A desperate mother begs for help, and a small-town hairstylist steps into the path of a ruthless kidnapper.Katy loves running her salon and giving her clients the perfect haircut. Her quiet routine shatters when Ellen Whitlock receives a static-filled phone call from her missing daughter.

Darlene used to work at the salon before vanishing a few weeks ago. The police have exhausted their leads and offer little hope. Ellen pleads with Katy to find the young woman, and Katy refuses to turn her back on a friend.She teams up with her tech-savvy friend Jared to track down the truth.

Their search exposes a shady online dating profile and points directly to a scam artist operating near a Chicago comedy club. Katy ignores the cautious warnings of her police detective fiancé and travels to the city to hunt for clues. She stakes out run-down apartment buildings and questions hostile witnesses.The kidnapper soon realizes someone is watching his every move. Katy receives warning text messages in the middle of the night. Her hands shake as she stands face to face with the violent suspect on the city sidewalks.

Katy must risk her own physical safety to bring Darlene home before the kidnapper disappears forever.

“This heat is killing me,” I said to my employee Wendy as we unpacked the latest shipment of flowers in the back of Petal Pushers. We were putting flowers away and hauling trash to the dumpster, and the trash part was what had me dripping with sweat. Don’t get me wrong, I loved summer, but I preferred the June version in Illinois, when temperatures hung in the 70s and the humidity hadn’t yet peaked. Mid-August was a different story. Just a few minutes outside left sweat dripping down my back, and it was about as unpleasant as it sounds.

“I can agree with you there,” Wendy replied. “I think I saw that this August is one of the hottest on record in the last fifty years, and I certainly believe it.”

“That’s probably why we’re out here doing all the hard work while Bella and Topknot are lounging inside.”

Bella was my English Mastiff, and Topknot was her best friend, a duck. An unlikely duo, but it worked for them. The two were inseparable. Normally, they followed me wherever I went just so they wouldn’t miss anything, but apparently that only applied when the weather was just right.

We finished breaking down the boxes and tossing them in the dumpster. Walking back into the flower shop, the blast of cold air was a relief. Then a commotion outside caught everyone’s attention. Bella and Topknot got up from where they’d been sleeping and trotted to the front, with Wendy and me close behind. We reached the windows just as two Hunter’s Hollow fire trucks screamed by, followed by an ambulance and a police car.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said. “I wonder where they’re headed?”

“I don’t know, but you’re right. That sure doesn’t sound good,” Cynthia said from behind us. She was another Petal Pushers employee, though both she and Wendy were much more like family than coworkers.

I had moved back to Hunter’s Hollow from Chicago after marrying Cooper and taken over Petal Pushers from my mom when she decided to retire. It was a move I’d never expected. I’d left home for college and never planned to come back permanently. But things change as you grow up, and now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. That’s why, like Wendy and Cynthia, I was worried. All those emergency vehicles couldn’t mean anything good.

“I hope wherever they’re going, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Cynthia said.

If both fire trucks were heading to the same place, it wasn’t a small fire, and that made me nervous. We went back to the workroom, and Wendy and I finished putting the flowers away and updating inventory. A few minutes later, my phone rang. Cooper often called in the middle of the day just to say hi, because that was the kind of sweet guy he was, so I answered with a cheerful greeting. But this wasn’t a “thinking of you” call.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he said.

“Alarm me about what, Cooper?” I replied, gripping the phone tighter.

“I just wanted to tell you so you didn’t hear it from someone else; the auto body shop caught fire.”

He could say not to panic all he wanted, but my stomach had already dropped. “So that’s where the fire trucks were going,” I said, forcing the words out evenly.

“I would come get you, but I’m not in town right now,” he said.

I remembered he was at a mayor’s meeting a few towns over. “That’s okay. I’m sure everything is fine. I can take Cynthia or Wendy with me.”

“Call me and let me know what you find out,” he said.

“I will.”

He hung up, and I turned to Wendy, who was staring at me with concern.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Cooper said the body shop is on fire. He wanted to be the one to tell me, but he’s not in town, so would you go over there with me?”

“Of course. I’ll drive. You go tell Cynthia we’re going,” Wendy said.

After telling Bella and Topknot to stay with Cynthia and behave, we headed to the autobody shop on Third Street, just a few miles down the road. The reason a fire at the body shop hit so close to home wasn’t just because it was a local business. My brother Jesse worked there. I tried his cell phone. No answer. I thought about calling my best friend Jared, but he was visiting family out of town, and I didn’t want to worry him when there was nothing he could do.

Jesse had always been a free spirit. He’d spent time as a zip line instructor in Mexico, a blackjack dealer in Vegas, and those were just a few of the highlights. Finally, much to our mother’s delight, he’d settled down in Hunter’s Hollow. It was ironic, because by the time he came back, our parents were hardly ever home, traveling around the world. Soon after moving back, Jesse started working at the body shop, which happened to be owned by my high school boyfriend, Brian Aimes. I figured he would tire of this job as quickly as he had of everything else, but so far, he hadn’t. According to Brian, Jesse was good at the work. That didn’t surprise me. Jesse was one of those people who was good at everything he tried. It was just surprising that this job had kept his interest.

