by Karis Walsh
City girl Alana Brendt accepts a one-year contract as an event coordinator in remote Yakima, Washington, to reboot her career. So what if she padded her résumé a little…doesn’t everyone? Then she discovers she has to lead trail rides and white-water adventures, not just coordinate them. Add a litter of puppies underneath her rickety farmhouse’s porch, and Alana is desperate enough to accept help from the local vet—the gorgeous, sexy, outdoorsy vet who is absolutely not Alana’s type. At all.
Veterinarian Tegan Evans avoids the tourist side of Yakima, venturing there only when an animal needs her. Tourists only break your heart. Still, she can’t resist helping Alana, who, despite being in over her head with rambunctious puppies and a job she is barely qualified to perform, seems determined to make a success of things.
Alana and Tegan both know they don’t belong together. Only problem is, they’re falling in love.
What Reviewers Say About Karis Walsh’s Work
Love on Lavender Lane
“The writing was engaging and I enjoyed the slow burn attraction between the two leads.”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)
Seascape
“When I think of Karis Walsh novels, the two aspects that distinguish them from those of many authors are the interactions of the characters with their environment, both the scenery and the plants and animals that live in it. This book has all of that in abundance…”The Good, The Bad and The Unread
Set the Stage
“I really adored this book. From the characters to the setting and the slow burn romance, I was in it for the long haul with this one. Karis Walsh to me is an expert in creating interesting characters that often have to face some type of adversity. While this book was no different, it felt like the author changed up her game a bit. There was something new, something fresh about this book from Walsh.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
You Make Me Tremble
“Another quality read from Karis Walsh. She is definitely a go-to for a heartwarming read.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
Amounting to Nothing
“As always with Karis Walsh’s books the characters are well drawn and the inter-relationships well developed.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Tales From the Sea Glass Inn
“Tales from Sea Glass Inn is a lovely collection of stories about the women who visit the Inn and the relationships that they form with each other.”—Inked Rainbow Reads
Love on Tap
“Karis Walsh writes excellent romances. They draw you in, engage your mind and capture your heart. …What really good romance writers do is make you dream of being that loved, that chosen. Love on Tap is exactly that novel—interesting characters, slightly different circumstances to anything you have read before, slightly different challenges. And although you KNOW the happy ending is coming, you still have that little bit of ‘oooh—make it happen.’ Loved it. Wish it was me. What more is there to say?”—The Lesbian Reading Room
“This is the second book I have read by this author and it certainly won’t be my last. Ms Walsh is one of the few authors who can write a truly great and interesting love story without the need of a secondary story line or plot.”—Inked Rainbow Reads
Sweet Hearts: Romantic Novellas
“I was super excited when I saw this book was coming out, and it did not disappoint.”—Danielle Kimerer, Librarian, Reading Public Library (MA)
Mounting Evidence
“[A]nother awesome Karis Walsh novel, and I have eternal hope that at some point there will be another book in this series. I liked the characters, the plot, the mystery and the romance so much.”—Danielle Kimerer, Librarian, Reading Public Library (MA)
Mounting Danger
“A mystery, a woman in a uniform and horses. …YES!!!!… This book is brilliant in my opinion. Very well written with great flow and a fantastic plot. I enjoyed the horses in this dramatic saga. There is so much information on training and riding, and polo. Very interesting things to know.”—Prism Book Alliance
Blindsided
“Their slow-burn romance is a nuanced exploration of trust, desire, and negotiating boundaries, without a hint of schmaltz or pity. The sex scenes are sizzling hot, but it’s the slow burn that really allows Walsh to shine… The deft dialogue and well-written characters make this a winner.”—Publishers Weekly
“This is definitely a good read, and it’s a good introduction to Karis Walsh and her books. The romance is good, the sex is hot, the dogs are endearing, and you finish the book feeling good. Why wouldn’t you want all that?”—The Lesbian Review
Wingspan
“I really enjoy Karis Walsh’s work. She writes wonderful novels that have interesting characters who aren’t perfect, but they are likable. This book pulls you into the story right from the beginning. The setting is the beautiful Olympic Peninsula and you can’t help but want to go there as you read Wingspan.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
The Sea Glass Inn
“Karis Walsh’s third book, excellently written and paced as always, takes us on a gentle but determined journey through two womens’ awakening. …Loved it, another great read that will stay on my re-visit shelf.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Worth the Risk
“The setting of this novel is exquisite, based on Karis Walsh’s own background in horsemanship and knowledge of showjumping. It provides a wonderful plot to the story, a great backdrop to the characters and an interesting insight for those of us who don’t know that world. …Another great book by Karis Walsh. Well written, well paced, amusing and warming. Definitely a hit for me.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Improvisation
“Walsh tells this story in achingly beautiful words, phrases and paragraphs, building a tension that is bittersweet. As the two main characters sway through life to the music of their souls, the reader may think she hears the strains of Tina’s violin. As the two women interact, there is always an undercurrent of sensuality buzzing around the edges of the pages, even while they exchange sometimes snappy, sometimes comic dialogue. Improvisation is a true romantic tale, Walsh’s fourth book, and she’s evolving into a master romantic storyteller.”—Lambda Literary
Harmony
“This was Karis Walsh’s first novel and what a great addition to the LesFic fold. It is very well written and flows effortlessly as it weaves together the story of Brooke and Andi’s worlds and their intriguing journey together. Ms Walsh has given space to more than just the heroines and we come to know the quartet and their partners, all of whom are likeable and interesting.”—Lesbian Reading Room
Risk Factor—Novella in Sweet Hearts
“Karis Walsh sensitively portrays the frustration of learning to live with a new disability through Ainslee, and the pain of living as a survivor of suicide loss through Myra.”—The Lesbian Review
Sit. Stay. Love.
