Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Jane Porter’s new release: Montana Cowboy Christmas
It’s almost Christmas and nationally-ranked barrel racer Ivy Wyckoff has returned home to Montana desperate for a miracle. A cowgirl to her bones, she’s always solved her own problems, but when her ex—rodeo champ, Sam Wyatt—shows up offering more than a shoulder to cry on, Ivy’s tempted to grab the safety line he throws.
Sam Wyatt just wrapped his most successful year on the PRCA circuit. After long days and even longer nights, all he wants is a quiet holiday on his family’s Paradise Valley ranch…until he sees Ivy again. He can tell she’s in trouble. They may have called it quits two years ago, but she’s the one woman he regretted walking away from.
Sam will do anything to keep Ivy safe, including putting a ring on her finger and sharing his name with her this Christmas.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Montana Cowboy Christmas
Sam Wyatt didn’t feel like leaving bed, not when it was warm and his room was cold, but without getting out of bed there would be no coffee, and he liked his morning coffee almost as much as he liked his boots and horse.
Going downstairs meant he’d see family, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that either, not after last night’s rowdy family dinner. The Wyatts’ had a lot of strong personalities and, put the four Wyatt brothers together—along with Mom and Granddad—things got loud, and heated, fast.
Billy and Tommy had always enjoyed stirring things up, while Sam liked things calm. Consistent. He was more like Joe in that respect, and more of a loner like Joe. Except Joe had gotten married earlier in the year, and surprise, surprise, had fallen in love with his mail-order bride and was far happier now than Sam had ever known him to be.
Sam was happy for Joe. Maybe a little envious, too, but Sam didn’t feel much like exploring that thought—now or ever. He’d learned serious relationships were work, requiring constant compromise and sacrifice, and he wasn’t sure he was built for compromise, or sacrifice, anymore.
No, he liked his solitude, and he was looking forward to having his own place. He was scheduled to close on his new Wyoming ranch the day after Christmas. Sam pictured his property outside Cody. Hills, pastures, land. Lots of land. Good barns, stable, solid house. Nothing luxurious but it had everything he needed for a successful business. Sam knew cattle, and he couldn’t wait until he could build his own herds.
Leaving bed, he stepped into flannel pajama pants and tugged a sweatshirt over his head, wincing at the pain streaking through his shoulder. He’d reinjured his shoulder last week during the NFRs in Las Vegas: but he couldn’t complain, having walked away from this year’s National Finals Rodeo as world champion in tie-down roping and third in steer wrestling. Younger brothers Billy and Tommy had been there, too, and all three Wyatts’ had left with serious money, but this was Sam’s year, and earning a quarter of a million dollars went a long way to compensating for a torn rotator cuff.
Downstairs, the kitchen was pleasantly warm and empty. Sam reached into the cupboard for painkillers, washing the tablets down with a half glass of water, before filling his coffee cup.
Maybe he should just do the surgery, get it over with. Letting his shoulder heal on its own could take ten to twelve weeks. But he had four weeks, not twelve, before the new season began. Problem was, surgery wasn’t always successful.
In his head, Sam planned his day. His mom’s birthday was a week from today, and Christmas was ten days away. Sam planned on going into Marietta and getting some shopping done, and then he’d stop in at the bank and make sure money was ready to be wired from his account so they could close on the Cody ranch on time.
Tommy and Billy knew about the property in Cody, but Sam still needed to tell the rest of the family. He trusted there wouldn’t be hard feelings. Joe might say he was upset, but Joe was married now and would soon have kids and the ranch would belong to his kids. That was just how it worked.
Floorboards squeaked overhead and he glanced up to the ceiling, the room directly above the kitchen belonging to his younger brothers. A minute later, Tommy descended the stairs, entering the kitchen in baggy sweatpants and nothing else. It was a little cool to be without a shirt but Tommy loved showing off his body, especially his eight-pack abs. Sam arched an eyebrow, silently mocking Tommy’s choice of attire.
Tommy grinned. “Don’t be jealous. You can’t all be me.”
“Not jealous, Tom. I’m all right being who I am.”
“Guess who I saw last night?” Tommy asked, reaching for one of the glossy red and white Santa mugs lining the wide lip of the kitchen window, mugs that Joe’s new wife, Sophie, had put there, along with the plethora of Christmas decorations all over the house. They’d never done much decorating at Christmas, but it seemed no one had the heart to tell Sophie that.
