Spotlight & Giveaway: Sweet on the Cowboy by Sasha Summers

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Sasha Summers to HJ!

Hi Sasha and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Sweet on the Cowboy!

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

I think Sweet on the Cowboy is a very real romance about two broken people finding themselves and learning to trust love again.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Lam rolled his head, stretching muscles knotted from long-hours of work and stress. His boots echoed off the polished wood floor leading to the kitchen. No need to tiptoe.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

Because the heroine is a chef, I got a little carried away researching recipes that used peaches. And, let me tell you, there are oodles of peach-yumminess out there. Peach shortbread, peach tarts, peach tea, peach bread… The house smelled like peaches for a good two weeks. I mean, I had to test the recipes out, right? For accuracy and all that.

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

Gwen’s vintage 1940’s style flare wasn’t planned. But, being a curvy gal, the sheer femininity of the time-period and hairstyles sort of added a bit of whimsy to her personality.

And Gwen’s girls, two adorable three-year old girls, have a love of fairies. So great is their devotion that—in one of my favorite scenes—they have the hero and his brother wearing wings while watching a fairy princess movie.

Lam, the hero, is just awesome. A true cowboy hero—all loyalty, hard-work, and cuteness. He was super easy to fall for.

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

At a certain point in the book Lam, the hero, and Gwen, the heroine, are sort of dancing around each other. They’ve both had their hearts mangled and are wary of getting hurt again. Lam is avoiding Gwen, hoping space will dampen his growing feelings for her. So, this scene, where she goes to confront him for avoiding her, would be a wonderful way to gauge the actors chemistry and their emotional depth—which the right actors would definitely need.

Excerpt:

“Amy says you must be super grumpy because you haven’t eaten. She wanted me to feed you—cheer you up.” She swallowed. “I told her I’d try. I’m not holding out much hope—I’m a realist.” Her gaze locked with his. “I’m curious, though. My mother said you never, ever missed a meal. Before.”

He was trapped then, defenseless against the power of her chocolate brown gaze. He hadn’t meant to upset the girls. He hadn’t meant to upset anyone. He was pretty sure he didn’t have that sort of power.
“Before us, I mean. Though I’m pretty sure you knew that.” Her voice lowered. “Is it my girls? We don’t have to eat with the family. It wasn’t my idea. Your mom—and Tabby. But I get it. We’re not family. And they, the girls, can be a handful. I know.”

She was wrong. Her girls brought joy back. When they were around, it felt wrong not to smile and enjoy the little things. But having them here was also a reminder of everything he’d had. And lost.

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

Satisfaction. I hope people read my books and feel like they’ve just finished visiting with friends – that they’ll close the book and feel happy and content about how their news friends stories unfolded.

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

I’m working on a number of projects. I have the next Draegers of Last Stand, Texas book coming out this fall. I also have my first women’s fiction coming out in September. And I have a series that follows a legendary country-music family—with songs I had to write.
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Tule tote, copy of ebook Sweet on the Cowboy and Tule swag

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Excerpt from Sweet on the Cowboy:

