A Coyote Ridge/Dead Heat Ranch Crossover Novel
By Nicole Edwards
Released September 20, 2016
Jared Walker is a single dad who knows what it’s like to be burned by a woman. His ex-wife tormented him in a way that’s unforgivable. It makes sense that Jared doesn’t trust women. He’s not looking for love, but when his cousin Travis puts Jared in charge of the Walker family reunion, Jared just might find himself in over his head. In more ways than one.
Hope Lambert has one goal in life. To keep Dead Heat Ranch prospering. From sun up to sun down, she has a single-minded focus working alongside her four sisters, the job isn’t always easy, but it’s definitely worth it. Hope is convinced she needs nothing more than what’s right in front of her. Until he walks into the stable.
It’s easy to think you know what’s best for you. That is until your heart is put to the test. What happens when the cautious cowgirl and the sexy single dad come face to face? The chemistry threatens to scorch them both. Giving in is easy. Not falling in love is the hard part.
JARED (Coyote Ridge/Dead Heat Ranch, 2) Prologue
Two and a half years ago
“WHERE ARE YOU going?” Sable screamed, her voice grating on his last nerve.
“I’m done. Fucking done, Sable,” Jared Walker informed his soon-to-be ex-wife. And that couldn’t come soon enough.
The second his boss had fired him, telling Jared that he could no longer deal with his crazed wife stopping by unannounced every day trying to start a fight, Jared had decided he’d had enough. The guy wasn’t wrong to fire him. Hell, he’d been putting up with Sable’s bullshit far longer than he should have. She was jealous and spiteful and fucking selfish. Yes, that’s what she was.
Everything was just so fucked up. Jared wasn’t sure how things had gone to shit so quickly, but they definitely had. The woman he’d married had shed her skin not two weeks into their marriage, demanding that she be taken care of. The second that ring was on her finger and the marriage license was signed, Sable had changed from the easygoing, somewhat kindhearted woman to an ex-employee at the makeup counter at Macy’s to a fucking diva who wanted him to make her breakfast in bed on the weekend.
No doubt about it, he’d been blinded by … what? What the hell had he seen in her? Even now, three years later, he had no clue what he’d been drawn to other than her smoking-hot body and her Hoover-worthy mouth. Oh, and she’d given him attention—batting her eyelashes and offering her relentless come-hither stare—something he’d been missing. Or thought he had anyway. In hindsight, the lack of attention from the opposite sex had been self-imposed. Jared had just turned thirty when they met, and he’d been going through the motions, trying to figure out where his life was headed and how he wanted it to go. Marriage had certainly been an idea he was looking forward to, should he find the right woman.
Enter Sable Hillman, with her perfectly applied lipstick and fancy hair. She’d clearly walked into his life at the right time. Or the wrongtime, depending on how you looked at it.
He was definitely an idiot.
Sable didn’t want to work, but she didn’t want to stay home, either. She thought they belonged to the country club elite or some shit. He could see how she’d come to that conclusion. Jared’s parents were well off, and they’d set their children up accordingly. Jared had money—mostly family money—but he’d also been working since the day he turned sixteen. He hadn’t had a rough life, by any means, but his father had instilled in him the need to make a good living. Damn good thing his father had demanded he have a prenuptial agreement. Jared hadn’t thought it necessary, but at the last minute, he’d caved. For a second, he’d thought Sable was going to back out. He should’ve known better. The woman was more than willing to spend every penny he had while they were married. She didn’t need to wait until afterward.
“Fuck you, Jared.”
“No,” he turned to her. “Fuck. You. And every asshole who’s had the displeasure of fucking you over the last three fucking years.”
Three years he’d been dealing with this shit. If it weren’t for the fact Sable had gotten pregnant, Jared would’ve been long gone. Only he’d stayed because of his son. Derrick was the highlight of every single day. Jared went to work every morning, and when he came home, Sable generally went out while he enjoyed the peace and quiet and time he got to spend with his boy. It was the perfect routine, and since it got Sable out of his hair, Jared never complained.
