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About The Bequest by B.E. Baker
Title: The Bequest
Author: B.E. Baker
Series: The Birch Creek Ranch Series #1
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Women’s Fiction
Two widows, six kiddos, and a will that leaves them a massive cattle ranch, but only if they work it for a year.
Abigail and Amanda may have married brothers, but they have almost nothing else in common (and really, they never did get along very well). After their husbands both pass away, they have no reason to interact. Their connection drops to an awkward phone call on birthdays and an exchange of holiday cards.
Until an eccentric uncle of their husbands’ leaves a massive cattle ranch to the women’s minor children. . . if they work the ranch themselves. A ranch that’s located near a small town on the border of Wyoming that isn’t too keen on outsiders.
They’re both going to turn the bequest down, clearly. It’s not like either of them could properly raise their kids or find love again in a backwater province like Birch Creek. But when things at home change dramatically—for both moms—they decide to give it a try. . . just for the summer.
What could possibly go wrong in a mere three months? (Or more importantly… what might go right?)
Excerpt from The Bequest
© 2022
B.E. Baker
I pay, and we’re out the door. It takes almost five minutes to get all the kids and all the groceries squeezed into the car, but with the sun setting, I’d rather not try and find a place to buy dinner. My son Ethan lets me pile him up with stuff, including a rather precarious stack of produce. At least no one argues with me or begs for McDonald’s. With four kids and more than fourteen hours of travel under our belts, it’s a small miracle.
“I’ll hurry,” I promise.
The sun has lit the entire sky an orangey pink by the time we’re cruising down the street off which the ranch is set. Ethan’s so excited that we’re close that he’s belting “On Top of the World” by Imagine Dragons. It’s making it hard to think, much less hear The Jetsons in the back.
“Cut it out,” Izzy says.
He ignores her.
“We’re almost there,” I say.
“Shut up, Ethan!” Whitney throws something—not sure what—that knocks the bag of apples sideways. They roll off Ethan’s lap and spill all over the center console. One rolls down into the floorboard.
“Guys!”
“Sorry, Mom!” Whitney says. “But Ethan won’t shut up, and I can’t hear.”
I slow way down so that I can grab the apple. I finally end up stopping in the middle of the road while I rummage around for it. I’m lucky this road has no traffic on it.
My hand finally wraps around the shiny, smooth skin. “Ha!” After I sit up again, I look around to make sure it’s clear for me to drive.
There aren’t any other cars, but there is a tall, shirtless man mowing the front lawn of a small white farmhouse. It may not be that warm outside, but his body still glistens with sweat. I can’t look away from the defined pecs, the bunched biceps, and the washboard stomach. Ohmygoodness, I’m too old to go entirely blank when I see someone who’s magazine centerfold hot. I’m sure he’s young enough to be—
But then he looks up, and I realize he’s not young at all. He’s close to my age. And he’s staring right at me staring back at him, and he has no idea I wasn’t staring at him the entire time we were stopped. My foot slams against the gas pedal and we shoot forward, but he waves in spite of my quick departure. I wonder whether this man who must be a relatively close neighbor could see through the window and might recognize my face. I really hope not.
The sun has dropped so low that there’s barely a golden glow when we crest the ridge and turn into the driveway my map is bleating at me to take, and my heart has finally settled down to a sustainable rate. “I think this is it, guys.”
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About B.E. Baker
Bridget loves her husband (every day) and all five of her kids (most days).
She’s a lawyer, but does as little legal work as possible. She has three quarter horse geldings, a Holsteiner (jumping) horse, and she spends too much time riding and not enough time writing. (Or too much time writing and not enough time riding, depending on your perspective!)
She has more chickens than she’ll admit to having, two lions head rabbits, a cat, two dogs (one bouncy and one yappy). She makes cookies waaaaay too often and believes they should be their own food group. In a (possibly misguided) attempt at balancing the scales, she kickboxes daily.
So if you don’t like her books, her kids, her horses, her chickens, or her cookies, maybe don’t tell her in person.
B.E. Baker is the romance/women’s fiction penname for Bridget E. Baker, who also writes fantasy, end of the world, and dystopian books that add a little magic to the world.
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