Spotlight & Giveaway: Christmas at First Creek Farm by Joss Wood

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Joss Wood to HJ!

Hi Joss and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Christmas at First Creek Farm!

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

After her mom’s death, down to earth model Fia Price needs a change of direction. After retiring, she leaves New York City, she decides to visit a small piece of land she and her brothers have inherited in Texas. It’ll be a quick visit, or so she thinks. In Texas, she finds the owner of the ranch who desperately needs to purchase her land, or all her lovely water. But will Fia and Gib find so much more than they bargained for?
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

“YOU GOING TO run for mayor, Gib?”
“Nope. Still haven’t changed my mind since you asked me that same question last week, Curtis.” Gib Donovan swallowed down the spurt of aggravation at the old timer’s question and lifted his soda to his lips.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• The opening scene of this book was inspired by Chris Janson’s song, Drunk Girl. The first time I heard this song, I knew I would use the song as a basis for a scene. Here’s the song, read the first scene in my book and tell me what you think!
  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CodZnwdoRK8.
• Character inspirations came from Alessandra Ambrosio for Fia and Marco Dapper for Gib. You can take a look at my board on Pinterest- Christmas at First Creek Farm to see my inspiration for this book. https://za.pinterest.com/josswoodbooks/christmas-at-first-creek-farm/

Please tell us a little about the characters in your book. As you wrote your protagonist was there anything about them that surprised you?

I was surprised at how down to earth Fia turned out to be. Initially I thought she’d be a little more high maintenance but she surprised me. Gib, in turn, was a little more messed up than I initially suspected. They turned the tables on me but I forgive them. It’s their story after all, they just dictate it to me.

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would you use for the audition of the main characters and why?

The first time Fia and Gib reunite after eighteen months is a scene full of confusion, undeniable attraction and flat out fear from both of them. They know their lives are about to change and they are powerless to stop it from happening. *cue wicked author cackle*

