Happy Release Day, Amy Daws!
#NineMonthContract is now live! 🙌
Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography | Cover Model: Jack Atherton
Alternate Illustrated Edition | Cover Designer: Cat at TRC Designs
•••
— BLURB —
Help Wanted: Grumpy Mountain Man seeks baby momma. Job is an incubator position only. Surrogate must be impervious to grunting in the form of communication and nosey brotherly neighbors. Rustic mountain range housing available upon request.
I wanted to pummel my irritating brothers when they posted their own version of a wanted ad to help me with my life.
But I can’t fault the results once the right woman lands on my lap.
Becoming a single father is not a decision I made lightly. In fact, it’s the biggest decision of my entire life.
Which is why when I interview Trista, I know she’s perfect.
She’s wild, she’s opinionated, she wears cowboy boots. Even my pet goat loves her…
She’s the exact type of person I was holding out for.
And to my great horror, I realize on our first night of attempting this baby making dance…when the lights are low, the cheap wine is flowing, and the home insemination supplies are laid out on the kitchen counter…
I want to do a lot more than just make her my surrogate.
I want to make her mine.
•••
— TEASER —
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•••
— EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT —
Excerpt One
If this potential surrogate isn’t at least marginally impressed by the splendors of this dive bar, then she’s not fit to carry my baby, just like all the others I’ve met.
“Are you Trista?” I ask, my voice gruff.
“Yes,” the curvy woman chirps, her head snapping up like she’s been caught texting in class.
When our eyes connect, a rush of adrenaline surges through me—through my gut, specifically. I swallow the lump in my throat and reach my hand out to her. “Wyatt.”
Her hand is currently tucked deep inside her bag, so she offers me her opposite hand, making for a very awkward handshake. She rustles around with something that sounds like a wrapper in her bag and winces.
When we disconnect, her round eyes venture unabashedly down my body, her lips parting as she takes in my frame. The bag drops off her shoulder, and I hear a strange yip come from her before she begins coughing violently and whacking her chest.
“Excuse me,” she says, her voice gruff from the cough attack as she points at her throat and repositions the bag back on her shoulder. “I sucked some spit into the back of my throat, and it went down the wrong pipe.”
My brows furrow as I gesture to my table over by the stone fireplace. “Can I get you a drink?”
“A drink would be great,” she replies desperately, and I watch as she storms past me to the spot, carefully tucking her bag alongside the chair like she’s carrying a million dollars in cash.
I hesitantly take the seat across from her and gesture to Judy, who comes over in a hurry, likely sensing the awkwardness.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she says, pointing at my beer with a wink. “Not knocked up yet, right?”
“Coming right up.” Judy shoots me a curious look and takes off for the bar. That’ll get the rumors flying.
“I heard you’ve interviewed a lot of candidates,” Trista offers, drumming her long fingers softly on the beat-up wood table.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” I reply with a huff. “And they always seem to feel like…”
“Like you’re picking out a livestock animal?” she offers with her brows arched.
My eyes widen at how she basically read my mind. “Bingo.”
•••
Excerpt Two
With renewed determination, I turn to face the grumpy mountain man and get right down to business. “As I mentioned, I’ve read a lot on the lesbian blogs.”
“Sorry?”
“The lesbian blogs…for how to get me knocked up without us actually having to roll in the hay. The lesbians know their shit.”
Wyatt looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t we use a fertility clinic with a donor egg? That’s usually the way these things go.”
“Is that what you want?”
He blinks back at me in confusion. “I’m not sure what I want matters.”
Beige-flag answer.
“Well, I can tell you from my research that if we do IVF and a donor egg, it will involve way more work on my part. We’re talking multiple trips per week to the clinic, daily intramuscular shots, bajingo suppositories—”
“What’s a bajingo?”
“My vagina, obviously,” I answer emphatically. “Not to mention oral medications, supplements, ultrasounds. Good God, the expense of that alone will be insane, especially because my health insurance does not cover fertility treatments. And most fertility clinics are booked out for months. So really, I think the farm way is best.”
“The farm way?” Wyatt looks like I’m speaking a foreign language. God, he’s cute when he’s flustered.
“You know…inseminate me like a cow.” I make a squeezing motion with my fingers. “Turkey baster style. You can buy the kits on Amazon. Or if you have like a children’s medicine syringe, that could work too. Like for kids’ Tylenol? Lots of ladies getting knocked up that way. Just pull the semen up into the syringe and shoot it up my bajingo. We would make sure it’s sanitary, of course.”
