I have yet to see it in person. Running a reindeer ranch at Christmas doesn’t leave much free time for tea and crumpets with the neighbors.
I pull through the massive wooden gates with the Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort logo spelled out in cast iron curlicue. The driveway is long and paved, which is the mark of extravagance this far out of town. Several massive, rustic-looking buildings line the drive, with signs announcing their intended purpose. There’s the “Cedar Golf Club” and the “Aspen Springs Day Spa,” and the “Tamarack Ballroom.” I wonder if all those trees consented to having their names plastered on monuments to the wealthy.
I pull up in front of the biggest building of all, the one with a massive sign declaring it the Ponderosa Lodge and Luxury Suites. Beneath that is a smaller sign indicating it’s also the home of Juniper Fine Dining. The whole building is designed to look like a vintage barn, but at ten times the size and with twenty times the windows. The water feature beside the front door probably cost more than my college education.
I park the truck and get out, then turn to grab my creepy welcome gifts. With the turkey hugged to my chest and the crossbow wedged awkwardly under one arm, I make my way along the paver-stone pathway to a set of massive glass doors that must be fifteen feet tall.
Hesitating a moment, I tap the bottom of the door with the toe of my boot. Not much of a knock, but the door swings open anyway. Automatic? Must be.
I step through it in a rush of light and sage-laced breeze, hoping I’m not walking right into someone’s living room. The place isn’t open to the public yet, so I’m not sure what to expect.
“Hello,” I call out, squinting against the bright sunlight crashing down on me from all four sides. Good lord, it’s going to cost a fortune to keep these windows clean. “Hellloooo?”
I blink hard, struggling to see anything through the flood of sunlight and the bundle of turkey feathers in my arms. There’s a figure up ahead, a man. He’s standing on a ladder, and as my eyes start to adjust, I realize “man” might be an understatement.
The dude is ripped. Broad shoulders, rounded biceps, and a build that could land him on the cover of Men’s Fitness. The scruff on his face is the color of toasted cinnamon, and the hand that grips a screwdriver is the size of a dinner plate. His hair is sandy and tousled like someone’s just run her fingers through it.
My fingers twitch at the thought of being that someone.
He turns and squints my direction, blinded by the force of the solar explosion gushing from the windows around me. As he blinks against the flood of light, I get a good look at his eyes. Good lord, the color. Not just green, but a deep, shimmery bottle-green like glass glinting in the sun.
My mouth goes dry, and I stand there like an idiot while the guy gapes at me in silence.
“Holy shit,” he says.
And then he passes out.
***
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Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to Linda Ketter for helping me fine-tune the elements of the story tied to life after kidney transplant. Your sharing of experiences has been invaluable, and I appreciate you so much!
Thanks also to everyone else who provided info for the medical aspects of Izzy and Bradley’s story. Any errors or embellishments are mine alone.
A million thanks to Lieutenant Colonel Jason Faler for your military insights and wisdom about Doc Bradley’s time in the Army. You are a million times better than Google, and way more charming.
I’m super-grateful to my street team, Fenske’s Frisky Posse, for helping me brainstorm story details, character names, and cover art for this story and for the whole Ponderosa Resort series. You’re absolutely the best! Big thanks especially to Cherie Lord, Leslie James, Terri Dickey, and Regina Dowling for reading the unedited ARC and helping me catch all those pesky typos that were definitely introduced by my cat and not the fault of my fatigued and faulty brain.
Much love and gratitude to Darlene DeRemer Crouthamel for naming Bradley’s mother, Kathryn, after her own late mother and mother-in-law.
I’d also like to thank Terri Dickey for the idea to name Bree and Austin’s kid as a mashup of those two first names.
A phallic hat-tip to the “dicktionary” at Gregology.net for the never-ending supply of penis synonyms. My rom-com career would not be the same without you.
Big gobs of thank yous with a side order of extra appreciation to Susan Bischoff and Lauralynn Elliott of The Forge for turning edits around on a super-tight timeline. I couldn’t do this without you ladies. Thank you also to Amy Pinkston for your awesome graphics, savvy advertising prowess, and all-around fabulousness.
As always, I’m grateful to my agent of 12 years and 35+ books for being my tireless partner, industry advocate, and friend. Thanks also to Taryn Fagerness for expanding the Ponderosa world into foreign markets.
A zillion thanks to Wonder Assistant Meah Cukrov for keeping my figurative shit together and being a loving second mother to all our pets.
Much love to my family, Aaron “Russ” Fenske, Carlie Fenske, and baby Paxton, along with Dixie and David Fenske. Big hugs as well for my awesome step kids, Cedar and Violet.
And to Craig, thank you for being my all-time greatest heartthrob. You are my rock (which I swear is not a dick reference). Love you, babe.
About the Author
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
Also by Tawna Fenske
The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy Series
Studmuffin Santa
Chef Sugarlips
Sergeant Sexypants
Hottie Lumberjack
Stiff Suit
Mancandy Crush (novella)
Captain Dreamboat