Sam didn’t take the bait and just waited as Tommy filled his glossy red Santa mug and then replaced the coffee carafe.
“Why didn’t you take one of the Christmas mugs?” Tommy asked.
“There was no Grinch mug,” Sam answered easily, lifting his brown feed mug with the faded logo. “Had to make do with this.”
“Sophie is excited about the new mugs.”
“You don’t like Christmas anymore?”
“I like it just fine. Now, who did you see last night?”
“You’ll never figure it out; not in a million years.”
“Put like that, just tell me.”
Tommy lifted his cup. “Make at least one guess. Humor me.”
“I humor you all the time.”
“Dang, you’re a grouch.” Tommy paused, took a sip, and then another, all the while eyeing Sam over the rim of the smiling Santa. “I was at the Wolf Den, does that help?”
Sam suppressed a sigh. The Wolf Den was the seediest bar in town, probably the seediest bar anywhere in a forty-mile radius. Truckers, bikers, and troublemakers liked to frequent the place. He personally avoided it, but his brother had been there for a birthday party last night. His youngest brother liked to run a little wild still. “I don’t know since it’s not a place I like to go.”
“I’ll help you out. Someone you dated.”
This caught Sam’s attention. Someone he dated was working at the Wolf Den? He hadn’t dated that many people, not growing up. Back in high school, there had been just two girls. Sam tended to settle into serious relationships, long relationships, rather than playing the field like Tommy. So if it was someone he dated, that meant it had to be Heather or Caitlin. But, Heather was married with four little ones, and Caitlin had moved away, somewhere in Texas, working for a big tech company. She’d always been smart, ambitious, and she’d gone off to college and never returned. But had she finally come back?
“Caitlin?” Sam asked. “Is she working at the Wolf Den?”
“I don’t know anyone else from Marietta I’ve dated.”
“I didn’t say she was from Marietta.”
Sam frowned. “I don’t know. I give up.”
“It’s Ivy. Ivy was bartending last night.”
Sam’s jaw clenched and his stomach felt hard, tight as he slowly set his mug down. “Say that again.”
“Saw Ivy last night.” Tommy wasn’t smiling anymore. “And it was her, I know it was her. I even asked one of the waitresses. It’s your Ivy.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Did she see you?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. Once, I thought I saw her looking at me, but when I looked her in the eye, she glanced away and…” His voice faded. He shrugged. “To be honest, it just felt really weird and awkward. I think she was surprised see me, and I don’t think she was happy to see me, and suddenly I didn’t want to be there.” Tommy went to the fridge, pulled out the carton of half-and-half, and poured a generous measure into his cup. “She looked different, too. Hard to explain. She just didn’t look like your girlfriend anymore.”
Sam grabbed the half-and-half carton and returned it to the fridge, closing the refrigerator door with a little more force than necessary. “That’s because she isn’t my girlfriend. She hasn’t been my Ivy for two years now.”
“Are you going to go see her? She’s working again tonight.”
Sam gave his brother an incredulous look. “No, I’m not going to see her. Why would I do that?”
“Because once you two were serious, really serious. We all thought you were going to marry her.” Tommy paused, waited. “You even thought you were going to marry her.”
“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen. She moved on, and I moved on, and we’re both in a better place.”
Tommy took his cup and walked across the room, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and pulling it out. “But are you?” he demanded, sitting down. “Are you really in a better place? Cause you could have fooled me.”
“Mind your own business, Tom.”
“I normally do.”
“So butt out.”
Tommy said nothing for a long moment, concentrating on his coffee, making a show of taking slow appreciative sips. His broad, bare shoulders twisted, shifting the thick scar wrapped around his rib cage. “You know best. Maybe she’s not your girl now, but you still have a soft spot for her, and if it doesn’t bother you that she’s working in a modern-day whorehouse—”
“Wolf Den is a strip bar, not a whore house. And I thought you said Ivy was a bartender, not a pole dancer.”
Tom shrugged. “You know the kind of guys that go there—”
“Guys like you.”
