Saddles and Snowstorms - Sagebrush Cowboys #4 - Signed Paperback

Rowan:
Moving to Sagebrush, Texas, was supposed to be my chance to start over. As a veterinarian fresh out of a bad breakup and a chaotic city life, I wanted peace—a quiet practice, a small-town community, and maybe, just maybe, a place to finally call home.

What I didn’t expect was Brooks Callahan.

Brooks is the kind of cowboy you’d find in a country song—rugged, stubborn, and fiercely independent. When he shows up at my clinic with an injured calf, I see a man weighed down by the world but too proud to ask for help. The sparks between us are instant, but his gruff demeanor keeps me at arm’s length.

Until the snowstorm.

Being stuck together in a tiny cabin during a blizzard wasn’t on my to-do list. And neither was ending up in bed with him. But seeing Brooks vulnerable changes everything. Beneath his gruff exterior is a man with a quiet strength and a heart he’s terrified to show. As I care for him, walls start to crumble, and the tension between us ignites into something neither of us can deny.

Brooks:
I don’t have time for distractions, especially not Rowan Walsh. The new vet is sharp, quick-witted, and frustratingly charming. He’s also trouble—a city boy who doesn’t understand how life out here works. I told myself to keep my distance, but that’s easier said than done when he keeps showing up just when I need him most.

Like the night I got caught in the worst freak blizzard Sagebrush has seen in decades. I’d been out checking on a calf when I took a spill on the ice and tore my leg up bad. By the time Rowan found me, I was barely conscious. He managed to get me back to my cabin, and crawled into my bed to keep me from freezing to death. But when passion took over, neither of us could resist. And now we’re snowed in together, with no way out and nowhere to hide.

Rowan’s presence in my home—and my life—is both infuriating and intoxicating. He challenges me in ways no one else ever has, and he makes me want things I’ve spent years convincing myself I couldn’t have. But when the storm clears, reality sets in. The life he’s looking for might not include a rancher with a past like mine.

As the snow melts and reality sets back in, we’re left with a choice: retreat to the safety of our old lives or take a chance on something neither of us expected to find. Can a guarded rancher like me and a restless veterinarian build something lasting in the heart of Sagebrush, or will the storm that brought us together leave us both out in the cold?

Snowstorms and Saddles is a tender, steamy romance about healing, vulnerability, and the unshakable bond forged in life’s harshest storms. Set against the rugged backdrop of Texas ranch country, Rowan and Brooks’s story will leave you believing in the power of love to weather anything.

