Title: Sing It, Sam
Author: Jennifer Ryder
Release: February 11, 2019
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Ben Ellis from Be Designs
Jane Rhynehart has a cosy shack in the pumpkin-obsessed town of Willow Creek, and a new job—if only she was able to write like the other women in the local writers’ group. But how can Jane write the perfect romance when she’s never experienced love?
After a lengthy stay in hospital, budding singer and songwriter Sam Marshall ends up as a resident in Willow Creek Nursing Home. Jane soon becomes his guiding light. But how can he be a man for her when he relies on so many others day-to-day?
Will Sam turn out to be the perfect muse to help Jane write her epic romance? Will Jane be the one to teach Sam how to truly live? Does love truly know no barriers?
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/2Br5ltY
Jennifer Ryder is a bestselling romance author with eight novels published to date. She loves to write about boys on dirt bikes, detectives and strong females who aren’t afraid to fight for what they want.
A born and bred Canberra girl, now living on a rural property in New South Wales, Australia, she enjoys the best of city and country. Her loving husband is ever willing to provide inspiration, and her two young cherubs, and sheep that don’t see fences as barriers, keep life more than interesting.
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I link my fingers behind Sam’s neck. “He cares about you, Sam.”
“I’m tryin’ to move forward, get somewhere, be somebody. I just feel like he’s holding me back.”
I look down at our feet and back up to meet his frown. “You seem to be moving ahead just fine to me.”
“I’m no ballroom dancer.”
I press my lips against his. I delight in a long-lasting kiss until Sam moans in the back of his throat. Reluctantly, I pull back. “Then lucky for the both of us, because I don’t want a dancer. I want you.”
The song finishes, but we continue to sway, locked tight in each other’s arms. The young girl nods to Shaun and walks offstage as a lady with wild ginger hair in a ruffled denim dress and cowgirl boots takes her place. The woman, who looks to be in her forties, adjusts the microphone to her height, and then plucks the strings of a mandolin. Her voice crackles as she sings about writing a song, and her tears.
Sam’s arms stiffen around me. “Of all the frickin’ songs, she picks this one by Willie Nelson?”
The lady continues on about sad songs and waltzes. It’s kind of depressing. Ironic, really. I shift my arms around Sam’s waist.
“I hate country music,” he growls in my ear.
“The song’s not that bad,” I lie.
Sam’s mouth moves to my ear. The heat of his breath sends a flood of warmth to my lower belly. “I just wanted this one moment. She’s killin’ me.”
I tighten my hold around him. “Forget about her.”
Sam grinds his teeth. “How can I? It’s all I can hear.”
“Then listen to me instead.” I press one hand to the centre of his chest. “We made it, Sam. We made it here to this very spot.”
A lazy smile curls at his mouth. “Now’s not the time to make me weak at the knees, Janie.”