CRAZY WOMAN CREEK
Individual Book in the Craving Country Anthology
by Ryan Jo Summers
Genre: Western Romance
Crazy Woman Creek Blurb:
Texas rancher Dawson Lonigan is out hunting stray cattle when he finds a lone woman. Suffering from amnesia, she has no clue who she is, or where she came from. Dawson invites her to stay on the ranch to recuperate, where she is quickly smitten with his young daughter…and the handsome, kind-hearted rancher.
Over time, Dawson becomes quite attracted to “Faith”, as he calls her and hopes he can convince her to stay, even if she someday gets her memories back.
Hearing talk of some out-of-town men hanging about, Faith rushes to find them, certain they hold the key to unlocking who she is. Too late, she finds out the truth. Dawson found her once… can he find her again…in time?
Craving Country Anthology Blurb:
There’s something about a country boy that makes us hot for denim jeans and leather hats.
They’re mysterious, intriguing, confident…and demand our attention in everything they do. Then there’s the fierce loyalty you see in their eyes that makes you think of tangled sheets and sinful deeds.
There’s definitely something sexy about a cowboy…
So pull on those jeans, roll up your sleeves, and grab your boots.
Things are about to get dirty…
…in Craving Country.
“Is your door broken?”
He jumped at her soft question. Head jerking up, he realized he had not heard her because she was stocking-footed. She wore green plaid knickers and a blood red top. Hell’s bells, had he really picked that out? Mercy! She looked like someone’s granny fixing to go golfing. What a waste of a good piece of land. And what a waste of yardage of clothing on a beautiful woman. One of his old t-shirts would be better. What had he been thinking? Was everything he got her as hideous as this outfit? Well, he’d just proven the fact men can’t shop.
At least she was game about it and not complaining. Then he realized she was looking over his shoulder at the door.
“Naw, it’s not broken. It’s called a Dutch door. Haven’t you ever seen a split door?”
“Do I look Dutch to you?”
From the look in her eyes, he had a feeling she was talking about more than a door. Her silent agony slammed into him. What was it like to know absolutely nothing about yourself? He shoved the casserole into the oven and reached for her hands. He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, studying her. “Naw. If I had to guess, I’d say…probably Italian.”
He guided her to the mirror in the parlor and sat her down facing it. Gently he traced her face, locking his eyes with hers in the mirror. His heart beat skipped faster.
“You have a heart-shaped face, rosebud lips, and your complexion is olive. Your cheekbones are high.” Slowly, he outlined each part with his finger as he spoke. “And I noticed the first food you went for was the most Italian-smelling one. You seemed to really enjoy it.”
She swallowed. “Have you known many Italian women?”
“Nope. You’re my first.” He cupped his fingers under her chin and tipped her face up. Leaning down, he kissed her, feeling her warm skin now apple scented from the bath and tasting mint from her toothpaste.
Easing her up, he brought her close, deepening the kiss. She slowly yielded to him, uncertain at first, but bolder as he held his patience. He liked she had to think about what she wanted to do. Fresh desire swept over him. His fingers gripped the worn fabric of her granny shirt, and he yearned to yank it off her but sensed that would be too much. There were too many unanswered questions at the moment. However, he was a patient man, and he knew she felt the sparks zapping between them as much as he did. He heard the low moan rumbling from her throat and saw how she closed her eyes and relaxed her face as yearning pulsed through her.
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Ryan Jo Summers is a North Carolina writer who pens romances with a twist. They may contain any number of elements: Christian, humor, mystery, paranormal, sweet, shape-shifting, or time travel. Her dad is a songwriter and his aunt wrote poetry so writing must be in the family genes.
She makes her home in a century-old mountain cottage, with a menagerie of adopted pets. In her spare time, she likes to gather with family and friends, paint ceramics or canvas, potter in the yard, bird-watching, or read, play chess, Mahjongg or work word-find puzzles. She might take her dog and head deep into the forests and rivers near her home to plot the next big scene or story. Like her dad’s aunt, she writes poetry as a means to cope with life’s pains.
She collects lighthouses, shells, driftwood, and anything to remind her of the shore.
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