Lam rolled his head, stretching muscles knotted from long hours of work and stress. His boots echoed off the polished wood floor leading to the kitchen. No need to tiptoe. Besides he and Jax, it was his mother and Marta. His mother had started taking sleeping pills after his father’s passing—said she couldn’t sleep without him “sawing logs” beside her—and Marta’s room was at the other end of the house.
The whereabouts of his siblings? Not home and not his problem. They were adults, when they chose to act like it. According to his sister, Tabitha, he was the only Draeger who didn’t have a social life. But all her poking and prodding and teasing about going out, having fun—even finding a hobby—sounded like work. And, dammit, he was already doing that from sun up to sun down running the ranch. Not that he minded too much. He loved this land, his home, with every fiber of his being. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing prettier than a sunrise or a sunset in the Texas Hill Country.
Jax’s ears perked up and he whimpered once, earning Lam’s attention.
“What’s up?” he asked his shadow. Jax might be a working Australian Cattle Dog, but he was Lam’s favorite companion. Maybe it was wrong to prefer a four-legged companion, but Jax was just about the only living thing that didn’t expect him to shoulder their burdens, fix their problems, or need or want something from him. Except food, of course. Jax was fond of his chow. And Lam appreciated that.
Jax cocked his ears and whimpered again.
“We’ve been over this.” Lam bent, rubbing a hand along Jax’s head and neck. “I still don’t speak dog.”
If it was possible, Lam would swear Jax rolled his eyes at him. And this wasn’t the first time either. Jax’s devotion might be unwavering, but that didn’t mean the dog found him amusing. Not in the least.
“Hungry?” He nodded. “Me too.” Marta would have something waiting in the kitchen—for both of them. The highlight of his day. Maybe his sister was right. A hobby might be in order. Preferably a hobby that wouldn’t require him to drive twenty minutes into town.
He stood, coming face-to-face with a framed photo of his father. Joseph Draeger. He wasn’t smiling. He hadn’t believed in smiling for photos. Not that he’d been much for smiling when there wasn’t a camera involved either. His father had been a no-nonsense man with high expectations, unyielding principals, and was the keeper of long-standing tradition—no matter how archaic. In the four months since his father’s death, Lam had been the one to take on the monumental task of managing the family ranch. In that short time, he’d come to respect his father’s devotion to the ranch more than ever. And he resented the secrets his father had put on Lam to sort out now that he was gone. Secrets that included sending money to a woman in Arizona. Lam’s stomach twisted.
Jax pawed at his calf.
“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed, straightening the corner of the photo. “It’s not right to talk ill of the dead. Or think it.” His gaze swept over the wall covered with Draegers past and present.
His family was made up of hardworking, resourceful, and tough folk. Their word was their oath and their family always, always, came first. He cast another glance at his father. At least most of the time. Nothing like taking over the family finances to realize things weren’t as no-nonsense as his father had led them all to believe. His fine, upstanding father had secrets, and Lam was left to sort those out, too.
Like always, the picture of Grant caught his eye. His boy’s too-big cowboy hat and snaggle-toothed grin always lit up his world—before shredding his heart. He touched the picture, traced the curve of his son’s smile, and fought to keep the grief at bay.
Jax nudged him with his nose.
He tore his gaze from Grant’s picture, forcing himself to walk on. “I’m going.” His stomach growled. “Let’s go.”
Marta had been spoiling him with her evening snacks since he was a boy. She was one of the few staples on the ranch and his life—one he truly valued now. From her willingness to listen and deliver useful matter-of-fact life lessons, to her incredible soul-soothing cooking. Blood or not, he’d always considered the woman family, and, so far, she was one of the few people who’d yet to get under his skin.
After today, he could use some frank talk and comfort food. And, since the peaches were ripe, Marta would have made the most of the peach crop from his grandmother’s orchard. His stomach grumbled as he imagined her still-warm bread with fresh peach butter. Walnut peach cookies. Peach and pecan tarts. Shortbread. Pies of every variety. It was a good damn thing he worked hard all day, or he’d be getting downright soft in the middle.