“For future reference, getting drunk and dancing alone by a jukebox is a sure-fire way to grab attention.”
If the emotion in her eyes didn’t give her away, then her blush would’ve. She was mortified. Good, she should be. She had no idea how close she’d come to leaving with that douchebag, whom, Gib was sure, did not like the word no.
The thought still made his blood run cold.
Fia rubbed her hands on the thighs of her denims and her spectacular eyes now reflected her annoyance. “Look, I’m not proud of myself, it wasn’t my finest moment.” She pushed a hand into her mass of hair and blew out a long breath. “I suppose I should thank you for seeing me home safely and not”— she waved her hand in the air—“you know.”
Gib just raised his brows, waiting.
“So, thank you for taking the drunk girl home.”
He almost smiled at her grumpy tone, thinking she sounded just like Gabe did when he was caught out doing something he shouldn’t.
“That being said, I really just came by to pick up the key to the cottage. I’m pretty tired and I’d like to get settled in as soon as possible.”
Yeah, problem number two.
Gib took a large gulp of his coffee. “You can’t seriously be thinking of staying at the cottage. I thought I made it clear to your brother that you staying there isn’t an option.”
She sat up straighter, all traces of embarrassment gone. “The deal hasn’t gone through yet and as I understand, that land, and the cottage, belongs to me. Well, to us. I have a right to stay in the cottage, do I not?”
Sure she did, legally. Why she wanted to stay there he didn’t have the slightest idea. He’d seen pictures of her vacationing on yachts, hanging out at six-star luxury resorts. A crappy cottage at the ass end of nowhere wasn’t her style.
“I have a right to be here, to see what we are offloading.”
He’d be super pissed if this gorgeous creature nixed his deal. He was damn sick of paying for the water he looked at every day of his life. “You do know that your brothers have agreed to sell me the property, that if you back out of the deal I will sue you for breach of promise?”
Her eyes went from burnt gold to a rich brown. “Your threats don’t impress me, Mr. Donovan.” Fia held out her hand and waggled her fingers. “The key and directions on how to get there.”
“Follow the road to the cottage. There isn’t a key. I don’t think there has ever been one.”
Fia jerked her head in a sharp nod. “Fine. I’ll get out of your hair then.”
“For God’s sake.” Gib raked his hand through his hair, annoyed at his protective instincts. “You can’t stay at the cottage, Ms. Shaw-Price. It’s a dump.”
“I’m not a hothouse flower, Mr. Donovan. I’m pretty sure I can deal.”
He was sure she couldn’t. Yeah, the roof was fine and the windows intact, but the place was uninhabitable. Once a year, he hired some kids to spruce the place up during the summer vacation, to paint the shingles and the roof, only because he didn’t want to get up every morning and look at a dump. But it had been decades since anyone had put a foot into the old cottage, partially because it didn’t belong to them but also because cleaning out a house on property he didn’t own didn’t merit a place on his list of priorities. He painted the place, kept the yard in check and the fences in decent shape, and he deducted the cost of those repairs from his quarterly water payment.
More he would not do. When he owned the place, well, then he’d think about throwing some money at it. And that reminded him… “While you’re in residence, please think about what you would like to do with the furniture and the rest of the household items. When we take possession of it, everything that remains will be donated to charity. So, if you would like to keep something, please take it when you leave.”
Fia glared at him. “Jeez, can I get inside first?”
Gib spread his hands wide. “Nobody is stopping you.”
“So, when are you going to give me a tour of the property?”
Gib looked at her over the rim of his mug. “Did you see that big-ass lake?”
Her nose lifted a fraction. “Obviously.”
“You and your brothers own the lake, and a few acres behind the cottage. There’s nothing to tour. So you might as well take yourself back to town.”
Fia closed her eyes, gave a tiny shake of her head, and walked out of the kitchen into the wide hallway fronted with floor-to-ceiling glass on one side. She turned left, instead of right and Gib lightly gripped her upper arm.
Beneath the cool cotton of her long-sleeve T-shirt, he grasped toned muscles and sweet, feminine strength. Desire skittered up his fingers and straight to his dick.
Wonderful. All from touching her arm. He’d spontaneously combust if he did something as insane as kiss her.
She tensed, stopped, and handed him a look designed to shrivel his sac at sixty paces. He raised his hands in a whoa-there gesture. “Wrong way. That’s the way to Gabe’s room and beyond it, mine.”
Why the overshare? Gib had no freakin’ idea. This woman, supermodel or not, would never see his room, she’d never share his bed, roll around on his cotton sheets. And that was fine with him.
Well, not exactly fine, but it was the way it had to be. She thought she was staying the night but, while the First Creek house looked like a fairy-tale cottage, its pretty exterior belied what was inside.
She’d open the door, take one look, and shit herself. Within an hour, she’d be in Katesbridge, in twenty-four hours she’d be back in New York.
Of course, if that happened, he and his sisters would have to deal with the cottage and that would be a monstrous undertaking. But it was worth it to have his land intact and to own all that lovely water.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

Apart for feeling good when they finish the book, I’d like readers to think about beauty and how we perceive it. Fia is supposed to be one of the most beautiful in the world but she’s very conscious of the fact that her beauty is a result of winning the genetic jackpot. And I wanted to write a book about a nice supermodel, someone with her feet on the ground. There have to be a couple of those around, right? (And probably more than we think.)

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m currently working on the fourth in my Love in Boston series for Harlequin Desire and a couple of other projects I hope to tell you about soon!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Tule tote, print copy of Christmas at First Creek Farm & Tule swag

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: How do you feel about having super successful woman as the heroine in your romances? Do you mind reading about over-achievers or do you prefer characters who are a bit more girl-next-door and relatable?

 
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Excerpt from Christmas at First Creek Farm:

“Tonight, we are saying goodbye to an old friend, a very good friend, someone who has graced this fantastic show with her energy, her grace, and her wit. This fashion show is one of the rarest gigs in the world and this model has been at every show for the past twelve years.”

Fia Shaw-Price stood at the back of the room and looked at Mel Hammond, the creative director of this famous lingerie show and her mentor. Fia’s eyes skimmed over her colleagues’ faces and saw their confusion. You’re at the top of your game, you’re one of the most popular models in the world, you can name your price. Why the hell are you giving it all up?

