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      Cindy Kirk is a lifelong Nebraska resident who started writing after taking a class at a local community college. But her interest in the written word started years before, when she was in her teens. At sixteen she wrote in her diary, “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t be a writer.”

      Not until her daughter was heading off to college did Cindy return to her first love—writing. Unlike some writers, Cindy wasn’t interested in newspaper or magazine articles, short stories or poetry. When she decided to start writing, she jumped feet first into book-length fiction. She loves reading and writing romance as she believes in the power of love and in happily ever after. An incurable romantic, Cindy loves seeing her characters grow and learn from their mistakes and, in the process, achieve a happy ending.

      She and her high-school sweetheart husband live on an acreage with two cats…one of whom loves to sit next to the computer and supervise her writing. Cindy loves to hear from readers. She invites you to visit her website at www.CindyKirk.com.

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      This book is dedicated with a thankful heart to my

      fabulous critique partners Louise Foster,

      Renee Halverson and Ruth Kaufman.

      Chapter One

      “There’s a whole herd of ‘em.” Stacie Summers stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared. Since arriving in Sweet River, Montana, two weeks ago she’d seen an occasional cowboy. But never so many. And never clustered together. “What’s the occasion?”

      Anna Anderssen, Stacie’s friend and Sweet River native, came to a halt beside her. “What day is it?”

      “Wednesday,” Stacie answered.

      “June second,” Lauren Van Meveren replied. The doctoral student had seemed lost in thought since the three roommates had left Sharon’s Food Mart. But now, standing beside Stacie in the bright sunlight, she couldn’t have been more focused.

      Though Lauren would normally be the first to say that staring was rude, she watched the cowboys pile out of the Coffee Pot Café with undisguised interest.

      “Wednesday, June second,” Anna repeated. Her blue eyes narrowed in thought as she pulled a key fob from her pocket and unlocked the Jeep parked at the curb.

      Stacie shifted the heavy sack of groceries to her other arm, opened the back and dropped the bag inside.

      “Bingo,” Anna announced with a decisive nod.

      “They were playing bingo?” It seemed odd to Stacie that a group of men would gather on a Wednesday morning to play a game. But she’d quickly discovered that Sweet River was its own world.

      “No, silly.” Anna giggled. “The Cattleman’s Association meets the first Wednesday of the month.”

      While that made more sense than bingo, Stacie wondered what issues such an organization would address. Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she’d grown up, was hardly a cattleman’s paradise. And in the ten years she’d resided in Denver, not a single cowboy had crossed her path.

      When Lauren had proposed moving to Anna’s hometown to research male-female compatibility for her dissertation, Stacie had tagged along. The search for her perfect job—her bliss, as she liked to call it—wasn’t going well, and a change of scenery seemed a good idea.

      For some reason, she’d thought Sweet River would be like Aspen, one of her favorite towns. She’d expected cute, trendy shops and a plethora of doctors, lawyers and businessmen who enjoyed the great outdoors.

      Boy, had she been wrong.

      “I’ve never seen so many guys in boots and hats.”

      They were big men with broad shoulders, weathered skin and hair that had never seen a stylist’s touch. Confident men who worked hard and lived life on their own terms. Men who would expect a wife to give up her dreams for a life on a ranch.

      Though the air outside was warm, Stacie shivered.

      Lauren’s eyes took on a distant, almost dreamy look. “Do you know the first cowboys came from Mexico? They were known as vaqueros, the Spanish word for cowboys.”

      Stacie shot a pleading look in Anna’s direction. They needed to stop Lauren before she got rolling. If not, they’d be forced to endure a lecture on the history of the modern cowboy all the way home.

      “Get in, Lauren.” Anna gestured to the Jeep. “We don’t want the Rocky Road to melt.”

      Though Anna had injected a nice bit of urgency in her voice, Lauren’s gaze remained riveted on the men, dressed in jeans and T-shirts and boots, talking and laughing in deep, manly voices.