Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Nash Hawthorne has spent years turning that boy into a soldier, then a cowboy-quiet security protector for Lone Star Security. He follows orders, keeps his heart on lockdown, and pretends he’s forgotten the girl who once dared him off the rope swing and into a first almost-kiss. He hasn’t. Not for a single sunrise.
Delaney Coleman left town chasing big-city dreams. Now she’s back to save her family’s ranch, and trouble is waiting—mysterious “accidents,” missing livestock, and a saboteur who wants the Coleman Ranch ruined. Nash’s assignment is move in, lock down, keep Delaney safe. But the minute he steps onto Coleman land, the past steps with him—fireflies, carved initials on the dock, and a pull that feels like coming home.
Now they’re pretending to date to save her ranch. Delaney breaks his rules with a smile. Nash fixes the fence, checks the locks, and pretends it isn’t killing him to want what walked away from him years ago.
When the saboteur ups the stakes and old secrets surface, Nash has to keep his distance like a good soldier…or claim the only woman who ever felt like forever.
Tropes to expect: Bodyguard romance • Ex-military hero • Cowboy protector • Small-town Texas • Back to her hometown • Saving the family ranch • Childhood friends to lovers • Almost-first-kiss history • Second chance romance • Fake dating • Forced proximity • Living on the ranch • Grumpy/Sunshine • Protective hero • Touch Her and Die • Who Did This To You? • One Bed • Slow burn with sizzle • Ranch sabotage mystery • Family legacy stakes • He’s emotionally locked down • She challenges his control • She falls first, he falls harder • Texas-big HEA
Vibes to expect: He checks the perimeter before sunrise • “I’m not here for you.” (lies) • Boots on her porch at midnight • Fixing fences with quiet devotion • A storm hits and they’re stuck together • He sleeps closer to the door • A hand at her lower back in public • “We’re convincing.” • Dust, denim, and dangerously soft moments • Bandaging his knuckles after a bad night • He learns her coffee order without asking • She makes him laugh when he least expects it • Old memories on the dock • Fireflies and unfinished kisses • A fake relationship that turns terrifyingly real • He doesn’t say love—he shows it • And so much MORE!
A Texas cowboy-security romance where danger rides shotgun and a grumpy protector gets branded by love.
*Meet the heroes of Lone Star Security. Cowboy bodyguards forged under the Texas sun. Dangerous when they have to be, gentle when it counts, these ranch-bred alphas wear Stetsons over steel and carry more scars than they’ll admit. They don’t do anything halfway. Instead, they do sunup to sundown, with dust on their boots and love in their hearts. These protectors will ride through hell and high water to prove worthy of the women they love
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
Delaney — Age 11
The rope swing hangs over the creek like a dare.
“Chicken?” I call, toes gripping the sun-warm plank of the little dock Daddy built before Mom says he forgot how. Fireflies blink between the pecans like sparks from the forge at the blacksmith’s tent during Rodeo Days. It’s late enough that the cicadas have a steady hum going. Late enough Mama would holler if she knew I’d snuck out. Late enough that the water looks like spilled ink.
Nash Hawthorne squints at me from the bank, all elbows and stubborn jaw. He’s twelve and thinks that’s basically grown. “I ain’t chicken, Laney.”
“Prove it.”
He snatches the rope, runs three steps, and launches. For a heartbeat he’s flying, hands high, bare feet pointed like he’s part comet. He lets go at the peak, hits the water with a splash big enough to rattle the minnows. I whoop, because I can’t help it, because it’s summer and Valor Springs belongs to us.
His head pops up, hair slicked back, grin brighter than the lightning bugs. “You comin’ or you just gonna stand there flappin’ your jaw?”
“I am a lady,” I say, even as I grab the rope. “And ladies make an entrance.”
“Ladies stall,” he says, laughing.
I run, swing, let go. The creek grabs me cold and perfect, and we both come up hollering at the sky. By the time we swim to the bank, we’re snorting creek water and spitting laughter. I flop onto the grass, dress clinging, boots abandoned on the dock. Nash rolls beside me. The night smells like wet earth and honeysuckle and the smoke from somebody’s barbecue a pasture over.
“Pinky swear,” I blurt, sticking out my little finger.
He blinks. “On what?”
“If we ever get lost,” I say, because the thought has been living in my chest lately, the way grown-ups whisper when bills show up and the pasture needs reseeding, “we meet back here. Always.”
Nash considers that like it’s a mission. Then he hooks his finger with mine. His hand’s warm. “Always,” he says, solemn as a judge.
I sit up, dig in my pocket for the treasure I stole from Uncle Buck’s junk drawer: a pocketknife, dull from cutting twine. “Help me.”
“You’ll get tanned.”
“Only if I get caught.” I flip the blade open, tongue peeking out the corner of my mouth like it helps me aim. On the dock post, where the rope’s tied, I scratch slow, careful letters. N + D—come home.
Nash leans in, shoulder bumping mine. When I finish, he touches the groove with a thumb, like pressing a brand. “Looks good,” he says softly. For a second he’s not elbows and bluffs—he’s a boy who wants a promise to be true.
“You goin’ to the rodeo practice tomorrow?” I ask, light again, because heavy makes my throat tight.
“Maybe.” He looks out over the black water. “Daddy says I got to toughen up. Says Hawthornes serve. Crewe says he’s gonna do pararescue. Mack talks Army all day.” He rattles off his brothers like a string of beads. “Sin—Sinclaire—won’t say nothin’ but he stares at the river like it’s an ocean. Banks says he’s too smart for all of us and he’s gonna get rich and buy Valor Springs. Jace’s into anything that smells like gun oil. Colt wants to disappear into the mountains like a ghost.”
“What about you?” I ask.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Daddy wants me to enlist. A Hawthorne with a plan. I ain’t sure what mine is, ‘cept…” He flicks a look at the engraving. “‘Cept I like it here.”
“You can go,” I say, throat tight again. “But you come back. I’ll keep the ranch good till you do. I’ll fix what’s broke and plant winter rye and teach the calves not to be dumb. I’ll—”
“You’ll boss everybody ‘til they cry?”
“Probably.” That makes us both grin.
The rope creaks when the breeze shifts. Fireflies pulse. Somewhere a cow lows, soft, like she’s telling a bedtime story. Nash steals another look at the crooked heart I carved like he’s taking a picture with his eyes.
“Always,” he says again.
“Always,” I echo.
We don’t tell anyone we sealed it with a pinky swear. It feels like the kind of thing that only works if nobody else hears.
Nash — Age 12
The creek’s the only place quiet enough to hear my own thinking.
At home it’s all boots and brothers and Daddy’s voice, that grit-through-gravel kind that sounds like orders even when he’s saying pass the salt. Mama’s soft but tired. Crewe runs us like a squad. Mack bets chores on dares. Sin watches everything. Banks is already scheming about flipping junk trucks. Jace will sign up for the Marines the day they’ll take him, I can see it. Colt’s half wild and already talking about living in the mountains.
Me? I don’t know what I am besides the oldest. (Crewe calls that “the pack mule.”)