A paraplegic bull rider and his new home aide fall in love as they pick up the pieces of their lives in the second book in the popular Griffith Brothers series.
About the Book
Rule #1 of almost dying: Make sure someone knows your passwords. It’s hard to cancel your phone plan if you’re dead.
Rule #2 of almost dying: Make sure your house is clean before you walk up the steps to the pearly gates. It makes selling off your life easier.
All it took was eight seconds for Ray Griffith to win the biggest competition of his life, and one second to lose everything except that championship buckle. He’d left his family’s cattle ranch at eighteen with no intention of ever coming back for good. Now he’s back, learning to navigate life in a wheelchair with a beautiful disaster attempting to burn the house down.
Rule #1 of trying to not get fired: Don’t piss off the grumpy bull rider.
Rule #2 of trying to not get fired: When you do get fired, keep your chin up. The grumpy bull rider was hot.
It was just a little fire. Tiny, even. But that didn’t change the fact that Ray Griffith didn’t want her anywhere near him. But they reached an agreement: if she ignores him, he doesn’t fire her. Easy, right? Turns out not so much if they can’t keep their hands off each other.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Brooke
I stretched out in my crisp, cool sheets as sunlight leaked through the blinds. Was there anything better than waking up in fresh sheets? I could already tell it was going to be a great day.
The window air conditioner rattled like maracas. The pair of googly eyes I had attached to it jiggled with every heave. Poor thing was dying in this sweltering June heat.
"You're doing great, little guy." I patted its rusted metal case. "Just keep going."
I shimmied into a relatively clean pair of shorts I found dangling off the bed frame. One flip-flop peeked out from under the bed, and I found the other on top of my dresser.
Bounding down the stairs, I greeted the sprawled-out figures on the couches on my way across the room.
Nick, the roommate who had lived here the longest out of all of us, lifted his head from the faded recliner. "Rent's due, Stacey."
"Really?" I laughed nervously and pawed through my pantry shelf. "I could have sworn I gave you money already."
I grabbed a box of granola bars with my name on it and opened it up. Empty. Maybe one of my roommates got hungry and didn't have anything else? That was alright. I'd just have oatmeal.
Nope, that box was empty too.
"Hey, do you know if someone ate my food?" I asked.
A familiar blue-and-white wrapper was on Nick's lap. "Dunno," he grunted as he chased his bite with a swig of beer.
Chandler, one of my other roommates, was passed out on the sofa with a mixing bowl of oatmeal resting on his stomach.
"No worries," I chirped, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'll just go by the store on my way back."
Stepping over a bulging garbage bag, I tiptoed past the mess of last night's party. Crushed beer cans skittered underfoot as I headed to the door.
"Don't forget about the money," Nick hollered as he scrolled his phone. "Cash this time. No checks."
The sun baked my skin as I skipped to my car, curls bouncing with each step. Mondays were the best. They were a fresh start. A new chance. Full of exciting possibilities.
I slid into the driver's seat and tossed my bag on the floorboard. The plastic flower pot on my dashboard wiggled as I turned the ignition.
"Aw, crap," I muttered, noticing the low fuel light. "That's fine, Madame Universe. Thanks for the excuse to grab a gas station snack."
I swung into the nearest station, chatting up the friendly cashier about the soap opera playing on the TV behind the counter as I paid for a snack cake and a few gallons of gas.
Everyone was being so nice today. Even Nick had almost gotten my name right. Usually, it was Brenda, Bonnie, or some other B name. But today, he called me by my last name like I was one of the bros.
The house was really starting to feel like home.
It was fun to always be surrounded by people. I always had someone to talk to or hang out with. It was like living in a dorm.
My own little found family.
I parked in front of the Caring Hands office and skipped up the brick steps. The door's jingling bells announced my arrival as I stepped into the cool air conditioning.
"Good morning, Peggy!" I greeted the office manager cheerfully.
She looked up from her desk with a frown. "You're late."
"Am I?" I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Oh shoot, it's dead. Do you have a charger?"
Peggy's eyebrow twitched.
"Oh my god! Your eyeshadow looks amazing today! The blue totally makes your eyes pop."
She huffed. "Have a seat, Brooke."
I plopped into the chair across from her desk, noticing a new addition. "Did you get a new plant? It's so cute! Does it have a name?"
Peggy sighed. "A name?"
"Yes! Plants have personalities. Naming them is a huge responsibility. It's like naming a baby."
Her fingers rattled against the keyboard. "I'm glad you brought up responsibility. Let's talk about that."
