Spotlight & Giveaway: A Rancher to Remember by Cassidy Carter

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Cassidy Carter’s new release: A Rancher to Remember

A wayward cow brings them together. A threat to everything they love might tear them apart.

 
Alexandra Brent-Collingsworth runs a tight ship at Cabins in the Pines. So when a runaway cow crashes her high-profile lakeside event, she’s furious–especially when the owner turns out to be the gruff rancher next door who can’t seem to control his livestock or his attitude. Alex has worked too hard to protect her found family and her stake in the resort bordering Cannon Ranch to let one stubborn cowboy derail it all.

To widower Maddox Cannon, the ranch is more than land. It’s a legacy. His family has lived there for generations, and he’ll do whatever it takes to defend it from the noise, traffic, and constant expansion of Cabins in the Pines. The last thing he needs is a city-bred businesswoman meddling in his way of life.

But when newly unearthed documents call both their properties’ ownership into question, Alex and Maddox must team up to protect what’s theirs. Control has always been their armor—but to find the truth, they’ll have to risk something even bigger: their hearts.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from A Rancher to Remember 

Chapter One
Maddox Cannon woke to the peaceful hush of predawn, just the way he liked it—no phones ringing, no car engines in the distance, and above all, no one talking. He rolled upright in the dark, his bones muttering their own complaints about the virtues of sleeping on a bunk in a room that had never known a proper mattress. He didn’t bother with the bedside lamp; the Cannon Ranch bunkhouse had lived through nearly fifty years of his practicality, and it wasn’t about to see him start wasting electricity at five in the morning.

He dressed without bothering to consider his choices, tugging a blue flannel shirt over a faded undershirt and shoving his long legs into canvas work pants that kept the shape of him even after the laundry. His boots waited by the door—he’d learned long ago to keep them out of range of his nephew’s dog, who’d gnawed through the laces twice over winter.

Maddox clomped past the woodstove, past the row of Mason jars full of elk jerky lined up along the sill, past the family photos crowding the small sideboard that held a single plate, bowl, fork, and spoon. His own face stared out from some of those pictures, a reminder that there was a time when he’d allowed someone to aim a camera at him.

And someone who’d stood beside him when they’d been taken.

Those were memories that even his own stubborn mind couldn’t block out, no matter how hard he tried.

He was out the door by five seventeen, striding into the thin, still-chilly air of an Arizona high-country morning. The eastern sky glowed a pale, eggshell blue, and the pinion-dotted slopes still clung to the last shreds of early spring frost. The air hurt in his lungs—but he liked that. It meant he was still alive and still on his own land. He didn’t need to look at a clock to know what came next—fence-walking, counting heads, more endless, solitary rounds through the business of keeping things together. That was what he’d signed up for, and that was what he’d do, for as long as there was land and a name worth protecting.

The cattle didn’t care about his habit of work starting at sunrise; they moved in slow, plodding circuits across the lower pasture, heads down, mist billowing from their nostrils. Maddox paused at the porch rail and scanned the slope, counting tan shapes against the dull green.

Damn it. One missing already.

That meant the night’s fix on the south fence hadn’t held. He grunted, not surprised. He’d tried to patch it with what he’d had on hand, not relishing a trip into Fairwood and the interaction it required with people.

Sighing, Maddox crunched down the gravel path toward the barn. He would try another fix and then go in search of the animal—they never went far, lazy things.

The barn’s old padlock snapped open in his hand, a pleasing, mechanical sound. He took his time prepping the day. Checked the mineral block, filled the stock tank, loaded the battered side-by-side ATV with fresh hay and a dented toolbox. By the time he rumbled through the pasture gate, the sun had cracked the ridge and was racing across the dewy fields.

He found the break right where he’d expected—an old juniper post, split and rotted at the base. He’d patched the wire, but early rains had softened the dirt and a few of the cows had figured out they could nose their way through. Maddox cut the engine and let silence settle, then reached for his fencing gloves, feeling the thin layer of wire splinters from last week still embedded in the leather. He worked methodically. Tamped the posthole, shored it up with river rock, then ran new barbed wire between the stays. Each pull on the fence tool sent a lancing ache up his shoulder, but he ignored it—pain was just another kind of weather out here.

