Destiny Wears Spurs

By: Kari Lee Harmon

DEDICATION





This book is dedicated to my best friend, Barbara Witek. She’s been my critique partner and has been a dear friend since 1994. This is the book that started it all! Thanks so much for cheering me on every step of the way. I couldn’t do this without you, and I’m cheering for you as well. You are one of the coolest women I know, and an amazingly talented author. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS





First and foremost I want to thank my amazing husband, Brian, and my children Brandon, Josh, Matt and Emily. As always, thanks for making this ride so much fun and supporting me along the way.

Second, I want to thank my fabulous agent, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency. This is the book you signed me on. I can’t thank you enough for sticking with me and believing in me when I doubted myself. No agent out there works harder than you do. And a special thanks to Kelly Ferrara for her awesome cover designs and marketing skills. As always, you rock.

Next, I want to thank my special peeps, the original BC Babes: Barbie Jo Mahoney, Danielle LaBue, and Liz Lipperman. Best conference buddies ever 

Last but never least I want to thank my extended family. Thanks to my parents, Chet and Marion Harmon, and my in-laws, Norm and Joan Townsend, for always being there for me. Thanks to the Russos, the Harmons, and the rest of the Townsends as well.





CHAPTER ONE





“What am I, a disaster magnet?” Monica Hammond asked herself, stumbling down the uneven walkway from her cabin toward the main lodge. The scent of pine hung heavy on the evening air. Pausing to rest her sore feet, she glanced up and her lips parted. The Colorado moon and stars shone brighter than any New York sky she’d ever seen, making her long for her sketchpad. But she wasn’t here to sketch the breathtaking scenery.

She was on a mission.

A mission to save her father’s company, even if the stubborn man didn’t believe Hammond’s Advertising Agency was in danger.

She focused on the gravel path and continued to wobble in torturous shoes that had to be made by a man. Probably the same man who’d lost her luggage. “I mean, how hard is it to load someone’s bag onto a plane? Check the tag, and then put it in the compartment. Simple, right?” She tripped over a tree root popping up out of the ground but regained her balance.

“Apparently not.” Cursing, she rubbed her ankle and then resumed teetering along, heels sinking into the gravel. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to be back in New York, dressed in normal clothes. And what a day it had been.

The most important business trip of her life, and then a would-be multi-tasker had attempted to sip coffee and snag his suitcase off the conveyor belt as she stood nearby. Not a great combination. Her favorite Italian silk pantsuit had paid the ultimate price.

Death by espresso.

As the other passengers grabbed their bags, she realized hers was MIA. She’d packed a carry-on, but not another suit. Not that she’d need a suit to work on this cattle ranch, but she’d wanted to wear one when she met her new potential client, Rafferty. Okay, her first client, providing her ad campaign proposal won him over and he decided to use their agency, but who was counting?

She came to a stop outside the rustic lodge, feeling completely out of her element, and the dreaded doubts crept in. Could she pull off this campaign? She made a quick adjustment to try to relieve the wedgie she had, and this time she wasn’t referring to her shoes. Tight clothes, heavy makeup, and big hair were not her idea of fashion, but they were perfect to win the Triple R’s “Most Outrageous Costume” contest.

At first, she’d been leery when her father’s golden boy protégé, Wendell, had mentioned the contest. He’d wished her luck, indicating he wanted to put aside the hard feelings between them. Like that would ever happen after what he’d done. She’d never trust him again. So she’d stopped at a local shop, and the woman behind the counter had confirmed there was indeed a contest and pointed Monica toward a pair of electric-blue stretch Capris, a lime-green crop top, and the devil shoes.

Monica had bought it all. She’d never dream of passing up an opportunity to show ole Golden Boy what she was capable of. Then she’d picked up some Final Net, a teasing comb, and viola, 80’s hair.

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