Flowers don’t grow in gravel and mud. This is my home… Our home. I won’t sit by and let anyone jeopardize what we have. Not even the blonde-haired, green-eyed ball of energy Ford hired.
There’s something beneath the warmth she radiates that claws at my nerves to stay far, far away from her. So why do I feel the need to sink my teeth into the softness that is Magnolia Mae?
Stupid pompous cowboy. I have never met a man grumpier than Ford. Until Bode Walker frowned and assumed I was someone else ready to threaten their sanctuary.
Whiskey River was my home long before Walker and his worn boots stomped around here.
Now that I’m back and with a mother who barely remembers my name, this ranch might as well be the only home I have left.
