My next big adventure is running a goat farm. I just need a few lessons from the grumpy cowboy who’s been volunteered to help. Nearly the big 5-0, I decide it’s time to put down roots, but life without adventure is no fun. So, I buy a goat farm. I anticipate smelly livestock and a steep learning curve because I’ve never owned even a parakeet, let alone a four-legged creature. What surprises me is the redhead-hating, built-like-a-linebacker cowboy who’s supposed to teach me all about goats. He doesn’t seem to like those either. He teaches me what I need to know, but even when I’m running things on my own, he keeps coming around. I fall head over heels. He just wants to be friends. How many stars do I have to wish on to get this guy to change his mind?

Dating again is not part of my plan, and romance with my late husband’s best friend is definitely off limits. When Blake shows up after five years, I remember how much fun he was to have around. With his own brand of humor, he keeps everyone laughing. Especially me. He’s fun, comfortable . . . until he shows romantic interest. Blake’s never been one for settling down, but even if he were, I can’t date him. There are so many reasons. Besides the friend thing, Blake hates wine. I own a winery. He rides the rodeo circuit. I stay far away from rodeos. A perfect match? Not at all. We’re more like two mismatched socks. Can two odd socks really make a pair?

Holy hot flashes! This blue-eyed dream in a pair of Wranglers is the best-looking cowboy I’ve ever seen. Thankfully, I’m immune to his charms. After nearly 25 years as a trophy wife, my cheating ex dumped me for a younger woman. Now I’m starting over in a new place with a car, a piddly amount if money in the bank, and an exotic cat. Oh, and a ten-foot pole to keep between me and any man, even the good-looking, boot-wearing Texan who swoops in to help me. Yes, he makes me remember what it’s like to feel something. But my heart is too brittle for romance. Every sassy comment I fling his way, he serves right back until I’m not sure if we’re arguing or flirting. With him, I feel more alive than I have in years, but starting over means standing on my own two feet, not being swept off them.

A great new job, a gorgeous new place to live, and the most frustrating landlord in the world. I guess I can’t have everything I want. The Cowboy Chef has a reputation as a heartbreaker, but that doesn’t stop my heart from going pitter-patter whenever he’s around. It’s not because I’m over forty and single. There are other reasons. But I’m not going to risk opening my heart to a man with his reputation. Any man for that matter. Then I end up living across the driveway from him, and he calls a truce. Being nice to each other only makes the heart-thumping worse. He oozes charm like the sun gives off heat. But it’s clear he’s not interested. When we’re stranded in a freak snowstorm, I snap and unleash a heap of brutal honesty. His response catches me completely off guard. What do I do now?

Never Date a Guy When Your World is Falling Apart Being an only child has its perks . . . and its disadvantages. My parents want the best for me. That I get. But they also want to dictate my life. Not gonna happen. They want me to move back home, but I like living three hours away. Then I meet the perfect guy. He’s another reason not to leave my small town. My parents don’t like that I’m not moving—they don’t know about the guy—and demand their stuff back . . . everything they’ve bought me. What am I supposed to do underemployed and without a car? I can’t ask my boyfriend to save me from that. But I’ll do anything to figure out life on my own terms. Even if it means working on a goat farm. Once I establish my independence, I introduce Harper to my parents. They hate every choice I make, but I think they’ll love him. I’m not sure what I’ll do if they don’t.

The one who got away was here all along When I’m abandoned at a party and find myself in a vulnerable situation, a stranger rescues me. I want to thank him, but I have no memory of his face, only a text telling my housemate that he’s a cowboy with a pretty face. That’s not a lot to go on. I’ve build him up as a fantasy in my head, but when a flirtatious ranch hand makes his interest clear, I have to choose between clinging to a memory, one that’s fuzzy at best, and embracing the present. A real-life cowboy is better than a dream. Right? What if I’m wrong about that?

He’s the only witness to the most heartbreaking moment of my life. No way am I giving him a second chance. I played some part in the demise of our relationship, but mostly it was all on him. At least the way I see it. But I didn’t need him. Still don’t. Anyway, the spark of first love has been out too long to rekindle. No matter what people say. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. He wants to forgive and forget and see if we can make it work now that we’re older and wiser. I want to dig a hole for him to crawl into. It’s up to me to decide. I can forgive or spend my golden years lonely and hating him. It’s a tough choice.