If he was lucky, she’d have coffee, too. He had paperwork that wouldn’t wait, and a cup of steaming black coffee was the only way he’d keep his eyes open.
The not-so-soft strains of music reached him. Big band music? Marta didn’t listen to anything but gospel music—mostly hymns sung by choirs. This was nothing like it. Horns, drums, and a toe-thumping rhythm. Definitely not Marta’s style. The closer he got to the kitchen, the more curious he became. He pushed the hand-carved wooden door wide and paused, his curiosity morphing into confusion.
Who the hell was the woman making a mess in his kitchen? Where was Marta? What was going on?
Irritation kicked in. He wasn’t a fan of surprises. Especially ones that disrupted his routine. He’d had enough of that since his father’s recent passing. And now this? Whatever this was?
With a whisk in one hand, the woman swayed back and forth on her polka-dotted sock-covered feet to the beat of the music. Her skirt, bright blue with pinstripes, hugged curvy hips and revealed shapely calves. Piles of copper curls were pinned on top of her head. And…was she wearing a tiara?
He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. Maybe he’d fallen asleep at his desk again? This was a dream. Possibly the strangest dream he’d ever had.
Jax trotted across the stone floor, the click of his nails masked by the blare of horns, to sniff at two little girls asleep on a mountain of pink pillows and fuzzy blankets beneath the long wooden kitchen table. Little girls. Asleep. Under his kitchen table.
They were wearing sparkly wings.
Because, why not? He opened his mouth, stared back at the woman, and waited.
She was too caught up in what she was doing to realize she had an audience.
The real question, besides the dozen obvious questions scrolling through his brain, was: how could the girls sleep through the music blaring from Marta’s ancient radio? Which brought him back to, “Where is Marta?”
Whether he’d meant to ask his last question out loud was irrelevant. He had. Barked it, was more like it. Hard and sharp and loud.
The woman spun so sharply, her tiara wobbled, and a bit of whatever she was whisking dribbled to the floor with a splat. Brown eyes widened, and she shot a glance toward the sleeping girls before she said, “Shhh! You’ll wake them.”
Which was not the response he’d expected. Was she serious? “Excuse me?”
With her whisk, she pointed at the sleeping girls.
“Marta?” he repeated, softer. Wait, a minute… He was beyond irritated now.
“She’s sleeping.” Those brown eyes darted toward the clock, widened, then returned to him. She turned the radio down. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
It was almost eleven. Marta was up before dawn to have breakfast for the crew—she needed her sleep. But that didn’t explain who this woman was, why she was here, or what the hell was going on. He cleared his throat and did his best not to bark this time. “And you are?”
She swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour. No, sugar. Her cheek glistened. “Gwen?”
Was that a question? How was he supposed to know who she was? He frowned.
“And you are?” Her tone was sharp. Wait. She was asking him questions, now? She was upset?
His frown grew. Hands on his hips, eyebrow raised, he bit out, “Lambert Draeger.” He was tired and frustrated and hungry.
Her eyes went owl-like, round and startled. “Oh. You are? Lam… You’re—”
“The owner of this ranch. And this kitchen. And the bowl and the whisk you’re using? Yeah. That’s mine.” Watching the red streak across her cheeks was oddly satisfying. “But I have no idea who you are or why you’re in my kitchen. And, considering the hour, I’d like an explanation. Quick like.”
“I’m cooking.” Her dismayed gaze swept over the stack of bowls, marble countertop covered in flour, and general mess.
He waited for the rest. Nothing. “I can see that much,” he prompted.
“It’s an amazing kitchen. Completely different.” She stared around the room with a sort of awe. “Guess time got away from me.”
He didn’t know what to make of that. Any of this, to be honest. Something about the sincere tenderness on her face cooled his irritation—somewhat. And piqued his curiosity. She was an odd duck. “You’re not some strange sort of burglar who breaks into places to mess up their kitchen, are you?” He nodded at the sleeping girls. “And those are your accomplices?”
