Staci Hart has a brand new rom-com standalone coming January 23rd! Bet the Farm is a heartfelt, flirty story of opposites attract and I cannot WAIT to read it! Mark your calendars and pre-order your copy today!
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“You said you’d stay out of my way.”
He took a step closer. “And I have. But I said no goats.”
“What’s your problem with them?”
“You gonna clip their hooves? How about mend all the fences when they bust out, because they’re a pack of brainless Houdinis. How about deworming? And you’ve gotta breed. You ever smelled a goat buck? Tell me, smartass—have you ever seen goats mate?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s just say there’s a reason the devil has goat horns, and you’re gonna have a front row seat to the horror shop. If you knew anything about anything, you’d never have started all this.”
Another step, his arms folding across his expansive chest, which was covered. And thank God. I couldn’t think when he was shirtless.
Part of me thought he knew it too.
“Lemme tell you something, Olivia. It’s gonna be me who deals with the fucking goats, not you. And I told you no.”
“Fine. I hereby take all responsibility for the goats. All hoof clipping, fence mending, and deworming will be done by me.”
He stared me down for a second, and whatever he was thinking tugged at one corner of his lips for that whisper of a smile. He stuck his hand out for a shake.
I took it, aware of every nerve touching his skin. The rough of his calluses. The warmth in his palms. The odd sensation of my hand being almost completely enveloped by his.
I squeezed and pumped our hands once.
“Just promise me one thing,” he said, still holding my hand.
“What?”
“Let me know when you’re clipping their hooves so I can make popcorn.”
He took a step closer. “And I have. But I said no goats.”
“What’s your problem with them?”
“You gonna clip their hooves? How about mend all the fences when they bust out, because they’re a pack of brainless Houdinis. How about deworming? And you’ve gotta breed. You ever smelled a goat buck? Tell me, smartass—have you ever seen goats mate?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s just say there’s a reason the devil has goat horns, and you’re gonna have a front row seat to the horror shop. If you knew anything about anything, you’d never have started all this.”
Another step, his arms folding across his expansive chest, which was covered. And thank God. I couldn’t think when he was shirtless.
Part of me thought he knew it too.
“Lemme tell you something, Olivia. It’s gonna be me who deals with the fucking goats, not you. And I told you no.”
“Fine. I hereby take all responsibility for the goats. All hoof clipping, fence mending, and deworming will be done by me.”
He stared me down for a second, and whatever he was thinking tugged at one corner of his lips for that whisper of a smile. He stuck his hand out for a shake.
I took it, aware of every nerve touching his skin. The rough of his calluses. The warmth in his palms. The odd sensation of my hand being almost completely enveloped by his.
I squeezed and pumped our hands once.
“Just promise me one thing,” he said, still holding my hand.
“What?”
“Let me know when you’re clipping their hooves so I can make popcorn.”
Olivia Brent has one summer to save the dairy farm she just inherited.
But there’s one problem, and it’s not her lactose intolerance.
Jake Milovic.
The brooding farmhand has inherited exactly fifty percent of Brent Farm, and he’s so convinced the city girl can’t work the land, he bets she can’t save it in a summer.
Determined to prove him wrong, Olivia accepts what might be the dumbest wager of her life.
His strategy to win seems simple: follow her around, shirtlessly distracting her between bouts of relentless taunting. And it’s effective—if his dark eyes and rare smiles aren’t enough to sidetrack her, the sweaty, rolling topography of the manbeast’s body would do the trick.
What they don’t know: they’ll have to weather more than each other.
Mysterious circumstances throw the farm into disarray, and with the dairy farm in danger, Olivia and Jake have to work together. But when they do, there’s more to fear than either of them imagined.
Because now their hearts are on the line, and the farm won’t be the only casualty if they fail.
But there’s one problem, and it’s not her lactose intolerance.
Jake Milovic.
The brooding farmhand has inherited exactly fifty percent of Brent Farm, and he’s so convinced the city girl can’t work the land, he bets she can’t save it in a summer.
Determined to prove him wrong, Olivia accepts what might be the dumbest wager of her life.
His strategy to win seems simple: follow her around, shirtlessly distracting her between bouts of relentless taunting. And it’s effective—if his dark eyes and rare smiles aren’t enough to sidetrack her, the sweaty, rolling topography of the manbeast’s body would do the trick.
What they don’t know: they’ll have to weather more than each other.
Mysterious circumstances throw the farm into disarray, and with the dairy farm in danger, Olivia and Jake have to work together. But when they do, there’s more to fear than either of them imagined.
Because now their hearts are on the line, and the farm won’t be the only casualty if they fail.
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