All of that was running through my mind as the body shop came into view. The emergency vehicles made my stomach drop, but seeing flames shooting from the roof and firefighters doing their best to put them out was so much worse.

“Oh, my goodness, Wendy, this is scary,” I said, my throat tight.

“I know, but the firefighters are doing everything they can. He could be fine. He might be out here in the crowd somewhere,” Wendy said.

“I know. I just need to find him.”

We got out of the car and rushed toward the crowd just as someone called out, “We have a body.” I stopped mid-stride, my legs threatening to buckle.

“What about Jesse?” I said in a panic.

Wendy put her arm around me, both for comfort and to hold me up. Before I could say anything else, I spotted Willie and waved to get his attention. He saw me and ran over.

“Where is Jesse?” I asked the moment he was within earshot.

Willie’s hesitation told me that whatever came next might not be something I wanted to hear. “Don’t tell me,” I started to say, my voice cracking and my eyes welling with tears.

“I don’t know,” Willie said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Wendy asked.

At least that meant he wasn’t in the fire. Small comfort, but I’d take it.

“We haven’t found him. Or Brian. Was Jesse supposed to be at work today?”

I nodded. “As far as I know, yes. He works every day like a real job,” I said, the laugh coming out flat.

“Presley, you really don’t need to be here. Why don’t you take her home?” he said to Wendy. “I will call you as soon as I hear something.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Not until we find Jesse. I can’t lose my brother.”

Rex walked to the front of his coffee shop, the Black Bean, flipped the sign on the door from “Closed” to “Open,” and unlocked the door. The sign wasn’t really necessary. Everyone in the town of Cottontail Junction knew exactly when he opened and closed, but for him, it was a ritual. There was something soothing about flipping the sign around, signaling he was ready to start the day making coffee for the townspeople. Though he always made sure to open his shop about ten minutes earlier than posted, so he didn’t have a short line with the early morning regulars waiting for him. He didn’t like to make anyone wait, even when they were early and he was on time.

He went back behind the counter, where a pot of coffee had just finished brewing. None of that fancy latte stuff for the ranchers who came in at five o’clock in the morning for coffee and gossip, although none of them would ever admit to gossiping. He lined four cups up on the counter, ready to pour the minute they walked in the door. Like clockwork, at one minute to five, the four gentlemen walked in. You’d almost think they rode together, but no, their timing was just impeccable.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Rex said, grabbing the coffee pot and filling the cups as they walked up and each gave him a nod. The men each took a cup and went to the back to their table. Always the same table, even though they had their choice of any table in the place this early. But Rex understood it was their routine, just like he enjoyed his routines.

He didn’t need to open so early because, except for the four ranchers who came in every morning, he didn’t get much business until it got closer to six o’clock, but he didn’t mind. When he was discharged from the military and decided to return to Cottontail Junction, he had opened the coffee shop at six. Rex was an early riser and often came into the shop early to set up for the day. One day, someone knocked on the door, seeing him in there, and asked if he could come in for a cup of coffee. Before Rex knew it, the lone rancher brought his friends, and they started coming early, just assuming Rex would be there and let them in. After a couple of months of that, Rex just changed the hours. He was there anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Truth be told, he liked the silent company, knowing they were in the corner while he was baking in the back before he had to be in the front to wait on customers. He had a couple of part-time high school students who worked in the afternoons, but he handled the mornings and daytime hours himself. He liked staying busy.

And busy he was. When he had first returned to Cottontail Junction and announced his plans to open a coffee shop that also served pastries and other sweet treats, he had been met with a lot of negativity. Not to his face, because the majority of people in Cottontail Junction were nice, if nothing else, but more than one person had mentioned that they didn’t think froufrou coffees would ever sell in a ranching town. Rex understood where they were coming from, and there was a time he would’ve felt the same exact way. Heck, there was a time when, if you would’ve said he would enjoy his life baking and making coffee for people, he would’ve laughed you out of town.

He hadn’t returned to Cottontail Junction to open a coffee shop because he had some great business plan. He had just known when he had been discharged from the military that going back home wasn’t an option. There were too many memories. He also knew he didn’t want to live in the city. Rex had spent his early years in a bigger city and had never felt comfortable there. When his parents died, he went to live with his maternal grandma in Cottontail Junction. His grandpa had passed years before. Rex grew to love Cottontail Junction and knew from an early age that small-town living suited him. He had met Gwynn for the first time in grade school and they lost touch when he moved. Until one night in high school he went to a Jasper football game and ran into her. Sparks flew and they had been together ever since. He hadn’t even known much about coffee back then, except that he liked to drink it. It had always been Gwynn’s dream to open a coffee shop in her hometown of Jasper, and that was important to him. When he opened the Black Bean, he felt the exciting plans they had made together, even though he was doing it by himself.