Her smile was quick. And devastating. “No. Of course not.”
He swallowed, all too aware of the dimple in her cheek. Odd. And an eyeful. A mighty pleasing eyeful. “That’s a relief.” He crossed, running a finger through the flour covering the marble countertop…and discovering a plate piled high with delectable-looking pastries. “I’ll eat one of those, and you can answer the rest of my questions. You know, give me a reason not to call the sheriff.”
“The sheriff?” she squeaked.
He bit into the flaky light pastry and moaned. “Mmm.” He chewed, the flavors—butter and cream cheese and peach and sugar—melting on his tongue. “Did you make these?”
“Maybe.” Her brown eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’m some sort of burglar who breaks into places, messes up kitchens, and bakes pastries.” She paused. “Poisoned pastries.”
He shot her a look. “Honestly?” He finished off one and reached for another. “I can think of worse ways to go. These are incredible.” He bit into the fresh pastry. “Now, start talking.”
“What? You don’t know who I am? No, I guess not. I’m Marta’s daughter.” She blew one of the copper curls from her face. “I’m staying for a while. Letting her have a vacation while I fill in here in the kitchen.”
He paused midchew. What the hell was she talking about? “Excuse me?” The rest of her delivery sunk in. This was Marta’s globe-trotting daughter? The one who hadn’t bothered to visit her for the last five years? The one he’d found Marta crying into her apron over more times than he could count? She shows up here and messes up his kitchen, and he’s just supposed to smile and nod and be okay with it? “You said you’re filling in for her?”
She nodded. “Temporarily. She wanted to spend time with her granddaughters. I am a chef—”
“Who approved this?” He was barking again. But, dammit, Marta was his rock, his sounding board. And it would be nice if he had control of one small part of his life, just once.
A crinkle developed between Gwen’s brows. “Approved?”
“I’ll repeat myself. My kitchen. My house. My employees.” He set the rest of his pastry on the counter. “I do the hiring and firing around here.”
She was all owl-eyed again. “But…”
“Mrs…?”
“Miss Hobbs.” She stiffened somewhat, the tilt of her head almost defiant. “Gwendolyn Hobbs.”
He’d struck a nerve. It was hard to miss the emphasis on Miss. No husband then. Not that it mattered. This had nothing to do with her and everything to do with…him. Life. Control. Being left in charge of the ranch hadn’t been a complete surprise—he’d been the only one who hadn’t found some other vocation to occupy himself. But his father’s death had determined his future, without his input or approval or confirmation. Some days, the complete and utter lack of control he had over every facet of his life was overwhelming. He rubbed a hand over his face again, swallowing against the frustration and anger rising up. “I don’t know you, Miss Hobbs.”
“You do, actually,” she argued. “I lived here until I was twelve. After that, I went to stay with my father. Not that you’d remember that. You were already in high school then—”
“No, I don’t remember.” His frown was back. Whatever memories he may or may not have of Gwendolyn Hobbs didn’t matter much at the moment. Getting a handle on this situation did. Now. “Let me make this clear. My staff is my business. If Marta is taking some time off, then I’ll be the one to find a replacement.” Because, dammit, he was going to have some say this time.
The dimple disappeared. “Well…I guess…” She cleared her throat. “I understand. Of course.” Her gaze darted to the sleeping girls. “I’ll figure something else out then.” It was almost a whisper. “We’ll be fine.”
He didn’t believe her. Because she didn’t. The hint of desperation in her voice had him feeling like an ass. Hell, even Jax looked disappointed in him. The dog’s ears perked up. Head cocked sideways. Judging. He could tell.
“It’s late.” He sighed, exhaustion setting in. “I’m bone-tired. And hungry—”
“Yes. Food.” She spun. “Mom told me you would be.” The oven opened, the scent of cinnamon and sugar and sweetness flooding the room, and she pulled a small pan out and shot him a timid smile. “It’s berry cobbler. Hope you like it?” She slid the pan onto the counter then hurried to the cabinet, on tiptoe for his favorite mug—his favorite mug that she filled to the brim with steaming coffee. She set the mug and a fork beside the small pan and stood back, staring at him with eyes chocolate brown and sparkling with…tears?
Dammit.