This was her world, the one she knew inside out. And, after twelve years, she was stepping away. Panic closed her throat and squeezed her lungs. Who would she be without her work, what would she do?

For starters, she wouldn’t be tired, stressed, unhappy, and burned out.

Fia lifted her head and straightened her spine. She would not second-guess her decision. It was time to go, time to do something else, anything else, and no matter how much she loved Mel and the rest of the crew, modeling was no longer right for her. It hadn’t been for a long time, for two years at least.

“Ladies, help me bid a fond and loving farewell to our very own Sofia!”

Fia pushed back tears when she heard the cheers and pushed back more when feminine arms encircled her. This world, filled with cameras and clothes, girls and brutal workouts, and early mornings and late nights had been her life since she was sixteen. She hugged her friends, and many members of the crew, before stepping into Mel’s arms.

Holding on tight, she spoke so only Mel could hear her low-pitched voice. “Oh, God, what the hell am I doing?”

Mel’s arms tightened before she stepped back. At five two, the powerhouse creative director of this live show, with her graying, thick curls and skinny frame, dressed entirely in black, was a force to be reckoned with. Her reading glasses were pushed onto her forehead and her dark, intelligent eyes flashed with concern. Grabbing Fia by the wrist, Mel pulled her to a quiet corner, had Fia place her back to the room, and Mel slapped her hands on her hips. “Now, what is this about?”

Fia shrugged, her satin dressing gown falling off one shoulder. “This is what I know, what I’m good at.”

“Nonsense! You’ve never done anything else, so how would you know?” Mel demanded, her tone tart. That was what Fia loved about Mel, she called a spade a spade. Placing her tablet on the small table next to her, she placed her hands on Fia’s biceps and rubbed her arms from elbow to shoulder. “Honey, you’re just scared of the unknown, scared of what comes next.”

“My retirement has caused shock waves, Mel. I can’t step out of my front door without being mobbed. Jon is wringing his hands and Lilla is furious that I am retiring now. I’ve fielded calls from all the creative directors at all the lux fashion houses, demanding to know if I’m ill or dying or depressed.” She pulled a face. “They also went to great pains to tell me that if I was going into rehab, then I’d be welcomed back with open arms.”

“Idiots.” Mel waved the idea away. “Jon is your business manager and of course he’s going to be pissed, he’s losing a valuable client. Ditto for Lilla. But she has many other models and, although you are special, darling, you are not indispensable.”

Fia winced. Tough talk and exactly what she needed.

“Of course, people are going to be upset, Fia. You’re at the height of your career. You have a face and body to die for and because you’re also a sweetheart and so damn professional, everybody wants to work with you. Nobody wants to see you go,” Mel stated.

“But I need to,” Fia whispered.

She’d needed to since she woke up, fully dressed in that inn in Katesbridge, her head pounding and her stomach roiling. That morning, her pillow smeared with drool, her eyes gritty from the contacts and her head sweaty from sleeping in that wig—and, God, a headache from hell—she’d taken a hard look at her life and admitted she needed to do something different. It had taken her eighteen months to fulfill all her contracts, to honor her commitments. This show—a spectacle of fashion and jewels and music was watched by millions worldwide—would be her last professional engagement.

Mel reached up to touch her cheek. “You need to move on, darling.”

Any other creative director would be on her knees begging Fia to stay but Mel always, always put her models’ emotional well-being at the top of her priority list. “Fia, you are miserable. You have been miserable for a long time. Since your mom died, since you broke up with Galen, and stopped talking to Cait.”

“I miss my mom more than I miss them,” Fia insisted.

“You can’t just brush off the fact that you came home from Cape Town and your mom’s funeral to find your best friend in bed with Galen, drugs, and people having sex everywhere.”

Yeah, it had been the very crappy ending to a horrible, devastating two weeks.