Tommy just smiled, a dimple forming deep in his lean cheek. He gave his brother a look of pure pleasure. There was love in his expression, but also a challenge. They’d grown up loving each other, fighting each other, besting each other. It was just the Wyatt way. “Yeah guys like me, but because I know who Ivy is, I wasn’t hitting on her, and I wasn’t saying anything, and I wasn’t propositioning her. No sir, I kept my distance, and I was respectful, but Ivy is beautiful. Guys hit on her. They think she’s hot. I’ve got to tell you, she was getting a lot of attention last night, more attention than the dancers, more attention than the cocktail waitresses in their skimpy outfits and Ivy was just Ivy, in jeans and a T-shirt—” He broke off, shrugged. “Sure it was tight, not that I was looking, but others were. She’s got that body—”
“Enough about her body,” Sam growled.
“Sure, Sam, whatever you say. But before I shut up altogether, let me just add, that if you really care about Ivy—and you might not, because you’re right, you loved her a couple years ago and maybe you didn’t really love her, maybe it was just infatuation, maybe it was just a passing phase—but if you were ever her friend, I would check in on her, and make sure she’s okay.” And with that Tommy stood, grabbed his cup, and walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone.
Ivy pulled on her heaviest coat, slipped her hands into mittens, and stepped outside to walk to work. It was a beautiful Montana morning, with a crystal-clear blue sky and just a few white clouds scattered above. She was opening the bar this morning and she sang to herself as she walked, “Over the river and through the woods to the Wolf Den bar I go…”
Ivy’s teeth chattered as a gust of frigid wind tried to knock her off her feet. Just a few more days and she’d have enough to pay for the new transmission her truck needed, and then she’d be able to drive again to work, and to see Scotch, and everything would be much, much easier.
But until then, she’d keep walking to work, which honestly, wasn’t that bad, as it was only ten minutes from her lodging on Chance Avenue to the Wolf Den bar. Sure, the road was dirty with black snow and salt and ice, but the fresh air always cleared her head and filled her lungs and made her grateful to be alive despite the difficult past few years, because honestly, things could be so much worse. She had a place to live, she was healthy and strong, and earning decent money. Once her truck had a new tranny, she’d have a lot more freedom, and would be in a better position for making decisions about the future. When she’d first arrived in Crawford County, it was supposed to just be for the fall and winter, but now, it was beginning to feel like home and maybe it could be. Maybe this was where she was meant to put down roots.
Ivy just had to stay patient and keep her faith. All good things came to those who believed.
And she believed.
She also believed that Jeb Kruse was taking good care of Scotch. He’d promised to, and why wouldn’t he? Just because Jeb had to lay her off didn’t mean he was a bad person.
Reaching the Wolf Den, Ivy stamped the dirty snow off her boots before opening the front door. The interior was dim and quiet, but it still had the pungent odor of beer and whiskey.
Pia, one of the cocktail waitresses, was already inside, leaning on the bar reading the paper. She glanced up as Ivy hung her coat on the rack. “Did you hear about Ashley Howe? That little girl from Belgrade who got hurt back in September?”
“What’s happened?” Ivy asked, stashing her purse under the counter because Ivy knew far more about Ashley and the Howe family than she’d ever let on. Last September, Ivy had sold her mare Belle to help Ashley get the therapy the girl needed after her injury. Ivy’s donation to Ashley’s Go Fund Me had been anonymous. Only the family and Ivy knew what she’d done, and she intended to keep it that way.
“Well, she’s coming home from Florida where she’s been doing rehab.” Pia folded the Copper Mountain Courier and slid it across the counter toward Ivy. “She’s going to be home for Christmas. That’s pretty awesome, don’t you think?”
“I do.” Ivy washed her hands and dried them and reached for the paper. “Her family will be so happy to have her home with them.”
“Do you think she can walk now?”
Ivy hesitated. “I don’t know that walking was ever in the cards for her.”
“Then why did she go to rehab? I thought they were going to help her walk again?”
“From what I know, rehabilitation after a spinal cord injury involves a lot more than just getting someone to walk. For Ashley, it was probably about making her physically stronger, and helping teach her practical things, like how to get dressed, and how to transfer from a wheelchair on and off a toilet and a bed.”
“That’s huge, Pia. She’s paralyzed, and these things will help her live more independently.”
“That sucks, though. I thought she would maybe be able to walk again. She’s just fourteen. Just a kid.”
Ivy didn’t answer. Ashley’s tragic accident had kept her up so many nights. It was so unfair, so unjust. Yes, barrel racing could be a dangerous sport, and injuries occurred, but the fact Ashley was injured in a farming accident, rather than through a riding accident, was just salt in the wound.
Ashley had been a stranger to Ivy before the accident last August. Ivy had never worked with the girl, or her horse, but it didn’t matter. She was a talented youth competitor with a passion for the sport, and Ashley’s fate was heartbreaking.
