What could be better on a cold Valentine’s Day than to sit down with a book chock full of stories about special cowboys and their ladies? COWBOY KISSES has just what you’re looking for! Eight stories by some fabulous authors who share with you their love stories of the old west!

In Lorrie Farrelly’s tale of love and fate, a tattered old diary sends a young woman into the arms of a long-ago Texas Ranger for A Kiss in Time.

Linda Carroll-Bradd’s When My Heart Knew is the story of young Maisie Treadwell, who has never been in love before, and handsome Dylan MacInnes, who might or might not be the one.

A Westward Adventure by Kristy McCaffrey is a story of aspiring novelist Amelia Mercer, who travels to Colorado, determined to find her own adventure to write about. When bounty hunter Ned Waymire comes to her aid, the true adventure begins!

Valentine Angel by Gail L. Jenner is a poignant story of a determined young woman who rescues a wounded lawman and then must help him fight off his nemesis.

In Gil McDonald’s story, Hearts and Red Ribbons, a feisty young woman who dresses in men’s clothes and a drifter looking for—something—are thrown together by Fate on a wet February day.

Hunter’s Gamble, by C. Marie Bowen, is a gripping tale of lost love and determination. Life is a gamble, and Hunter knows he can’t always win. With true love in the mix, the odds are stacked in Hunter’s favor!

Her Thief of Hearts by Tanya Hanson is the tale of an outlaw, an orphan, and a socialite—is this a recipe for disaster or true love?

Beverly Wells will steal your heart in her story, Hopes and Dreams. A woman on the run, a sheriff sworn to uphold the law, and one little girl’s pleas to Mr. Cupid for a new daddy!

Settle in for some mighty fine Valentine’s Day reading from your favorite western romance authors!


“…wonderful…worth the money and your time.” Agnes Alexander, author of Fiona’s Journey


“A great little anthology with something for everyone. Nice collection of yummy Cowboy (and Cowgirl) stories.” ~ Amazon reader


“Wonderful writers… Loved the collection.” ~ Amazon reader


“Your name, miss?” The elderly town marshal, sitting at a desk across from her, watched Amelia with a shrewd gaze at odds with his weathered and wrinkled skin, creases fanning the corners of his eyes. She found herself unable to look away from the sagging flesh, intriguing in its complexity, and she knew she’d have to write down a description as soon as she had a moment to herself.


“Amelia Mercer.” Sitting ramrod straight on the wooden chair, she relaxed stiff fingers from the embroidered reticule on her lap and smoothed out her plaid wool traveling gown, the distress from the earlier shenanigans finally abating.


“What was stolen from you?”


“All of my luggage.” Dresses, hats, gloves, linen handkerchiefs, a cape made of wool, several shawls, extra boots and shoes, and unmentionables—she didn’t have one shred of clothing upon her arrival in the town of Laurel, except what she currently wore. A sigh of irritation escaped her lips. She hoped her aunt would be able to accommodate her until the hoodlums who held up the stage could be found.


“How many pieces?”


The door banged open behind her and she twisted to see what caused the commotion. A filthy man with hands cuffed behind him stumbled into the room, followed by a taller one. And while the much larger one was sweaty and a bit unkempt as well, his presence filled the room. His dark gaze caught hers. He was every bit the rugged western man she aimed to write about. His Stetson wasn’t for show, dusted with dirt as it was. His attire spoke of days in the saddle, his boots and gun holster showcased a strong frame, his unshaven face proved that here in the west, men were men, and didn’t hide it.


Amelia caught herself staring, only this time it had nothing to do with wrinkles.


Many fine men in New York City had courted her, but at twenty-two, her attention became more difficult to capture with each passing year. Were they simply too clean? The thought amused her.


I need to write these gems down.


“Lloyd Billings,” the marshal exclaimed. “How on earth did you find him, Ned?”


“It’s a long story, Ike. I beg pardon on the interruption, miss.” The hale and hardy man nodded in her direction. “I’ll just put him in the holding cell and return later to work out the details.”


“Sounds good,” the marshal replied. “Now, Miss Mercer, where were we?”


Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze from the finest specimen of man she’d ever seen to the wrinkly lawman.


“Please describe each piece of luggage and the contents,” Marshal Ike said.


Amelia frowned as she attempted to concentrate, mumbling her way through the belongings contained in two trunks and one satchel.


“They stole it all?” Ike asked.


She lost track of the conversation as she listened to the rugged man locking the cell and walking to the door.


“I’ll be back to collect the bounty.” And with that, the compelling stranger was gone.


“You sure did bring a great many belongings with you,” the marshal continued. “You plannin’ to stay long?”


“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Theodora Thurston is my aunt. I’ve come to visit with her.”


The marshal’s eyes lit up, briefly smoothing the drooping skin. “You’re Teddy’s niece? Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mercer. She’s a fine woman. We hope she’ll recover soon.”


“As do I. I’d like to get along as soon as we’re done. I’ve yet to see her.”


“Of course. We’re finished here. As soon as I know somethin’ about the robbery, I’ll let you know.” He stood. “Let me escort you to Teddy’s house. It’s on the far end of town.”


“I’d be most grateful.” Amelia stood. “May I inquire as to who that man was?”


“Ned Waymire? He’s a bounty hunter.”


Amelia was certain her heart skipped several beats. She’d found the hero of her novel and wondered how she might encounter the gentleman again. She thought to ask the marshal, but he might think her forward, and she didn’t want to embarrass her aunt. She’d have to find another way to inquire about Ned Waymire, Bounty Hunter.


She couldn’t wait to get to the privacy of her room so she could describe the man of her dreams. Her heroine’s dreams, she corrected.


Copyright © 2015 Kristy McCaffrey