by Erin Wright
He kissed her then, knowing that he could listen to her practicalities later. For now, he had a wife-to-be to kiss, and the way he figured it, he was way overdue for a little love in his life.
“Ewwwww…” Tommy said from the doorway of the bathroom. “On the bathroom floor? Seriously.”
Scrambling off Dawson, Chloe only grinned at their son, no embarrassment in her eyes. “Someday, you'll understand,” she promised him.
Someday, he would.
The world of Long Valley continues. Read on to see the other stories available in the Long Valley world…
The story doesn’t end…
You’ve met a few people and have fallen in love…
You’re probably wondering when and where you can meet everyone else. Here’s a little background and future planning in the Long Valley world:
Accounting for Love – Remember the sick cow that Adam Whitaker treated? Stetson Miller actually has his own book, and if you sign-up for my newsletter today, you’ll receive this novel for free. Carmelita’s amazing cooking comes at no extra charge!
(Just kidding. You’ll have to find your own Carmelita. This one’s all mine…)
Blizzard of Love – The love story featuring Stetson’s best friend, set at Christmastime. A novella about love, family, and a whole lot of snow. And a repeat appearance of Carmelita. (No, you may not have her - I already told you!)
Arrested by Love – You’ve met Deputy Abby Connelly, friends with Chloe and drooler over men. Well, she’s about to meet her match – Stetson’s brother, Wyatt. Sparks and handcuffs fly in this story about mistakes…and redemption. [COMING SOON]
Bundle of Love – Of course, Doctor Adam Whitaker, vet extraordinaire and a man who’s spent the last nine years helplessly in love with Chloe, deserves his own happily ever after. Except, what if the love of his life comes with one condition…a baby? [COMING SOON]
Stampede of Love – You didn’t think I’d forget about Rex the Bull Rider, did you? While he’s in Long Valley for the Sawyer Stampede, he meets the mechanic’s daughter, and drinks go flying (literally!)
Bonus: Stampede of Love is coming soon to only my mailing list. Sign up today and be the first to receive this novella, absolutely free, and absolutely exclusive to you. You won’t be able to buy this one in the store! [COMING SOON]
Free Book for You
Receive for free right away!
If you haven’t had a chance to read Jennifer and Stetson’s story yet, if you sign up for my newsletter, you’ll receive Accounting for Love for free.
Want a sneak peek inside? Here’s the opening chapter, that shows how Stetson and Jennifer meet. It doesn’t go…smoothly, to say the least.
You’ll see what I mean…
Sneak Peek into “Accounting for Love”
“How the hell am I supposed to organize this crap?” Stetson groaned, shoving his hand through his hair. The back of his neck was burning hot with anger.
Spending time in the small room always made Stetson uncomfortable. Sometimes, he was simply annoyed by the boring work that was done in the office. Other times, sitting in the room would flat-out anger him. Memories would flood his mind, reminding him of his father’s death. Consequently, he spent as little time in the office as possible. Real farming happened in the fields, dammit.
He shuffled papers from one stack to another and back again. The small office was closer to being a closet than it was an office, but his father had kept the little room spotless. Stetson, on the other hand, had let that organization disappear in the months since his father’s death. Small drawers labeled “Cattle Receipts” and “Parts Receipts,” among other expenses, were only half closed. Thin yellow and pink papers fanned out from the overstuffed drawers like the back end of a turkey.
“When that jerk gets here, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind!” he ranted. “I’m really gonna let him have it.”
The Letter (and it could only be referred to in capital letters) held an unfortunate pride of place in the center of the desk.
Dear Mr. Miller,
As you are aware, the terms of the loan granted to you and your agricultural operation stipulate that a payment is due at the beginning of each calendar year in the amount of $176,900.
As you are also aware, the payment due on January 1st of this year was not received on time and has not been remitted since.
We are writing to inform you that we are forced to take the unfortunate step of ordering an on-site audit of your records and assets to determine if this arrearage can be rectified.
According to clauses contained in paragraph 13 subsection A-F, Northern Ag Credit and its representatives can conduct this audit after giving the grantee 30 days’ notice in writing. Please consider this letter to be that notice.
A forensic accountant employed by Northern Ag Credit will arrive at your facilities on July 13th. Please have all pertinent financial documentation organized and ready to expedite this process.
Once the audit is complete, the board of directors will determine a course of action to remedy the past-due nature of your obligation. You will receive a written statement of action not later than 15 days following the completion of the audit.
Sincerely,
Robert Simpkins
President, Northern Ag Credit
The letter had sat on the desk for 29 days.
“They have no right whatsoever to force some clown to come into my house and tear apart my bank accounts! Just who the hell do they think they are.”
Stetson picked up yet another stack of papers and stared silently at them, trying to decide which pile of receipts he should put them in.
Dammit. His father’d been the bookkeeper, not him. Stetson’s job had been out there on the farm, doing the real work. He was the one who fixed the fences, bailed the hay, and repaired the tractor.
Well…to be honest, his father wasn’t all that fond of recordkeeping either, but it was one of the few tasks he could do once the cancer treatments started.
