10th May 2016, Piatkus, 335 pages, Paperback, Review copy
Content: humour, frequent strong language & innuendo, occasional strong romance scene,
Summary from Little, Brown
This city boy’s about to get a taste of country life . . .
Blake Tarbell has a town to save. Rich, carefree, and used to the Vegas party lifestyle, Blake is thrown for a curve when his former cocktail-waitress mother pleads he go back to her roots to save the town she grew up in. When he arrives in Sweetheart, North Dakota, this city boy has to trade in his high-priced shoes for a pair of cowboy boots – and he’s about to get a little help from the loveliest lady in town . . .
Natalie Lane’s got no time for newbies. There’s nothing she can’t do to keep a farm up and running. But when a handsome city-slicker rolls into town with nothing but bad farmer’s instincts and good intentions, Natalie’s heartstrings are pulled. She’s about to teach him a thing or two about how to survive in Sweetheart. And he’s about to teach her a thing or two about love.
A sweet and sassy contemporary romance with a great cast of characters
A hilarious read about a rich guy forced to live on a ranch by his mother. As you can see from the summary there is a lot more to it than that. It is a book covering not only what a romance trope is but using dozens of them, which since I love anime tropes was enlightening to read and made the tale hilarious.
The style of characters' thoughts took a tiny bit of time getting used to, but soon I read them as naturally as the other sentences. It was amusing and cheering to see Blake learn what ranch work is like, the intensity of it on his body and mind, as well as how life in Sweetheart grew on him.
As for Natalie...she did make life tough for Blake. I didn't necessarily like her much, especially when her secrets become apparent, but she helped Blake change into a decent human being. Then there are the animals, two of whom I adore for being cute and stubborn yet when the occasion arose loving towards Blake. These are White Rose of York and Margaret of Anjou respectively. What they are you'll have to discover for yourself!
Amongst the humour there are some major peril moments, but I promise the end is a happy one and it's a book you'll definitely reread when you need to smile!
Find out more on MaryJanice's website.
Danger, Sweetheart is available to buy at many stores including Amazon (a non sponsored link)
Danger, Sweetheart Extract
Please note this extract is for over 18s only
Natalie Lane watched the rented truck cover the last half mile to Heartbreak and was not impressed.
This would be the first of what promised to be weeks of awful days, and not for the first time she wondered why she didn’t give up, give in, and get lost. Follow half the town out of town. Let Sweetheart die.
The truck passed the last gate and pulled up between the farmhouse and Barn Main. The engine quit and she could see him in the driver’s seat, moving his hands, and was he . . . ? Was he patting the steering wheel? In a well done, mighty steed way? Yes. Yes he was.
Self-congratulation must run in that family, she mused. Oh, and look at this. He remembered to kick out the ladder this time. Too bad. She’d have loved to see him on his ass in the dirt. Again.
“It’s you!” he said as he hopped down, having the balls-out nerve to sound excited. Except where did she get off ? Before she knew who he was, she’d have been happy to see him, too. If anything, she was more pissed because she had liked him on short acquaintance. What if he’d never seen her in her other life? When would she have found out his terrible truth? Their first date? Their first month–aversary? Their wedding night?
Wedding night? Jeez, Natalie, get a grip.
“Hello again.” He stuck out his hand, which she definitely didn’t notice was large and looked strong, especially in contrast to her own teeny paws. Nor did she notice he had big hands and, as a glance at his shoes told her, big feet, and she definitely didn’t form a theory about his dick based solely on his sizeable mitts. She also didn’t notice how his smile took years from his face, or how his pricey clothes beautifully set off those long legs and wide shoulders, that the color of his crisp button-down shirt was the same color as his dark blue eyes, that his tan slacks (slacks? Seriously? Slacks?) fit like they were made for him
(of course they were; guy’s probably got a fleet of tailors stashed somewhere)
and that his swimmer’s shoulders made his waist appreciably narrow in contrast.
He was still holding out his hand, and she gave it a brief listless shake, the limp kind with the bare tips of her fingers. “You’re late.”