anticipated fourth book in Roni Loren’s unforgettable The Ones Who Got Away series.

She got a second chance at life. Will she take a second chance at love?

Kincaid Breslin wasn’t supposed to survive that fateful night at Long Acre when so many died, including her boyfriend—but survive she did. She doesn’t know why she got that chance, but now she takes life by the horns and doesn’t let anybody stand in her way.

Ashton Isaacs was her best friend when disaster struck all those years ago, but he chose to run as far away as he could. Now fate has brought him back to town, and Ash doesn’t know how to cope with his feelings for Kincaid and his grief over their lost friendship. For Ash has been carrying secrets, and he knows that once Kincaid learns the truth, he’ll lose any chance he might have had with the only woman he’s ever loved.

Excerpt

A sleepy voice came through the door. “Come in.”

Kincaid opened the door and found Ash shifting to sit up in bed, shirtless, tattooed, and with full-on bedhead. Every womanly cell in her body gave a cheer of appreciation, and she had the sudden annoying urge to tilt her head and twirl her hair like a smitten schoolgirl. Luckily, she stopped herself from that embarrassment. She wasn’t there to ogle.

“Everything all right?” Ash asked, swiping a hand across his face and trying to wake up.

Kincaid lifted the phone. “Your ex has been burning up your phone. I got aggravated and answered. Sorry. She’s still calling herself your fiancée, and I believe she wants to yell at you about something.”

Ash groaned. “Hell no. I’m not starting my day off with that. Tell her I’ll call her later or just hang up.”

“I could. Or,” Kincaid said conspiratorially, “we could have a little fun and piss her off in the process. You game?”

His eyebrows lifted, mischief in the tilt of his lips. “I could possibly be game.”

Kincaid grinned and unmuted the phone so they could be heard. “Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said in a flirty voice to Ash. “Rise and shine.”

Ash cocked his head in confusion, but when he saw the look on her face, he caught on fast. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Kincaid put a knee on the bed, knowing the guest bed squeaked and that Melanie would be able to hear and draw her own conclusions. “I know you wanted to sleep in after last night, but that Melanie woman has some sort of emergency and just couldn’t wait.”

Ash smirked, a deliciously evil look on his face. “Baby, you know you shouldn’t be answering my phone this early. We have better things to do right now.” Ash grabbed Kincaid’s wrist and tugged her forward, making her tumble onto the bed and inadvertently laugh. She landed next to him, and he lifted her arm to his mouth, kissing the tender skin of her wrist with an audible sound. On the phone, that kiss could be imagined anywhere.

Kincaid’s skin heated despite the fact that this was a farce. “You probably should take it or she’ll keep calling. I don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of anything, you know?”

Ash chuckled softly, this deep, private laugh, a lover’s laugh. It sent hot shivers through Kincaid, waking up sensations that had been dormant as of late. “Of course not. Wouldn’t want that. Give me just a minute.” He took the phone, the smile dropping from his face. “Melanie.”

Kincaid could hear the rapid-fire voice through the line and remained next to Ash on the bed. Melanie was saying something about him leaving the apartment messy when he moved out. About the landlord keeping the deposit.

Ash grunted, his tone and entire demeanor bored. “I wasn’t paying for a cleaning service to clean up after you. Just because you moved out first doesn’t mean it was my mess. You made this mess.”

More yelling on her end, the volume notching up.

“Melanie,” Ash said patiently, “clearly you feel passionately about this. I can’t say I give a shit, so that puts us at an impasse. How about you send me back your ring, and I’ll consider sending you half the deposit? Otherwise, I’ve got better things to do right now.”

Melanie’s next words were clear as a bell. “Right. You probably can’t even afford the deposit. Are you back to the living-on-ramen plan, Ash? Don’t have your woman’s money to use up now? Or did you just find a new one to pay the rent?”

Ash’s teeth clenched, his skin flushing red from the neck up—the words a match to a fuse. Kincaid saw what was happening, the fire racing up through him. She’d been there. That moment when an ex or a bully gets the best of you, and you stoop to their level. You lose your shit and end up looking like the dumb one or the hysterical one or the one who still cares too much. No way was she letting Melanie win this round. Without thinking, she scrambled to sit up and then swung her leg over Ash’s middle, straddling him.

