Sweetwater Promise, page 1
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
What Readers are Saying
Dedication
Dear Reader:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Some Assembly Required Excerpt
What’s next on
Sweetwater Promise
JANUARY BAIN
CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP
Sweetwater Promise
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Published by Champagne Book Group
2373 NE Evergreen Avenue, Albany OR 97321 U.S.A.
~~~
First Edition 2022
eISBN: 978-1-957228-23-5
Copyright © 2022 January Bain All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Erica Christensen
Ink Cover Designs
Champagne Book Group supports copyright which encourages creativity and diverse voices, creates a rich culture, and promotes free speech. Thank you by complying by not scanning, uploading, and distributing this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher. Your purchase of an authorized electronic edition supports the author’s rights and hard work and allows Champagne Book Group to continue to bring readers fiction at its finest.
www.champagnebooks.com
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What Readers are Saying about
The Sweetwater Promise.
Sweet, Funny, and Delightful
Oh, my goodness! I just loved everything about Sweetwater Promise! First of all, Daisey Winslow was funny, kind, and charming. It was such fun reading this first-person story from her perspective because I truly liked her and she felt like an instant friend. Then, Jack was utterly swoon-worthy, strong, considerate, respectful, and handsome. I could truly feel their instant connection, and how torn Daisey was between the two worlds of New York City and Sweetwater. Finally, Sweetwater, North Dakota, itself was an extraordinary character. As someone who happened to grow up in a small, midwestern town where we had an annual festival complete with rodeo and pie-eating contest, this story just brought me right back to my roots, and I couldn’t get enough of the town and its residents. The secondary characters were fun, important to the story, and really gave it a lot more depth and emotion, especially Daisey’s family members. The connection between Daisey and Jack, and Daisey’s ancestors, Sadie and Seth, was very well-done and engaging. If you like sweet romance with real depth and charm, read this today! Five stars from me!
Review from “Romance Reader” (a/k/a Aurora Russell)
~ * ~
Make your heart happy with this Sweet Romance.
Sweetwater Promise by January Bain
Budding writer, songstress and reporter for the local newspaper, Daisy Winslow dreams of making it ‘big’.
Sweetwater’s the home that holds a special place in her heart, but it’s a small town, and the city is where she needs to be if she’s to achieve the breakthrough in her career she’s worked so hard for. The sale of a parcel of prime land, inherited from her grandmother, will provide the funds to allow her to do so, and once the annual Sweetwater Rodeo is over she’ll be off.
Newly arrived in town from New York City, Deputy Sheriff Jack Sampson, sets hearts aflutter, but Daisy’s the girl he’s got his eye on and he makes no secret of that fact. Competition heats up in the race to buy her land, leaving Daisy troubled. None of the contenders fits the bill for a buyer who will take care of it in the way her family has for several generations.
Perhaps Daisy will find the solace she seeks in the journal diary of her long-gone ancestor, and perhaps Jack will convince her the love of a good man, surrounded by the friends and family she adores, is preferable to anonymous hurly-burly of a city where no-one gives a damn about anyone but themselves. One outcome is for certain though, with the help of a beautifully written cast of fabulous supporting characters, there will be many delightful twists and turns along the way.
Cassie O’Brien
As always, for the man I share my life and
Buttonland with, my own shining knight in armor,
my husband Don.
Dear Reader:
I thank you, Dear Reader, for taking the time to engage with a story that is close to my heart. I think the heroine, Daisey Winslow resides is in all of us, those times when we are conflicted by which direction our lives should go, and what matters most to our future happiness. Daisey and Jack have a lot to work out as it’s never easy to find your own happy-ever-after. I did put them through the ringer at times, but then, doesn’t that make it all the more worthwhile?!
If you enjoyed this story, a short review would be most welcomed! Feel free to connect with me on social media, especially Facebook which I visit most every day. https://www.facebook.com/january.bain
I wish you a wonderful day!
Hugs, January Bain
Chapter One
Welcome to Sweetwater, North Dakota,
a town with a guaranteed happily ever after in every story.
“You, Daisey Rose Winslow, are good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Giving up on your goals is like slashing all your tires after getting one flat.” I pointed at the reflection of myself in the window of Joy’s All Things Christmas Shoppe, practicing a new life affirmation I’d read online just this morning. I shook my head. “Nah, I like yesterday’s better. Excuse me, I have to go be awesome.” At least that one made me smile.