Chapter Two: Brooks
“Come on, you ornery, old bitch…” I grumbled, glaring at the cow that kept trying to kick me every time I gave her half-born calf a tug.
The damn thing had been stuck half in and out of the world for ten minutes. I’d been up since five helping her bring this calf into the world, and she’d done nothing but snort and stomp at me the entire time. If she wasn’t such a good calver, I would’ve turned her into beef years ago. But goddammit if she didn’t get knocked up every chance she got. I did my best to try to time calves for the spring when the weather was more predictable, but this cow… well, she did what she wanted. And so did the bull that broke into her pen late last spring.
I gave another firm tug, arms burning, and finally felt the calf slip forward a bit more.
“That’s it, you stubborn thing,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow with my forearm, careful to keep my birthing-slick hands away from my face.
The morning sun was starting to beat down on my neck, and I could feel my shirt sticking to my back, sweaty from the effort of helping a stubborn cow all morning. January in northern Texas wasn’t exactly warm, but at least it wasn’t July sun beating down on me. Small mercies.
The moment the calf hit the ground, the cow turned around and started licking it. I cleared the mucus from its nose and mouth before glancing down at its belly. A bull. Not exactly what I was hoping for. But at least that meant he didn’t need a name. In a few weeks he’d become a steer, then after a good life on the pasture, he’d go into someone’s freezer. It was one of those hard truths about ranching that some folks didn’t like. But that’s the way it worked. If they wanted burgers, some of the cattle had to go to market.
“How about a heifer next time, huh?” I said, patting the ornery old cow on the way out of the barn. “That’s the least you could do for getting knocked up when you’re not supposed to.”
The cow just swung her head at me, eyes half-lidded in maternal exhaustion as she went back to cleaning her calf. I chuckled, shaking my head as I made my way out into the yard.
The January air hit my sweat-soaked shirt like a slap, sending a shiver down my spine. The Sagebrush hills rolled out before me, winter-brown with patches of stubborn green, stretching toward the horizon. This little slice of northern Texas had been my home for all thirty-two years of my life, and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, even on days like this when every muscle in my body ached from wrestling livestock.
As soon as I was inside the cabin, I stripped down at the door, piling my sweaty and bloody clothes on the tile. My border collie, Hank, ran up to me immediately and started licking my naked thighs.
“Will you stop that?” I barked, swatting him away as I gathered up my dirty clothes. “You didn’t want to go out in the cold, remember? So, no weird cow fluids for you!”
Hank, looking rather dejected, headed back to his warm bed by the fireplace. He’d be fine. He had a penchant for eating, rolling in, or otherwise interacting with anything disgusting, so I was kinda glad he’d stayed behind. The last thing I wanted to do after helping that cow all morning was give the dog a bath because he had to be right in the splash zone. Dogs were gross. I loved him dearly, but that didn’t stop him from being gross. And he always had been, ever since I’d gotten him ten years ago as a pup. Sometimes it felt like he got more showers than I did.
As soon as my clothes were in the washing machine, I headed for the shower, desperate to be free of the stench of cow. The water ran hot over my skin, washing away the sweat and grime of the morning’s labor. I let my head fall forward, watching the last traces of my early morning swirl down the drain. My muscles ached, especially my shoulders and lower back. Calving season always did a number on me. This year it was starting extra early.
“Getting too old for this shit,” I muttered to nobody but the shower tiles.
After toweling off, I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, the fabric soft from years of washing. I made a quick call to the new vet in town, asking him to come out to check on everything. When I was done, I glanced over at the kitchen clock that read half past ten. Still plenty of day left to check fences in the north pasture. The wind had been fierce yesterday, and I’d bet money something had come down.
I was halfway through a ham sandwich when the sound of tires on gravel made me pause. Hank’s ears perked up, and he bounded to the door, tail wagging furiously. That must’ve been the vet I’d called to come check on the calf.
“Down, boy,” I said, peering through the window.
A dusty blue pickup I didn’t recognize had pulled up next to my barn. The driver’s door swung open, and a man I’d never seen before stepped out, stretching his back before looking around. He ducked back into the truck, grabbing a bag typical of most large animal vets. However, my attention was drawn elsewhere.
This new vet was nothing like the old Dr. Mercer I’d known for years. This man was young, probably in his late twenties, with a lithe, muscular body that exuded power and grace.
I watched him move across my yard with a kind of fluid confidence that didn’t seem to match the typical vets around these parts. His dark jeans hugged his strong thighs and ass just right, and his chambray shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal tanned forearms despite the January chill. When he turned to look toward the house, I caught a glimpse of his face—strong jawline, full lips, and dark green eyes that even from a distance seemed to take in everything at once.
“Shit,” I muttered, suddenly aware I was staring. Hank whined impatiently at the door, eager to greet our visitor.
I grabbed my well-worn hat off the hook by the door and stepped out onto the porch, letting the screen door bang behind me. The new vet looked up, and for a moment, our eyes locked across the yard. Something hot and unexpected flickered in my chest.
