We’re so pleased to welcome author S.C. Wynne today on the tour for her latest novel, The Cowboy and the Pencil-Pusher. She’s brought along an exclusive teaser from the book for you, and there’s also a giveaway, so be sure to check out the Rafflecopter widget below.
About the Book
Paul Smith prefers his calculator to people. People are annoying and demanding, but numbers will never let you down. He works tirelessly for his dad’s mortgage firm, foreclosing when it makes financial sense, and not losing any sleep over it either. Paul’s dad has always been a demanding taskmaster. But when he has a major health scare, Paul’s dad see’s the error of his ways. He decides he wants to change to a more benevolent business model. After having decades of harsh business practices drilled into him, Paul is not a fan of his dad’s new idea.
Cort Callahan lives and has worked on his granddad’s ranch most of his life. But times are hard and they’ve fallen behind on their mortgage. When Paul’s dad decides he wants to offer them a way out of debt, if they’ll just go along with his unorthodox idea of turning the spread into a dude ranch, it’s hard to tell who thinks it’s a worse idea: Paul or Cort.
But when Cort and his granddad take the deal, Paul is forced to work closely with Cort. The two men are surprised to realize they share an intense attraction that only grows stronger the more they’re around each other.
The problem is Paul has spent his life trusting numbers and calculations. No matter how much he wants Cort, when he looks at how different they are from each other, the two of them just don’t add up.
BOOK LINK: Goodreads
I was in the job site trailer, with my feet on the desk going over the budget when Cort stormed in, face red and veins bulging in his neck. “What the hell are you trying to pull?” he demanded.
“Excuse me?” I yanked off my reading glasses, taken aback at how angry he looked.
He held up a can of paint. “You said the guest cottages were going to blend in with the rest of the ranch.”
“Right.” I frowned. “What’s your point?”
Benji was working on his laptop in the corner and he jumped up. “I’m gonna get some coffee. Anyone else need a cup of joe?” He lifted his brows. “No? Cool. I’ll just let myself out.” He left the trailer so quickly the papers on my desk lifted with the breeze he created.
Cort shook his head and his expression was disgusted. “I should have known we couldn’t trust you.”
Insulted, I lowered my feet clumsily, and stood. “What does that mean?”
“It means my instincts were right not to trust you as far as I can throw you.” His face was still clouded with anger.
“Oh, really?” I was embarrassed when my voice neared a screech.
“Yep.” He approached and dropped a sealed can of paint on my desk with a thud. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
With my hands on my hips I attempted to seem unaffected by his anger. It wasn’t an easy job. “Notice what exactly?”
“The paint color.”
I frowned. “What about it? I picked the color myself.” I frowned. I’d painstakingly chosen the blandest brown I could find.
Heat rose from my neck to my cheeks. “Look, I don’t know what has your chaps in such a bunch, but how about you come back when you can talk to me with a little respect.”
“Respect?” He widened his eyes. “Why the hell would I respect a man who’s trying to make a fool of me and my family?” He pointed to the can. “Princess Pink? Seriously?”
“What?” I peered at the can. Sure enough the label had Princess Pink stamped on it. “I didn’t order that.”
He took a step back and crossed his arms. His expression was dubious. “Oh, really?”
Irritation prickled at the disbelief in his voice. “I ordered Mustang Brown.”
He cocked his head but didn’t speak.
“They obviously sent the wrong paint.” I was still fuming from his comment about knowing he couldn’t trust me. I tried to keep my tone professional. “This kind of thing happens all the time. There’s no need to freak out.”
His cheeks seemed flushed. “Oh.”
I avoided his gaze and sat down again. “I’ll call the paint company today and have them pick this up and re-ship the correct color.”
Picking up the can, he hesitated. “Thanks.”
“Um hm.” I pretended to be immersed in my paperwork, but truthfully I was seething. When he didn’t make a move to leave, I glanced up keeping my expression cool. “Was there anything else?”
I held his gaze, feeling resentful. “In that case, if you’ll excuse me, I have lots of other people to fuck over, so I need to get back to it.” I slipped my glasses back on and pretended to examine the figures on the paper.
He exhaled loudly. “Look…I’m sorry.”
I glanced up, one brow cocked. “What’s that?”
His lips twitched. “You want me to say it again?”
I shrugged. “Do whatever you want. You’re opinion means nothing to me.”
I dropped my gaze. “I’m not lying.” I was totally lying. But I’d be damned if I was gonna let him see how much his comments had stung.
“If you didn’t give a hoot what I thought of you then you wouldn’t be pissed off at me right now.” He circled my desk.
I leaned back in my chair and dropped the act while glaring at him. “Where do you get off judging me? You barely know me.”
He hung his head. “I said I’m sorry.”
He’d hit a nerve and wasn’t getting out of this with a simple apology. “Just the fact that you could so easily throw those insults at me means they’ve been simmering in your bone head this whole time.”
He grinned. “Bone head?”
“Do you prefer Neanderthal?” I scowled.
“Calling names isn’t going to solve this.”
“Solve it?” I huffed. “You apparently think I’m an untrustworthy asshole and I don’t appreciate it. How the hell do you solve something like that?”
“I overreacted.” His jaw was clenched.
“You’re hard for me to get a handle on, so I guess I jumped to the most obvious conclusion.” He rubbed the back of his neck looking confused.
I snorted. “Wow. Thanks. This just gets better. The obvious conclusion is I’m an asshole?”
He scrunched his face and laughed. “God damn. I should just keep my mouth shut.”
“Works for me.” I fluttered my fingers at him. “Run-a-long and let me do my job.”
Instead of leaving he perched on the edge of my desk. “Paul, come on.” His tone was coaxing.
I frowned. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to accept my apology.” He picked up my stapler and fingered it. “I lost my cool, but I had no business yelling at you. You’ve been upfront with me the whole time, and I shouldn’t have doubted your character.”
He sounded sincere, and his husky voice managed to get through to me. “No you shouldn’t have.”
“It takes me a while to get mad, but once I do I have a hot temper.”
He looked so demoralized. I sighed. “Fine. I accept your apology.”
Straightening, he smiled. “Yeah?”
“Now go away.” My voice was gravelly.
About the Author
S.C. Wynne started writing m/m in 2013. She loves writing m/m and her characters are usually a little jaded, funny and ultimately redeemed through love.
S.C loves red wine, margaritas and Seven and Seven’s. Yes, apparently S.C. Wynne is incredibly thirsty. S.C. Wynne loves the rain and should really live in Seattle but instead has landed in sunny, sunny, unbelievably sunny California. Writing is the best profession she could have chosen because S.C. is a little bit of a control freak. To sit in her pajamas all day and pound the keys of her laptop controlling the every thought and emotion of the characters she invents is a dream come true.
If you’d like to contact S.C. Wynne she is amusing herself on Facebook at all hours of the day or you can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org