by: January Bain
Genre: Sweet Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 6, 2022
Publisher: Champagne Book Group
Amazon | Champagne Book Group | Goodreads
Follow your heart to Sweetwater
Daisey Winslow loves her small town of Sweetwater, but wonders how she’d fare living and working in a big city. Just as she’s decided to take a job in New York, along comes Deputy Sheriff Jack Samson.
Her polar opposite, Jack left the mean streets to return to Sweetwater’s peace and quiet, ready to find that special someone and raise a family, and the more time Daisey spends with him, the calmer her itchy feet get and the duller the big-city lights shine.
When she comes across the diary of her seven-times-great grandmother, reading her poignant words with the simple message, follow your heart, make Daisey question her decisions.
But Daisey’s not quite ready to give up on her dreams before she’s even started living them, however…what if the dashing lawman can fill her head—and her heart—with different, closer-to-home desires? Ones they can share?
Readers of Jenny Hale, Carolyn Brown, and Susan Mallery will love this fun, flirty, poignant, and feel-good small-town romance.
“You, Daisey Rose Winslow, are good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Giving up on your goals is like slashing all your tires after getting one flat.” I pointed at the reflection of myself in the window of Joy’s All Things Christmas Shoppe, practicing a new life affirmation I’d read online just this morning. I shook my head. “Nah, I like yesterday’s better. Excuse me, I have to go be awesome.” At least that one made me smile.
Joy Watson waved at me through the window, holding a spectacular blown glass angel that sparkled in the overhead lighting, its wings appearing alive as it twirled from her fingertips. I waved back and nodded with approval, placing a hand over my heart for emphasis. No matter what happened in the next few months, I’d be back in December. The town might be quaint, and I rail against it when it tugs me too close, but it’s the place to be at Christmastime.
I resumed jogging down Main Street, keeping alert for any stray exercisers barreling my way. It just takes being mowed down once to make you leave your iPod at home and listen to the world with unimpeded hearing. A robin erupted into song from its perch on the wrought iron flagpole in front of the hardware store, apparently agreeing with me on the awesomeness of nature sounds. And definitely no selfie sticks for this female. Last thing I needed was a photo of my sweaty, red-faced person slogging it out on a morning run.
Ah, the delectable scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and apples baking drew me toward the Prairie Rose Café. I stopped for a sec on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and gazed around my home town of Sweetwater, North Dakota. The town had never looked prettier, nestled as it was on the banks of the meandering Red River in its summer coat of fresh, vibrant flowers and deep green foliage. The sun added an extra rosy glow this morning, creating prisms of rainbows on dew-damped grass. Squint just right and your fingers fairly itched to pick up a few and stash them away. My grandma always accused me of having a romantic soul and I wasn’t one to prove her wrong.
Shirley Johnson was busy sweeping the steps outside the post office with a straw broom, raising little puffs of white dust. The line of sight took me right to the poster of a covered wagon someone had pasted onto the red brick. Excitement bubbled up inside me for this coming week. Our town was having its first re-enactment of a homesteaders’ journey, using replica Prairie Schooners. I’m a die-hard romantic about the old west. Well, except for the long skirts, no indoor plumbing, and the dearth of food deliveries from friends and family I’ve counted on all my life.
Setting aside the slight twinge of worry about my ability to do our town proud, I pushed open the front door of the café and went inside.
“Morning,” I said, plunking myself down in the booth opposite my cousin.
“Hey, Daisey.” She scarcely gave me a glance, staring at her iPhone like it contained all the secrets of the universe. Well, maybe it did. We have excellent wi-fi service in Sweetwater, a factor that might come into play when I sell the parcel of land so kindly willed to me and which I couldn’t offload for a whole year after my grandma passed on. With forty-nine of those fifty-two weeks having also passed on, that was going to change. Big time.
“You know,” I said, “I’m beginning to feel like George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life. My life is always holding something back, holding me back, but this time, I’ve made up my mind. I’m heading to New York no matter what happens, when the next three weeks are up.”
Rose, as much of an old movie freak as I am, quirked an eyebrow in my direction while continuing to thumb through her messages. “Bedford Falls loved George and saved his heinie when push came to shove,” she reminded me. “Same as Sweetwater would do for any of us in a heartbeat. Now, New York?” Her nose wrinkled. “Can’t see that happening.”
I drummed my fingers on the snowy white tablecloth embroidered with pink roses. “New York has far more opportunities.”
“Sweetwater has more time for people.”
“New York offers more freedom.”
“Sweetwater has more people who care about you.”
No denying that. I swear this town has its own beating heart and it echoes deep inside all of us, keeping us here or calling us home. Maybe we lived on a Ley Line that gifted the land with magnetic energy? Or not. Whatever, something special always happened in Sweetwater. Just had to look at the Wall of Fame in Al’s office to know that.