Around seven-thirty, business slowed down a little, and he was restocking the baked goods when he heard someone walk up to the counter.

“Hey, Colette,” he said to the blonde woman standing in front of him. Colette Gallagher, formerly Costa, along with her sisters, Miriam and Heidi, were regulars. 

“Hey, Rex. I thought I’d come in and get some coffee before heading home. Decaf of course and yes. I can’t wait until this baby is ready to come out. If we get the snow that we’re supposed to get the next couple of days, or I go into labor, I’m going to have to live without my latte for a bit so I thought I better get one while I could.”

“You know I started ordering the syrups to sell, and I have your favorite in stock. I’ll send you home with one. My treat. Consider it a baby present, or push present, isn’t that what they call it?” he said as he rang her up, not even having to ask what it was she wanted. He prided himself on remembering everyone’s drink. It was something small, but it made people feel good, and in turn, it made him feel good. After handing back her credit card, he moved down the counter to fire up the espresso machine. “How’s Brock?” he asked about her husband.

“Good. He’s about to take someone onto his veterinary practice he’s gotten so busy.”

“That’s good. I love to see Cottontail Junction grow.”

“Speaking of growing, did you know Miriam hired a new sous chef?”

“She did?” he said nonchalantly. He knew exactly who Colette was talking about. Rex had seen her at the recent wedding. Marley was her name, he had found out after subtly asking around, though now that Colette was mentioning her, he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought. In a small town, there often wasn’t much in the way of secrets. “Business must be really picking up for Miriam.”

“It is. Everyone thought she was crazy for opening a French restaurant in such a small town, me included, but we’re eating our words now. She has people coming from all over who have heard about how good her food is.”

“Make sure to tell her I think that’s great. I know this town was built on ranching, but the more we can grow small businesses, the better for everyone.”

“I will, even though you can probably tell her yourself later. I was on the phone with her on my way here, and she asked me to give you a takeout order for her, and she would be down to get it. I think she was jealous that I was getting a latte.”

“Not a problem. Did she want her usual?” he asked.

“That and she also said to order a large hot chocolate.”

“Who’s that for?” It might sound like an odd question to some, but Rex knew pretty much everyone’s order in town, and the only people who got hot chocolates were kids and teens who hung out at the coffee shop after school doing their homework.

Colette shrugged. “Not sure. One of her employees, I assume.”

Rex poured the steamed milk into Colette’s latte and snapped on the lid before handing it to her. “Can I entice you with one of my pistachio brownies?”

“I shouldn’t, but what the heck. Sure,” she said and reached into her purse for her wallet, and Rex waved her away.

“It’s on the house. I changed the recipe a little, so I would love your opinion.” He handed her the bag, and she smiled.

“I will be a taste tester for you anytime. Have a great day, Rex.”

“You too, Colette.”

He went to work making Miriam’s latte and the hot chocolate. He doubled up the cups to keep them hotter longer since the bistro was just outside of town, and he didn’t want them to get cold. He put them in a drink carrier and then grabbed two of his pistachio brownies and added them to the order. He would ask Miriam the same question he had asked Colette. Rex did appreciate feedback on his recipes, and he was always tweaking them to make them better.

Rex set the order off to the side, hoping Miriam didn’t take too long because he didn’t want the drinks to get cold. When the door opened, he saw the woman who he had found so attractive last weekend. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a braided ponytail. She was probably his age, but she had an innocent look about her. Except for her eyes. Her eyes looked sad, and he found himself wondering why.

“I’m here to pick up an order,” she said.

“Are you here for Miriam?”

She nodded, almost as if she didn’t trust herself to speak. He turned to the counter behind him to grab the carrier and then set it in front of her.

“I think you got the order wrong. It was just a coffee and hot chocolate.”

“You must be the hot chocolate drinker. I was trying to figure out who that was.” She looked a little startled at his comment. “I like to think I know what everyone in town orders. This was a new one.” 

Marley nodded in understanding.

“I’ve never been a fan of fancy coffee. I’m more of regular coffee with a splash of cream. I know I probably shouldn’t tell you that,” she said and gave a slight smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I’m not a huge fan of fancy coffee either. Plain black is just fine with me. Though sometimes if I’m feeling a little crazy I’ll add a spoonful of sugar.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled in the corner. It transformed her face for just a second and seemed like a cloud was lifting, but then dropped back down just as fast. 

“And the pastries are on the house. I just need you and Miriam to let me know how you like them. You’re not allergic to nuts, are you? They’re pistachio brownies.”

“Not allergic. Thank you.” She paid and took the treats, then headed back out the door. 

Rex watched her leave, and he felt something. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something he didn’t want to feel and didn’t plan to feel. He was just going to have to shove those feelings way down where they belonged. He had the coffee shop and a new life in Cottontail Junction; he didn’t need anything to mess that up. His heart would never survive.

