His Country Cinderella. Karen Rose Smith

       When Zane’s lips came down on hers tonight, they weren’t gentle or light or just a brush.

      Oh, no. Tonight they were hungry, searching for desire to be fulfilled.

      Jeannette’s body reacted as if she’d been born to respond to Zane. She enfolded her arms around his neck, and he pulled her in tighter. His tongue slid into her mouth and her gasp of pleasure opened her up more completely to him. She felt as if a low-burning fire inside of her burst into flame.

      She couldn’t get enough of his mouth on hers, his tongue retreating, then urging her on. Pressed against him, she longed for a satisfaction she had long ago forgotten.

      When he withdrew and pulled away, they were both breathing hard. She was still trying to catch her breath when he said, “That was Zane the man who kissed you, not Zane Gunther the country singer.”

      Dear Reader,

      I love country music. Its deep emotion and sheer joy touch me whenever I listen to it. It’s storytelling at its finest. I’ve always wanted to write about a hero who is a country singer, and in this continuity series I was offered that chance. I created Zane Gunther in a previous MONTANA MAVERICKS book, falling in love with him even then. Now, as a hero, he’s entirely captured my heart.

      Sometimes we live our lives thinking we’re on the right track, just involved in the day-to-day process. Then a tragedy strikes and we find out what we’re really made of. That’s what happened to Zane. For a while, he’s uncertain what course to take and almost becomes a hermit! But then a resilient single mom intrigues him and he finds being alone can be downright lonely. Jeannette and her son give Zane’s life meaning he’s never found before. But can she accept his lifestyle? Can he really consider becoming a husband and a dad?

      I hope you fall under the spell of this romance the same way you would a great country song! Visit me at my website at www.karenrosesmith.com or follow me on Facebook.

      All my best,

       Karen Rose Smith

       About the Author

      KAREN ROSE SMITH is an award-winning and bestselling author who writes about friends and family. Music has always played a huge part in her life, from her crush on the Beatles to her endeavor to write a script for the Monkees TV show with her cousin. Her love of country music developed after she began writing. She found listening to it enhanced her creativity when developing cowboys! Living in Pennsylvania with her husband and two cats, music enriches her life along with gardening and cooking. Readers can follow her on Facebook, visit with her on her website at www.karenrosesmith.com or write to her at PO Box 1545, Hanover, PA 17331, USA.

      His Country

      Cinderella

      Karen Rose Smith

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      To my bff Suzanne, who shares my love of country music and is always there to listen and support.

       Chapter One

      Jeannette Williams hurriedly pushed the vacuum cleaner into the closet and closed the door, then nervously tightened the band on her ponytail. She was frazzled. More frazzled than when she had to run after her four-and-a-half-year-old son. If she didn’t finish her duties at this mountaintop log home by four o’clock, she could get fired.

      In the kitchen she seemed to be all thumbs as she poured expensive ground coffee into a canister. Suddenly her fingers slipped on the glossy bag and the grounds spilled over the counter and onto the floor.

      Jeannette was used to rolling with the punches and picking up the pieces. She’d had to do that after her fiancé died before Jonah was born. But today, knowing she still had an evening’s worth of work in a restaurant she didn’t like, she almost felt defeated. Still, defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary. Jonah was her focus.

      She hurried to the closet, found a dustpan and brush and fell to her knees in the kitchen, cleaning up the ceramic-tiled floor.

      When she heard a noise outside, she glanced up at the kitchen door the moment it opened. A tall man with a black Stetson stood in the doorway, looking as startled to see her as she was to see him. His jaw was covered with what looked like a week’s worth of beard stubble. His cheeks were gaunt. His chambray shirt was tucked into blue jeans, but the sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His brown boots were dusty. For an eternal moment she gazed into his green eyes. He looked so…sad. A second later she thought she must be mistaken because they were snapping with impatience and annoyance.

      Her words came out in a rush. “I’m sorry I’m still here. I’ll be gone in a few minutes. I was a little late getting here and I was just ready to leave when the coffee spilled—”

      “Just leave,” he said gruffly.

      “Really,” she insisted, “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

      “Go on,” he commanded. “I’ll do it myself.”

      She knew from her instructions that he valued his privacy, that he was a solitary man who didn’t want to be disturbed. Tears came to her eyes as she blinked fast to keep them from falling. Wouldn’t that just be altogether humiliating? She didn’t even cry at the lewd comments some of the customers made at LipSmackin’ Ribs. But this man’s sadness, demeanor and penetrating gaze shook her. Still…although he was obviously angry with her, there was something in his bearing, something underlying the gruffness in his voice, something in those green eyes that…appealed to her. She was going crazy, she knew she was. A tear did slip from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

      Her mountain man, obviously seeing her distress, blew out a breath, closed the door and came over to where she knelt. He was over six feet, so broad-shouldered, so…virile.

      A little tremor ran through her and she wasn’t exactly sure where it came from. He was studying her as if he was trying to figure out something.

      Then he crouched down beside her. “I’ll help you clean up the mess.”

      That she hadn’t expected. But as she’d learned long ago, both the good things and the troubling things in life were usually unexpected. For a few moments, silence trembled between them as she used the brush, and he slid one very large hand with long, tapered fingers across the rust-colored tile, pushing coffee grounds into the dustpan.

      She had to make another stab at saving her job. “I need this job. I have a son. I’ll buy more coffee.” In her effort to explain again, she peeked at his profile. It seemed a tad familiar, though it really couldn’t be—

      His hand brushed hers. She felt the tingle of contact to the tip of her ponytail.

      Suddenly she was looking into those green eyes once more and