Bio:

You can't say cowboys without thinking of Beth Williamson. She likes
'em hard, tall, and packing. Read her work and discover for yourself
how hot and dangerous a cowboy can be.

Beth is the author of more than sixteen novels and novellas with
Samhain Publishing, Loose Id, and Liquid Silver Books, with many more in the
works for the coming years.

Beth lives just outside of Raleigh, North Carolina, with her husband
and two sons. Born and raised in New York, she holds a B.F.A. in writing
from New York University. She spends her days as a technical writer,
and her nights immersed in writing hot romances for her readers.

Look here if you have questions about Beth and her books:
http://www.bethwilliamson.com/faq
http://www.romancewiki.com/Beth_Williamson

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Excerpt #1:

Rafe Sinclair needed a woman. Not just any woman, but a wife. Any wife. He took his grandfather's will out of his back pocket and read it for the hundredth time that week,

but it still said the same thing. Rafe had to be married by June first, his thirtieth birthday, or lose the Circle S Ranch.

“Son of a bitch. That old coot got me by the balls.” He kicked at the corral post, spooking the bay nosing in his direction.

He had loved his granddaddy like a father, but this final stab in the back was too much. The older man had always lamented the fact Rafe hadn't settled down. However, he never expected the twist that could cost him the ranch that was a part of his soul. No way in hell he'd let the Circle S slip through his fingers.

Rafe would just have to bite the bullet and get married.

Dammit.

He had less than a month to get hitched and fortunately he'd found a quick solution with his neighbor, Elijah Radcliff. Rafe would marry his daughter Emma, a girl he'd known all her life. Not a great solution, but it'd do.

As he waited for her to ride over to the ranch, he wondered what mood she'd be in after finding out what her father had done. Hopefully she'd accept the fact that Rafe would be her husband. Now all he needed was to accept that he had to have a wife. One woman forever and ever.

Not an easy spoonful to swallow, especially considering the woman in question. A britches-wearing, cussing woman who acted more like a man than half his ranch hands. The only upside Rafe saw was that Emma knew horses better than anyone else in the county. The woman lived and breathed equine.

Hell, she was probably a virgin. The shiver that worked its way through his body had nothing to do with the temperature outside. Truth was, Rafe had no idea what to do with a virgin, much less one who was more male than female.

The thought of their wedding night--

“Yoohoo!” A feminine trill sounded from near the house.

Rafe stopped and frowned. He didn't recognize the voice. Maybe his housekeeper, Frieda, had company.

“Mr. Sinclair,” came a second female voice.

“I think I saw him near the barn,” chimed in a third.

Rafe stood stock-still, a deer caught in hunter's sights. A virtual army of petticoats

started toward him. There had to be at least twelve of them in varying heights, shapes and sizes, including redheads, brunettes and blondes. Even their ages ranged from fresh-faced girls to long-in-the-tooth spinsters.

The only thing they had in common was the look of determination on their faces.

Holy hell.

Rafe's heart raced and his mouth turned dry as a cotton field. No doubt that idiot lawyer Foster had spilled the beans about Rafe's wifely predicament. Now a herd of available women stampeded toward him. He couldn't possibly meet Emma at the ranch with all these husband-hungry hens chasing him around.

He wasn't proud of it, but Rafe turned tail and ran.

He threw himself on top of his buckskin and rode hell-bent-for-leather toward the creek that separated his property from the Radcliffs. He reminded himself to let Foster know about his impending nuptials so the lawyer could somehow keep the women off his ranch. The last thing he needed was more females around.

As he cantered up to the creek, he noticed a beautiful quarter horse tied to a small cottonwood tree. One of the Radcliff's if he wasn't mistaken. They were beautiful animals, one and all.

Then he heard singing--a beautiful haunting melody about a lost lover sung by a woman who could rival an angel with her pipes. He sat on his horse with his eyes closed, savoring the song, wondering who had been blessed with such a voice.