When Brock Gallagher passed the Welcome to Cottontail Junction, Montana. Population 3826 sign, he didn’t feel dread. He felt relief. Nine hours of driving from Boise had turned his shoulders to stone, his back was sore, but the moment that little green sign came into view, something in him let go. A new town and a new start when he really needed one.

Most of us have wished for that same kind of fresh start at least once. I know I have. At least in my daydreams. Maybe at the end of a hard year. Maybe after a loss. Maybe just because one day you aren’t felt your life isn’t moving in the right direction. There is something deeply satisfying about watching a character do what we daydream about, pack up the truck, point it at the horizon, and drive toward a town small enough to know all your neighbors and big enough to start over in. Which is why so many of us love to read fiction. The happily ever after and the suspended belief.

That is the heart of Reluctant Rancher. It is really a story about reinvention.

What Makes the Reluctant Rancher Different

A standard cowboy hero is born to it. He has been on a horse since he could walk. He squints into the sun, tips his hat, and knows exactly which calf needs which medicine before the rancher even asks. He is competent and capable from page one.

The reluctant rancher isn’t that, and that is what makes him so much fun to read.

Brock is six foot four, ruggedly handsome, and a large animal vet by training. He knows animals. What he does not know is how to run a working ranch. He and his brothers pooled their money and bought a property that had sat empty for years, with a barn that needs work and fences that need to be ripped out completely and started over. He is starting from scratch on land that will not forgive shortcuts a town that has doubts if they can cut it.

That gap between who he is and who he needs to become is the whole story. We are not watching a man using his expertise. We are watching him build something new, brick by brick, while a town full of people watch him do it.

Why Readers Love Watching a Man Learn Humility

There is a moment in the book where Brock is asked, point blank, by his beautiful new neighbor Colette, whether he even rides horses. He glances at his four wheeler knowing she doesn’t mean that and knowing how her question makes him sad.

The reluctant rancher cannot fake his way through. The animals do not care that he is handsome. The fence posts do not care that he used to have a thriving practice in the city. He has to ask for help. He has to say yes when a neighbor offers it and he has to be okay with that.

For readers, watching a strong, capable man set his ego aside and accept that he has things to learn is one of the most romantic things on the page. It is humility wearing work boots, and it is irresistible.

How I got the idea for this series.

The Pull of a Town That Will Not Let You Stay Anonymous

In a city of millions, you can disappear. In Cottontail Junction, you cannot.

Within days of arriving, Brock is being introduced to Pearl at the diner, having his ranch name evaluated by his neighbor, and being warned that anywhere he goes for dinner with a woman, the whole town will know about it by morning. The local vet wants to meet him face to face before selling him the practice, because he is old school like that.

That kind of small-town visibility could feel suffocating to some. In the Reluctant Rancher book, it feels like coming home. The same nosiness that drives you crazy is also the safety net that catches you when you are grieving and need a casserole and a kind word. Brock came to Cottontail Junction to escape memories. What he found instead was people who saw him. Really saw him. And slowly, that began to heal something the city never could.

Three Things Brock Does That Prove He Belongs

Long before he believes it himself, the signs are there.

First, him and his brothers names the place. Painted Acres Ranch. They could have left it nameless, treated it like a project, kept one foot out the door. Instead, they gave the land a name and ordered a sign. Showing the town they were here to stay.

Second, he says yes to the work. When Colette needs help pulling a corroded pump out of the ground and replacing fence line, he gets his hands dirty, wipes them on his jeans, and asks what is next. He shows up.

Third, he calls everyone to dinner with a metal triangle. He bought it because he saw it in a Western when he was a kid and always wanted to do it. That one small, slightly silly choice tells you everything. He is not just helping his brothers run a ranch. He is building a life he has dreamed about for a long time, and he is not going to be embarrassed about loving it.

Want to meet Brock for yourself? Grab your copy of The Reluctant Rancher, the first book in the Painted Acres Ranch series, and settle in for the kind of small-town romance that makes you want to pack up your truck and drive somewhere new.

Chapter 1

“It sure is hot today, especially for June. It almost feels like I’m back in Alabama, not in Michigan,” I said to my friend and employee, Missy.

“It’s definitely been a lot hotter so far this summer than I can remember, to be honest. My grandpa lived and died by the Farmers’ Almanac. Maybe we should check it out?”

“My grandpa did the same thing. And he swore he was always right, even though I was little and didn’t know if he was telling the truth or pulling my leg, like he often was. At least we have air conditioning in here,” I said. 

“In here” was my pet bakery business, Paw Paws Pet Bakery. I catered to the pet owners who only wanted the finest treats for their pets.

My name is Myrtle Moore, but I go by Tillie, and I had moved to Sweet Haven, Michigan, from Alabama almost three years ago after I divorced my husband of twenty-plus years. When I found out he had a wandering eye, I immediately divorced him. No way was I putting up with that. Our two kids were in college at the University of Michigan, which had been funded by my great-aunt, so it’s not like I had kids at home. Not that it would have made a difference. I could put up with a lot but not cheating.

