Desert Moon
Sherry Winthrop failed at farming and she knew it. No matter hard she tried, whatever she planted simply died. She adjusted the quality of the soil, the frequency of water, and even tried insect-resistant strains, but nothing worked. That is, until Marc Chessup road up to her gate looking for room and board his palomino. How could she resist those soulful blue eyes, brawny legs and amazing chest. The horse’s rider wasn’t bad looking either.
“Depends, partner.” She shielded her embarrassment at such ill-selected words by pasting a huge, fake, megawatt smile onto her face.
Marc look slightly puzzled and leaned down to give his horse a soft pat. “This is the old Patridge Farm, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“I heard in town that you might want some help. I grew up near here and could use a job. I know a little about farming high desert.” he said.
Sherry knew she needed help, but had no idea how much help Marc was about to offer. It would turn her world around forever.
Mountain Roads
Atlanta city-girl Wendy Simmons never could pass up a good deal. When her uncle left her his sacred hunting cabin in the mountains, she jumped at the chance for adventure. Loading everything she owned into her old Ford truck, she hit the high-country roads expecting a magical, snowy winter. What she got was a blizzard and lost.
“Mam, I’m terribly sorry, but you can’t stay in your vehicle. You’ll freeze. They are saying this is going to last another two days, and who only knows how long it’ll take to plows up this way.” Dan Sheppard’s feet were wet and cold, and his dog’s breath filled the air like a mini-fog machine. He had half a mind to leave her, but the vulnerability in her grey-green eyes defied the sharp set of her jaw. He was a sucker for a woman in distress.
Looking around at the pure white-out, he tried one last time. “If you don’t come with me, I’m going to go back to my cabin, get a shovel and break your windows to get you out. Your choice.
Wendy’s stubborn nature refused his offer and she watched him walk away into the wall of white air. Did she make the right decision? Would he really come back with a shovel? Was he a serial killer? He was kinda’ cute in a mountain-man sorta’ way. Her feet were becoming numb and the frost was creeping up the back window. The question she had to ask herself, “Should she stay there and die or go with the man and possibly live?”
He came back with a shovel, but he didn’t need to use it. She took her first step towards finding the magic. By the end of the blizzard, the magic was not in the mountain, but in the mountain man’s arms.