Lambert Draeger was going to make her cry. The tell-tale sting in her eyes was embarrassing. But undeniable. No crying. Crying would only make this worse. All she had to do was look at him to know that. Sucking in a deep breath helped. A little.
Fine. Okay. Things weren’t turning out the way she’d expected, but…they were here. With her mom. Safe and sound. Safe. And…well, that was something.
Now if Lam Draeger would stop scowling at her like some big, manly, angry, gorgeous thundercloud, she might be able to get the girls to their room with some dignity. Maybe. Possibly. If she was smart, she’d avoid looking at him at all. For a variety of reasons.
One, she needed him to like her so she and the girls could stay.
Second, she needed not to stare at him. Because he was worth staring at.
Third…no, that pretty much covered it.
Last time she’d seen him, he wasn’t nearly this impressive. He’d been a teenager, a cute teenager. That’s probably why she hadn’t recognized him. When she’d been a painfully awkward adolescent, Lam Draeger had been this older, nice guy, who hadn’t picked on her—because he hadn’t known she’d existed—whose smile had been like the sun…and…yes, she’d been one of those girls. One of the countless girls in Last Stand who’d been more than a little charmed by the eldest Draeger boy. Especially his smile.
But this Lam was no longer a kid. He was all…man. And he wasn’t smiling—like the sun or otherwise. He was glaring. At her. His jaw clenched.
“Not a fan of berry cobbler?” Her voice was thin and high, as if she was recovering from a dental visit that included helium.
“I am.” Not that he was happy about it. Not in the least.
“Oh.” She knew he was—her mother had told her as much. “I thought you were hungry?”
“I am.” He grabbed the fork, scooped up a massive bite, and shoveled it into his mouth. And, suddenly, his scowl disappeared. Melted. His heavy-lidded eyes fluttered close, and his nostrils flared as he sat, heavily, on the wooden stool. He chewed, swallowed, and, sort of, deflated.
“Oh! The ice cream. I made it this evening.” She had the wooden bowl with homemade ice cream out of the freezer and on the counter before he could argue. “The girls helped me.” With a little force, she formed a perfect scoop and deposited it on his cobbler.
He eyed the ice cream, then glanced her way. “I’m not sure it gets much better than this.” He shook his head as his fork tapped the flaky cobbler topping. And there it was. The beginnings of one of those knee-weakening smiles she’d fallen victim to more than once—even though not a single one of those had ever been directed her way.
“Try me,” she answered. Her ice cream was perfection, her go-to to impress. And, for no other reason than self-preservation, she needed to impress him. She had no place to go. No job. No money. No options.
If Lam booted her out, well…things couldn’t get much worse.
“Go on.” The helium voice was back, so she cleared her throat and forced a smile.
One heavy brow arched before he scooped ice cream and cobbler up and into his mouth…and moaned, gruff and thick, and full of appreciation. Good. Maybe she could win him over with cobbler?
She didn’t stare at him. Rather, she tried not to. Staring was rude, and the last thing she wanted was to come across as rude. Her mother was the one who came up with the plan and, she’d thought, it was a good plan. Because, honestly, where else was she going to go? But it wasn’t much of a plan if Lam didn’t approve it. So, staring was out of the question. Because it didn’t matter that he’d gone from being a handsome teen to an impossibly gorgeous mountain of a man. All that mattered was the impact he had on her immediate future.
His blue eyes locked with hers. “You’re a cook?”
“Chef.” She nodded.
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He took another bite.
Considering her mother’s culinary talents, that was high praise. “I didn’t stand a chance. Growing up, this was the one place where the world made sense. The kitchen, I mean.” He was devouring the dessert with gusto, so she kept talking. “No matter what changes were happening in the rest of the world, a great recipe stayed a great recipe. To this day, my great-grandmother’s pecan pie is the best I’ve ever tasted.” She nodded at the ice cream. “And ice cream is my specialty. I’m pretty proud of it.” Because she’d spent hours perfecting its texture and density.
“You should be.” He kept eating.
“Thank you.” There was no greater compliment than a clean plate—her mother had taught her that. She enjoyed good food, preparing it and eating it. Which was something her ex had commented on more than once. Their already strained relationship only worsened when he realized she would never be the size six he wanted her to be. Or size eight, for that matter. And she wasn’t about to apologize for that, either.
While Lam scraped every bit of berries and cream from the eight-by-eight glass pan, she busied herself with cleanup. Her mother would be up in five hours, and the last thing she needed was a messy workspace.
“I’m guessing Marta’s happy to have you home?”
Her mother’s smile had been a balm to her wounded soul. There’d been tears, to be sure, but hugs and kisses and sweet smiles, too, because, this time, there was no one and nothing stopping her from coming home.
“Been a while.”
“Too long.” She nodded, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. How many mothers would welcome in their daughter, and grandchildren, in the middle of the night—no questions asked—after years of next to no communication? Hers had. Her mother had taken them in, fed the girls soup and toast, and listened as Gwen told her an as abridged a version as possible of the situation they’d left behind. But Gwen was up-front about being broke. Completely broke. Her mother had taken another long, awed look at her girls and laid out the plan—her mother would take time off, something she’d never done, to spoil and dote on her granddaughters—and Gwen would step in as the family cook. Her mother’s no-nonsense delivery made it all sound so easy. And right.
But, then, she hadn’t considered that Lambert Draeger, or any one of the Draegers really, would resist.
“Wouldn’t they be more comfortable in a bed?” he asked.
“They’re fine.” And they were. It was peaceful and quiet and clean here. The pillows were soft and the blankets warm. Her gaze bounced from her sleeping curly-haired daughters to the man sitting across the counter.
He had no right to look at her with such disapproval.
“It’s a new place, and they don’t like being away from me.” She shrugged, wondering why she was explaining herself.
“I don’t know how they can sleep,” he mumbled.
“The music?” Maybe it was a little loud. But loud music had helped drown out the less-than-suitable sounds from their sketchy neighbors at their former home. Cursing. Screaming. The occasional fight. Yeah, a little swing music had gone a long way to hide the seedier side of their reality. And big band music put a spring in her step. “It’s happy.” Which was also true.
But his skepticism—and elevated eyebrows—was hard to miss. “And loud.”
He was right. And the reason she usually played it that way no longer existed. Blaring big band music at this time of night probably seemed off to him. Maybe even a little rude, something she needed to avoid being, since it was his house and all. His. Not hers. She needed to remember that. She blew a curl from her forehead and turned the volume down. “Sorry.” There was that high, pinched voice again. “Done with that?”
He eyed the empty pan. “Guess so.”
She plunged it into the hot, sudsy water and washed it. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” A quick survey told her the kitchen was clean. “Guess I’ll turn in.”
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“With Mom.” Was that allowed? She worried her lower lip with her teeth, watching him closely. The last thing she wanted to do was to get her mother in trouble.
“How long are you staying?” There was no edge to the question—none she could detect anyway. And he wasn’t scowling. Or glaring. He was…curious.
“I’m not sure,” she hedged. “I guess that’s up to you.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