Losing Cait had hurt more than losing Galen. But what scared Fia most was the thought she’d had, standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking at her bed and the tangle of arms and legs. She’d glanced at her side table and saw the lines of coke, the bottle of oxy. The group sex had been repellent but for an instant, just for a moment, she was tempted to take a hit of coke, to suck down a bottle of whiskey. To forget, just for five minutes, how alone and sad and miserable she felt.

Mel stood on her toes to kiss Fia on her cheek. “I don’t want to see you go, darling, but I do believe you need to. You need to find whatever it is you are looking for, another place to shine. This doesn’t make you happy anymore and, more than anything, I want you to be happy.”

Fia smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for being here, for me, every step of the way.”

Mel shrugged. “You’re not too much a pain in my ass.” She looked at her watch, released a harried sigh. “Now, shoo! You have makeup and hair because, right now, you look like a hag.”

Fia smiled at Mel’s teasing comment and watched her walk away. Knowing she had another five minutes before she needed to report for hair and makeup, Fia leaned her shoulder into the wall and watched the craziness that happened behind the scenes. It was all controlled madness—a collective hive committed to staging the greatest fashion show of the year—and to an outsider, it looked like the place was on fire but, by the time the curtains parted, and the opening act belted out the first notes, it would run as smooth as clockwork.

But, for the next five minutes, she could stand here and take it all in.

Twelve years, twelve shows. Where had the time gone? She’d burst onto the modeling scene as a fresh sixteen-year-old, protected by a pit-bull mother who wouldn’t let Fia out of her sight. She’d been embarrassed to be trailed by Belle but, in hindsight, Fia was grateful she’d had a solid, stable presence to guide her through this strange world. She’d seen many younger girls go off the rails, get caught up in the glamour and the parties and the craziness they were exposed to. Belle kept Fia’s feet on the ground, constantly reminding her that her looks were just genetics; it was whether she was pretty on the inside that was important. Belle had been tough, but she was also the reason why Fia managed to have a long career without messing up.

Her mom retired when Fia was twenty-one, telling her she was old enough to look after herself. However, nothing much changed between them. Her mom had been as much her sounding board via phone and Skype as she’d been while she was at Fia’s side. They’d been in constant communication until the minute she died. And Fia meant that literally. She’d been on the phone to her mom when she’d heard her pained cry, then a low gurgle. Her mom died from a brain aneurysm with her phone in her hand, talking to her daughter halfway across the world.

The weeks that followed had been horrible and confusing. She’d flown home immediately, helped her brothers organize the funeral and she’d been touched when many of her colleagues, photographers, and designers made the trip to Cape Town to celebrate her mom’s life. Her three brothers and her uncle had been pallbearers and, along with her brothers, Fia had planned to speak at Belle’s funeral. She’d stood on the stage and sobbed, and Dec read her speech on her behalf. A few days later, she’d attended the reading of Belle’s will and, as expected, her estate had been split evenly between her children, with Fia inheriting her spectacular engagement ring and some other key pieces of her jewelry collection. It made no sense to Fia that the world kept turning despite her mom’s death. The family business—run by Dec with Keegan with Dash’s help—would continue, the farms would continue to produce grapes and citrus, breed award-winning cattle and horses and their tourism-based lodges would still be a favorite haunt of international guests.

The one thing that surprised her, that punched through her grief, was the news that she and her siblings had inherited a small ranch in Connor County, Texas, just outside the town of Katesbridge. It was, as they were told, a piece of water-rich land landlocked by a spread owned by a famous Texas ranching family—the Donovans—but was, as the financial statements showed, ridiculously valuable. And lucrative. It was theirs to sell and the Donovans were willing to buy.

Her mom’s death rocked Fia to her core and she felt like she’d lost her compass, her true north, her guiding light. Her mom had been her best friend, her pre-Jon manager, her wise counsel and, after Belle returned to Cape Town, she’d been Fia’s link to her brothers, her home, and her roots. Her brothers, nine, eight, and seven years older than her, were involved in Shaw-Price Holdings and while she’d inherited her fair financial share of her father’s empire, she’d never been encouraged to join the family business. Dec was the managing partner, Keegan the CFO, and Dash was their sales director. They had all areas of the business covered. They didn’t need her. So, she’d returned to New York to find a drug and booze-filled orgy happening at her house.