“I want joint custody,” he informed her as he went to the closet and began tossing his clothes out. He was packing his shit and moving out. He had no choice. He would go stay in his parents’ guesthouse until the divorce was final. It would allow him to be close enough to Derrick so he could see him every other weekend and every Wednesday.
“Ha!” Sable sneered. “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”
Goddamn, that was going to hurt. He hated the idea of being away from Derrick for that long. He’d been hoping Sable would be level-headed about this, letting him spend time with his boy whenever he wanted. He should’ve known better.
Jared cast an angry glare over his shoulder. “I’ll fight you for full custody if that’s what you want.”
“Go ahead and try it,” she snapped. “Considering he’s not your kid, I’m not sure that’ll work out real well for you.”
Jared spun around so fast Sable had to take a step back.
“What did you say?” The impact of her words had caused his hands to shake, and there was a red haze clouding his vision, anger and…
Damn, it felt a hell of lot like fear clouded his mind.
Sable always said nasty shit to him. It seemed she got off on putting him down. Normally, he didn’t rise to the bait, but this… He hoped like hell she was lying.
“You heard me. You think you’re all high and mighty. Derrick isn’t yours. You’re not his father. So fuck you, Jared. You don’t get shit out of this deal.”
He had to sit down or his legs were going to give out. Jared managed to back up to the bed and drop down onto the mattress, staring at the woman he had vowed to love forever, a woman he no longer even liked.
“I want a paternity test,” he insisted. That would prove that Derrick was his. He had to be.
Sable rolled her eyes. “I’m marrying him.”
Jared tried to process her words, but they didn’t make sense.
“Derrick’s father. He’s been begging me to leave you. I should’ve done it before now. And yes, you’ll get your paternity test. I’ll prove to you that he ain’t yours.”
She should’ve left before now? She wasn’t the one leaving, Jared was.
“You’ll have nothing,” she spat.
Jared held back his retort, not sure what he could say. The woman had managed to single-handedly rip his heart right out of his chest and grind it into dust.
Derrick isn’t yours.
The fact that his marriage had disintegrated … Jared could get over.
Losing Derrick… That was a wound that would never heal.
* * *
Six months later
“Despite the fact that the paternity test states you are not the father,” Edna Holloway—the expensive lawyer he’d hired—clarified, “Sable is willing to give you full custody.”
Jared waited for her to continue. He was waiting for the “but.” There was always a “but.”
“However, in exchange, she wants twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Done,” Jared said instantly.
“Jared, you should spend some time thinking about this,” Edna said kindly.
“Don’t need to. My name’s on his birth certificate. He’s my son. Find out where I need to wire the money.”
Edna pulled a sheet of paper from the pile she’d brought with her. “I think we need to ask that she give up her parental rights. That will protect you going forward. She has already made it clear that she doesn’t want Derrick.”
And by made it clear, Jared knew that Edna was referring to the fact that Sable had flat out told him that she didn’t have time for Derrick in her life. The man she’d claimed was Derrick’s father had insisted on a paternity test, also. The results had stated he was not the father. Which meant Sable had lied once again. The new man—some rich, older guy—in her life didn’t want kids, which meant Derrick had suddenly become expendable in her eyes.
“I agree,” he told her. “Do what you need to do, and tell Sable I want this done immediately. While we’re waiting for the legal system to putter along and do their thing, I want him living with me. In Coyote Ridge.”
Since he had moved to the small town where most of his extended family lived, in an attempt to put some distance between himself and Sable, Jared had started to build a life for himself. Although he wouldn’t be close to his parents, he wasn’t too far away. And he had a great job. Being in Coyote Ridge would also lessen the chance of him running into Sable again.
She nodded, jotting down notes before removing her reading glasses and depositing them into her purse. “I’ll keep you apprised of the proceedings. I’ll ask that Sable relinquish custody over to you today.” She glanced at her watch. “Why don’t I try for four o’clock. Will you still be in town?”
“Of course,” he said, his heart pounding. “Anything for Derrick.”
Little did his lawyer know, but Jared would’ve given ten times that much to get his son back. Granted, there was absolutely no reason to let Sable know that. The manipulative bitch would only ask for more.
Did you know that JARED is a crossover novel?