“Jesus.” Wyatt runs a hand through his hair and looks wildly uncomfortable. You’d think interviewing twelve women for this job would have made him less precious about all this by now.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t know you well enough to sleep with you. And I think it would feel kind of awkward afterward, don’t you? Especially if I’m going to live up here.”
“I wasn’t suggesting…” He stumbles over his words, and I have to admit, I love watching him squirm.
•••
Excerpt Three
“Who is the pen for?” I ask, staring up at the giant mountain man.
“Your pig.”
My eyes widen. “You expect my Reginald to sleep in the barn?”
“Where else would he sleep?”
“In his sleeping quarters upstairs next to me, obviously.”
“Come again?” Wyatt is loud in the quietness of the peaceful barn.
“Reggie is a rescue, Wyatt! He came from a horrible situation where the owners neglected him. He had hoof rot and couldn’t freaking walk. I had to give him daily doses of antibiotics and hand-feed him, or they were going to put him down!”
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt murmurs under his breath, looking away in obvious agitation.
“Sir Reginald sleeps on a nice little crib mattress I bought second-hand. He even has a special blanket and likes to sleep in most mornings.”
Wyatt’s head snaps to the open wooden stairs leading to the apartment. “How are you going to get him up the stairs every day? Those legs don’t look long enough to climb stairs.”
“I’ll carry him.” I shrug.
The mountain man’s eyebrows shoot to the moon as he points an accusing finger at Reggie. “He’s got to weigh at least fifty pounds.”
“Sixty-five, actually, but my vet friend just put us on a low-calorie feed even though I think Reggie is beautiful just the way he is.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Wyatt growls and jams a hand through the top of his hair. “You aren’t going to be able to carry him up those stairs when you’re pregnant, Trista.”
“Well, I’m not pregnant yet.” I scoff, my chin cocking up to meet his as he looms over me with his giant mountain-man stature.
He pauses for a second as his eyes rove over my face. His voice is deep and husky when he replies, “Yet.”
Goose bumps erupt over my flesh as one of the tiniest words in the English language just had a massive impact on my not-so-tiny body. I realize I’m a surrogate so we’re not doing this pregnancy thing the old-fashioned way, but it’s been a while since I’ve been laid, and with that one little word, my traitorous mind wandered to a reality where we did it the old-fashioned way. And I liked that thought.
I swallow slowly, desperate to get control of myself. I glance down at our chests, which are nearly brushing each other. When did we get so close? His scent of pine trees, woodchips, and hay is intoxicating.
Wyatt’s eyes flick down to my lips as I wonder what the hell are we actually arguing about? I want to be pregnant. And I suppose he’s right…I shouldn’t be lifting sixty-plus pounds once I have a baby growing inside me. I guess Reginald’s sleeping quarters never came up in all our lawyer negotiating.
And why is he looking at me like that? And why does my body feel the way it feels right now? I’m hot and agitated having him so close to me and telling me what to do. I like it, and I loathe it.
The voices of men outside force us to pull away from each other just as they walk into the barn with armloads of my stuff.
“Trista, these are my brothers Calder and Luke.” Wyatt’s voice is strained as he avoids eye contact with me. Oh, he’s mad mad.
The two giant men in flannel stop talking and gape at me for a moment. The heavily tattooed one with devilish eyes tips his chin up and says, “What’s up, MB?”
Wyatt glowers at his brother. “Calder…”
The slightly smaller one (although none of them are small, honestly…I’m in a barn full of flannelled giants) with floppy blond hair laughs boyishly, clearly enjoying the tension between his two brothers.
“What’s MB mean?” I ask curiously.
“Don’t ask,” another voice echoes from behind them.
Calder and Luke spread apart to reveal what I can only assume to be another brother.
“This is my eldest brother, Max,” Wyatt explains with a wave of his hand. “He doesn’t live up here on the mountain with us though.”
My brows lift knowingly. “Didn’t want to join in on the Seven Brides for Seven Brothers remake up here?”
•••
Excerpt Four
“By the way…I’m ovulating right now, so I say we get this show on the road when I get back to the mountain tonight.”
Trista, my hired surrogate, sped off in her van, leaving me in a wake of nerves and anxiety. I wore a path on my wood floor, pacing my house and waiting for her to return. I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t know exactly when. And now that it’s here…I’m not sure how to prepare for it.
A knock interrupts my obsessive thoughts, and I realize it’s her.
Time to make a baby.
I open the door and stupidly grunt out, “I went to the Mercantile and picked up pizza.”
She holds up two brown bags in her hand. “I picked up booze.”
She kicks off her beat-up cowboy boots and marches past me, dropping her purse on my small farm table like she’s been in my place a million times…which she hasn’t. I watch her curiously as she props her hands on her hips and assesses the space for a second before making her way toward the kitchen, giving no outward reaction to the home I built with my bare hands.