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SIT. STAY. LOVE.
© 2019 By Karis Walsh. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-440-3
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: August 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Jeanine Henning
By the Author
Harmony
Worth the Risk
Sea Glass Inn
Improvisation
Mounting Danger
Wingspan
Blindsided
Mounting Evidence
Love on Tap
Tales from Sea Glass Inn
Amounting to Nothing
You Make Me Tremble
Set the Stage
Seascape
Love on Lavender Lane
Sit. Stay. Love.
Chapter One
Alana Brendt pulled her blue suitcase off the cart and snapped its handle into place before joining the rest of the passengers in the short walk across the tarmac to the terminal. She sighed as she looked around. Yakima, Washington. How the hell had she ended up here?
Okay, she knew exactly how she had ended up in this out-of-the-way town. Best not to dwell on the embarrassing past and focus instead on the future. This was merely one brief rung on the ladder that would get her career out of the hole she had dug and back on an upward trajectory. She would ignore the depressing details in her surroundings and only look at the positive ones.
Like the weather. She had landed in heavy rain in Seattle, where she had connected through to Yakima, and now was enjoying sun and reasonable temperatures in the midsixties. Exactly right for the T-shirt and light cardigan she was wearing. And her flight on the Dash 8 turboprop had been quick and comfortable. The plane had been less than half full—she wasn’t going to consider what that statistic said about her destination—and once the passengers had been shuffled around for better weight distribution on the little plane, she had gotten a row all to herself. She searched her surroundings, looking for more positives. Those hills were a lovely yellow-brown. Not a color she would ever choose in clothes, upholstery, or paint, but nice, nonetheless. Sort of. If one was desperate to appreciate something about this town, she supposed.
She turned away from the bland vista and moved quickly through the small terminal, passing a wall of vending machines that hopefully wasn’t indicative of Yakima’s level of fine dining. She had flown over this area on the way into Seattle, before backtracking on the regional flight, and she hadn’t paid much attention to the scenery. She had been more interested in the snowy ruggedness of the Cascades and the green beauty of the western coast, but the eastern side of the state had passed by in a blur of patchwork farms and barren, rounded hills. Before coming here, she had read about the agricultural industry in Yakima but had rapidly lost interest in the details about apple orchards and squash fields. There were vineyards and wineries, as well as hops aplenty for the ubiquitous Northwest microbreweries, and that was all she cared to know about produce and farming.
She emerged into the sunshine again and approached the first in a line of three taxis waiting outside the terminal doors. The driver jumped out of his car and opened the back door for her before stowing her suitcase in the trunk. He trotted around the car, seemingly trying to get her and her belongings locked in before she could change her mind and go back inside the airport. She doubted he had a lot of business in May, a month or so before the massive influx of a dozen tourists descended on Yakima.
“Where to?” he asked, pulling away from the curb and following the exit signs.
“High Ridge Ranch,” Alana said, digging through her tote bag for the emails from the ranch’s owner. “Do you need the address? It’s a new place.”
He shook his head and glanced in the rearview mirror at her. “I know the place. Out toward Selah. Don’t think it’s open yet, though.”
“It’s not. I’m going to be working there.” God help her.