It is officially the 2nd book in both the Coyote Ridge and Dead Heat Ranch series'. You not only get the sexy Walker family, but you also get the feisty Lambert sisters. Because of this, the entire Dead Heat Ranch series is currently on sale for $0.99 each and you can grab them HERE!
Come join us today only in the Nicole & Colt Edwards Group on Facebook for release day fun, games, and PRIZES!!!
By Brenda Rothert
Release Date December 6, 2016
From the author of the On the Line and Fire on Ice hockey romance series comes a sultry novel featuring a brooding NHL player who’s hell on skates—and the no-nonsense woman who forces him to clean up his act.
Miranda: Even though I’m broke, putting myself through college, and working two jobs, I’m trying to make the best of it. Meanwhile, Jake Birch, hockey’s hottest bad boy, lives in a luxury hotel in downtown Chicago—and still complains about every little thing in his penthouse. But after I tell him off, instead of getting me fired, Jake requests me as his personal housekeeper. Then he starts flirting with me. Only I’m not flirting back . . . at least, I’m trying not to. Did I mention that he’s hockey’s hottest bad boy?
Jake: I’ve met the best woman at the worst possible time. Miranda is the fire to my ice—a sexy, charmingly candid spark who breaks down my walls and reminds me what it’s like to feel again. But I’m being forced to date my team owner’s daughter to keep my job, so I can’t be caught with Miranda. Still, we’re getting closer—until Miranda finds out about my “girlfriend.” And that’s not the only secret I’ve been keeping. But Miranda’s the one I want . . . even if she doesn’t believe me.
Tony doesn’t have much to say this morning. He dismisses the staff and I stifle a groan when I look down at my assignment sheet and see I’ve got the penthouses again.
Crap. I still feel guilty about the shirt I ruined in one of the penthouses yesterday. I also don’t want to run into another naked woman.
I roll my cart of cleaning supplies onto the service elevator and debate whether I should knock out Jake the stripper fucker’s room first or put it off ’til last.
Might as well get it out of the way. I knock on the door and announce myself more loudly than usual.
“Housekeeping! Housekeeping coming in. Are there any naked people in here? Hello?”
Nothing. I stood in the middle of the massive suite and look around. There’s a glass on the counter and a gray sweatshirt thrown over the back of a chair.
The sound of a deep male voice makes me jump and screech. I actually screech, the cry caught in my throat before it escapes sounding more like a loud wail than a scream.
A tall, well-built man is leaning backward out the bathroom door, just his head and shoulders showing.
“What the hell?” I put a palm on my chest and will my heart to resume its normal pace.
“This is my room,” the man answers.
“Yeah, but . . . didn’t you hear me announcing myself?”
He steps out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and I see that “well built” doesn’t even begin to describe him. His arms, chest and stomach are ripped. I didn’t even know it was possible to have so much definition on ab muscles.
“You like the view?” he asks, giving me a cocky grin and glancing down at his bare stomach.
“Uh . . .” I clear my throat and look up at his eyes, which are a bright gray-blue. “No, I just . . .”
His smile slips away. “What?”
Apparently it’s been too long since I saw a man in a nothing but a towel. I can’t even think straight right now.
“No,” I repeat, clearing my throat.
“No, you don’t like the view?”
“It’s okay, I guess.” That’s a lie, but I’m pretty sure this guy’s self-esteem will survive.
He hmm’s with amusement. “Want me to drop the towel so you can get a closer look?”
“No. No, definitely . . . no.” I shake my head for emphasis.
“Okay,” he says, arching his brows and giving me a look that makes me sure he thinks I’m crazy. “Yes, I heard you announce yourself, but I need to talk to you so I didn’t want you to leave.”
Oh God. He knows I stole his shirt.
I give him an expectant look, trying to decide if I should own up to it or deny it.
Deny, deny, deny. I can’t afford to lose this job.
“You guys fucked up the stuff I requested,” he says, walking over to the suite’s kitchen area.
I follow him, not noticing the outline of his very nice ass against the towel. Not noticing it at all.