Not that I need her approval on this house, but I guess I just…I don’t know what I want. A baby. That’s what I want. That should be all that I want from this woman.
She sets the brown bags on my butcher-block island and pulls out two bottles of white wine. Without pause, she twists the cap off one and takes a swig straight from the bottle.
My brows lift. It’s going to be that kind of night.
“These were two for seven bucks at the gas station, and it tastes like it.” She coughs and winces at the taste.
“Do you want something else?” I offer, making a move to my refrigerator. “I only have beer.”
“No,” she mutters and takes another quick sip. “I’m not a very big drinker, but I’m nervous as shit, and lots of people get pregnant drunk, so…science. How are you doing?”
Her candid response is more comforting than she realizes. I haven’t known Trista for long, but I like that she calls a spade a spade. I move to stand next to her at the island, noticing how much smaller she is out of her boots.
I point at the second bottle. “Is that other one for me?”
She silently slides it over, and I twist the cap off and join her in the wine-bottle-chugging experience. I shudder at the horrible taste because I’m not a wine drinker…but I will be tonight. I want her to feel supported through this, and if that means choking down a disgusting bottle of cheap wine, I’ll do it.
“Pizza?” I point at the box on the other side of her.
She nods and helps herself, mindlessly chomping down on a bite.
“I checked on the animals in the barn before I came in here, and they both looked very content in their pens,” she says around a mouthful. “That was really sweet of you to buy those troughs for Reggie. Sorry if I was a bitch about the pen thing.” She takes another swig.
“You weren’t a bitch.” I take another swig, eyeing her baggy T-shirt that’s covered in Millie hoof prints and a substance I can only assume is from the pig.
It’s odd to have Trista in my house. All of our meetings thus far have been pretty professional. And this whole concept of me hiring a surrogate felt like something that was never actually going to happen. It feels more real now that we’re here, face-to-face, without a lawyer talking for us. More personal. Like we’re letting our guards down.
Probably because you’re about to put your cum inside her, my inner voice adds with a dirty sneer. I take a big drink.
•••
Excerpt Five
“Let me just go lie down in my bed for a minute, and I bet I’ll feel better in a bit,” the woman I hired to be my surrogate groans as she moves to stand up from the toilet she was just upchucking in.
As soon as she’s on her feet, I bend over and scoop her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she squeals, her arm wrapping around my neck as she attempts to wiggle her way out.
“I’m carrying you to your bed.”
“No, you are not!” she bellows, and I feel a moment of relief that she still has enough energy to argue with me.
“This isn’t up for debate, Lucky,” I grumble, my boots loud on the floor as I stomp toward the bed under the recycled windows I installed in this barn apartment.
“Lucky.” She grumbles back the nickname I’ve just given her and moves her hand to pinch my ribs. “Put me down before your luck changes and you throw your back out.”
I hiss at the sharp bite of pain that shoots up my side. “If you keep pinching me, I’m going to drop you.”
“Then put me down!”
“You are so maddening. Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” I growl.
“Because I’m plus-sized. Difficult is my way of life,” she bites back and makes a squeaky noise as I drop her on the bed.
I exhale heavily as I prop my hands on my hips and glare at her.
She points at my chest. “You wouldn’t be out of breath if you had let me walk.”
I lean over and press my hands onto the mattress to glower at her. “I’m only out of breath because you fought me the whole damn way.”
“Oh, please.” She scoffs and tucks her feet under the covers. “I’m sure you’re used to tiny women you can throw over your shoulder. It must have been quite a shock hefting up all of me…pregnant or not.”
I tilt my head and eye her with wicked challenge. Even sick and depleted, she still has a good amount of fight in her. It’s alarming how much I like that. My voice is deep and promising when I reply, “Trust me, I can handle each bit of you every day of the week and twice on Sundays.”
•••
Excerpt Six
“Since we’ve determined it’s not my face making you violently ill, maybe that means we can be more than just a surrogate and intended parent.” I gesture to her and then to me. “Maybe we can be friends?”
“Friends.” She repeats the word like she’s never said it before, her eyes roving over my face for a long moment before a soft smile lights up her eyes. “I guess we can try it.”
My brows lift in satisfaction at how easy that was for her to agree to. Then again, I’m pretty sure she’s dehydrated from morning sickness and probably doesn’t have her normal fight in her, but I’ll take the win.
“Well, as your new friend, I have to ask…did I see a rabbit in here earlier this morning?”
Trista’s eyes widen as she presses her lips together. Timidly, she reaches under the covers and pulls out an orange-and-white rabbit. She clutches it to her chest as her fingers stroke its floppy ears. “This is Strudel.”
