Author Spotlight: Sinclair Jayne Is Here with Cowboys!

Can I tell you how much I love having my friend and editor and fellow Tule author in the Spotlight? It’s the best week ever when Sinclair Jayne is here.

Sinclair has been the senior developmental editor for romance for Tule Publishing for over thirteen years. Writing as Sinclair Jayne, she’s published over thirty-five contemporary romances with Tule Publishing. An avid romance reader since sixth grade, she’s savoring her dream writing career. Married with two adult children, she and her husband own Roshni Vineyard in Oregon’s Willamette Valley where she hosts weekend wine tastings while attempting to write one more sentence or squeeze in another scene between pours of Pinot Noir.

Website | Facebook | Instagram | BookBub | Goodreads

~*~*~*~

Hello Friends of Nan,

I am so happy Nan invited me back. I am picturing her lounging at the lake in the summer sun as I write this, although she might be rolling her eyes instead because in addition to both of us being friends and romance authors, Nan and I work together at Tule Publishing. I am a developmental editor, and she is an author and copy editor. So, I get a sneak peek at her many romance stories before many of you do.

Have any of you ever done anything totally out of pocket, or off brand for you? Something that maybe astonished you as much as your friends and family?

That is the premise for my latest release The Cowboy’s One-Year Bride.

Two strangers meet in an office, and after lunch they barely touch, they grab a bottle of expensive champagne, walk along a Denver street fronting the river, and decide to …get married. They have their reasons, stated and secret, and I found the premise irresistible because they are both such pragmatic, thought wildly different people. Still, the concept of trusting, or falling in love, and being vulnerable is alien to both of them.

Challenge accepted.

I had fun inventing a reason for Ayana and Telford to meet, strike a bargain, and as they adventure through the book, fall in love. I had the character of the man—Telford Crow in my head for a while. I knew who he was, what he wanted, and what he feared, even as I wrote the previous story, the Bullrider’s Baby Surprise. I knew he’d go to meet the Telfords at the Telford family ranch, but why? Not money? Revenge? Didn’t feel right. Still I knew I had to get him there. But I couldn’t see his heroine clearly. What type of woman would he find irresistible even though she made no sense to him? What type of woman would see through his aloof exterior and be intrigued?

I had a breakthrough when a FreePeople ad popped up on my Instagram—the layered boho outfit, the model, the jewelry, the bandana, the challenging pose.  I thought ah…there she is, and he Mr. Armani. But why did she go to his office? Why did he proposition her when he is such a calculated and careful man? The final piece was something my daughter flippantly says during her phone calls with friends (yes, I eavesdrop; how else can I get the whole Gen Z vernacular?  I will be in trouble when she moves out in October to pursue her professional career).

For the Plot.

It means to do something for the story. For the adventure.

~Sinclair Jayne

Giveaway!

So back to my original question. One winner. Have you done anything that didn’t really make sense, pulled you out of your routine and comfort zone or that scared you a little?

The Cowboy’s One-Year Bride

He needs a temporary wife. She’s up for an adventure. Neither plans to fall in love.

Venture capitalist Telford Crow has strayed far from his cowboy roots. He runs his life with dogged efficiency. When his best friend and mentor unexpectedly dies, leaving behind a wild “before forty” bucket list—get married, buy a Montana ranch and launch a non-profit, Telford is determined to realize Cam’s dreams. Step one: interview the aspiring mail order bride.

Ayana Galloway has spent her life chasing freedom, not forever. After escaping a painful family past, she’s learned to depend only on herself and to never stay anywhere too long. Taking a friend’s place at a posh weekend interview for an arranged marriage sounds like an entertaining story she can later laugh about. Instead, she finds herself face-to-face with a broody billionaire cowboy offering her an outrageous proposal: marry him, help him build realistic roots on a Montana ranch, and create a legacy for his friend.

It’s a marriage of convenience with a time limit. And a fat fee. Ayana agrees. But life under the big sky has a way of changing the rules and neither of them is prepared when make-believe begins to feel dangerously real. Because the more time they spend together, the harder it is to remember this love story was supposed to be pretend and have a predetermined ending.