I bounced my feet and admired the cheery blue and yellow nail polish on my toes. It was bright like a sunny day against the dreary gray office carpet.
"Brooke," Peggy snapped, jolting me from my wistful thoughts.
I looked up. "So, who am I going to see today?"
Her jaw was locked. "You're going to have a light day. The only client you have is Mr. Wilson."
"Light day? Awesome! There's this antique store I've been dying to go to." I propped my elbow on her desk and rested my chin in my hand. "What's your day like? Do you wanna come with me? We could grab lunch and make an afternoon of it."
She huffed. "Let me clarify. You only have one client left."
I gasped. "Everyone got better? Even Mrs. Jones? I thought it would take months for her to recover. I mean, yeesh-breaking both your legs like that . . . But look at her go. She's a rock star!"
Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. "No one got better, Brooke. You cost the agency nine accounts. Nine valuable, paying clients left because of you."
"Really? I don't understand . . ."
My heart sank as she began to list off my failings-always running late, misplacing things, mixing up meals. I tried to explain about my noisy roommates and lack of sleep, but she cut me off.
"I don't want to hear excuses. I can't keep giving you assignments if you're going to cost us money. This is your last chance."
My bottom lip trembled. "I'll do better. I promise."
"Don't bother coming back here if Mr. Wilson sends you away," she said, turning back to her computer and waving me off.
I retreated out of the office and slunk back to my car. The check-engine light greeted me when I started the engine, and a knot formed in my stomach.
I needed this paycheck.
Rent, groceries, car repairs-being alive was expensive.
Being a home aide wasn't my dream job, but it gave me plenty of time to dream about other things. Plus, I loved helping my clients. Keeping them company, driving them to their appointments, chatting about their day while I cleaned their houses . . . People were awesome, and getting paid to do life with them was the best.
I just had to do better.
Two more years . . . I had to survive for two more years, and then everything would be fine.
Chapter 2
Ray
I threaded the end of the rope through the loop and tightened it. My hand trembled. I bit the knot to loosen it so I could tie it again, all while ignoring the body on the other side of the room.
Unfortunately, the body was alive.
"I don't know why everyone said you're crabby," she said as she cleaned up from lunch. "You're just quiet. Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. I don't mind the quiet. There's too much noise these days."
A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. "Stop talking."
She huffed. "That grouchy act won't work on me. I raised six boys-including my husband. I can handle your attitude."
The rope fell as I unlocked my chair and rolled to the door. "Out."
She propped her hands on her hips. "I just got here."
"And now you're leaving." I opened the front door and wheeled away. "Don't bother locking up."
It was already time to change the locks again. Seemed like I spent more money on doorknobs than anything else. Fortunately, the drill was still on the side table in the living room.
Maybe a number lock would be easier than dealing with keys and all that bullshit. I could just reprogram the code.
"Mr. Griffith, there's no reason for you to speak to me that way."
"There's no reason for you to still be here."
"But I-"
"I believe he told you to leave." Cassandra, my brother's fiancée, appeared in the doorway. She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. "Beat it."
The old lady glowered. "Who do you think you are, telling me to leave my job?"
Cassandra's cold stare made it clear the old lady was fucked. "It doesn't matter who I am. Ray told you to get out of his house. Now leave. You're trespassing at this point."
"I have a job to do."
"I fired you," I clipped.
Cassandra looked like she was about to claw the woman's eyes out.
"This family is just as crazy as everyone said," she yammered as she grabbed her oversized quilted purse and stormed out.
I lifted my wrist and managed a half-decent middle finger. She should have listened the first time.
Why didn't people listen to me? They always thought I was joking or that I wasn't the final say on who got to set foot in my house.
Cassandra waited until the woman stomped to her car before closing the door behind her. "I brought your mail down. Marty sent some documents for you to sign."
"Get Christian to do it," I grumbled. "He's my power of attorney."
"You really have to stop firing people," she said without the slightest bit of emotion. "We're getting a reputation."
"Isn't it your job to fix people's reputations? This should be child's play for you."
Cassandra dropped the mail on the table and pushed the chairs in. She picked up the tea towel the loudmouthed grandma had dropped so it wouldn't get caught under my chair and hung it over the dishwasher handle.
"I offered to bring you on as a client. You said no, remember? I don't offer twice. If you want my help, you know where to find me."
I rolled into the living room and parked myself in front of the sliding door. "I don't need a publicist."
"Marty says otherwise, and I agree with him."