“Come again?” I grind out, pulling away from her and the living fuzzball in her hands.
“She’s an English lop rabbit and was turned over at the rescue facility two days ago. Earl said she couldn’t stay there because they didn’t have the space.”
“What is she doing here?” I ask, shaking my head back and forth.
Trista smiles. “I thought she could live here with me?”
“You know how I feel about pets in the apartment.”
“I thought that was just pigs,” she says, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “But she’s too little to be down in the barn with Reginald, and she’s really well-behaved. She sleeps in a cage at night. And just feel how soft her fur is.”
“I do not—” My voice is cut off when Trista starts dragging the rabbit along my cheek. The warm little furball makes a weird squeaky noise as its coat catches on my beard.
“Soft, right?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful as she waits for my reaction.
“Can you please stop booping the rabbit on my nose?” I pull her arm away from my face. “I don’t want animals up here.”
She sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll get rid of her.”
“Thank you.”
I stand to make my way toward the door and hear her say, “I’m sure someone will adopt her just to turn her into lucky rabbit-foot key chains. Lucky for them…not for poor Strudel.”
I pause, my eyes rolling to the ceiling.
“Or maybe they’ll turn her into a hearty rabbit stew,” she adds, her voice cracking. “Never mind that she was the only one who snuggled me when I was puking my guts out this week because of this precious baby inside me.”
I turn and eye her warily. “I know what you’re doing.”
Her nose wrinkles. “It’s fine. I don’t need that kind of comfort these next nine months. It wasn’t a part of the contract, and we’re not friends or anything, so…” Her voice trails off as she clutches the tiny animal to her cheek, dropping soft kisses on its long ears while hitting me with puppy dog eyes. My mind briefly flashes to the sight of a little girl with her eyes, begging me for a puppy.
The baby could have her eyes.
I drop my head and aggressively rub my hand over it, trying to put those thoughts well away. With a heavy sigh, I begrudgingly murmur, “Okay, friend, the rabbit can stay.”
•••
Excerpt Seven
“You want to talk about frustrating?” I stomp over to the counter and slam my purse down so I can grab a fistful of granola bars. “Stop laying these barn snacks out. I know you’re doing it just for me. You’re not subtle, Wyatt.”
He turns on his heel and scoffs. “Oh, you don’t like those?”
“I love them!” I retort.
“Then what is the issue?” he begs, his hands stretched out in confusion.
“I don’t know!” I cry out with exasperation, and Millie bleats her agreement. Or maybe her disagreement. I suppose she’s Team Wyatt since he saved her damn life, the traitor. I rake my hands through my hair and damn near sob, “I just want to feel like I can breathe again. Like I can take a full breath without feeling your presence all around me. I’m used to being on my own, and you are smothering me.”
His blue eyes darken as he stares at me from across the barn, watching my chest rise and fall with the emotion of my confession. It feels weird to accept so much from one person. It feels wrong and worrisome, and I want clearer boundaries.
With a pop of his jaw, he pushes off the stall and stalks toward me. I shift, feeling like I should be running for the hills from this crazy man who’s just trapped me up on a mountain alone with him. But I don’t run. I stand my ground as he moves into my personal space, enveloping me in his scent. My ass presses up against the butcher-block counter as he bows over me and dips his head so he can meet my eyes straight on.
“Or maybe, just maybe…” his deep voice rumbles, causing my entire body to tremble. “You’re not being smothered enough.”
I struggle to meet his eyes as he looms over me in all his giant, flannel-wearing glory. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, maybe if I just kissed you right now…maybe if I stuck my tongue down your throat and laid you down in one of these stalls and fucked your brains out like the fantasy you described in the truck, we could both finally breathe a little bit easier.”
•••
— Nine Month Contract by Amy Daws —
Mountain Men Matchmaker (Book One)
Release Date: April 11, 2024
Genre: Small Town/ Rom-Com
📚 Add to your TBR: Goodreads
🎧 Available Now on Audio! Audiobook
•••
💐 Start the series now!
If you want to see where these brothers first appeared, check out Last on the List or binge the full Wait With Me Series while you wait for release day! Nine Month Contract is a spin off of Last on the List featuring the main character’s brothers!
•••
— ABOUT THE AUTHOR —
Amy Daws
Number 1 Amazon Bestselling author Amy Daws writes spicy love stories that take place in America, as well as across the pond. She’s most known for her footy-playing Harris Brothers and writing in a tire shop waiting room. When Amy is not writing, she’s likely making charcuterie boards from her home in South Dakota where she lives with her daughter and husband.
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