Love, Montana Excerpt

We are happy to bring you an excerpt from Love, Montana the debut novel by Deb Martin- Webster. Love, Montana is the story of Rose and Montana Joe. The novel mostly takes place in Montana and it is a sweeping romance with a good dose of humor.  It is available on Amazon in print and kindle.


I was surprised the room had an internet connection.  I hooked up my laptop and checked my email.  As I’ve come to expect there was one from Joe.


Fr: Montana Joe

To: Rose

Subject: Angel Flyin’ to Close to the Ground


Dear Rose,

You’re in your office . . . busy being the efficient art columnist . . . sailin’ your way through another sea of administrative hassles and editing problems when . . . an unannounced visitor bursts through your door. . .you look up startled to see a tall, rustic ol’ Montana cowboy, wearing cowboy boots, wranglers, long-sleeved western shirt, gray Stetson cowboy hat, dancing blue-green eyes.   You stand to greet him . . . he tosses a box of beautiful wildflowers on your desk, grabs you up off your feet . . . plants a soft kiss on your lips (his are warm, willing and slightly chapped)  . . . then exclaims . . . “Rose, you make me feel like the luckiest man who ever walked the face of the earth!” . . . he kisses you again, this time like a man with a very urgent need . . . suddenly, there are voices at the doorway . . . your co-workers are huddled there watching . . . “are you alright . . . do you know this guy?”  “Yes I do, he’s my cowboy from Montana, and he always does things like this.” . . . would someone close the door . . . I definitely do not want to be disturbed for an hour (or is that a day . . . year . . . lifetime?)  . . . End of scene.

Hah, didn’t know an old western writer could write romance!  But on a serious note: Rose, I feel like an old-time prospector who’s just stumbled by accident onto a claim so rich he can pick off a chunk and make jewelry without even refining it.  I keep slappin’ my cheek (the one on my face of course) to make sure I’m not dreaming all this.  I keep running over things in my mind, to make sure this isn’t just another of my fiction stories.

I’m falling for you Rose and from that kiss the other night I think you could be falling for me too.  Now don’t start getting nervous.  I promise I won’t pressure you.  I’m a fellow who doesn’t lie.  If I like someone I tell them, if I like them a lot I tell them, if I’m falling in love [with them] I show them.  I won’t hold back unless you want me to Rose.  What can I say, I’m hopeless, I’m helpless and I’m yours if you want me.

I know this is a long email but I didn’t want to discuss this over dinner tonight at the eight o’clock Prairie Rose Café.  There will be too many people there and I didn’t want to make a scene in case you said, “Yes, I feel the same!”  I think the café management frowns upon lovers having hot, passionate sex on their dinner tables. And NO I didn’t change the name for you – just a happy coincidence. See you tonight.

 Walking ten feet above the ground, Joe


It took me a minute or two to catch my breath.  How did I miss him falling in love with me?  Was I too preoccupied protecting my heart that I didn’t realize my heart was falling for him?  Maybe I will take Patrick’s advice.  I’ll tell Joe how I feel.  Even if it’s just one night of monogamy, it will be well worth it.

It took me three hours to get ready.  Most of my social contact with Joe had been lightweight – nothing to primp over.  But tonight I wanted to look my best.

We arrived at the café at the same time.  It was uncharacteristic for me because I’m always running late.  I guess we were anxious to see each other, only this time it was for a different reason.  This time we wanted to be with each other.

I saw Joe standing by the bar and walked over to him, “Hello Montana Joe.  I believe we are having dinner together.”

His eye’s squinted, “Ma’am, I know I’m good-looking and smellin’ like a fine French whore on holiday, but I don’t believe I know you.  I’m here to meet an angel who has fallen for some ol’ manure-crusted, boot wearin’, ex-rodeo rider, with a bad back and failing eye sight from sitting at the computer too much. Now if’n you see her would you tell her I’ll be waiting over here by the bar. You’ll recognize her because she’ll be butt naked.”

He kissed me on the check and whispered, “Hello Rose, you look beautiful.”  His arm slipped around my waist as we walked over to our table and sat down.  He stared at me through the dim candle light.

“I never realized how young you are Rose. What the heck are you doing with an old guy like me?  You could have any guy you wanted. I guess some gals like their guys young and inexperienced.  Fortunately, you like them old, horny and desperate – lucky me.”

Over dinner, I told him my story about how my relationships seem to always go south before I could give them a chance and that most of the guys I knew were just about their careers and scoring with women.  He listened intensely, as though he were taking mental notes of the entire conversation.  I knew it because I do the same thing when I’m writing an article.  It’s the subtle nuances that make the story come to life.  Joe had that kind of inquisitive mind.

We decided to have coffee and dessert back at the hotel.   I started to walk over to my car, and he reached for my hand.

“I’ll be driving us back tonight Rose.  Don’t worry about your car we’ll come get it in the morning, but tonight I’m going to act like a gentleman on a proper date.”

My instinct was to resist.  I thought, “How about I drive us back!  I’m a big girl and I can drive in the dark just as well as you can.”  But tonight I simply said “Okay.”

We took a short cut which I later learned was not.  However, it did take us by a scenic stretch of prairie land and overhead a sky full of the most beautiful stars I’d ever seen.

“This is why they call it ‘Big Sky Country’ Rose.  It’s what I imagine heaven’s like.  It’s what I imagine making love to you would be like.”

He took a deep breath then leaned back against the car.  He stared at the sky for a second or two.

Without turning his head said, “It seems I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you Rose. My heart skipped a beat the evening you walked into the Currysville library and gave me a wrath of shit at my book signing.”

“Wrath of shit . . .  Joe, those are the most romantic words you’ve ever said to me. Hold on I’m beginning to mist over.”

My humor broke the sexual tension. We decided it was time to head to the hotel.



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