My aunt had been eccentric and very wealthy and had offered to pay for both kids’ colleges if they went to the University of Michigan. It was my aunt’s alma mater and not an easy school to get into, so the kids had worked hard, knowing that a free education and not graduating from college with student loan debt was an amazing gift. She had also left me her house when she died. When I realized I didn’t want to stay in the town where I might run into my ex and the twenty-five-year-old bimbo he was currently spending time with, I picked up and moved to Michigan and opened the bakery, which had always been my dream.

“That’s true. The air conditioning at my apartment is old and having a really hard time keeping up with this heat. It’s blowing out more lukewarm air than cold,” Missy said.

“Have you told your landlord?”

“All four of us who live in the building have, but it pretty much falls on deaf ears. I’m sure once the AC finally goes for good, it will take forever to get her to replace it.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

“No, but for the price, I really don’t want to complain.”

“Who owns that house that you live in?” I asked.

“Speak of the devil.”

“What?”

“She just walked in.”

“Edna Birch is your landlord? Have you told me that before?” I asked. 

Edna Birch was a resident of Sweet Haven and was a little more than crazy about her cat, Logan. She came in about once a week to see what special treat I had made because Logan liked variety. She was always offering suggestions on new flavors. I didn’t mind. She wasn’t the only one who liked to offer suggestions. It was all part of good customer service.

“Probably not. I’ve lived there for over a year, and while she knows my name because it’s on the check I send her every month, she’s never once recognized me in here, and I’m okay with that.”

I heard the swinging door between the front and the back squeak and looked over from where Missy and I were standing to see Mr. Cuddles walking through with Daisy and Beans behind him.

“Hey, buddy,” I called out to him. 

Mr. Cuddles was the cane corso I had adopted last Halloween when his owner’s life was cut tragically short. Daisy was the Saint Bernard I’d had since she was a baby; same with Beans, my Vietnamese pig. I rescued both under various circumstances. I’ve always had a soft heart for pets. That’s how my love for making pet treats came about. There was a time years ago when money was tight, and pet treats for my dog were a luxury, not a necessity. So, I started making my own and found I really liked it. I mostly made them for friends and family and then every once in a while, I would sell them at the church bake sale. People were always telling me I should open my own business, but when I was married, my now ex-husband had wanted none of that. He wanted me home so dinner could be on the table every day at six.

When my aunt died and left me a little bit of money along with the house, I decided to take the plunge, and so far, the business was doing really well. I wasn’t a millionaire or anything, but I was able to break even during the winter months, and during the tourist season, sales skyrocketed.

“What is your flavor of the day?” Edna asked in her uppity tone as she walked up to the counter. It didn’t bother me. She was who she was.

Like most communities, Sweet Haven was made up of a variety people, and I was a people person. So even the more difficult ones didn’t bother me much. Missy had skedaddled to the other side of the bakery, pretending to rearrange a shelf when Edna came over. I almost wanted to mention that Missy was a tenant and was having an issue with her air conditioning, but I had a feeling Missy wouldn’t be too thrilled with that.

“Our special today is the Peaches Paw. It’s a muffin top made with puréed peaches. The last time we did this flavor, it sold really well. I’m sure Logan would love it.”

“He’s very particular,” she sniffed. 

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. That wouldn’t be good for business, but sometimes customers were just too much. Animals weren’t often picky.

“I am sure Logan would like them. If you want to buy a couple to see if he likes them, I can refund you if he doesn’t.”

That wasn’t an option I offered to everyone, but Edna was a good customer, even if she was somewhat difficult. She was in here once or twice a week without fail.

“I suppose they are worth a try. Ring me up for four.”

I had to stifle another smile. This was our normal routine. Edna would say she just wasn’t sure Logan would like whatever the special was, and I would offer her a deal. Edna would buy four and not one would get returned.

“Here you go,” I said after wrapping up her purchases. 

Edna nodded and turned to walk out when she suddenly stopped short, and I could hear her hiss. She glanced over at Missy, who had a wide-eyed look on her face and jerked her head toward the front door, and all of a sudden, I saw what had captured Edna’s attention.

Stanley Potter, Edna’s archnemesis. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

You see, Edna and Stanley were bitter rivals. It started over the annual summer best lawn contest , long before I moved to Sweet Haven. One might think the annual summer best lawn contest might not be something that would make enemies, but it was. It was a coveted prize, and one Edna stole from Stanley last year after he had won it three years running. Suffice it to say, he was a sore loser, and there had been animosity between them since, resulting in the town taking sides.

Both were customers of Paw Paws Pet Bakery; Edna for her cat Logan, and Stanley had a prize-winning rabbit, Lord Fluffington. It was no great surprise that they would eventually both show up in the bakery at the same time. I steeled myself for the confrontation that was about to happen. Luckily, the bakery wasn’t that busy right now.