Ash’s lips, which had been parted to yell, froze in almost comic silence. His shocked gaze jumped up to Kincaid’s, her ambush plan working to stop him in his tracks. She took the phone from him and put it to her ear. “Hey, sugar, time’s up. And I can promise you, neither of us are here for each other’s money. Don’t call again. Bye now.”

Melanie gasped. “Kincaid.”

Kincaid bit her lip, not sure if it was good for Melanie to know her identity and to think she and Ash were together, but that cat was already bolting away from the bag, too far to catch.

“Ugh,” Melanie said into the phone. “I should’ve known. He always had a taste for the cheap stuff.”

Kincaid smiled, almost entertained. Oh, sweet, misguided Melanie. If Melanie were here, she’d pat her on the hand and shake her head at the lame attempt. The woman was going to have to do better than that to get under her skin. “Oh, bless your heart. It’s so cute when women try to throw other women under the bus just because a guy’s involved—or in your case, two guys. Really moves that feminist needle forward, don’t you think? You should burn a bra.”

“You—”

“Enjoy your new relationship, sugar,” Kincaid said, cutting her off. “I hope you two are made for each other in every way.”

Melanie was silent, and Kincaid took the opportunity to hang up.

She tossed the phone to the side and braced her hands on either side of Ash on the bed. “Well, if you needed a sign that things aren’t going so well with her new guy, that was a clear one. If she were happy, she wouldn’t give a damn about a couple hundred dollars of a deposit, especially when she has money. And she certainly wouldn’t care if you were sleeping with me—”

“Kincaid.”

“And I know I probably shouldn’t have answered. But she wouldn’t let up, and I just couldn’t help it and—”

“Kincaid—” Ash said more urgently.

“What?”

“You need to—” He grabbed her by the waist, shifting to hoist her off him, but before he could, she sucked in a breath as she became all too aware of the distinct firmness beneath her.

“Oh shit,” she said, rolling herself off him as if he’d caught fire.

Ash made a pained sound and fell back against the pillow. “Yeah, that.”

“I…uh.” Her cheeks burned as she sat up.

Ash pulled the covers higher and shifted onto his side so the blanket wouldn’t reveal his current condition. He gave her a droll look as he propped his head on his hand. “I really appreciate the effort to irritate my ex, I do. But maybe don’t straddle a guy first thing in the morning. Little hard to control things.”

Kincaid couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. “Did you just say a little hard?”

Ash gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look and then hit her with a pillow.

She laughed as she defended herself from the blow and then couldn’t stop, the laughter bubbling up from deep in her belly. “A little hard,” she said between laughs. “Maybe more than a little. I mean, give yourself some credit.”

***

Excerpted from The One for You by Roni Loren. © 2019 by Roni Loren. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Roni Loren wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. She holds a master’s degree in social work and spent years as a mental health counselor, but now she writes full time from her cozy office in Dallas, Texas where she puts her characters on the therapy couch instead. She is a two-time RITA Award winner and a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Visit her online at roniloren.com.

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Spotlight: A Cowboy Never Quits: A Turn Around Ranch novel by Cindi Madsen

These hardworking cowboys give everyone a second chance…

When single mom Jessica Cook is at the end of her rope, she takes her 16-year-old daughter to Turn Around Ranch. The ranch has a great reputation for teen therapy, and Jessica prays there’s room there for her and Chloe.

Wade Dawson’s first priority is to keep the ranch afloat to help teens and their families. But he can’t seem to keep his boundaries when it comes to Jessica—she’s talked her way into a job on the ranch so she can stay near her daughter and her tenacity and courage are truly impressive. Not to mention she’s a natural beauty and sparks fly whenever he’s in her vicinity.

But as one crisis after another befalls the ranch, Wade is going to have to decide whether he can afford to let a woman get under his skin…

Excerpt

A hint of sympathy flickered through Gruff-and-Grumpy’s eyes, but then the firmness crept back in. He reached up and readjusted his cowboy hat, which set off some kind of wave that made the other two brothers do the same.

Seriously, why do they have to look like they belong on the cover of Ride a Cowboy Weekly?

Wait. That sounded dirtier than she meant it. Not that she’d exactly take it back.