The thought of Marty and his new rider made my blood boil. They could both go to hell as far as I was concerned.
Cassandra tapped a manicured nail on the envelopes. "Sign them and let me know when they're done. I'll put them with the outgoing mail."
"Chris can do it."
"Fine," she said, all too agreeably for my comfort. Cassandra was anything but agreeable.
Maybe that's why we got along so well.
"But that means he's going to come down here and lecture you. Do you really want him asking why you fired another CNA?"
I glared at her. "Leave a pen on the table."
She smirked, knowing she had won. "Call if you need something."
"I won't."
She shrugged like it was no big deal. "Suit yourself."
The door closed behind her, and I waited until the click of her high heels faded into the distance before I breathed again.
Finally alone.
I eased up to the kitchen table and made a reach for the first envelope. My physical therapist had chewed my ass out this morning for not working on my left hand, but I didn't feel like failing today.
I knew what was stuffed in the envelopes. Contract terminations from two more sponsors.
Rule number one of almost dying: Make sure someone knows your passwords. It's hard to cancel your phone plan if you're dead.
Rule number two of almost dying: Make sure your house is clean before you walk up the steps to the pearly gates. It makes selling off your life easier.
I tried to rip the damn thing open, but I couldn't pinch the envelope.
The rope was fine. It was half an inch thick. Paper was thin, and I didn't have the dexterity to hold it and tear it open.
Unlike Christian, who would have opened the envelopes and laid out the pages, Cassandra left them sealed. Deliberately.
I managed to get my pocket knife open and sliced open the letter. The cool handle pressed against my palm as I slid the knife down and pressed my thumb behind the blade.
The sound of boots thudding against the wooden ramp outside startled me. The knife twisted in my hand and the sharp edge slid across the pad of my thumb.
"Shit," I hissed and yanked my hand away. Crimson droplets spattered across the crisp white paper and onto my lap, staining my sweatpants.
Just fucking great. I quickly pressed my thumb to my shirt to stop the bleeding.
The doorknob clicked and the door creaked open.
Christian halted in his tracks at the sight of me before rushing over in a panic. "What the hell happened to you? Cass just left."
"Accident," I muttered. "Why're you here?"
"Just checkin' on you," he said. He grabbed the knife, wiped it off, closed it, and turned toward my bedroom. "Sit tight. I'll grab a change of clothes for you."
"Don't want 'em."
Christian paused with his hands braced on the bedroom doorframe. "We've gotta talk about this."
"Don't you have a ranch to run?" I said as I gingerly slipped my hand between the folded piece of paper and opened it up to see what my former manager had sent over. Marty would just have to deal with the bloodstains. "What did you do all fucking day when I was in Colorado and riding the circuit?"
There were days where all I wanted was to saddle up and ride through the plains until I couldn't see anything or anyone. I was jealous of CJ, the youngest of the four of us. He got to ride away from it all, spending his days surrounded by sprawling plains, far from the rest of the world.
I had tried to do that. I tried to leave it all behind.
"I worry about people all day," Christian said. "Bree, Gracie, Cass, and the ranch used to be at the top of that list. Now it's you."
I bristled at the mention of my nieces. At one point in time, they had been like my own daughters.
When Christian's wife died and Nate was deployed, I'd stepped in to help Christian with his girls, Bree and Gracie. Those two girls were my world.
To them, I was Superman.
Invincible and indestructible.
I stared at the table so he couldn't see the hurt boiling in my eyes. My hair hung over my face. I was long overdue for a trim. The shaggy mane was making me resemble Christian more with each passing day.
He sighed. "I know this sucks for you."
It sucks? Is he fucking kidding me?
A caustic laugh escaped me. "Really? I wasn't aware. Thanks for letting me know."
"Ray-"
"Fuck off," I said as I reached for the pen. I fisted it and jammed the end against the table to open it up. Slowly, I managed to scribble something that vaguely resembled Ray Griffith.
The three letters of my first name were a sloppy, childlike scrawl-wonky, misshapen, and inconsistent in size and spacing, sprawling across the entire signature line.
Excerpted from Downpour by Maggie Gates. Copyright © 2025 by Maggie Gates. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Brooke
I stretched out in my crisp, cool sheets as sunlight leaked through the blinds. Was there anything better than waking up in fresh sheets? I could already tell it was going to be a great day.
The window air conditioner rattled like maracas. The pair of googly eyes I had attached to it jiggled with every heave. Poor thing was dying in this sweltering June heat.
"You're doing great, little guy." I patted its rusted metal case. "Just keep going."
