North

Ember

I’m counting down the days until I can leave the small mountain town of Rye Creek behind. I’ve got my sights set on opening a new resort where the sun always shines in Las Vegas. The only thing standing in my way is pulling off the biggest wedding my family-owned resort has ever held.

North

I’ve never looked at Ember as more than a friend. Then my buddy strong arms me into taking a matchmaking survey, and her name pops up as my perfect match. There’s no way I believe a computer can predict true love. But when I con her into letting me be her plus one at a celebrity wedding, I’m totally unprepared for what happens.

Meet the mountain men of Rye Creek and the curvy women who steal their wild hearts. The Matched with a Mountain Man series can be read as standalones. Each book features a happily-ever-after with no cheating and no cliffhangers.

The first fat raindrop landed on the windshield of my rental car with a splat. A late afternoon rain shower wasn’t out of the ordinary in my hometown of Portland, but I’d been anticipating clear skies and warmer weather for my weekend trip to Texas. 

At least it wasn’t much farther to the cute little cottage I’d rented for the weekend. I was looking forward to settling in and having time to pore over the schedule of events for the Lavender Festival tomorrow. That was the whole reason I’d booked my secret trip. It was a chance to gather info and shift my plan of starting my own lavender farm back home from a dream into reality. I hadn’t told anyone except my best friend, Hadley. A jolt of adrenaline surged through my veins as I envisioned what it would feel like to look out over my own lavender fields someday.

Thunder boomed overhead, pulling me out of my daydreams of a bright future and right back into the reality of my current situation. The sky opened up just as I made the turn off the two-lane highway and onto a narrow dirt road. I caught a peek at the map showing my next turn about a mile up before my cell lost service. 

Great. Just what I needed. A gal could lose her way pretty easily on these back country roads. Especially one like me, who’d never seemed to master the art of following directions.

I’d picked the tiny cottage because it looked so charming online. Maybe I should have stayed somewhere closer to town. But I had to be close. The cottage sat along the banks of the Blanco river, the same body of water I’d been driving alongside for the past few miles. 

My phone dinged, and the map re-appeared. I glanced down quickly, trying to memorize the next steps before I lost service again. I turned, followed the road about a hundred yards, and slowed as I reached the edge of a narrow bridge. The river was high. High enough that water flowed over the top of the bridge. But if I went slow, I could make it across. It was only about fifty yards or so to the other side.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed on the gas. The car lurched forward several yards and stopped. I stepped on the gas, but nothing happened. Then something cold lapped at my feet.