Amazon | B&N Nook | Apple Books | Kobo | Google Play

Excerpt

Now what?

Not a question Telford Crow had had to ask rhetorically or literally for nearly eighteen years.

The door opened and a soft “hey” startled him out of his metaphysical reverie.

He spun around. A woman stood in the doorway. Tall. Slim. Platinum cap of thick, messy hair. All big eyes, cheekbones. Lips that pouted but didn’t have the stretched look of filler. And her clothes—he couldn’t begin to describe them. Too many muted colors and textures and materials from a lacy ivory—something that sexily clung to her androgynous body. Were those her nipples or was his imagination going rogue?

Her pants were soft, clingy, and raspberry and hung low on her hips, flaring out. She wore a long, knit sweater vest and scarves or shawls draped around her slim shoulders. Layers of necklaces of different lengths spilled around her neck into the deep V of her cleavage. The chunky lug-sole ankle boots were the only practical thing on her body—discounting the fact they added at least three inches to her height.

Cam had always entered any room with a “hey,” and for a moment Telford had a mad thought that Cam had been reincarnated as a bohemian woman, although Cam had favored custom-tailored designer suits even when he couldn’t comfortably afford them. And this woman was … He wasn’t sure how to describe her. Messy, and yet the whole picture somehow managed to look … sexy and inviting and confusing because his body was reacting inappropriately when his best friend, mentor and business partner had died less than a week ago.

He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that a woman was in the office suite where Cam had loved to dream big, spin stories, and strategize their next move. They used it to reconnect, not usually for meetings with potential partners. And now Telford didn’t think he had the heart to be in here ever again.

But where else could he feel close to Cam? The medical office wouldn’t release his body as the investigation was ongoing. But even then, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. They’d never talked about death. Only business and life.

“I’m looking for Cam Saunders.”

“So am I.”

He closed his eyes as a spasm of pain surged through him. How could Cam be gone? Just like that. Senselessly. So much left undone.

“Will he be back soon?”

He stared at her, unable to fathom the question, and the interested, breezy way she asked it. Such innocence to the senseless tragedy, that had ripped him apart. For some reason his gaze snagged on the strip of bared, taut golden tummy between her lingerie top and circus clown pants. Her hair gleamed platinum in the sun, also reminding him a little of Cam, though his hair had been golden—like a halo though Cam had been a long way from angelic.

“You have business with Cam?”

He couldn’t think of him as past tense yet.

Her smile was quick, sexy, and when she shifted her weight, the embroidered, patterned knit shawl with the velvet tassels she wore slipped off her shoulders to her lower back. He had the impression that she could keep shedding fabrics. Become something else just like a snake outgrew its skin and moved on, renewed.

“Probably not.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But at least I can thank him for the flight and bubbles. I can’t check into the hotel until three so maybe we could lunch as promised. I thought he’d leave me a note at the hotel, but …”

“He what? Lunch? Damn.” A horrible thought speared through him. “No. You’re the wrong girl—woman,” he quickly corrected though she dressed how he imagined a teenager would dress like. She had the thin, antelope grace he associated with young females on the cusp of becoming women, but her voice, her gaze, her way of inhabiting the room was bold, confident, and assessing.

“Maybe I’m the right one.” She put a hand on her hip shifting her clothing—all muted colors he didn’t know the names of except ivory maybe, and the soft, sexy fabrics seemed part of her skin. “Have you considered that?”

“No.”

Her peal of laughter broke something free inside of him.

“Your face.” She grinned, dimples, eyes shining. Creases of amusement feathered from her spectacular elongated, exotic, almond eyes. The sun streaming through the window bathed in her light and heat he’d thought to never feel again.

She clapped her hands together lightly, brushed her palms once, twice. “It’s Friday. Just run with this for a moment, Mr. Suit Who’s Not Cam,” she said. “For the plot.”