He was halfway through splicing a top strand when he heard it. The distant whine of a generator and the rhythmic pulse of a nail gun. Maddox’s jaw set. That would be the lakeshore again, the place where Cannon Ranch met the Cabins in the Pines property. They’d been pouring concrete for new cabanas every morning this week, shattering what little peace the far field used to hold.

Cabins in the Pines—the eyesore that wanted to pretend it was rustic. The property had started decades back as a scatter of rough-hewn, charming log cabins tucked beneath the trees, the kind of remote place where families came with coolers and fishing poles, not expensive suitcases with wheels. Big-city TV show money had polished it up—and now, the place that Maddox hadn’t minded so much in the past had floodlights and event spaces and lawns manicured as flat as fairways.

Now it straddled two worlds, and the second was definitely not his. On one side, he could still see the quiet cabins with smoke curling from their stone chimneys and the trails leading down to the lake. Looking at the camp side, a man could pretend that time hadn’t moved on. On the other side, the fancy one, there were cedar-decked “social spaces,” paved drives lined with trees that had been put there by landscapers and not Mother Nature, and valet parking for weddings and corporate retreats. The main resort lodge was a showpiece; he could admit that. Broad-beamed and handsome, with river-rock fireplaces and chandeliers shaped from iron wagon wheels—every inch designed to convince guests they were experiencing authentic Arizona rural luxury.

To Maddox Cannon’s eye, though, the resort was an intrusion more than an improvement. He couldn’t deny the place probably had charm for outsiders—it gleamed like money always did—but to him, the progress was a nuisance. Too polished, too busy, and absolutely too close. And Maddox hated it.

He hated the noise and the traffic and the endless parade of lost tourists driving up his access road looking for spa treatments and hot stone massages before their financial presentations. Most of all, he hated the way the owners, or maybe just one owner in particular, acted like their improvements were a favor to the entire county.

Alexandra Brent-Collingsworth—he could never say the whole name without gritting his teeth—had doubled the event business on her property in less than a year, and if she wasn’t swanning around in designer boots, she was complaining to the county board about livestock liability or the optics of loose cattle at her five-star events. His cows hadn’t done any damage to her precious resort. And she was the one who had come into his neck of the woods, so he was of the mind that she was the one who should adapt a little.

He’d met her, briefly, during a planning commission meeting. She’d looked him up and down—him in his work shirt and boots, her in a blazer sharp enough to cut wire—and smiled in a way that said she was being polite, not friendly. He’d returned the smile, which was more a showing of teeth than anything else, and had resolved that their only communication should happen through lawyers or her business partners Wyatt and Delaney Andrews, who at least spoke like human beings.

Maddox cinched the last length of wire tight, the fence length finally groaning back into some kind of serviceable shape. The sound of hammering carried again on the morning air, annoyance spiking just as heavily into his skull. Maddox wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and gave the direction of the noise one long, hard look.

So much for peace.

Today’s the big day!

Alexandra Brent-Collingsworth arrived for work at the Cabins in the Pines at five-thirty in the morning, sharp. She knew it would be an unholy hour to some of her fellow crew members, but the entire lakeside property already felt like a pressure cooker, excitement for the coming evening’s event practically swirling in the crisp, springtime mountain air.

It wasn’t another holiday soiree, though they’d just finished the last year strong with the Winter Wonderland Festival. And it wasn’t quite as exciting as when Alexandra herself, TV crew in tow, had burst onto the scene here in Fairwood, Arizona, to renovate the very resort grounds her high heels now landed on. What was coming to their little lakeside paradise was a first—a black-tie speech by the Stag Falls State University history department head.