Joy Watson waved at me through the window, holding a spectacular blown glass angel that sparkled in the overhead lighting, its wings appearing alive as it twirled from her fingertips. I waved back and nodded with approval, placing a hand over my heart for emphasis. No matter what happened in the next few months, I’d be back in December. The town might be quaint, and I rail against it when it tugs me too close, but it’s the place to be at Christmastime.
I resumed jogging down Main Street, keeping alert for any stray exercisers barreling my way. It just takes being mowed down once to make you leave your iPod at home and listen to the world with unimpeded hearing.
A robin erupted into song from its perch on the wrought iron flagpole in front of the hardware store, apparently agreeing with me on the awesomeness of nature sounds. And definitely no selfie sticks for this female. Last thing I needed was a photo of my sweaty, red-faced person slogging it out on a morning run.
Ah, the delectable scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and apples baking drew me toward the Prairie Rose Café. I stopped for a sec on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and gazed around my home town of Sweetwater, North Dakota. The town had never looked prettier, nestled as it was on the banks of the meandering Red River in its summer coat of fresh, vibrant flowers and deep green foliage. The sun added an extra rosy glow this morning, creating prisms of rainbows on dew-damped grass. Squint just right and your fingers fairly itched to pick up a few and stash them away. My grandma always accused me of having a romantic soul and I wasn’t one to prove her wrong.
Shirley Johnson was busy sweeping the steps outside the post office with a straw broom, raising little puffs of white dust. The line of sight took me right to the poster of a covered wagon someone had pasted onto the red brick.
Excitement bubbled up inside me for this coming week. Our town was having its first re-enactment of a homesteaders’ journey, using replica Prairie Schooners. I’m a die-hard romantic about the old west. Well, except for the long skirts, no indoor plumbing, and the dearth of food deliveries from friends and family I’ve counted on all my life.
Setting aside the slight twinge of worry about my ability to do our town proud, I pushed open the front door of the café and went inside.
“Morning,” I said, plunking myself down in the booth opposite my cousin.
“Hey, Daisey.” She scarcely gave me a glance, staring at her iPhone like it contained all the secrets of the universe. Well, maybe it did. We have excellent wi-fi service in Sweetwater, a factor that might come into play when I sell the parcel of land so kindly willed to me and which I couldn’t offload for a whole year after my grandma passed on. With forty-nine of those fifty-two weeks having also passed on, that was going to change. Big time.
“You know,” I said, “I’m beginning to feel like George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life. My life is always holding something back, holding me back, but this time, I’ve made up my mind. I’m heading to New York no matter what happens, when the next three weeks are up.”
Rose, as much of an old movie freak as I am, quirked an eyebrow in my
I drummed my fingers on the snowy white tablecloth embroidered with pink roses. “New York has far more opportunities.”
“Sweetwater has more time for people.”
“New York offers more freedom.”
“Sweetwater has more people who care about you.”
No denying that. I swear this town has its own beating heart and it echoes deep inside all of us, keeping us here or calling us home. Maybe we lived on a Ley Line that gifted the land with magnetic energy? Or not. Whatever, something special always happened in Sweetwater. Just had to look at the Wall of Fame in Al’s office to know that.
That reminded me. “Guess what? Al wants me to report on the greased pig event again this year, with the ‘expected attention to detail.’” He complained that my scant twelve words devoted to celebrating the pig’s win last year—though quite poetic—had left something to be desired. I thought I’d nailed it when the pig escaped through the fence and proceeded to make his way into a neighboring corn field. And this little piggy said wee-wee-wee, all the way home.
Al Lowe’s my boss at The Sweetwater Times, where I’m a virtual slave. All right, it’s self-imposed, because I love my town and the salt of the earth people who I’m grateful to have as neighbors, but everything tends to stay the same in Sweetwater, while I dream of making it in New York City.
Not that I regret for one second staying home to be here for Grandma’s last few months, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat for anyone in my family, but there’s a drive inside me I cannot explain that pushes me to do my best. Make my mark on the world. Earn the praise of my family, and my mother. Especially my mother.
My cousin Rose put the phone down and gave me her full attention. She’s two years older than me, has a pretty pixie haircut and bright brown eyes. She gave me that look. The one that said, “Do you realize how lucky you are?”
Of course, a look was never enough. Good thing I loved her like she was my own sister. “Daisey Winslow,” she lectured, “a gal with your talent and drive, you’re going to have it all no matter where you do it or where you go. Just make darn sure it’s what you really want. The big city can swallow a person up whole. Remember the old adage, be careful what—”
“You wish for,” I finished and looked away, checking out Main Street. Tim McMann, our town handy guy, was setting up a ladder near a light standard, unrolling the banner for the annual Sweetwater Rodeo scheduled to start today and overlap with the wagon train affair.