When the music trailed away, he dismounted and went in search of his quarry. He found her, bent at the waist near the water, with the most delectable ass he'd seen in a dog's age poking up in the air. Long, dark brown tresses hung down toward the water as her hands finger-combed the locks. He shifted in his drawers, an erection pushing at his buttons for the mystery lady.

She stood and flipped her hair back, braiding it with the speed of a lightning strike, her plump, full breasts pushing at the blue chambray shirt she wore. That's when Rafe realized he could see her ass so well because she wore britches, and she had pistols riding her hips. He felt a moment of utter disbelief. He was looking at Emma Radcliff, his intended bride, and she didn't look anywhere near as manly as he remembered.

Holy shit.

Excerpt #2:

Emma spent the first few days of her married life avoiding her husband. She asserted over and over that she was not hiding, she was simply choosing not to be in his company. Something in his eyes told her he wanted more from her than Emma was prepared to give.

Every hour or so, she felt his gaze on her, skimming over her trouser-clad form, making those damn goose bumps march up and down her skin. If only he hadn't shown her what it meant to be thoroughly kissed. Her lips tingled from the memory, betraying just how good it had been.

Dammit.

She attacked her saddle with frustration although she was supposed to be oiling the leather. Rafe needed to get out of her head for good. When she agreed to marry him, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Emma didn't want to be thinking about him constantly.

“You're scarce today.”

Rafe's voice made her jump a foot. She dropped the oiling cloth and nearly fell on her head. He grabbed her arm, stopping her fall and compounding her embarrassment.

“No need to scare me half to death.” She sounded breathless. “I, uh, didn't hear you come in.”

Rafe let go of her arm and leaned against the wall beside him. “I didn't sneak if that's what you're thinking. I just wanted to see you.”

Emma's gaze snapped to his, and she searched his face for the truth. Unable to read

anything from his smile, she frowned at him. “Why?”

“You're my wife, Emma. I like to be with you.”

Of all the answers he could've given, that was the last one she expected. He could have said something stupid or mushy, but instead he chose the direct route, deflating her annoyance like a pin in a bubble. Her impractical heart fluttered, and she scrambled for a response that wouldn't make her seem like a silly girl.

“Well, um, thanks. I really need to finish this.” She picked up the rag from the floor and tried to focus on brushing off the bits of hay and dirt clinging to it.

He took the rag from her hands and set it on the saddle. Her heart thudded in earnest when he turned her to face him. Rafe removed her hat while his thumb tipped her chin up. His silver gaze searched hers until he apparently found what he was looking for.

As his mouth descended toward her, Emma was frozen in place, unable to run, unable to push away, unable to meet him halfway. His lips were gentle, exploring, giving her all the time in the world to protest.

She didn't.

He deepened the kiss until she couldn't tell where he ended and she began. It was like diving into a shady pond on a hot summer's day. Kissing Rafe enveloped all her senses, surrounded her and turned her into a quivering mess. Her mind whirled while the rest of her pulsed with need. A deep throb began inside her, a slow beat that gained momentum with each pull of his lips and each swipe of his rough tongue against hers.

Emma didn't end the kiss, he did. When he pulled away, she mewled and chased his mouth, eager for more. He kissed her lightly then set her away from him. She was in a

fog, almost drunk from the kissing. With a roguish grin, he tipped his hat and walked away.

She had no idea how long she stood there, her nipples rock hard, her drawers wet with need and her lips buzzing. Reality splashed over her when two ranch hands walked into the barn talking. Their gravelly voices reminded her that she stood there like an idiot, likely grinning, while the world went on as if nothing had happened.

To Emma, something had happened, something momentous. Rafe had kissed her again, and she'd not only allowed it, she'd wanted more. Even ten minutes after he'd left, she could still feel the rasp of his whiskers against her face and the sweet taste of peppermint on his tongue. This wasn't at all what she wanted.

Emma was falling in love with her husband. Again.