USA Today bestselling author Shanna Hatfield is a farm girl who loves to write. Her sweet historical and contemporary romances are filled with sarcasm, humor, hope, and hunky heroes.
Shanna creates character-driven romances with realistic heroes and heroines. Her historical westerns have been described as “”reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian”” while her contemporary works have been called “”laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.””
When Shanna isn’t dreaming up unforgettable characters, twisting plots, or covertly seeking dark, decadent chocolate, she hangs out with her beloved husband, Captain Cavedweller.
Artist Brooke Roberts spent her life without roots, wandering from town to town. When she seeks refuge from a freak storm in the town of Romance, she decides to stay and open a blown glass studio. Determined to immerse herself in the community, she adopts a family of pigs. Brooke is unprepared for the chaos and comfort they bring to her world, or the dashing cowboy who rescues her heart.
Solid, dependable Blayne Grundy runs a busy ranch, volunteers on various committees, and takes in stray animals too large to stay at the local animal rescue. Then a chance encounter with a beautiful, beguiling woman leaves him so befuddled, he can barely remember his own name. His predictable organized life is about to be blown away by free-spirited Brooke.
Heart thundering in her ears, she glared at the horses, noticing they pulled a large red wagon with hay bales on it, presumably for the hayrides she’d seen advertised. The angle of the sun shone right in her eyes, making it impossible to see the man driving the team of horses. If his voice was any indication, he was probably a grizzled old man, short on patience and full of cantankerous wisdom.
Brooke couldn’t help but cringe at how she’d blindly stepped right in front of the hulking team. Rather than feeling irritated at the driver for yelling at her, she should be grateful he’d caught her attention and brought the horses to a halt before she got hurt.
Never, not once in any of the towns where she’d resided, had being trampled by horses been a relevant concern. In fact, this was the closest Brooke had ever been to a horse. The unique smell of them drifted to her, along with the hint of cinnamon wafting on the breeze from the cider booth.
“Are you crazy, lady?” the man asked, although his censorious tone made it sound more like a definitive statement than a question.
“No, I just… I wasn’t…” Brooke stammered. Blunt and never at a loss for words, the ability for her to speak coherently fled the moment the driver swung off the wagon in one fluid motion.
Instead of the old man she’d pictured with salt-and-pepper stubble on his face and a rotund belly draping over his waistband, a rugged cowboy covered the distance to her in a few long-legged strides.
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