Ivy located the article on the front page of the local section and skimmed it. She knew almost everything already. Ashley had finished her ninety days at the center in Florida and was coming home for Christmas. The Howe family was thrilled and had made changes to their house for her, anticipating her arrival. It would be the best Christmas gift for the family to be together again, and according to the article, Ashley’s little brothers couldn’t wait to have their big sister home as it wouldn’t have been Christmas without her.
The aching lump returned to Ivy’s throat, and she carefully folded the paper and put it away. She understood missing, understood how Christmas wasn’t Christmas without family. This would be Ivy’s second Christmas without her mom, and she dreaded the holiday, dreaded it so much that she’d volunteered to work at the Wolf Den to make sure she wasn’t alone in her little rented room at Joan’s.
Ivy swiped the bar counter with her damp rag, polishing an already-clean surface. She honestly didn’t mind bartending at the Wolf Den. She earned big tips, and overtime, and if she kept being frugal, after she got her truck back, she could advertise that she was available for training. It was what she’d grown up doing with her mom, one of the best horse trainers in Montana, if not all of the US. And then eventually, Ivy would buy her own place and board and train horses there.
Either way, much like young Ashley, Ivy’s goal was independence. She’d tried relationships and had failed at the last two, and she wasn’t going that route again. Better to stand on her own two feet, better to be in control of her life, than let a man try to take over.
She was just checking the kegs and the lines, when the bar’s front door opened, pale sunlight spilling across the dark bar floor. She glanced up and saw the silhouette of a cowboy—hat, broad shoulders, tall, lean frame—before she wiped off the spigots, her focus returning to her work. Montana was filled with men and cowboys, but she wasn’t interested in any of them. Wes the wolf had cured her of that. He was a mistake she never wanted to repeat.
Boots thudded on the scuffed wooden floor. The cowboy was heading her way. The bar wasn’t officially opened for another half hour yet, but she didn’t mind an early customer. Management didn’t, either. A customer was money and everyone needed money.
She glanced up as he reached the bar. “What can I get you?” she asked, trying to inject some warmth into her voice.
It was only when she looked up that she realized who’d arrived.
Ivy’s heart fell, plummeting all the way to the pointed tips of her own boots. For a moment, she thought she might throw up, the shock enormous, and then she got control, and hid her surprise. “Sam Wyatt, what are you doing here?”
“I could say the same for you.” He stood, feet planted, hands buried in his coat pockets. “What are you doing at the Wolf Den?”
“Yeah, I can see that. But why here? I don’t get it.”
She pushed her long dark braid off her shoulder. “I was hired to work on the Kruse ranch, training horses, but things got lean, and they laid me off for the winter. They said there might be a job come spring, so here I am.”
“Come spring you should be on the road, competing.”
“Might do something different this year. Still thinking about my options.”
He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “How did you even know about the job on the Kruse ranch? They’re not a very big place.”
“A friend told me,” she said. “Sounded promising, but you know how it goes. Last one hired, first one fired.” She kept her voice casual, even as she avoided eye contact.
Sam was wearing his big black leather jacket, the one with all of the NFR patches. His hat was black, too, and in the shadowy light, he still managed to look impossibly handsome, but then, the Wyatt brothers were not short on looks. Or skill. They were some of the best cowboys in America and they knew it.
Ivy’s heart did another weird little flutter and she quickly put a hand to her chest, pressing against the odd painful sensation. She didn’t want to feel anything, not when feelings got her into so much trouble.
Sam studied her in silence for a long moment and Ivy stood there, holding her ground, refusing to reveal any of the anxiety she felt.
“What did you say you were drinking?” she asked, voice steady.
“I didn’t. But I’ll take a beer, bottled.”
She’d spent two years with him, two years as Sam’s girl, and those two years had been the best years of her life. So, of course she knew his favorite beer, his favorite color, his favorite side of the bed.
Ivy pulled an icy bottle of Coors out from the refrigerator, popped the cap and handed it to him. “I guess Tommy told you I was here.”
Sam took a swallow, set the beer down. “He was surprised.”
“And he asked you to check on me?” she asked, filled with bittersweet emotion because Tommy and Billy Wyatt had come to mean a lot to her while she and Sam were dating. The four of them traveled together, and by the time she and Sam split, they felt like her brothers, not just his.