“Stanley,” Edna forced out in a tone that no one would have thought was genuine. 

I would’ve almost found it comical if I wasn’t worried about them disrupting my other customers.

“Edna,” Stanley said in the same forced tone.

At first, I thought Edna would continue on her way and an altercation would be averted, but as soon as I heard the next sentence come out of Stanley’s mouth, I knew that was wishful thinking.

“I assume you’re here buying treats for that no-good scoundrel of a cat of yours,” Stanley spat out. 

And here we go, I said to myself. I was behind Edna and could see her back stiffen. There was no way she was going to let that comment slide.

“How dare you say anything about Logan!” she said, her voice rising on each word.

“I wouldn’t if you kept him at home. He is always in my yard and bothering Lord Fluffington.”

“That is a ridiculous accusation. Logan doesn’t leave my fenced-in yard and definitely doesn’t bother your rabbit.”

The disdain with which Edna uttered the word “rabbit” made Stanley’s face turn red. At least that’s what I assumed really set him off.

“I have proof that raggedy cat has been sniffing around Lord Fluffington’s outdoor lounging spot,” Stanley shouted.

“Lies! You’re just jealous I won best lawn last summer, and I’m going to do it again. I saw some crabgrass sprouting in your yard,” she said smugly.

I didn’t think Stanley’s face could get any redder, but I was wrong. I started to fear he would have a stroke or something.

“You probably planted it there, you and that blasted cat of yours!” I had to admit I wouldn’t put it past her.

Edna took a step closer to Stanley, and I looked over at Missy. I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. It looked like they might come to blows, and we would have to break them up.

“I’ve never cheated a day in my life. Now out of my way!” Edna said.

“You better watch it, Edna. And keep that cat at home where he belongs, or you’ll be sorry!” Stanley yelled to her retreating back.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Edna was gone, and Stanley turned his attention to our display of treats that weren’t for cats and dogs. I assumed he was picking some out for Lord Fluffington.

“Well, that certainly was something,” Missy sidled up to me and whispered. “See why I don’t bother asking her about my air conditioning?”

“She certainly is a piece of work. They both are,” I said, happy they were done fighting in my store. Though I couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever get over their feud. Something told me no.

I picked my way through the library lobby that Monday morning, stepping over a sophomore who had fallen asleep on a yoga mat between the water fountain and the recycling bin. Someone had draped a Spencer University pennant over him like a blanket. Two tables away, a group of nursing students had constructed a fortress out of anatomy textbooks and were taking turns quizzing each other with flashcards while a girl at the end of the row cried quietly into her laptop. The vending machine by the stairwell had been emptied of everything except prune juice, and I made a mental note to ask Don whether campus security had ever done a wellness check on a building before, because the library could have used one.

By the time I made it to the faculty lounge on the second floor of the Tillman Building, Polly was already there, in our usual corner with a coffee cup the size of a small bucket and a stack of battle-worn essays.

"You're late," she said, without looking up from the paper she was grading with a red pen in one hand and a highlighter clenched between her teeth.

I dropped my bag onto the chair across from her and unscrewed the cap on my thirty-two ounce travel cup of hibiscus raspberry tea, brewed that morning with more care than any beverage probably deserved. "I'm not late, you're just here at an unreasonable hour because you've been grading since five in the morning again, and I refuse to encourage that behavior by matching it."

"Four-thirty, actually." She pulled the highlighter from her mouth and drew a long yellow streak across a paragraph that even upside down, was clearly missing a thesis statement. "This student cited Wikipedia fourteen times in a paper about Hemingway. Fourteen, Olivia. The man invented a literary style and this kid is pulling quotes from a page that was probably last edited by someone named DogLover99."

"To be fair, DogLover99 might have some interesting takes on The Old Man and the Sea."

Polly narrowed her eyes at me over her coffee, took a slow, deliberate sip, and managed to communicate both deep affection and complete disappointment without saying a word. "How's your stack looking this week?"

"Forty-two grammar finals to write, sixty research papers to grade by Friday, and a Founders' Day lecture to attend tomorrow morning that I would rather chew glass than sit through." I settled into my chair and wrapped both hands around my tea because the library had decided that climate control was optional during Dead Week. "Have you heard anything about this Prescott guy?"

"Dr. Warren Prescott?" Polly set down her pen with deliberate emphasis. "The man who has made an entire career out of walking into universities and telling them they're terrible? That Warren Prescott?"

"That would be the one."

"He got here yesterday and managed to offend three separate department chairs at the welcome dinner before the salad course was even cleared." Polly leaned back and laced her fingers around her coffee cup, settling in for a proper gossip session. "Diane from the registrar's office told me he called the university's research output, and I'm quoting here, 'charmingly provincial,' and then spent twenty minutes explaining to President Thomas why small colleges like ours are 'part of the problem' in higher education."

"He said that to Thomas? At a dinner Thomas was hosting in his honor?"

"To his face, between the chicken and the crème brûlée. Diane said Thomas's smile got so tight she was worried his face might actually crack."