Imagine, a university presentation on my lakeshore! Alex headed out to the lakeside event deck and the bustle that was already underway. She smiled. No one could say that the staff at the resort wasn’t dedicated. Even at this hour, she was often not the first one in.

There was so much to do. She did a mental inventory as her tablet booted. Seating for seventy-five—check, canapés—double check, weather—unpredictable but she had contingencies, and enough local A-list guests that Alex could resist dwelling on the rumor—persistent and tantalizing—that the university chancellor would make a surprise appearance.

It would be awfully nice to entice some new business from the larger, nearby town of Stag Falls to the Cabins. But she didn’t really need the dean for that.

Alex reached the shore a brisk, brief walk later. The ponderosa forest was gold-plated with new sun as she walked out of the tree line from the well-worn walking path, and the mirrored surface of Lake Fairwood stretched out beyond the pier, as still and glassy as a well-kept secret. But the shoreline was not still. Alex found staff hustling, just as she liked.

But…

They were hustling incorrectly. The first thing she noticed was that someone had placed the highboy tables in a staggered pattern rather than the orderly grid she’d diagrammed on her event plan.

Alex didn’t bother with a preamble. “These are uneven,” she called, gesturing with her stylus. “Let’s shift everything two feet toward the east so the guests aren’t squinting into the sun at sunset. I need an aisle here, not a maze.”

The two staffers in charge of tables—one a seasonal hire for the coming busy summer season, the other a regular who ought to know better—both bobbed their heads and started dragging the tables in silence.

Alex moved to the next station, where a young man in a wrinkled white shirt was attempting to wrangle an industrial-sized spool of fairy lights around the supports of the lakeside gazebo where the keynote speaker would be. The cord was knotted, the tangle growing with every frustrated tug. Alex suppressed the urge to snatch the lights away and do it herself.

“Stop,” she ordered, and the young man’s hands froze mid-pull. “You’re making it worse. Unwind from the outside, not the center, and check every other bulb before you hang it. If it takes more than twenty minutes, call Slater. He’s got the patience of a monk, not to mention he’s our problem-whisperer from long before I arrived on the scene.”

She pivoted on her heel and left the staffer untangling, now with a visible sense of relief on his face as his first outside loop pulled free. Alex texted Slater—the resort’s general manager—just to ask him to check on the light situation once he’d arrived.

At the catering tent, a local Fairwood vendor was setting up chafing dishes under a heat lamp set. Alex approached the owner, a woman with a tight, high ponytail and impeccable posture, and launched directly into questions.

“Were the charcuterie boards prepped? Has the non-alcoholic cider been delivered? Were the gluten-free and vegan options labeled this time?”

The caterer answered each in the affirmative, but Alex noted a flicker of nervousness in the woman’s eyes as she reported on an incident with the delivery van.

“Nothing major, but one of the boxes for the apple tarts split on the drive up. We’re supplementing with extra scones and muffins from the Bean Pot. It’s covered.”

Alex granted a single, approving nod. It was a good thing that the on-site restaurant was run by the very talented Masie, a woman whose baked goods were as toothsome as her Southern accent. Masie had come through in more than one pinch as the resort had grown over the past couple of years.

“Thanks for the heads-up. Let me know if anything else comes up—text is fastest.” Alex was already halfway gone when she called back, “And don’t forget the allergy warnings on the tent cards!”

Her phone buzzed, and she answered without looking. “Alex here.”

She listened, then, “No, move the gift bags to the inside vestibule in the lobby of the executive side. Last time, the wind took half of them into the lake.”

Her schedule didn’t allow for even a ten-minute lag between tasks, but she was built for this—micromanaging, course-correcting, running the show. That was the job, and she was better at it than anyone. She had been now for too many years to count.

By seven-thirty, most of the chaos was hammered into order. Portable decking had been laid along the shore to the left of the speech stage area, the sand transformed into an open-air ballroom. It was surrounded by long tables dressed in pristine white, with navy napkins folded into crisp triangles and glassware gleaming in the centers. The flowers—anemones, eucalyptus, blue thistle—were already sweating in the early heat, but she had extra arrangements in the walk-in cooler, just in case.