That reminded me. “Guess what? Al wants me to report on the greased pig event again this year, with the ‘expected attention to detail.’” He complained that my scant twelve words devoted to celebrating the pig’s win last year—though quite poetic—had left something to be desired. I thought I’d nailed it when the pig escaped through the fence and proceeded to make his way into a neighboring corn field. And this little piggy said wee-wee-wee, all the way home.
Joy Watson waved at me through the window, holding a spectacular blown glass angel that sparkled in the overhead lighting, its wings appearing alive as it twirled from her fingertips. I waved back and nodded with approval, placing a hand over my heart for emphasis. No matter what happened in the next few months, I’d be back in December. The town might be quaint, and I rail against it when it tugs me too close, but it’s the place to be at Christmastime.
I resumed jogging down Main Street, keeping alert for any stray exercisers barreling my way. It just takes being mowed down once to make you leave your iPod at home and listen to the world with unimpeded hearing. A robin erupted into song from its perch on the wrought iron flagpole in front of the hardware store, apparently agreeing with me on the awesomeness of nature sounds. And definitely no selfie sticks for this female. Last thing I needed was a photo of my sweaty, red-faced person slogging it out on a morning run.
Ah, the delectable scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and apples baking drew me toward the Prairie Rose Café. I stopped for a sec on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and gazed around my home town of Sweetwater, North Dakota. The town had never looked prettier, nestled as it was on the banks of the meandering Red River in its summer coat of fresh, vibrant flowers and deep green foliage. The sun added an extra rosy glow this morning, creating prisms of rainbows on dew-damped grass. Squint just right and your fingers fairly itched to pick up a few and stash them away. My grandma always accused me of having a romantic soul and I wasn’t one to prove her wrong.
Shirley Johnson was busy sweeping the steps outside the post office with a straw broom, raising little puffs of white dust. The line of sight took me right to the poster of a covered wagon someone had pasted onto the red brick. Excitement bubbled up inside me for this coming week. Our town was having its first re-enactment of a homesteaders’ journey, using replica Prairie Schooners. I’m a die-hard romantic about the old west. Well, except for the long skirts, no indoor plumbing, and the dearth of food deliveries from friends and family I’ve counted on all my life.
Setting aside the slight twinge of worry about my ability to do our town proud, I pushed open the front door of the café and went inside.
“Morning,” I said, plunking myself down in the booth opposite my cousin.
“Hey, Daisey.” She scarcely gave me a glance, staring at her iPhone like it contained all the secrets of the universe. Well, maybe it did. We have excellent wi-fi service in Sweetwater, a factor that might come into play when I sell the parcel of land so kindly willed to me and which I couldn’t offload for a whole year after my grandma passed on. With forty-nine of those fifty-two weeks having also passed on, that was going to change. Big time.
“You know,” I said, “I’m beginning to feel like George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life. My life is always holding something back, holding me back, but this time, I’ve made up my mind. I’m heading to New York no matter what happens, when the next three weeks are up.”
Rose, as much of an old movie freak as I am, quirked an eyebrow in my direction while continuing to thumb through her messages. “Bedford Falls loved George and saved his heinie when push came to shove,” she reminded me. “Same as Sweetwater would do for any of us in a heartbeat. Now, New York?” Her nose wrinkled. “Can’t see that happening.”
I drummed my fingers on the snowy white tablecloth embroidered with pink roses. “New York has far more opportunities.”
“Sweetwater has more time for people.”
“New York offers more freedom.”
“Sweetwater has more people who care about you.”
No denying that. I swear this town has its own beating heart and it echoes deep inside all of us, keeping us here or calling us home. Maybe we lived on a Ley Line that gifted the land with magnetic energy? Or not. Whatever, something special always happened in Sweetwater. Just had to look at the Wall of Fame in Al’s office to know that.
That reminded me. “Guess what? Al wants me to report on the greased pig event again this year, with the ‘expected attention to detail.’” He complained that my scant twelve words devoted to celebrating the pig’s win last year—though quite poetic—had left something to be desired. I thought I’d nailed it when the pig escaped through the fence and proceeded to make his way into a neighboring corn field. And this little piggy said wee-wee-wee, all the way home.
Purchase Sweetwater Promise from:
If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with her furry baby, Ling Ling. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously remarked to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.
If you wish to connect in the virtual world she is easily found on Facebook. Oh, and she loves to talk books…
Places to find January Bain:
You can follow the Sweetwater Promise Blurb Blitz here.
Thanks for hosting!
ReplyDeleteThis book sounds really good. I love the cover too.
ReplyDeleteFantastic excerpt, Sweetwater Promise sounds like a book that I really want to read and the cover is very pretty! Thanks for sharing it with me and have an awesome day!
ReplyDeleteSweetwater Promise sounds like a lovely story and I am looking forward to reading it. Thank you for sharing the author's bio and book details
ReplyDeletesounds like a lovely story
ReplyDeleteGreat excerpt the book sounds really good.
ReplyDeleteSounds like a good story.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed reading this well done excerpt!
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing it with us.
How do you relax after a long day of writing?
ReplyDeleteI just love your cover and excerpt.
ReplyDelete