They practically dripped masculinity, their bodies speaking to hours of manual labor, and the effect kept hijacking her jumbled thoughts. It’d been so long since she’d more than half-heartedly checked out a guy that apparently now she couldn’t even handle being in the presence of handsome men.

Back when she was in her early twenties—before guys discovered she came with baggage and a five-year-old—she used to be fairly decent at flirting her way into getting a guy to help her out with things like clearing that late fee or giving her a few more weeks on the rent. Once she’d even talked her disgruntled landlord into mowing the overgrown lawn he was harping on and on about. Clearly, she’d lost it, because the expressions aimed her way were immovable ones that conveyed disbelief in exceptions or wiggle room. Or the charity she’d shed her pride to ask for.

A spinster failure-of-a-mom at thirty-one. Well, it took fifteen years, but Mom was right. Just when she’d been so cocky about how much she’d accomplished. Now she wanted to Frisbee the employee-of-the month plaque she’d received from her boss last week, for all the good it did her.

“We’re sorry you drove all the way here only to have to turn back,” Mrs. Dawson said, tucking behind her ear the sandy-brown and gray strands of hair that’d fallen from her bun. The woman had a frail sense about her, her skinniness and the dark circles under her eyes speaking to a recent—or possibly even current—health issue. “I can give you some referrals, and I’ll see if my contacts know of a good counselor in your area.”

In a daze, Jess blinked at the woman, defeat weighing against her chest and tugging down her shoulders. She truly had failed. And curse her DNA for passing on traits she wished it would’ve held back. In a lot of ways, her daughter was too much like her: stubborn to a fault, blind when it came to guys, spurred on by the words no and can’t, and turning the word guideline into loose suggestion.

If they simply returned home, it’d be harder and harder to keep Chloe from bad influences. This past year she’d struggled to fit in at school, and her solution had been to find the worst possible group of “friends.” Friends who ditched and smoked pot and encouraged Chloe to sneak out at night so she could go meet a guy like Tyler. He was two years older and a whole mess of bad influences on his own. Rebellious, disrespectful, and mysterious—the same things Jessica had been attracted to at Chloe’s age.

Not that her daughter was blameless. Chloe had made plenty of bad choices. She’d dived fully into the party lifestyle, snuck out yet again, and gone on the joyride in the stolen car while under the influence. It was a slippery slope, which was why Jess wanted her at the best place in the state.

Even the others were out of her price range. A counselor might be as well. Maybe they’d just move to a different state entirely. Leave it all behind and eat…ramen. Get a nice box hut under a bridge. Really live out the scenarios people had thrown at her when she’d refused to give her baby up for adoption.

Feeling both levels of failure, Jess shakily stood. “Thank you for your time.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Gruff-and-Grumpy said, and she wanted to shout that she didn’t want chivalry. She wanted her daughter enrolled in their program and a way to pay for it.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it. Unless you’re scared I’ll just drive away without my kid, and then you’ll have to take her.”

“Well, I am now.” An almost-smile crossed his face.

She almost returned it, but her lungs constricted more and more as she walked toward the door.

There in the corner, she caught sight of a wall of flyers on a corkboard. Along with a schedule that outlined class time, equine therapy time, and a few other events she couldn’t quite make out, she saw a neon-yellow paper with the words Help Wanted across the top. Even better, it was for a job here at Turn Around Ranch.

“You guys are looking for a cook?” It was as if she’d stepped out of her body and someone else had taken control—someone crazy and reckless, personality traits she’d tried very hard to suppress through the years. When you had a kid who depended on you, impulsiveness went out the window, and recklessness wasn’t an option. Still, even as she told her mouth to hold up before it landed her in trouble, the next words were pushing from her lips. “You’re in luck. I just so happen to be one.”

Those dark eyebrows lowered again, only visible under the brim of his cowboy hat when he was giving the signature scowl he’d given her from the moment she’d stepped inside the office. “You’re a cook?”

“Oh, we’ve been looking for a cook for forever and a day,” Mrs. Dawson said, scooting to the edge of her chair.

Hope edged in desperation bobbed up inside Jess. She’d told her boss she needed some time off, and he’d been super understanding. He might not be as cool about her taking…a month? Two? Whatever. This was her daughter. Jobs came and went, but if she lost Chloe, she’d regret it forever. “Perhaps we could help each other out. If you let my daughter into your program, I’ll stay and cook while she’s here. The only other thing I need is a bed to sleep in. I’m not even picky as to where that bed is.”