Alex did another perimeter walk, mentally checking off boxes as she went. She paused only once, at the water’s edge, to glare at a single pinecone bobbing just offshore, marring the mirror-perfect reflection of the trees.

That would never have done onscreen back in her TV days—but she took a deep breath, purposefully relaxed her shoulders, and reminded herself that she wasn’t entirely the wound-tight TV maven who’d first invested in this place. No, this little slice of country heaven had taught her to relax just a little.

Her watch dinged with an alert—a meeting? She didn’t remember scheduling a management meeting.

The time for relaxation is definitely not today, obviously.

It took Alex five minutes to march back to the main lodge on the executive side of the campground-slash-conference center, and she took another minute to check her own reflection in the narrow hall mirror. Blond hair, unmussed, makeup perfect, fine lines maybe just a tad indicative of the mid-forties a few years behind her. But she’d earned every little line through a life of adventures—city and country—and she blew a cheeky kiss at her own reflection. Satisfied, she headed for the admin offices, only to find hers already occupied.

Ursula was perched on the edge of the desk, legs crossed, turquoise, daisy-print reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. The campground side’s receptionist was wearing a flowing caftan in psychedelic orange and teal, and her hair was pinned up in its usual, artfully chaotic nest.

“Morning, Alexandra,” Ursula chirped, barely looking up from her folder. “The universe is absolutely humming today, don’t you think?”

Alex hugged Ursula quickly, and then, pulling away, raised a brow. “The universe needs to stay out of my way until after the history department event. And, you know, you could always postpone your looming retirement much longer than that…”

“Funny you say that,” the elderly woman said, closing the folder with a snap. “Wyatt and Delaney are on their way up. They want a quick word before things get nuts.”

Alex suppressed a sigh. “What’s the issue? I can’t handle anything derailing tonight’s speech.” Then, a frightful thought occurred to her. “Oh! It’s not Eleanor, is it? Something wrong with the baby?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart leaping.

“No, no,” Ursula soothed. “Nora is fine.”

Alex almost apologized for her dire assumption but held it back. After all, it had only been three months since baby Eleanor had come into the world, in the middle of a Christmas blizzard, delivered by Alex’s own sister. And they had all been lucky that a skilled doctor like Ella Brent-Collingsworth had gotten snowed in in Ponderosa County just as Delaney Andrews had been gearing up to give birth.

“Good,” Alex said instead. “You said that Wyatt and Delaney are on their way?”

Ursula nodded. “Campground side had a gravel delivery. Wyatt wanted to get new laid down before the rainy season.”

As if their conversation had gone out into the very universe that Ursula was always tuning into, Alex’s phone buzzed in her pocket.

“Yes, Wyatt?” she answered warmly. The co-owner’s name had flashed on the screen.

“Did the audio tech confirm an arrival time?” Wyatt Andrews’s voice was almost drowned out by a crying baby—parenthood had recently forced both him and his wife into an entirely new multitasking paradigm. “They’re supposed to bring a dedicated wireless mic for the keynote.”

Alexandra checked her schedule notes. “Arrived ten minutes ago. They’re setting up by the amphitheater now. My notes say that they replied in email to our mic request, so, confirmed. You and Del almost here?”

Wyatt sighed over the line. “Gravel driver’s going to be another ten minutes. But Delaney and I do need to talk to you. Can you meet us at the camp side?”

“Roger that,” Alex replied, hanging up. She looked at Ursula. “Coming along, dear?”

Ursula shook her head. “Waiting on Maisie and Charles to get here with baked goods. You heard about the—”

“Apple tart catastrophe? Yes. And thank you both for solving it before I went on the fritz about it.” Alex made a mental note to profusely thank Maisie and her husband when they arrived.

Ursula winked. “No. You?”

Alex stuck her tongue out at Wyatt’s quirky aunt before she was on the move again, ducking out the back entrance of the admin building to cut across the courtyard.