For a small town, we sure do have a lot of things scheduled. Last I checked there were only one thousand, four hundred and eighty-one of us to do all the various jobs such occasions created and attend said events.
Don’t get me started on Christmas. The town goes all out, becoming the destination point for hundreds of miles around. We provide everything from toboggan races to gingerbread contests to the Christmas Pageant, and the biggie, the Sweetwater Festival of Lights. The town council and fellow Sweetwaterites pretty much dictate the rule of “decorate your home or business or be lumped in with Ebenezer Scrooge before he found his muse.”
I grinned. That even rhymed.
I do, however, have one of the easier tasks—reporting for The Sweetwater Times. I take pride in doing my job to the best of my abilities. There was, though, this one time I’d been egged on by my mischievous grandma to write a funny slant to a crop circle story about aliens having done the deed, and that’s enough said about that.
“It’s a nice piece of land.” Rose’s words pulled me back to the moment. “You’ll soon be able to offload it when the time comes. The year’s almost up. What’s a few more weeks?”
Grandma had willed me a beautiful, pristine property on the banks of the Red River, a few streets over from downtown Sweetwater. Sure, it was valuable, prime real estate and coveted by a few developers including a green group who wanted it handed over to them for a dollar or preferably less.
Grandma’s express wish was I do not sell it or leave town for one full year. A part of me was glad for the wait. Everyone had been so broken up after she’d passed.
My heart gave a little surge though, imagining having the funds from the sale to start my new life. Al pays peanuts. Almost an unpaid apprenticeship, but he does his best. I’m well aware small-town newspapers are a dying breed, existing on proverbial shoestrings. I’ve learned so much from Al, a real, old-fashioned newspaper man, and I would be forever grateful.
Really, I should be paying him, not a fact I’m likely to be sharing with him any time soon. He’d take me up on it.
“But I’ll be twenty-five!” I whined to Rose. “A quarter century. If I don’t get out soon, I’ll get stuck here.”
“A whole quarter of a century? Bit dramatic, Daisey,” Rose said with a half-smile. She topped up our coffees from the thermal pot she prepared for us each morning before opening the café. We’d been best friends since early childhood, apart from a few skirmishes over boys. I always let her win. I had no intention of staying in Sweetwater, so why not?
In point of fact, I avoided the opposite sex. I didn’t need complications, but I loved this ritual, a quiet break when the day held limitless promise. I admit, I’d miss it something awful when I finally got my golden ticket out of Sweetwater. Give up on my dreams? No way.
I hadn’t taken all those online college courses and graduated with honors in creative writing and completed a minor in sixteenth century history for nothing. Someday I’m going to be a historical romance author and a background in history will help.
For now, I wanted to experience real life firsthand, stride through this century and prove myself. To be somebody other than a sister, friend, cousin, daughter or maybe wife one day. To make it on my own, to be known as “the brilliant New York writer.”
Oh, well, maybe “brilliant” was a bit of a stretch any time soon, but I intended to compete straight up with the best writers out there. I mean, how can you know if you’re any good with a whole town supporting your efforts? I willed away a stab of guilt at the disloyal thought. I know I’m lucky, but is it so wrong to want more? Even if it tears you up inside? That must be the price one pays, right?
“These next two weeks will cut into all my getting-ahead writing time. I’ve been working on some new ideas.”
Sure, there was fun to be had here. The bull riding with all the hot riders was to die for, though, greased pig racing—not a big fan. Wouldn’t you know it? That unsavory event was scheduled before I could make my getaway in a covered wagon.
Movement on the street caught my attention and I squinted through the freshly squeegeed glass. The sun had risen high enough to glint off the sidewalk, causing pinpoints of lights to dance in my vision. I shielded my eyes with the back of my hand.
A tall man in a sheriff’s department uniform stalked, all long legs and confidence, along the sidewalk on the far side of the street. He knew how to wear a Stetson—tilted at exactly the perfect angle. He strode past the hardware store’s display of terra cotta paving stones in fancy shapes and patterns, the flower shop with its bow window filled with bouquets of fresh-cut petunias and marigolds, and over to the high ladder Tim was just now climbing.
I snapped my jaw shut. “Who is that?” I asked, unable to draw my gaze from the view outside the window, my mind already working on an item for this week’s page two headline. I’d need a photo as well, with the title, “New Man About Town.”
And my carefully composed article—Hearts are guaranteed to be aflutter in Sweetwater every time the new walking advertisement for how to properly wear a western hat parades down the street.