If you can’t stand the heat…

Lam Draeger’s deep wounds from the death of his young son and his
subsequent divorce were still healing when he was saddled with his
running his family’s cattle and rodeo stock ranch and the
responsibility of raising his siblings and keeping them out of
trouble. His every moment is devoted to running the ranch and business smoothly. He’s had no time to mourn his many losses or try to rebuild his personal life. And romance? Out of the question, no matter how sweet the temptation.

…don’t fall in love in the kitchen

Single mom Gwen Hobbs is right back where she swore she’d never be – cooking in the kitchen at the Draeger ranch just like her mom before her. But since her fiancé and the father of her daughters walked out on her, taking all their savings with him, she’s forced to be practical. So she vows to ignore the attraction that hums between her and Lam and to stop dreaming of becoming a chef.

But when Lam suggests she audition for a cooking competition, Gwen realizes that not all her dreams are out of reach, and her growing hopes extend far beyond a professionally tricked-out kitchen.

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Meet the Author:

Sasha Summers grew up surrounded by books. Her passions have always been storytelling, romance and travel–passions she’s used to write more than 20 romance novels and novellas. Now a best-selling and award winning-author, Sasha continues to fall a little in love with each hero she writes.

From easy-on-the-eyes cowboy, sexy alpha-male werewolves, to heroes of truly mythic proportions, she believes that everyone should have their happy ending–in fiction and real life.

Sasha lives in the suburbs of the Texas Hill country with her amazing and supportive family and her beloved grumpy cat, Gerard, The Feline Overlord. She looks forward to hearing from fans and hopes you’ll
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