I could picture it. Thomas's diplomatic grimace, the one he wore when donors said something offensive or the football team lost homecoming. Eric Thomas had stepped into the presidency after the terrible events surrounding President Stoddard's death last year, and the poor man had barely had time to redecorate the office before the accreditation review landed in his lap. He'd been on edge all semester, sending emails with subject lines like "Excellence in Every Detail" and "Our Shared Commitment to Institutional Standards," which was administrator-speak for please don't embarrass me in front of the accreditation committee or I will never recover. Having a professional university critic on campus during the most stressful week of the year must have felt like inviting a restaurant reviewer to dinner on the night your oven broke.

"Why did Thomas invite him in the first place if the man is notorious for being awful?" I asked.

"The Founders' Day lecture is a big deal, and Prescott is a big name. Thomas probably thought it would look good for accreditation. See, we bring in well-known scholars, we're serious about academic rigor." Polly shrugged, tired and unsurprised. She'd been watching university politics from the inside for five years now. "Classic administrative trap. You invite someone important without researching what they're going to say once you hand them a microphone."

"So we have a human wrecking ball on campus during Dead Week, an accreditation review in three weeks, and students sleeping on yoga mats in the library." I took a long sip of my tea. "What a time to be alive."

"Speaking of being alive," Polly said, her mood shifting from shared misery to a gleam I recognized with dread, "when is Don taking you to dinner on Friday?"

I had been hoping she'd forgotten about that. Foolish of me, because Polly never forgot anything, especially where my love life was concerned. "Friday evening, and before you say anything, it is just dinner. We go to dinner. That is a thing we do."

"You go to Mama Rosa's and split eggplant Parmesan. You show up at La Casita in jeans and eat too many chips. This is different, Olivia. He made a reservation. At Mama Rosa's. On a Friday night. He called ahead and asked for the private table. He is making a statement."

"He is making a reservation. There is a difference."

"There is not a difference and you know it." She sat up straight and her coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim, the Polly equivalent of leaping out of her chair. "He wants to take things up a notch. You two have been together for months now and the fanciest thing he's done is let you pick the booth at La Casita."

"I like that booth. It's comfortable and they never rush us out."

"You deserve a proper date once in a while, is all I'm saying. And I think it's sweet that he planned something special. Especially with how busy he's been."

She had a point. Between Don's workload and my grading schedule and the general chaos of the semester, we'd barely seen each other in weeks. A quiet dinner at a nice restaurant sounded wonderful, if I could stop thinking about dead men in locked rooms long enough to enjoy it.

"Just promise me you won't spend the whole dinner talking about the murder," Polly said, reading my face with the accuracy of someone who had known me for five years and could translate my expressions like a second language. "Don deserves one evening where you are not mentally assembling a suspect list over the eggplant Parmesan."

"I don't do that."

"You did it last time we were at La Casita. You rearranged the chips into a timeline of events and used the salsa as a murder weapon."

An unfortunately accurate summary. "I'll be on my best behavior."

"And wear something nice. Not the gray cardigan."

"What is wrong with my gray cardigan?"

"It says 'I've given up and I'd like to discuss comma splices.'"

She wasn't wrong, and we both knew it, so I changed the subject with the subtlety of a freight train. "Did Thomas send you the latest accreditation prep email, or is that just a special torture reserved for my department?"

"Oh, I got it." Polly picked up her pen with a groan that suggested the email had caused her physical pain. "Three pages, single-spaced, about how we all need to 'present a unified front of academic excellence' during the review committee's visit. He used the phrase 'brand ambassadors' to describe the faculty, and I nearly threw my laptop out the window."

"Brand ambassadors. We have PhDs and he wants us to be brand ambassadors."

"Welcome to modern higher education, where the professors have tenure and the branding is made up." Polly drew another long highlighter streak across her student's paper with grim satisfaction. "Anyway, I'm more worried about Prescott than the accreditation committee. If the man makes a habit of insulting everyone he meets, somebody on this campus is going to snap before the week is out."

"He's only here through Wednesday, right? Lecture tomorrow, some panel discussions, and then he's gone?"

"That's the official schedule, but Diane mentioned he's been asking about access to the rare books collection in the new library. Something about research for an article he's writing." Polly paused and gave me a loaded look over the rim of her coffee cup. "An article about institutional data practices at small liberal arts colleges."

I stopped mid-sip. A professional whistleblower on campus during accreditation prep, writing an article about data practices, while Thomas was already wound tighter than a clock spring. That wasn't bad timing. That was a grenade with a guest pass and a podium.

"You don't think he's here to…"

"I think he's here to do what he always does," Polly said, "which is walk into an institution, find the thing they're most desperate to keep hidden, and drag it into the sunlight while everyone watches."

My phone buzzed on the table between us. A text from Don that read, simply, Looking forward to Friday with a smiley face emoji that I found unexpectedly charming coming from a man who spent his weekends reviewing security footage and filing incident reports.