Her shortcut, skirting a dump truck of gravel, deposited her at the edge of the guest circle on the camp side of the Cabins in the Pines, where a series of Adirondack chairs encased a huge stone firepit. That was where she found them—Wyatt and Delaney Andrews, new parents and her original partners in the Cabins in the Pines expansion venture. They beamed and waved her over like they’d been waiting all week for this meeting.

Delaney was perched on the edge of her seat, her long, brown hair in a loose braid, a soft-sided diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Baby Eleanor sat in her lap, swaddled in a fuzzy pink blanket, all giant blue eyes and sticky hands. Wyatt, the ever-doting father, hovered at Delaney’s side, fussing with a pacifier and occasionally glancing at his phone.

Alexandra beamed her best “co-owner and friend” smile as she approached. “I see the university visitors have been usurped by an even more distinguished guest.”

Delaney laughed—a clear, bell-like sound that always seemed to puncture Alexandra’s sometimes stuffy shields. “We thought Nora should get her first taste of campus life early.”

“Start ’em young,” Wyatt quipped, holding up the baby’s chubby wrist and giving it a gentle wave. “Can’t you see her in a cap and gown?”

Eleanor gurgled and giggled.

Alex stepped close and cooed. “Yes. She’s named after my smart sister, so I can see her doing anything she puts her brilliant mind to…” After a gentle tickle at Nora’s soft cheek, Alex looked back up. “So, can I help you two with something?” she asked.

Wyatt and Delaney exchanged a look. Alexandra caught the hesitation but didn’t let on.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Actually, we needed to talk to you about something important.”

Alex frowned. “Is it the team-building hike next week? I’ve already asked Slater to—”

“Not the hike,” Delaney cut in. “It’s about the ownership structure, and Ursula’s retirement, and—”

Before she could finish, a low, guttural bellow echoed across the water. Alexandra’s head whipped toward the entrance to the firepit area, where a large, tan-and-white cow had somehow materialized at the edge of the pavers, sniffing at the pots of lantana like they were an all-you-can-eat buffet. The animal lumbered forward, heedless of the carefully arranged chairs, and started chomping enthusiastically at the flowers.

Alexandra felt a vein in her temple pulse. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Delaney cringed. Wyatt shook his head, his lips pressed together in a familiar, resigned line. “Maddox’s cows again?”

“That’s the third one this week,” Alexandra hissed, already storming across the circle. The cow had worked its way halfway through a pot and was not concerned about the petite woman stomping toward it at all.

“Shoo!” she barked, flapping her arms. “You dolt, those are poisonous to animals!”

The cow blinked, unmoved, and took another bite.

Behind her, Wyatt jogged to catch up. He stepped between Alex and the cow, nudging Alex back gently. “Want me to call the ranch?”

Alexandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, I’ll handle it.” She squared her shoulders, glared at the bovine interloper, and summoned her most withering boardroom tone. “You are trespassing on private property and causing significant liability.”

The cow licked its nose and mooed at her with a deep, unhurried low.

Delaney appeared at Alexandra’s side, baby Eleanor now cooing delightedly at the livestock. “I think she likes it here.”

“She can like it from the other side of the fence,” Alexandra muttered. She whipped out her phone and dialed the number for Cannon Ranch—her least favorite contact, but one frequently called since Maddox Cannon’s cattle had developed a taste for resort landscaping.

Excerpt. ©Cassidy Carter. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.

Giveaway: Winner will receive one ebook copy of A RANCHER TO REMEMBER by Cassidy Carter plus one additional ebook of the winner’s choice from Tule Publishing.

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Meet the Author:

With strong, relatable heroines and heroes too irresistible not to fall for, Cassidy Carter crafts sweet, fun, heartwarming romances that will win readers’ hearts. When not writing, Cassidy can be found digging in the garden or lost in a good book. Originally from the South, she now lives in the desert Southwest with her husband and two daughters.

https://tulepublishing.com/books/a-rancher-to-remember/