therein lies the problem.” Drawing on her willpower, she straightened. “I’m not interested in just dinner or hanging out or friends with benefits. I’m looking for a guy who’s ready now to commit to me and to having a family and who’s content making Mustang Valley his home. I don’t believe that describes you.”
Once, sometimes it feels like ages ago, I co-owned and managed a commercial construction company. It actually wasn’t that long ago—only four years, in fact—since writing became my only job. But it often seems like decades.
I’ve always drawn on personal experiences for my books in that I owned and rode horses almost my entire life. I still get to play with horses when I visit my son every week, so it’s not as if I’ve given them up entirely. But I seldom include aspects from my days as a construction company co-owner in my books. That was until The Cowboy’s Perfect Match. Ryan DeMere is a man of many talents. In addition to being a skilled wrangler, he’s not bad with a hammer. He’s also ambitious. In order to achieve his goal of owning his own construction company, he flips houses. And he also just happens to be really good-looking!
Bridget O’Malley is the perfect match for Ryan. He knows it and so does she. Except she’s not sure she wants to wait until he’s achieved his career goals. She’s on the fast track to having a family, while he’d like to be more established first. It’s a tough situation for both of them, and I hope you enjoy discovering how they reach their happily-ever-after.
Warmest wishes,
Cathy McDavid
To my new Heartwarming sisters who have welcomed me from the start and treated me like a member of the family. Big hug.
Contents
Note to Readers
RARELY DID ANYONE beat Bridget O’Malley to the kitchen. Most mornings, she rose by 5:00 a.m. and was elbow-deep in preparing breakfast before her younger sister, Molly, stumbled through the door at six thirty. Grandma Em didn’t arrive until seven.
Roll out croissant dough. Soften butter. Slice strawberries and squeeze oranges. Grind coffee beans.
Bridget mentally reviewed the tasks ahead while crossing the spacious parlor, her feet barely making a noise as she expertly avoided the floorboards she knew would creak.
Entering her most sacred of sanctuaries, she drew up short at the sight of both her sister and grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, nonchalantly sipping coffee and eating yogurt parfaits that were intended for Sweetheart Ranch’s guests.
“What are you both doing up so early?” Bridget sighed with mild annoyance—she’d have to make more parfaits—and grabbed her apron off the hook. With the practiced ease of someone who’d done this every