“Under the stars, then?” the looming cowboy next to her said.

“Okay, I’d prefer a roof over my head. Like a lean-to, at least.”

That almost-smile quivered his lips, but he tamped it down. Why was he so determined to keep up the steely front? Or maybe it wasn’t a front. Right now, she didn’t care, and since she clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, she turned to Mrs. Dawson. “I can have a list of references to you within a matter of hours. My bosses all love me.” At least that was true. At one point she hadn’t known how to balance books or create databases, but she’d learned. Cooking had never been high on her priority list, but she could learn to do that as well. There were Google and the Food Network, and she could make a box of mac and cheese like nobody’s business. How hard could it be?

***

Excerpted from A Cowboy Never Quits by Cindi Madsen. © 2019 by Cindi Madsen. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

Cindi Madsen is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting, revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a new pretty pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music, dancing, and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children.

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Spotlight: Love By Chance by Kacy Cross

She thinks meeting him must’ve been fate. It wasn’t.

Claire, a pastry chef struggling to make her restaurant succeed, is too busy to pursue romance. That doesn’t stop her loving but meddling mother, Helen, from setting her up on dates. Even after Helen promises to stop her matchmaking efforts, she can’t help herself. She convinces Eric, a pediatrician, to meet Claire at a gallery event.

Eric and Claire feel an immediate connection, and their meeting becomes a magical first date. But the longer Eric and Claire see each other, the less comfortable Eric feels about hiding the fact that Claire’s mom set them up. Meanwhile, Claire loves to talk about how she trusts Eric, and how they met by chance. How will she react to the truth?

This witty, sweet romance includes a free Hallmark original recipe for Claire’s Coconut Lime Tarts.

Excerpt

She considered his question about her dad as she set another piece of chocolate.

“He’s a financial advisor, but he and my mom are newly retired and about to travel to Italy together.”

She could easily stop there, but Eric always listened to everything she said so attentively, as if there wasn’t anything in the world more important than whatever she was about to say next. A lot of guys constantly checked their phones, even while on a date, which really annoyed her. Eric never did that, and as a pediatrician, he had the best excuse for it.

His laser focus on her hadn’t shifted an iota since he’d arrived. It felt like a good time to share the reason she thought the way her parents had met was so romantic. Why she’d held out for her own story.

“They actually met in a college bookstore,” she told him. “There was one copy of A Room with a  View, which is set in Italy, and they both needed it for an exam, so they shared it, and by the end of the book they were in love.”

“Huh, that’s a great story.”

Yes. And the fact that he thought so spoke volumes. Enough that she couldn’t help but take a tiny break from her chocolate to focus on him for a few minutes. She settled onto a stool next to him. It wasn’t a hardship in the least to drink him in. He really was gorgeous with his dark hair and chiseled features that were so distinctive.

“Just think. If the clerk had more copies, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I think you should track down that clerk and give her a box of your pastries. It’s the least you can do.”

She laughed at yet another example of his blind support for her culinary skills. It really turned her head in the best way. “Okay, I’ll get right on that.”

One thing about Eric’s laser focus: it was impossible to miss the way he was looking at her, as if he’d spotted his favorite treat inside the bakery case. It tripped her pulse and, suddenly self-conscious, she glanced away.

“I must look a mess,” she announced unnecessarily, because clearly he could see that for himself. “I usually wear half of what I bake.”

Served her right for choosing this instead of a real date at a nice restaurant where she didn’t have to do any of the cooking. But it had been this or nothing. And she wasn’t sorry at all as Eric leaned in to capture her gaze in his, refusing to let go. The long, charged moment dragged out, impossibly thick with possibilities.

“I think you look perfect,” he murmured.

Nerves kicked up a storm in her stomach as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Was he thinking about kissing? Because she sure was.

She had no idea what to say next, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did I ever tell you when I was five, I had my first éclair? The waiter was French. I kept thinking he said ‘Claire.’”

Eric took her hand, leaning even closer, intent written all over his face. He did want to kiss her, but she was still babbling about éclairs. Knowing that didn’t seem to give her any special ability to stop babbling though.

“So I thought he named the dessert after me. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“Hilarious,” he repeated softly.