"Is that him?" Polly asked, craning her neck with zero respect for my privacy.

"It's none of your business is what it is," I said, but I was smiling when I tucked the phone back into my bag, and Polly saw it, and that was all the confirmation she needed to look pleased with herself for the rest of the morning.

I finished my tea, gathered my things, and headed across campus toward my first class of the day, passing students who looked like they were running on caffeine and prayers and a maintenance crew hanging the Founders' Day banner across the front of the administration building. I was rounding the corner by the guest suite when a voice stopped me. Not because it was loud, though it was, but because of what it said.

"...and you can tell the board that if they think I came all this way just to give a polite little lecture and shake hands, they have badly misread the situation." The man on the steps was tall, silver-haired, and wearing an overcoat that cost more than my monthly mortgage. He had his phone pressed to his ear and hadn't noticed me on the path below, which gave me a clear view of his face as he said, "I have the original data, Karen. The actual numbers before they were cooked. And I intend to use them."

He hung up, slid the phone into his coat pocket, and turned toward the guest suite door. His eyes swept the walkway and landed on me. No warmth in them. Just a flat, sizing-up look, like a man deciding whether I was worth stepping over or on.

Then he went inside, and the door closed behind him.

I stood there with my empty tea cup and a cold feeling that had nothing to do with the November air. Because what I'd just heard wasn't a man preparing for a lecture.

It was a man preparing for a detonation.

At the center of this cozy mystery series is Olivia Little, an English professor with a talent for solving crimes, and Don Harding, the head of campus security and a former homicide detective from Cleveland. Their relationship does not start with fireworks or a grand confession. It starts with cupcakes.

Olivia brings Don cupcakes from the campus cafeteria, specifically the strawberry ones with buttercream frosting and sprinkles. In exchange, he shares little pieces of information about whatever is going on around campus. It is a routine that becomes a tradition that becomes something neither of them expected.

In Book 1, they are friends with a spark that neither one of them names. Don wants Olivia to stay out of the murder investigation. Olivia does not stay out of it. He helps her anyway. There is teasing, there is worry, and there is a rhythm between them that feels like more than friendship from the very first chapter.

By Book 2, the trust between them deepens. Don grumbles about sharing information, but he does it, because he knows Olivia's instincts are sharp. She leans on his judgment. He leans on her persistence. They do not talk about what is growing between them. They just show up for each other, over and over again.

Book 3 is where everything shifts. Don leaves Spencer for a few weeks to pursue a cold case in Columbus, and Olivia is surprised by how much she misses him. When a crisis brings him rushing back, the worry he carries for her crosses a line from professional to deeply personal. After he pulls her out of a dangerous situation, neither of them can pretend it is just friendship anymore.

By Book 4, the warmth between them is undeniable. Polly teases Olivia about it constantly. Olivia's thoughts drift to Don without her permission. They are not dating, not yet, but the reader knows it is coming. The anticipation is half the fun.

And then comes what happens next. But I will not spoil that. I will just say the payoff is worth the wait.

By the time you reach Final Exam Felony, Olivia and Don's relationship has entered a whole new chapter. One that gets tested in ways they did not see coming. Want to find out how they handle it!

Here is your spoiler-free guide to what each book brings to the table.

Book 1 ... Death by Suspenders. Olivia Little is an English professor who loves the first day of school. She loves the energy, the fresh notebooks, the promise of a new semester. What she does not love is finding a dead body in the faculty building before classes even start. The most disliked professor on campus has been killed, and the suspect list is long. This is where you meet Olivia, Polly, Don, and Detective Benson. It is also where Olivia discovers she has a knack for asking the right questions at the wrong time.

Book 2 ... Textbook Murder. A law professor is found shot in his office, and Olivia's newest friend, a former Chicago lawyer named Chloe Parsons, lands in the middle of the investigation on her very first day at Spencer. Federal investigators, a billion-dollar energy company, and a framed CFO add layers to a mystery that reaches far beyond campus. This one will keep you guessing.

Book 3 ... Killer Classes. When the university president goes missing and turns up dead, the investigation gets personal fast. Long-buried secrets about money, power, and betrayal surface from inside the administration. This is also the book where Olivia and Don's relationship shifts in a way that will make your heart pound, and not because of the murder.

Book 4 ... Christmas Caper. A shorter, cozier entry in the series. Spencer University's beloved Christmas tree lighting ceremony is under threat when a saboteur targets the event. No murder this time, just holiday charm, community spirit, and a villain whose grudge runs deeper than anyone expected. It is a warm and wonderful palate cleanser before what comes next.

And what comes next is Book 5, Final Exam Felony. A young professor is found dead during spring break, and the official ruling is suicide. Olivia is not buying it. Not when the victim was engaged, happy, and about to blow the whistle on something that could shake the university to its foundation.

Start the journey with the box set. Then pre-order Final Exam Felony to find out what happens when the questions get harder and the stakes get higher.