The cab driver apparently hadn’t noticed her resigned tone because he grinned over his shoulder at her. “That’s great. Welcome to Yakima. You’ll love living here.”
Staying here. Not living here. She didn’t correct him, though, since a lifetime of working in the hospitality industry kicked in and triggered an answering smile. Like it or not, she was a representative of the ranch as long as she was employed there. Reputations were built on word-of-mouth—and lost the same way, as she knew far too well—and an amiable conversation with this cab driver could directly result in new bookings for the ranch the next time a fare asked his advice about where to stay while in the area.
“It already feels like a friendly and welcoming city. I’m sure I’ll love it here.” One truth and one laughably unlikely statement.
“Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia,” Alana said, feeling a pang of homesickness even though she hadn’t lived there long. She’d miss the museums and the nightlife, the symphony and the elegant restaurants. All she’d seen out the cab’s window so far were tidy residential streets lined with Craftsman-style homes.
“Ah, a big city,” the driver said, filling the simple sentence with a sense of pity for those who had to deal with crowds and didn’t have the luxury of living in rural Yakima.
Alana changed the subject and asked a few polite questions about him and his family, but once they reached the highway, she fell silent and stared out the window at the unfamiliar world around her. Hotels, gas stations, fast food restaurants. A large yard filled with piles of bare tree trunks and heavy machinery. She knew there was a mall area with big box stores, and the downtown neighborhood with smaller, more unique shops, but she didn’t see any of that, and soon they were leaving even the sparse elements of town behind.
They passed yet another white building with a huge Fruit sign on it. Every inch of wall space was covered with smaller signs with names of different fruits, as if passersby might not understand the more generic term. Apples, peaches, blackberries. Nonfruit items like asparagus and honey. All the enormous fruit stands were closed, and after passing the third one, Alana realized they were probably seasonal, opening only when the fresh produce was available. Fresh produce—another positive. She pulled out her phone, noticing with some surprise that she had cell service out here in the boonies, and searched to find out what local fruits or vegetables she could find in May.
Lettuces. Alana struggled to find a way to make a head of lettuce sound enticing, but she quickly gave up and scrolled through her email in case an amazing job offer had arrived in her inbox while she had been on the plane. Nothing, of course.
The cab turned off Highway 82 and headed into hills terraced with basalt ridges and sparsely covered with dry yellowish grasses. Alana wasn’t sure where the produce for the stands was grown, but it obviously wasn’t coming from the immediate area. The landscape had a certain minimalist appeal, but mostly it made her long for a glass of water. The road dipped into a narrow ravine, and her phone went offline.
Alana tossed it back into her bag and stared out the window, resigned to her immediate future. A brick gateway marked the entrance to the ranch, but the cab bounced along a pitted gravel road for another half mile before coming to a stop outside a large log building.
Home sweet home. For the next few months, at least. Alana got out of the car and stretched her back, taking a deep breath of pine-tinged fresh air. Even given her questionable attitude about being here, she had to admit that the setting was gorgeous. The logs making up the main building were a glossy red-brown, marked here and there with darker knots. A huge wraparound porch was filled with inviting chairs and hammocks in the corners. The central peak of the A-frame building had a pair of large triangular windows, and two wings constructed of brown-stained boards branched off to either side.
Alana thanked the cab driver and paid him before following a muted roaring sound to the edge of the parking lot. A steep drop-off was marked with a simple post-and-rail fence, and Alana rested her elbows on the top rail and gazed into the valley below where a river was barely visible throu
gh the tall, long-needled pines. She could see areas of small whitecaps where the river coursed around a bend and over some large basalt boulders.
“That’s the Naches River. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Alana turned and smiled at the man standing a few yards behind her. Her new boss. He must be in his early thirties, but his face was already lined, probably both from spending plenty of time outdoors and from the easy-looking smile that creased his face. The sleeves of his navy chamois shirt were rolled up to reveal browned, muscular forearms, and his teeth were a startling bleached white against his tanned skin. She recognized him easily, even though their Skype interview had been plagued with pixelated images and distorted sound. She was certain that the reception issues had come from the Yakima end of the call, and not the Philadelphia side.
“It’s lovely,” she said, without needing to force her inner Pollyanna to the fore in order to agree with him. She could appreciate natural beauty. She might not prefer to live in the midst of it, but she could appreciate it. She’d have to be sure to take plenty of photos while she was here. The image spreading below her would make a great print to hang on the wall of her next big-city office space. “You must be Chip Sorenson. I’m—”