“Morning,” I called out, my voice rougher than I intended. “You the new vet?”
He nodded, shifting his bag to his left hand and extending his right as he approached. “Dr. Rowan Walsh. Everyone calls me Rowan, though.” His voice had a slight Texas drawl, like the ones they had down south. It was soft and smooth, not what I’d expected. As he got closer, I noticed a small scar on his jaw, a thin white line that somehow added to his appeal rather than diminishing it.
“Brooks Callahan,” I replied, taking his hand. His grip was firm, his palm calloused in places, but still softer than mine. Our handshake lingered a moment longer than necessary before I pulled away, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.” Rowan’s eyes scanned my face briefly before dropping to Hank, who was now circling his legs, sniffing enthusiastically. “Friendly guy.”
“Too friendly sometimes,” I muttered, whistling sharply. Hank reluctantly returned to my side. “Calf’s in the barn. Just delivered him about an hour ago. Mama’s a bit ornery, so watch yourself.”
Rowan smiled, a quick flash of white teeth that did something strange to my insides. “I’ve handled my share of ornery mothers in the past twenty-four hours alone. Lead the way.”
I turned, painfully aware of him following behind me as we crossed the yard. The barn door creaked as I pulled it open, revealing the dim interior. The cow looked up, her dark eyes narrowing suspiciously at the newcomer.
“That’s her over there,” I said, nodding toward the far stall. “Been giving me hell all morning.”
“Let me guess,” Rowan said, stepping closer to me than necessary as we moved through the barn. “She’s not supposed to be calving in January.”
I snorted. “Got it in one. Bull broke through the fence last spring. Thought I’d caught all the accidents, but...” I gestured toward the cow and her calf. “Clearly missed one.”
Rowan set his bag down and approached the stall carefully, speaking in a low, soothing voice that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Hey there, mama. Just need to check on you and your little one.”
The cow, who’d been ready to kick my head off not two hours ago, merely snorted and shifted her weight. Traitor.
“She likes you,” I said, leaning against a post. “Usually takes a swing at strangers as soon as she gets the chance, the old bitch.”
He just laughed. “Some of us just have a way with the ladies, I guess,” Rowan replied with a wink that caught me off guard. I felt heat rise to my face and was grateful for the dim barn light.
He approached the cow with practiced ease, his movements calm and deliberate as he examined the newborn calf. His hands moved expertly over the animal, checking its breathing, eyes, and joints. I found myself watching those hands—strong but gentle, confident in their work.
“Looks like a healthy bull calf,” he said, straightening up. “Good size too. You did a fine job delivering him.”
“Wasn’t my first rodeo,” I muttered, then immediately regretted my choice of words. Something about this new vet had me feeling off-balance.
Rowan turned his attention to the mother, checking her over with the same careful attention. I couldn’t help but notice how the muscles in his back flexed beneath his shirt as he worked, the way sweat began to dampen the fabric between his shoulder blades. The barn wasn’t particularly warm, but veterinary work was never light.
“She’s looking good too,” he said finally, stepping back from the stall and wiping his hands on a cloth from his bag. “No signs of tearing or excessive bleeding. You might want to keep an eye on her udder though, looks like it could get a bit engorged if the calf doesn’t nurse enough.”
I nodded, trying not to stare at the way his forearms flexed as he packed his equipment back into his bag. “I’ll make sure he’s feeding properly.”
“How many head of cattle do you run?” he asked, glancing around the barn.
“Small operation. Just twenty-five. Quality over quantity.” I shifted my weight, oddly self-conscious about my modest ranch. “I sell direct to a few restaurants and shops in the area.”
Rowan nodded appreciatively. “Makes sense. I’ve heard about your beef, actually. Dolly at the diner mentioned you’re her supplier when I stopped in for breakfast the other morning. I didn’t have a face to put to the name until now.”
“That so?” I felt an unexpected flicker of pride. “Dolly’s a good customer. Fair prices, pays on time.”
“She said it was the best in the county.” Rowan’s eyes met mine again, and there was something warm in his gaze that made my throat go dry. “Said I hadn’t lived until I tried one of your steaks.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise, but pleased all the same. “Just raise ‘em right is all.”
The new vet moved closer, and I caught a whiff of his scent—clean soap mixed with a hint of something woodsy, nothing like the antiseptic smell the old vet used to carry. It stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Well, I’ll have to try it sometime,” he said, his voice lower than before. He was standing close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in those forest-green eyes of his. Close enough that I noticed how his dark lashes framed them.
I cleared my throat and took a step back. “Yeah, well. Dolly’s got a freezer full.”
Rowan seemed to sense my discomfort and gave me space, turning back to the cow and her calf. “I’m new to Sagebrush,” he said conversationally. “Just moved up from Austin last week. Quite a change of pace.”
“That’s an understatement,” I replied, grateful for the shift in topic. “What brings a city boy out to the middle of nowhere? Not exactly where most vets want to set up shop.”
Something flickered across his face, a shadow of something painful that was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Needed a change of scenery,” he said simply. “And Sagebrush needed a vet.”