I shimmied into a relatively clean pair of shorts I found dangling off the bed frame. One flip-flop peeked out from under the bed, and I found the other on top of my dresser.
Bounding down the stairs, I greeted the sprawled-out figures on the couches on my way across the room.
Nick, the roommate who had lived here the longest out of all of us, lifted his head from the faded recliner. "Rent's due, Stacey."
"Really?" I laughed nervously and pawed through my pantry shelf. "I could have sworn I gave you money already."
I grabbed a box of granola bars with my name on it and opened it up. Empty. Maybe one of my roommates got hungry and didn't have anything else? That was alright. I'd just have oatmeal.
Nope, that box was empty too.
"Hey, do you know if someone ate my food?" I asked.
A familiar blue-and-white wrapper was on Nick's lap. "Dunno," he grunted as he chased his bite with a swig of beer.
Chandler, one of my other roommates, was passed out on the sofa with a mixing bowl of oatmeal resting on his stomach.
"No worries," I chirped, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'll just go by the store on my way back."
Stepping over a bulging garbage bag, I tiptoed past the mess of last night's party. Crushed beer cans skittered underfoot as I headed to the door.
"Don't forget about the money," Nick hollered as he scrolled his phone. "Cash this time. No checks."
The sun baked my skin as I skipped to my car, curls bouncing with each step. Mondays were the best. They were a fresh start. A new chance. Full of exciting possibilities.
I slid into the driver's seat and tossed my bag on the floorboard. The plastic flower pot on my dashboard wiggled as I turned the ignition.
"Aw, crap," I muttered, noticing the low fuel light. "That's fine, Madame Universe. Thanks for the excuse to grab a gas station snack."
I swung into the nearest station, chatting up the friendly cashier about the soap opera playing on the TV behind the counter as I paid for a snack cake and a few gallons of gas.
Everyone was being so nice today. Even Nick had almost gotten my name right. Usually, it was Brenda, Bonnie, or some other B name. But today, he called me by my last name like I was one of the bros.
The house was really starting to feel like home.
It was fun to always be surrounded by people. I always had someone to talk to or hang out with. It was like living in a dorm.
My own little found family.
I parked in front of the Caring Hands office and skipped up the brick steps. The door's jingling bells announced my arrival as I stepped into the cool air conditioning.
"Good morning, Peggy!" I greeted the office manager cheerfully.
She looked up from her desk with a frown. "You're late."
"Am I?" I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Oh shoot, it's dead. Do you have a charger?"
Peggy's eyebrow twitched.
"Oh my god! Your eyeshadow looks amazing today! The blue totally makes your eyes pop."
She huffed. "Have a seat, Brooke."
I plopped into the chair across from her desk, noticing a new addition. "Did you get a new plant? It's so cute! Does it have a name?"
Peggy sighed. "A name?"
"Yes! Plants have personalities. Naming them is a huge responsibility. It's like naming a baby."
Her fingers rattled against the keyboard. "I'm glad you brought up responsibility. Let's talk about that."
I bounced my feet and admired the cheery blue and yellow nail polish on my toes. It was bright like a sunny day against the dreary gray office carpet.
"Brooke," Peggy snapped, jolting me from my wistful thoughts.
I looked up. "So, who am I going to see today?"
Her jaw was locked. "You're going to have a light day. The only client you have is Mr. Wilson."
"Light day? Awesome! There's this antique store I've been dying to go to." I propped my elbow on her desk and rested my chin in my hand. "What's your day like? Do you wanna come with me? We could grab lunch and make an afternoon of it."
She huffed. "Let me clarify. You only have one client left."
I gasped. "Everyone got better? Even Mrs. Jones? I thought it would take months for her to recover. I mean, yeesh-breaking both your legs like that . . . But look at her go. She's a rock star!"
Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. "No one got better, Brooke. You cost the agency nine accounts. Nine valuable, paying clients left because of you."
"Really? I don't understand . . ."
My heart sank as she began to list off my failings-always running late, misplacing things, mixing up meals. I tried to explain about my noisy roommates and lack of sleep, but she cut me off.
"I don't want to hear excuses. I can't keep giving you assignments if you're going to cost us money. This is your last chance."
My bottom lip trembled. "I'll do better. I promise."
"Don't bother coming back here if Mr. Wilson sends you away," she said, turning back to her computer and waving me off.
I retreated out of the office and slunk back to my car. The check-engine light greeted me when I started the engine, and a knot formed in my stomach.
I needed this paycheck.