Wanting some connection to her mom, to something that was hers, she’d caught a cab to the airport and, still dressed in her paparazzi deceiving red wig and contacts, booked the first flight she could to Texas. Visiting First Creek Farm, a small piece of land her brothers wanted to sell, was a spur of the moment decision. Sure, she’d run from NYC but she also believed that, before they sold the property unseen, someone should show some interest in the land they’d inherited.

Arriving late in Katesbridge, she’d booked into a room at the local inn, thinking she’d visit the property in the morning. She’d take that evening to relax and steadily drank her way through the courtesy liquor in the fridge, had a bottle of wine over her solitary supper, and then went looking for a bar.

She’d found one. And the note on the dresser the next morning, the words burned into her brain, indicated she’d found more than she’d bargained for. And nothing she could remember.

Firstly, nothing happened between you and me. But you had a seriously close call. You got lucky, Red. For future reference, I suggest a little less liquor and a lot more caution.

The last statement burned into her brain. What did he mean, she’d had a close call? What happened? What had she done? Had she hurt someone, embarrassed herself, run into some sort of trouble? Her memories of that night were fog-covered. She remembered a country bar, a jukebox, a strong, strong arm around her waist, the smell of new leather car seats and sexy male.

Could she believe the note’s writer when he said nothing happened between them? She’d woken up with a pounding headache but fully clothed, but he could’ve, God, redressed her. She didn’t think she’d had sex with a stranger, but it worried her she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. Because of that minuscule chance, she’d had a barrage of tests which had come back negative but…God. She shuddered. Who? Why? What happened?

She never made it to the property and because her mom’s estate turned out to be linked to her late, very wealthy father’s estate, it had taken nearly eighteen months to work its way through both the South African and the US legal systems. The property was now, officially, her and her siblings’. Her brothers were still of the opinion they should unload it as soon as possible and they’d negotiated a price from the neighboring rancher. The documents were drawn up, the buyer had the cash on hand, and they were all waiting for her signature for the deal to go ahead.

She had three brothers and, she presumed, a rancher exceedingly annoyed with her for delaying the process but Fia felt compelled to see the property before they sold it. Why did she feel this compulsion to return to Katesbridge? Was it because she really felt the need to see the property or was it because she wanted an excuse to return to that town to try and work out what happened on that summer’s night eighteen months ago?

Either way, as soon as this show was done, she was heading back to Katesbridge. And, after that, she’d return to New York and decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

But first, makeup and hair. It was time to be a supermodel for one last time.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Closing in on thirty, Fia Price craves a new and more meaningful direction for her life. Walking away from her successful modeling career, she heads to Texas for the Christmas holidays to inspect a small ranch she and her brother’s have recently inherited. Sorting through her great aunt’s bulging cottage gives Fia the time and space to consider a new career, but since her brothers want to sell the property, her time in Texas is limited. But when she meets Gib Donovan and his adorable young son, living in Texas suddenly becomes so much more attractive. And as they spend time together in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Fia discovers her new career but also finds herself wanting to say yes to so much more than a land sale—if she can find the courage to start a new, completely different life.

Sexy cowboy and rancher Gib Donovan wants to focus on his son and his ranch. Fia Price with her beauty, sparkle and sense of fun is making that near impossible. She’s waking up parts of him that he hoped would stay asleep forever. He doesn’t want to hope again. Or lust. Or trust. And he definitely thinks love is off the table, but with Fia, everything seems possible—a magical Christmas for his son, and a new future for them both.

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Meet the Author:

Joss Wood’s passion for putting black letters on a white screen is only matched by her love of books and travelling (especially to the wild places of Southern Africa) and, possibly, by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.

After juggling a career in business lobbying and economic development with writing, and somehow managing to produce sixteen books, Joss now spends her days creating contemporary fairy tales. She lives in Kwazulu-Natal, South Africa with her husband and two children surrounded by family, friends, animals and a ridiculous amount of reading material.
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