“How the hell did you keep track of all of this crap?” Stetson mumbled the question to the memory of his father.
Now that his dad had passed away, the paperwork just seemed to multiply every time Stetson turned around. Cow vaccines, crop spray, fertilizer…it was a hundred times worse because he didn’t just focus on growing one major crop, like most farmers did. He did it all - cows and row crops and alfalfa.
“That asshole will not take my cattle. If the bank wants my cows, they can think again,” he said, slamming the papers he held in his hands into the drawer marked “Cows” in his father’s neat, spiky handwriting. He wasn’t entirely sure that the papers had to do with cows - he wasn’t actually sure what the papers were about at all - but at least now they were in a drawer, right?
He looked around the office. It looked the same as when he had begun his bank-ordered organizing spree. Everything was a mess except the center of the desk. The letter from the bank sat there, alone, straight, clean. No smudges, no coffee spills, no pen scribbles.
He sat down. The chair creaked under his weight. Placing his elbows on the desk, Stetson lowered his head over the letter.
“That stupid bastard isn’t gonna come in here and take everything. I’ll shove his teeth down his throat first,” Stetson muttered. “I’ll take him outside and beat the living hell outta him. I’ll—”
From behind him, Carmelita cleared her throat.
Stetson turned slowly in the beat-up office chair. Standing just outside the office door was his housekeeper/cook, and she looked pissed.
The short Hispanic woman had worked for the Miller family longer than Stetson had been alive. Technically she was an employee, but after so much time and dedication, she was family, and she knew it.
Carmelita folded her arms across her chest and glared daggers at him. Carmelita didn’t allow foul language in her house. Stetson’s name may be on the deed, but as long as Carmelita ran things, her house was run by her rules.
Carmelita had he
lped raise him and his brothers. Before his mother had died, Carmelita had always filled the role of grandmother, but after Mom was gone, she made sure the boys, especially Stetson, didn’t go hog-wild on her. She was astute enough to never try to replace his mother, but she did help fill in the gaps.
Behind his formidable housekeeper stood…a woman? Younger than he’d expected and much more…female than he’d expected. She was a head taller than Carmelita, and if he hadn’t already decided to hate her, his first reaction would have been to get his hands on her in an entirely different way. Or at least do everything in his power to get his hands on her number.
His face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he stared at the duo for just a moment. Dammit, any chance he may have of endearing himself to the…female auditor was gone. Why’d they have to go and send a woman, anyway? Any hopes of landing a nice right-hook on the auditor’s face had just disappeared.
Stetson’s anger toward the bank grew even more. This was a dirty trick to send a woman. He knew they figured sending a woman would cut down on the yelling and fighting. He wanted to yell at the auditor. He wanted to tell a pencil-necked asshole just what he thought of this audit, but instead that slimy bank was using the underhanded trick of sending a woman. They hoped that he wouldn’t be the kind of man who would yell and rage at a woman.
They were right, dammit.
Giving up hope of winning over (or at least punching) the bank employee, he decided to ignore the warning look Carmelita was sending him. Screw them all. There was nothing that would entice him to be nice to the bank, no matter what shapely form the bank came in.
“Hi,” the woman said, extending her hand toward him. “I’m Jennifer—” She stopped abruptly, Stetson noted with pride. Probably because he was looking down at her hand with all the respect he might give a rotting fish.
Good.
“I know who you are and why you’re here,” Stetson said flatly. “Let’s get some things straight. First, you’re not staying here. This is not a guest house; you can get a room in town. Second, this is my home, and I’ll not have it invaded by…” he waved his hand in the air, “bank people. You can use the office and the bathroom. The rest of the house and farm is off limits.”
Really warming up to the task of putting this woman in her place, he continued, “Third, I’m not paying for the privilege of having my farm stolen from me. If you have to make a phone call, you’ll do it on your own dime. Use your own damn phone, not mine. Fourth, Carmelita serves lunch at noon each day. Because I’m a good host, I’ll let you eat one sandwich with a glass of water, but that’s it. Finally, you’re gonna start at 8 and be gone by 5 every day. No exceptions.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he crossed his arms and glared at down her. Damn, it felt good to order the bank around. About time they got a taste of their own medicine.
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Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to two amazing fans and just overall fantastic human beings, who helped me whip this book into shape:
María Real
&
Rebecca Clark
Thank you to you both! I hope you know how much I appreciate you.
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Erin Wright
About Erin Wright
Erin Wright has worked every job under the sun, including library director, barista, teacher, website designer, and ranch hand helping brand cattle, before settling into the career she’s always dreamed about: Author.
She still loves coffee, doesn’t love the smell of cow flesh burning, and is quite happily ensconced with her handsome hubby in a small, charming town in rural Idaho. Find her updates on ErinWright.net, where you can sign up for her newsletter, along with the requisite pictures of Jasmine, her kitty cat muse and snuggle buddy extraordinaire.
Wanna get in touch?
erin.wright.author
www.erinwright.net
[email protected]
