Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Sierra
Taking a job as a live-in housekeeper at the sprawling Stone Hawke Ranch in Texas was supposed to be a simple fresh start. I certainly didn’t plan on my new boss, Rogan Hawke, being a rugged, ridiculously handsome cowboy who makes my knees weak.
There’s just one he’s infuriating.
Instead of actually having a conversation with me, the man communicates entirely through annoying, bossy chore notes scattered around the house. Finally, I’ve had enough. In a moment of sheer frustration, I leave a blistering, snarky reply right on his pillow.
I expected him to fire me. I definitely didn't expect his next note to be blush-inducing.
Rogan
When my assistant hired a new housekeeper, I was expecting a sweet grandmother type. But I got Sierra Spencer.
Curvy, gorgeous, and armed with enough sass to bring a man to his knees, one look at her and I completely lose my mind. Actually, I lose my ability to speak, too. Every time she’s in the room, my brain short-circuits and I get so tongue-tied I have to flee. My brilliant solution? Avoid her at all costs and leave lists of chores so the house keeps running.
But when I find her sarcastic, fiery note waiting for me on my pillow, the last thread of my restraint snaps. I realize there is absolutely no way I can fight my feelings for her anymore. If my beautiful housekeeper wants to pass notes, we can pass notes. But from now on, I’m telling her exactly what I want to do to her.
Falling in love wasn't part of the plan for these feisty heroines, especially not via letter, text, and email. But when they find themselves in a war of words with four delicious alphas, their plans go awry in unexpected ways.
These over-the-top men are determined to write their way to happily-ever-after, and they aren't taking any prisoners along the way. But when things move off the page to reality, not even they are prepared for the sparks that fly and the chaos that ensues.
Letters in Love is a spicy rom-com series featuring a bossy hockey star, a gorgeous mafia boss, a growly cowboy, and a protective mountain man
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CHAPTER ONE
SIERRA
I can’t believe this is my life now. Driving through a dead-quiet stretch of nothingness while dust curls in the rearview, the horizon stretches out. It’s just an endless, indifferent line waiting to swallow me whole. And for what? A job. I’m actually on my way to a secluded ranch, chasing a paycheck and the promise of free room and board. God. What was I thinking, saying yes? The numbers were too good to pass up, I guess. Big money, every week, like bait on a hook. Now here I am, caught and rattling down a road to nowhere.
My 2007 Corolla, which has more attitude than horsepower, jolts down the last mile of dirt road, the shocks complaining in protest with every rut and washboard. My entire life is compressed into three boxes, two suitcases, and a laundry basket whose cracked handle digs into my palm every time I move it. Not glamorous, not impressive. But it is what it is.
“You’ve got this, Sierra,” I mutter, grabbing at the overhead visor for a quick mirror check. Ouch. Humidity is definitely not my friend, and there is very little my messy bun can do to corral my wild curls.
The sky is Texas blue—the kind of blue you see splashed all over postcards, sky so clear it almost doesn’t look real. On both sides of the driveway, the fields glow yellow-gold, shimmering and scorched. Here and there, a fence post droops at an angle, warped by years of sun and wind. Everything looks bleached out, like someone took an eraser to all the shadows. I make myself inhale, slow and steady.
My GPS’s English accent cuts through my trance, telling me to turn right at the next road. I pull onto the long, tree-lined road and hold my breath. It’s too late to turn back, I tell myself as I drive down the driveway that keeps going, winding up to this absolute monster of a ranch house. Not gonna lie, I half expected a creepy set from a vintage western, complete with peeling paint and one sad, rusty windmill groaning in the wind. Instead, Stone Hawke Ranch is, well… kind of a dream. Big wraparound porch with rocking chairs straight out of a country music video. Porch swing. There’s a ridiculous view across the valley, just acres upon acres of gold grass and shadowy green live oaks.
My car coughs and shudders when I kill the engine. I sit for a second, catching my breath and fighting the urge to bail. Or maybe just drive until I hit the next town, take my chances. Except the money was too damn good, and honestly? I need this. My bank account has been rapidly approaching rock bottom for weeks, and I try not to do the math on what happens if this doesn’t pan out. It isn’t pretty. Honestly, at this point, even a haunted house gig would tempt me as long as the bathroom works and their checks clear.