I nodded, not pressing. Everyone had their stories, their reasons for ending up in a speck of a town like this. Most folks didn’t come here; they either stayed or left. New blood was rare. Me though? I was one of the folks that stayed.
“Well, we’re glad to have you,” I said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. “Old Dr. Mercer’s hands were getting too shaky for calving season.”
Rowan smiled again, that easy smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “Glad to be useful. Have you been in Sagebrush long?” he asked, running his hand along the calf’s spine with a practiced touch. The little bull twitched but stayed close to his mother.
“All my life,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “Never had much reason to leave.”
Rowan nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Must be nice, having roots like that.”
Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. There was a melancholy there, hidden behind that easy confidence. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Other times it feels like being stuck.”
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, surprise evident. “Didn’t expect that kind of honesty from the town hermit.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “Town hermit?”
A flush crept up his neck, coloring those tan cheeks. “Sorry, that’s what Dolly called you. Said Brooks Callahan makes the best beef in three counties but barely shows his face in town except to drop it off.”
I couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped me. “Dolly’s got a big mouth.”
“She also said you were ‘handsome as sin but ornery as your cattle,’” Rowan added with a slight smirk, his eyes never leaving mine.
I felt heat spread across my face and down my neck. Damn Dolly and her big mouth. “Dolly needs to mind her own business,” I muttered, adjusting my hat lower over my eyes.
Rowan laughed, a warm sound that echoed through the barn. “For what it’s worth, she wasn’t wrong.” His eyes lingered on me a moment too long before he turned back to the calf, checking its legs one more time.
The air between us suddenly felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. I wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment or the way it made my heart thump harder against my ribs.
“You, uh, need anything else?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
Rowan straightened up, wiping his hands on a cloth from his bag. “Just a signature on some paperwork. Standard stuff for a new patient.”
I nodded and followed him out of the barn into the January sunlight. The cold air felt good against my heated skin. We walked side by side toward his truck, our boots crunching on the gravel. Hank circled around us, still fascinated by the newcomer.
“So,” Rowan said, pulling a clipboard from his truck, “you mentioned this was an accidental breeding. Do you normally breed your own stock?”
I leaned against his truck, watching as he flipped through papers. The sun caught his profile, highlighting that strong jaw and the scar that ran along it.
“Yeah, I keep one bull. Select breeding mostly. Try to keep the bloodlines strong without getting too close.” I shrugged. “Quality’s what keeps my customers coming back.”
Rowan nodded, handing me the clipboard. “Makes sense. Sign here, please.”
Our fingers brushed as I took the clipboard, and I felt that same unexpected jolt. I quickly looked down at the paperwork, trying to focus on the lines and boxes instead of how close he was standing.
“You run this place all by yourself?” he asked while I scrawled my signature.
“Just me and Hank,” I replied, nodding toward the dog, who was now rolling in something questionable near the fence. “Dammit, Hank!” I shouted, handing the clipboard back to Rowan. “That dog’s gonna be the death of me.”
Rowan chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “That’s dogs for you. Find the most disgusting thing in a five-mile radius and make it their cologne.”
I couldn’t help but smile, watching as he carefully tucked the clipboard back into his truck. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders and the way those jeans hugged his ass made my own jeans tighten.
“Must get lonely out here,” he said casually, leaning against his truck. “All by yourself.”
Something in his tone made me look up sharply. His green eyes were studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with heat.
“I’m used to it,” I said, my voice gruffer than I intended. He was getting too comfortable now. “Well, I better get on. These cows ain’t gonna feed themselves.”
Rowan looked slightly surprised but quickly covered it up with a nod of understanding. “Right,” he said. “I’ve got plenty more patients to check on myself. I’ll send a bill out once I get back to the clinic.”
“Right. Thanks again.”
I barely gave him a wave before I turned around and headed back toward the barn. I knew I was being rude, of course, but the new vet was getting a little too personal for me. I busied myself with checking the feed bins, pretending not to notice when Rowan’s truck pulled away, gravel crunching under the tires. Only when the sound faded did I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“What the hell was that?” I muttered to myself, running a hand over my face. I wasn’t sure if my new vet was just nice or hitting on me the entire time. It was probably my imagination, but that didn’t stop it from scaring the hell out of me. Whatever the hell it was, nothing was gonna come of it. I’d sworn that shit off a long time ago. Besides, he was easily ten years younger than me and the last thing I wanted to do was get mixed up with some pup that had nothing to lose. My world had been shaken enough.
Hank trotted back to me, his black and white fur smelling like death warmed over. I grimaced and pointed to the water trough.
“You’re gettin’ a bath, you nasty little shit. And I don’t care if you shiver for the next two hours either.”