And then suddenly the words died in her throat as his mouth settled on hers. Tentatively at first, as if gauging whether she’d welcome this, but when she melted into it, he lifted a hand to her face, deepening the kiss. Eric kissed her with that same laser focus, as if there was nothing else in the world that could compare with this experience and he wanted to savor every second.

She felt the same. This was better than éclairs, better than any of the finest chocolate in the world. If the Wandering Gourmet himself walked into her bakery, she’d tell him to wait.

She was busy.

Fate had gotten the timing exactly right. This was meant to be. How many other guys would have so graciously veered from course when she’d announced she couldn’t make their date?

She considered his question about her dad as she set another piece of chocolate.

“He’s a financial adviser, but he and my mom are newly retired and about to travel to Italy together.”

She could easily stop there, but Eric always listened to everything she said so attentively, as if there wasn’t anything in the world more important than whatever she was about to say next. A lot of guys constantly checked their phones, even while on a date, which really annoyed her. Eric never did that, and as a pediatrician, he had the best excuse for it.

His laser focus on her hadn’t shifted an iota since he’d arrived. It felt like a good time to share the reason she thought the way her parents had met was so romantic. Why she’d held out for her own story.

“They actually met in a college bookstore,” she told him. “There was one copy of A Room with a 

View, which is set in Italy, and they both needed it for an exam, so they shared it, and by the end of the book they were in love.”

“Huh, that’s a great story.”

Yes. And the fact that he thought so spoke volumes. Enough that she couldn’t help but take a tiny break from her chocolate to focus on him for a few minutes. She settled onto a stool next to him. It wasn’t a hardship in the least to drink him in. He really was gorgeous with his dark hair and chiseled features that were so distinctive.

“Just think. If the clerk had more copies, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I think you should track down that clerk and give her a box of your pastries. It’s the least you can do.”

She laughed at yet another example of his blind support for her culinary skills. It really turned her head in the best way. “Okay, I’ll get right on that.”

One thing about Eric’s laser focus: it was impossible to miss the way he was looking at her, as if he’d spotted his favorite treat inside the bakery case. It tripped her pulse and, suddenly self-conscious, she glanced away.

“I must look a mess,” she announced unnecessarily, because clearly he could see that for himself. “I usually wear half of what I bake.”

Served her right for choosing this instead of a real date at a nice restaurant where she didn’t have to do any of the cooking. But it had been this or nothing. And she wasn’t sorry at all as Eric leaned in to capture her gaze in his, refusing to let go. The long, charged moment dragged out, impossibly thick with possibilities.

“I think you look perfect,” he murmured.

Nerves kicked up a storm in her stomach as his gaze dropped to her mouth. Was he thinking about kissing? Because she sure was.

She had no idea what to say next, so she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Did I ever tell you when I was five, I had my first éclair? The waiter was French. I kept thinking he said ‘Claire.’”

Eric took her hand, leaning even closer, intent written all over his face. He did want to kiss her, but she was still babbling about éclairs. Knowing that didn’t seem to give her any special ability to stop babbling though.

“So I thought he named the dessert after me. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“Hilarious,” he repeated softly.

And then suddenly the words died in her throat as his mouth settled on hers. Tentatively at first, as if gauging whether she’d welcome this, but when she melted into it, he lifted a hand to her face, deepening the kiss. Eric kissed her with that same laser focus, as if there was nothing else in the world that could compare with this experience and he wanted to savor every second.

She felt the same. This was better than éclairs, better than any of the finest chocolate in the world. If the Wandering Gourmet himself walked into her bakery, she’d tell him to wait.

She was busy.

Fate had gotten the timing exactly right. This was meant to be. How many other guys would have so graciously veered from course when she’d announced she couldn’t make their date?

That alone had tipped the scales. No doubt about it. She was falling for him.

That alone had tipped the scales. No doubt about it. She was falling for him.

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About Kacy Cross: 

“I write romance novels starring swoon-worthy heroes that you can share with your daughter, the ladies at church, and your grandmother. I live in Texas, where I’m raising two mini-ninjas alongside the love of my life who cooks while I write, which is my definition of a true hero.

Come for the romance, stay for the happily ever after. My books will make you laugh, cry and swoon–cross my heart.”

Connect with Kacy: Website | Amazon | Facebook | Bookbub

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