“I don’t want liters of Evian,” he says, gesturing at the bottles of water on the counter. “I want normal sized bottles. Sixteen ounces or whatever. And this”—he holds up a bottle of amber alcohol—“is not gonna work. I’m not a frat boy. I asked for Evan Williams 23 and I want Evan Williams 23. I drink a shot of 23 after every win. This is really important.” Not missing a beat, he moves on to the next thing. “I also need Irish Spring soap.”
He gives me an annoyed glare. “I’ve used that soap since high school. I hate that flowery shit you guys have in your bathrooms.”
“And you want us to get these items for you?”
“Right. I’ll pay for everything, plus your time. I’ve got a rigorous schedule and I don’t have time to run around shopping. My housekeeper usually takes care of this stuff.”
Wow. I can see why this guy hooks up with random strippers. What woman would want to put up with him long term?
About The Author
Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.
A Driven Novel #8
By K. Bromberg
Release Date October 4, 2016
The New York Times bestselling Driven series continues with a story about finding love where you least expect it...
Behind the wheel, racing champion Zander Donavan is at the top of his game. But after too much excess in his personal life, he’s forced to step away. He needs to accomplish something all on his own—outside of his famous father, Colton Donavan’s, shadow.
Getty Caster is running away from the abuse that clouds her past. She thinks she’s found the perfect escape—until she discovers a stranger in the beachside cottage she’d been promised. He’s undeniably sexy, but she’s there to heal. Alone.
Before long though, fighting with each other turns into fighting their attraction. And giving into desire sets off a chain reaction that has their pasts colliding. With an unexpected love on the line, can they overcome the fallout to build a future?
I force myself to look away because . . . well, because he’s a stranger. In my house. Naked. And oh my God, something is wrong with me, because I’m not running and calling 911 like I should.
When his chuckle subsides, he brings his head back down, so I can see the tears in his eyes from laughter. “That thing is my cock, and since this is my bathroom and you seem to be attempting to seduce me in my house, I don’t think you have any right to tell me what to do.” And with that, he leans a hip against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, eyes locked on mine and one eyebrow lifted. Everything else is left hanging out there in the wind.
“Your house? Seduce you?” At that point I realize I’m sputtering and shaking my head. “This is my house. You’re in my house.”
Confusion drifts across his face and his jaw falls lax. “Hold up.” He lifts his hands in the hold on a minute position, drawing my eyes back to where they don’t want to be. If this whole situation weren’t so unbelievable, it would be comical, and yet as true as that is, I don’t seem to be laughing at all. “I think there seems to be some misunderstanding.”
“No shit.” Sarcasm is my fallback and it doesn’t disappoint me now. A lot of good it does me, though, as I’m still doing the naked dance while trying to react to this surreal situation.
The look of disdain he gives me at my comment earns him no points in my book. “While I’m digging the socks with your outfit,” he says with a smirk, eyes veering down and then back up to my strategically placed hands, “you should cover up.” I catch the towel he tosses me and immediately wrap it around myself. I’m certain my mismatching knee-high socks make a statement about me, but I’m beyond caring, because I’m still alone in my house with a strange man and have no answers as to how this has happened.
With one hand clutching onto the towel at my collarbone, I use the other to motion to him. “You too.”
A lightning flash of a grin glances across his lips. “Sorry, but you just took the only towel left.”
About The Author
New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.
She’s a mixture of most of her female characters: sassy, intelligent, stubborn, reserved, outgoing, driven, emotional, strong, and wears her heart on her sleeve. All of which she displays daily with her husband and three children where they live in Southern California.
On a whim, K. Bromberg decided to try her hand at this writing thing. Since then she has written The Driven Series (Driven, Fueled, Crashed, Raced, Aced), the standalone Driven Novels (Slow Burn, Sweet Ache, Hard Beat, and Down Shift (Releasing 10/4/16)), and a short story titled UnRaveled. She is currently finishing up Sweet Cheeks a standalone novel out at the end of 2016.
Her plans for 2017 include a sports romance duet (The Player (#1) and The Catch (#2)) and the Everyday Heroes series (Cuffed (#1), Combust (#2), and Cockpit (#3). She’s also writing a novella for the 1,001 Dark Night series that will be out in February 2017.
She loves to hear from her readers so make sure you check her out on social media.
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