“This isn’t exactly your kind of place,” Sam answered. “Wish you would have let Joe know you needed work. He would have found something for you.”
“That wasn’t necessary. I found work for me.”
She wasn’t going to take the bait. She wouldn’t be judged, either. “I make really good money here. Customers tips well.” She could tell he didn’t like her answer but she didn’t care.
The last couple of years had been hard, and the last year, well… that had been beyond brutal, and she owed him nothing, just as he owed her nothing. They’d broken up and they’d gone their separate ways and it had been hard, but she’d moved on. So had he.
“Where’s Wes?” Sam asked finally, breaking the long, tense silence.
For the first time since he’d arrived, Ivy looked at Sam, really looked at him, her gaze boring into his as if she could somehow see past the hard blue gaze and the even harder jaw into his soul. But Sam was guarded, and there was never anything she could see, no emotion she could discern.
“No idea,” she answered, and that was the truth. She’d blocked Wes on her phone, blocked him on her social media, and had even stopped updating her social media to keep him from knowing where she was, and if it cost her the rest of her sponsors, well, their money had stopped going into her pockets a long time ago.
“Not very chatty, are you?” he asked.
“Nope.” The front door opened and two bikers entered. Ivy nodded at them and then glanced at Sam. “Need anything else?” she asked him.
He shook his head and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “That was on me. Nice to see you, Sam.” And then she moved on, walking down the bar to the far end where the bikers had settled and tried to pretend she didn’t feel Sam’s eyes boring into her back, sending rivulets of sensation up and down her spine, reminding her just how much she’d once wanted him.
“Welcome,” she said to the newcomers, flashing a flirty smile. “What can I get you boys?”
Sam had intended to Christmas shop after swinging by the Wolf Den, and he tried, too. He drove to Main Street and parked his truck, stalking into the Western Wear store to see if he couldn’t find a new Pendleton shirt for Grandad, and maybe a warm soft vest for Mom, but as he surveyed the racks of clothes, he saw Ivy in her tight T-shirt smiling at the bikers, giving them the smile she’d always saved for him.
That sweet, sexy smile made him see red.
He was not happy.
Seriously. Not. Happy.
“Can I help you find something?” the older saleslady asked, approaching Sam.
Sam’s narrowed gaze swept from the offending racks of clothes to the saleswoman. He forced himself to soften his expression. “No. Thank you.”
“We have some good Christmas specials right now. Buy two off that rack there, and get a third shirt for free.”
“Thanks,” he said, aware his tone was still far too curt. “I need to get home, but I’ll be back.”
“The special lasts until Friday.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
Sam fumed the whole drive home.
Ivy had changed. She’d always been an open book before, but she was all shuttered up now. Outwardly, she might still be the beautiful Ivy he knew, but there was a new guard up, a new hardness he didn’t recognize. He didn’t know what to think of the change, didn’t know what to think of her working at a stripper bar, either. Ivy was no prude, but she was a nice girl, conservative, raised in the church. She didn’t mess around. She didn’t take unnecessary risks. She lived for her horses and competing. But losing her mom two years ago had rocked her world. Ivy and her mom, Shelby, had been close, practically best friends, but then Ivy seemed to bounce back quickly, moving on with new boyfriend Wes, getting bigger sponsors, and a lot more visibility. Suddenly she was in magazines, featured in Instagram stories and ads. Slender, beautiful, photogenic, everybody wanted her, and she should have made a lot of money on those national sponsors.
So, if she’d made those lucrative deals, why was she scraping by here in Marietta? And why had she been reduced to working at the Wolf Den?
Something didn’t add up, and Sam didn’t know what bothered him more—the fact that he was so upset to see her there, or the fact she didn’t even seem to care that he’d come looking for her.
It wasn’t his problem, he told himself. Ivy was an adult, free to do whatever she wanted. But at the same time, Sam had promised her mom that he’d look out for her, and so far he’d done a pretty poor job of it.
Sam growled deep in his throat, foot heavy on the accelerator, as if he could outrun the vision of her in his head, in her tight red T-shirt and even tighter, fitted jeans, her western belt with the big silver buckle flat against her narrow waist, smiling at the bikers, calling them boys.
Those bikers weren’t boys. And back when they were together, Ivy didn’t know how to make a drink. Heck, she didn’t even drink. So why was she working the bar at the Wolf Den?