Rent, groceries, car repairs-being alive was expensive.
Being a home aide wasn't my dream job, but it gave me plenty of time to dream about other things. Plus, I loved helping my clients. Keeping them company, driving them to their appointments, chatting about their day while I cleaned their houses . . . People were awesome, and getting paid to do life with them was the best.
I just had to do better.
Two more years . . . I had to survive for two more years, and then everything would be fine.
Chapter 2
Ray
I threaded the end of the rope through the loop and tightened it. My hand trembled. I bit the knot to loosen it so I could tie it again, all while ignoring the body on the other side of the room.
Unfortunately, the body was alive.
"I don't know why everyone said you're crabby," she said as she cleaned up from lunch. "You're just quiet. Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. I don't mind the quiet. There's too much noise these days."
A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. "Stop talking."
She huffed. "That grouchy act won't work on me. I raised six boys-including my husband. I can handle your attitude."
The rope fell as I unlocked my chair and rolled to the door. "Out."
She propped her hands on her hips. "I just got here."
"And now you're leaving." I opened the front door and wheeled away. "Don't bother locking up."
It was already time to change the locks again. Seemed like I spent more money on doorknobs than anything else. Fortunately, the drill was still on the side table in the living room.
Maybe a number lock would be easier than dealing with keys and all that bullshit. I could just reprogram the code.
"Mr. Griffith, there's no reason for you to speak to me that way."
"There's no reason for you to still be here."
"But I-"
"I believe he told you to leave." Cassandra, my brother's fiancée, appeared in the doorway. She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. "Beat it."
The old lady glowered. "Who do you think you are, telling me to leave my job?"
Cassandra's cold stare made it clear the old lady was fucked. "It doesn't matter who I am. Ray told you to get out of his house. Now leave. You're trespassing at this point."
"I have a job to do."
"I fired you," I clipped.
Cassandra looked like she was about to claw the woman's eyes out.
"This family is just as crazy as everyone said," she yammered as she grabbed her oversized quilted purse and stormed out.
I lifted my wrist and managed a half-decent middle finger. She should have listened the first time.
Why didn't people listen to me? They always thought I was joking or that I wasn't the final say on who got to set foot in my house.
Cassandra waited until the woman stomped to her car before closing the door behind her. "I brought your mail down. Marty sent some documents for you to sign."
"Get Christian to do it," I grumbled. "He's my power of attorney."
"You really have to stop firing people," she said without the slightest bit of emotion. "We're getting a reputation."
"Isn't it your job to fix people's reputations? This should be child's play for you."
Cassandra dropped the mail on the table and pushed the chairs in. She picked up the tea towel the loudmouthed grandma had dropped so it wouldn't get caught under my chair and hung it over the dishwasher handle.
"I offered to bring you on as a client. You said no, remember? I don't offer twice. If you want my help, you know where to find me."
I rolled into the living room and parked myself in front of the sliding door. "I don't need a publicist."
"Marty says otherwise, and I agree with him."
The thought of Marty and his new rider made my blood boil. They could both go to hell as far as I was concerned.
Cassandra tapped a manicured nail on the envelopes. "Sign them and let me know when they're done. I'll put them with the outgoing mail."
"Chris can do it."
"Fine," she said, all too agreeably for my comfort. Cassandra was anything but agreeable.
Maybe that's why we got along so well.
"But that means he's going to come down here and lecture you. Do you really want him asking why you fired another CNA?"
I glared at her. "Leave a pen on the table."
She smirked, knowing she had won. "Call if you need something."
"I won't."
She shrugged like it was no big deal. "Suit yourself."
The door closed behind her, and I waited until the click of her high heels faded into the distance before I breathed again.
Finally alone.
I eased up to the kitchen table and made a reach for the first envelope. My physical therapist had chewed my ass out this morning for not working on my left hand, but I didn't feel like failing today.
I knew what was stuffed in the envelopes. Contract terminations from two more sponsors.
Rule number one of almost dying: Make sure someone knows your passwords. It's hard to cancel your phone plan if you're dead.
Rule number two of almost dying: Make sure your house is clean before you walk up the steps to the pearly gates. It makes selling off your life easier.
I tried to rip the damn thing open, but I couldn't pinch the envelope.
The rope was fine. It was half an inch thick. Paper was thin, and I didn't have the dexterity to hold it and tear it open.
Unlike Christian, who would have opened the envelopes and laid out the pages, Cassandra left them sealed. Deliberately.
