TASTY TOUR~THE BRIDE WORE DENIM~LIZBETH SELVIG
The Bride Wore Denim
Seven Brides for Seven Cowboys # 1
Seven Brides for Seven Cowboys # 1
By: Lizbeth Selvig
ABOUT THE BOOK~
When Harper Lee Crockett returns home to Paradise Ranch, Wyoming, the last thing she expects is to fall head-over-heels in lust for Cole, childhood neighbor and her older sister's long-time boyfriend. The spirited and artistic Crockett sister has finally learned to resist her craziest impulses, but this latest trip home and Cole's rough-and-tough appeal might be too much for her fading self-control.
Cole Wainwright has long been fascinated by the sister who's always stood out from the crowd. His relationship with Amelia, the eldest Crockett sister, isn't as perfect as it seems, and with Harper back in town, he sees everything he's been missing. Cole knows they have no future together—he's tied to the land and she's created a successful life in the big city—but neither of them can escape their growing attraction or inconvenient feelings.
As Harper struggles to come to grips with new family responsibilities and her forbidden feelings for Cole, she must decide whether to listen to her head or to give her heart what it wants.
LINKS & BUY AT~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR & LINKS
Lizbeth Selvig writes fun, heartwarming contemporary romantic fiction for Avon books. Her debut novel, The Rancher and the Rock Star, was released in 2012. Her second, Rescued By A Stranger is a 2014 RWA RITA® Award nominee. Liz lives in Minnesota with her best friend (aka her husband), a hyperactive border collie named Magic and a gray Arabian gelding named Jedi. After working as a newspaper journalist and magazine editor, and raising an equine veterinarian daughter and a talented musician son, Lizbeth entered Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart® contest in 2010 with The Rancher and the Rock Star (then titled Songbird) and won the Single Title Contemporary category.
In her spare time, she loves being a brand new grandma to Evelyn Grace as well as to hike, quilt, read, horseback ride, and play with her four-legged grandchildren, of which there are nearly twenty, including a wallaby, an alpaca, a donkey, a pig, a sugar glider, and many dogs, cats and horses (pics of all appear on her website www.lizbethselvig.com). She loves connecting with readers—contact her any time!
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Another lucky grab garnered her a little Australorp who was returned, protesting, to the yard. Glancing around once more to check the empty, rainy yard, Harper squatted back under the eaves of the pretty, yellow chicken mansion and let the half dozen chickens settle again. These were not her mother’s fowl. These were her father’s “girls”—creatures who’d sometimes received more warmth than the human females he’d raised.
Good memories tried to flee in the wake of her petty thoughts, and she grabbed them back.
Of course her father had loved his daughters. He’d just never been good at showing it.
There’d been plenty of good times.
Rain pittered in a slow, steady rhythm over the lawn and against the coop’s gingerbread scrollwork. It pattered into the genuine, petunia-filled, window boxes on their actual multi-paned windows. Inside, the chickens enjoyed oak-trimmed nesting boxes, two flights of ladders, and chicken-themed artwork. Behind the over-the-top manse stretched half an acre of safely-fenced running yard trimmed with white picket fencing. Why the idiot birds were shunning such luxury to go AWOL out here in the rain was beyond Harper—even if they had found the gate improperly latched.
Wiping rain from her face again, she concentrated like a cat stalking canaries and made three more successful lunges. Chicken wrangling was rarely about mad chasing and much more about patience. She smiled evilly at the remaining three criminals who now eyed her with concern.
“Might as well give yourselves up,” she called. “Your day on the lam is finished.”
She swooped toward a fluffy Cochin, a chicken breed normally known for its lazy friendliness, and the fat creature shocked her by feinting and then dodging. For the first time in this hunt, Harper missed her chicken. A resulting belly-flop onto the grass forced a startled grunt from her throat, and she slid four inches through a puddle. Before she could let loose the mild curse that bubbled up to her tongue, the mortifying sound of clapping echoed through the rain.
“I give that a nine-point-five.”
A hot flash of awareness blazed through her stomach and lodged there manufacturing unwanted flutters. She closed her eyes, fighting down the embarrassment that followed in their wake. She hadn’t yet found her voice when a large, sinewy male hand appeared in front of her, accompanied by rich, baritone laugher. She groaned and reached for his fingers.
“Hello, Cole,” she said, resignation forcing her vocal chords to work as she let him help her gently but unceremoniously to her feet.
Cole Wainwright stood right in front of her, the knot of his tie hanging three inches down his white shirt front with the two buttons above it spread open. That left the tanned, corded skin of his neck at Harper’s eye level, and she swallowed. His brown-black hair was spiked and mussed, as if he’d just awoken, and his eyes sparkled in the rain like blue diamonds.
She took a step back.
“Hullo, you,” he replied.
His grin, wide and warm and charming, hadn’t changed since they’d been kids. His pirate smile—the one that had been dorky when he’d been ten and she’d been eight and they, together with Harper’s five sisters, had been the only pirates who’d sought treasure on horseback rather than from a ship’s deck. Then she’d turned twelve and one day found she’d preferred being the captured princess to one of the crew, because that smile had no longer been dorky.