Find more from this author on:
About the author:
When Alissa Callen isn’t writing she plays traffic controller to four children, three dogs, two horses and one renegade cow who really does believe the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. After a childhood spent chasing sheep on the family farm, Alissa has always been drawn to remote areas and small towns, even when residing overseas. Once a teacher and a counsellor, she remains interested in the life journeys that people take and her books are characteristically heart-warming, emotional and character driven. She currently lives on a small slice of rural Australia.
What inspired you to write your book?
I am an Australian country-girl who used to live in the Rocky Mountains. I love all things rural – from cowboys, to cattle ranches to rodeos.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Cordell Morgan gazed into thick-lashed eyes that he still couldn’t decide were brown or gold. One minute they were the hue of an aspen leaf in the fall and the next they were chocolate-dark, like now.
Self-preservation told him to look the hell away. Nowhere in his five-year-plan did it include being intrigued by a woman who was as untamed and free-spirited as a wild mountain mustang.
She was slim-limbed to the point of fragility and her heavy, long brown hair framed delicate features. But she was more than a pretty face. Her direct gaze and the angle of her chin left him in no doubt her will was as strong and resolute as the granite embedded in the ground beneath his feet. The make-up and the girly cocktail dress didn’t fool him. From the top of her windblown head to the toes of her scuffed boots she was a working cowgirl.
The calf struggled to its knees and as one they turned to make sure he didn’t fall from the truck. With gentle words and efficient hands the woman tucked the horse rug around the calf and closed the tailgate.
She faced him and as the breeze toyed with her hair he caught the scent of fresh flowers. His jaw locked as he fought to keep his eyes on her face. The bodice of her strapless dress had slipped and now skimmed the tops of curves that would neatly fill his hands.
He reached for his jacket and tie and draped them over his arm. His testosterone could tantrum all it wanted, he had to leave. He’d already stayed too long if he noticed more about this cowgirl than the fact she had a calf needing mothering.