Ivy exhaled hard after Sam left. That had been weird. And incredibly uncomfortable. She didn’t like discussing Wes, and she certainly didn’t feel as if she had to defend herself to Sam, of all people. Sam Wyatt with his lofty plans and ambitions. Sam, with his dreams so big there wasn’t room for anyone else but him.
And then Ivy kicked herself, because she wasn’t being fair. Not totally.
Sam had never been bad to her. He just hadn’t given her enough.
She’d loved him, too, loved him so much it made her heart ache, but in the end, he’d let her go and that… well, that had broken her heart.
So, no, she didn’t hate him. How could you hate beautiful, swaggering, immensely talented Sam Wyatt? The cowboy was so confident, so intense, he reminded her of the sun. Necessary. Brilliant.
The scorching part was why she’d broken up with him. There just didn’t seem to be room enough in his sphere for both of them, and the only way for her heart to survive was for her to put space between them.
And yet, she’d hoped he’d come after her. She prayed he’d realize how much he missed her. But there was no epiphany on his part. He’d taken her at her word and moved forward with his life and career without her.
Sam’s single-minded focus was what made him so successful on the rodeo circuit. But that same single-minded focus made him a terrible boyfriend. She’d known from the beginning he was competitive and driven. He didn’t like turning down opportunities or events or money, not even so his brothers—or Ivy—could succeed. Initially, she hadn’t minded. She’d been an only child and she was plenty independent. Ivy figured out how to succeed around him, carving space out for herself so she could focus on her own events. It was only as time went on, and they were getting more serious, that she came to resent how Sam always came first and she came last. Why should it be her compromising all the time? Why didn’t he compromise more?
Maybe the problem was that she and Sam were too much alike. They both wanted big things, and neither were willing to make the necessary concessions a relationship needed. They’d always had a passionate relationship. When things were good it was very, very good, but when things weren’t good, it was very, very bad.
After the breakup, Ivy waited and waited to hear from him. Waited and waited for an olive branch. The waiting made her angry. They’d had so much history together. So much love. But Sam seemed to have forgotten the love, and after four brutal, lonely months—months where she cried every single day, if not twice a day—she realized he wasn’t coming back for her. There would be no reconciliation. They were done.
Then, in the middle of that year of that heartbreak, her mom died, and grieving for Sam was swallowed into grief over losing the most inspiring person Ivy knew. Ivy’s mom had been a trailblazer and fearless. A six-time national barrel racing champion, Ivy’s mom, Shelby Lynn, did the impossible, and she did it with style and grit and courage.
Ivy tried to cling to some of that same courage as she made funeral arrangements for her mom and then decisions of what to do with her mom’s estate. Sam sent flowers with a card that read, Thinking of you. So very sorry for your loss. Sam.
That was all the card said.
That was all Sam could think of saying to her after so many months?
Ivy cried holding the card, crying hard because she realized that this was the best Sam could do, or would do, and it simply wasn’t enough.
His attempt to be sympathetic was pitiful.
She rejected it, and him, throwing away the card, and then the next day, throwing out the flowers because it hurt her, just seeing them. Better to not see them. Better to not be reminded of him.
Wes, a stock supplier who she’d known from the rodeo, sent flowers, too. She kept those flowers. She didn’t know Wes well, but his flowers were beautiful and they gave her no pain. He called a week later to see if she needed anything. She said she didn’t but thank you. He called two weeks later, letting her know he was in the area, and would she want to meet for coffee or a drink? Ivy thought about the invitation for a couple of hours, then texted that yes she’d enjoy meeting him, and the rest was history.
Excerpt. ©Jane Porter. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
Giveaway: An ebook copy of Montana Cowboy Christmas & 3 Tule ebooks
To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and post a comment to this Q: What did you think of the excerpt spotlighted here? Leave a comment with your thoughts on the book…
Meet the Author:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of forty-nine romances and women’s fiction titles, Jane Porter has been a finalist for the prestigious RITA award five times and won in 2014 for Best Novella with her story, Take Me, Cowboy, from Tule Publishing. Today, Jane has over 12 million copies in print, including her wildly successful, Flirting With Forty, picked by Redbook as its Red Hot Summer Read, and reprinted six times in seven weeks before being made into a Lifetime movie starring Heather Locklear. A mother of three sons, Jane holds an MA in Writing from the University of San Francisco and makes her home in sunny San Clemente, CA with her surfer husband and two dogs.
Buy: B&N | iTunes | Kobo | Google