I managed to get my pocket knife open and sliced open the letter. The cool handle pressed against my palm as I slid the knife down and pressed my thumb behind the blade.
The sound of boots thudding against the wooden ramp outside startled me. The knife twisted in my hand and the sharp edge slid across the pad of my thumb.
"Shit," I hissed and yanked my hand away. Crimson droplets spattered across the crisp white paper and onto my lap, staining my sweatpants.
Just fucking great. I quickly pressed my thumb to my shirt to stop the bleeding.
The doorknob clicked and the door creaked open.
Christian halted in his tracks at the sight of me before rushing over in a panic. "What the hell happened to you? Cass just left."
"Accident," I muttered. "Why're you here?"
"Just checkin' on you," he said. He grabbed the knife, wiped it off, closed it, and turned toward my bedroom. "Sit tight. I'll grab a change of clothes for you."
"Don't want 'em."
Christian paused with his hands braced on the bedroom doorframe. "We've gotta talk about this."
"Don't you have a ranch to run?" I said as I gingerly slipped my hand between the folded piece of paper and opened it up to see what my former manager had sent over. Marty would just have to deal with the bloodstains. "What did you do all fucking day when I was in Colorado and riding the circuit?"
There were days where all I wanted was to saddle up and ride through the plains until I couldn't see anything or anyone. I was jealous of CJ, the youngest of the four of us. He got to ride away from it all, spending his days surrounded by sprawling plains, far from the rest of the world.
I had tried to do that. I tried to leave it all behind.
"I worry about people all day," Christian said. "Bree, Gracie, Cass, and the ranch used to be at the top of that list. Now it's you."
I bristled at the mention of my nieces. At one point in time, they had been like my own daughters.
When Christian's wife died and Nate was deployed, I'd stepped in to help Christian with his girls, Bree and Gracie. Those two girls were my world.
To them, I was Superman.
Invincible and indestructible.
I stared at the table so he couldn't see the hurt boiling in my eyes. My hair hung over my face. I was long overdue for a trim. The shaggy mane was making me resemble Christian more with each passing day.
He sighed. "I know this sucks for you."
It sucks? Is he fucking kidding me?
A caustic laugh escaped me. "Really? I wasn't aware. Thanks for letting me know."
"Ray-"
"Fuck off," I said as I reached for the pen. I fisted it and jammed the end against the table to open it up. Slowly, I managed to scribble something that vaguely resembled Ray Griffith.
The three letters of my first name were a sloppy, childlike scrawl-wonky, misshapen, and inconsistent in size and spacing, sprawling across the entire signature line.
Excerpted from Downpour by Maggie Gates. Copyright © 2025 by Maggie Gates. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
My Review
Downpour has the following tropes:
- Small Town
- Grumpy\Sunshine
- Opposites Attract
- Family Business
- Age Gap
- Rope Play
- Paraplegic Cowboy MMC
- Klutzy FMC
- Meddlesome Family
Downpour is a small town contemporary romance with lots of heart. Our MMC Ray Griffith was a famous bull rider until his luck ran out and his last ride left him in a wheelchair. Ray is struggling to find a new normal and all the limitations that come with his new circumstances which has left him mean as a rattlesnake and unbearable to be around. Which is also making it hard for the family to find good help because Ray keeps firing everyone!
Brooke is a down-on-her-luck young lady with her head in the clouds and in danger of losing yet another job. She’s a bit naive and a little (a lot) klutzy, but she’s got a heart of pure gold and is stubborn as a mule. Brooke is desperate and can’t lose this job with Ray, so they strike a bargain to stay out of each other’s hair. That doesn’t last long. The more time they spend together, the more Ray thaws to the lovely Brooke and soon flames aren’t the only things smoking up the kitchen!
Downpour is a wonderful read about finding the courage to keep going, accepting help when you need it, and realizing a career-ending injury doesn’t mean everything is over, it’s just another curve in the road of life.
FTC Disclaimer: I voluntarily read a print copy of the book generously provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review. This in no way influences my thoughts or feelings about the book or the content of my review.
Purchase Links*
Penguin Random House | Maggie Gates Website
About the Author
 |
| Photo: © Maggie Gates |
Maggie Gates writes raw, relatable romance novels packed full of heat and humor. Maggie calls North Carolina home. In her spare time, she enjoys daydreaming about her characters, jamming to country music, and eating all the barbecue and tacos she can find! Her e-reader is always within reach due to a love of small-town romances that borders on obsession. Learn more at maggiegates.com
*Third party links to the publisher's website. May contain affiliate links.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.png)