Thank you, Walker Hayes. #boom.

Dear Walker Hayes, On Friday night, I get to see you perform in Boston and I am beyond excited. I'm hoping I might get to share this story in person, but in the event I don't, I'm putting it here for the world to see. As an artist myself, I know how much it means to me when someone tells me the impact my books have had on them, so I figured you might feel the same.

Last year was really rough. My dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor right before Thanksgiving 2016, which happened to be a few weeks after I signed a contract to produce both book 3 in my Calling It series of romance novels and a holiday novella. He passed away in March--six weeks before the first draft of the novella was due--and, let me tell you, writing the happily-ever-after ending that all good romance novels require was pretty freaking hard. It was damn near impossible, in fact, and for the first time in my life, I was afraid I was going to miss a deadline I had committed to. (Given the circumstances, that would have been understandable, I think. But since my dad is the man who drilled things into my head like responsibility and sticking-to-your-word, well, it felt like I'd be letting him down. And I just couldn't do that.)

When I'm writing, I find it very difficult to write without having a picture of my hero and heroine in my head. And Tuck, the hero of Holiday House Call, wasn't clear enough to work through the murkiness of my head space given what was going on in the life of my family. But then I happened upon the video for "You Broke Up With Me."

I had already heard the song and loved it--I liked the play of the words, the bounciness of the melody, and although being a happily-ever-after girl myself I wasn't sure I could get behind the sentiment (I did a complete turnaround when I heard what the song was actually about, but that's another story), I couldn't stop listening to it. But the video provided the inspiration I desperately needed--that whole chiseled jaw thing you have going on, arms to swoon over, and a real life love for your wife and family that comes across in your music and interviews. Not only was I able to find a guy for my heroine to swoon over, but one who personifies some of the things that make Tuck who he is: someone who goes after his dreams while at the same time staying grounded by the friends and family who make up his world. The words began to flow.

Thank you so much for not only creating some wonderful music--"You Broke Up With Me" being my favorite, of course, along with "Craig," "Beautiful," and "Shut Up, Kenny" but I'm pretty much loving all of boom. (not to mention "Reason to Rhyme" and "Pants" [because, really, what's a strong hero without a kickass heroine?])--but also for helping this romance author come up with Holiday House Call, a happily-ever-after I am intensely proud of.

Yours truly,

Jen Doyle


One week until release day -- preview, anyone?

Holiday House Call is releasing next week. Holy holiday novella, is what I say. It feels like just yesterday when I was turning it in. But since it's almost here, I thought maybe you might be interested in a preview? The opening scene perhaps?

Well, consider that wish granted. Here goes:


Thirty-two miles per hour in a sixty-five zone. Someone was getting a ticket tonight.

Eventually someone was getting a ticket, at least, because if they didn’t get up over forty, Tuck would be sitting here forever. May as well put his feet up and take a nap; rest up for his overnight shift.

And now they were stopping in the middle of the road.


John Tucker put down the radar gun and rolled up the window. Rather than wait for the driver to get to him, he pulled out of his spot and headed toward her, catching a glimpse of blonde hair as he passed. He pulled a U-turn at the wider part of the road and flashed his lights as he came up behind her so she would…

No. No freaking way he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

He knew that bumper sticker. 5280 Denver.

He knew that GMC—intimately.

He knew exactly how soft all the driver’s long blonde hair felt as he threaded his hands through it.

Because once upon a time—six years back, when he’d been living in Denver—he’d been in that car. Been in the backseat of it, in fact, clothes every which way, watching her throw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she rode him.

It was one of his favorite memories from his Denver days. Possibly one of his favorite memories, period. And it majorly sucked that he was going to have to slap her with a drunk driving charge.

Now they were both stopped in the middle of the road. This was about to get awkward.

But it was his job, and as the newly promoted Chief of the Inspiration, Iowa, Police Department, Tuck had absolutely no excuse not to do it. He sounded the siren and hoped she got the hint to pull to the side of the road. When she did, he pulled over behind her. A blast of wind hit him as he got out of his patrol car. She rolled down the window as he approached, her bloodshot eyes widening in what he assumed was recognition.

“I need your license and registration, ma’am.”

He caught himself just before he winced. Had he seriously just called her ma’am?

She apparently felt the same way. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you really just…? You made me come four times in three hours and you call me ma’am?

He, uh… Well, yeah. He was quite proud of that, in fact.

The making her come four times part, just to be clear. The ma’am thing, not so much.

“If you’re going to pull me over,” she was saying, “you could at least call me by my first name.”

Yes. That would absolutely be preferred. Except…

“You don’t remember my name, do you?” Rather than wait for him to confirm or deny, she bonked her head against the steering wheel. “So done,” she mumbled. “I am so done with this day.”

He cleared his throat. Because, no, he didn’t remember her name. Or maybe she’d never given it to him. He’d been too captivated by her mouth and the things she’d said she wanted to do with it for anything else to truly register.

She straightened up and glared at him—as if he were the problem here—before handing over her license and reaching for her registration. She’d also turned on the interior car lights, which was a bit of a surprise since it indicated a basic knowledge of getting-pulled-over SOP. Tuck didn’t think that was a good thing.

Nor was it a good thing when her lips settled into a grim line before she far-too-perkily asked, “Could you tell me what the problem is, Officer?”

Yes, he supposed he deserved that sneer at the end. He hadn’t told her he was a police officer that night. Some women liked the uniform; he generally tried to stay away from them. The problem was that a lot of women didn’t like it, and that was an issue, too.

He looked down at her license. Karen Carmichael. Ames address, thirty-seven years old. Huh. He would have pegged her for younger. She had a bright-eyed, innocent look about her. It was part of what had drawn his attention—not to mention the attention of more than a few other men in the bar that night. She’d come up to talk to him, though. Asked him to dance. Which, incidentally, had been an entirely new thing for him, as he generally did the asking. He was also generally more of a first-kiss-after-the-third-date kind of person. Always that kind of person, in fact, except for that night.

Nope, still didn’t regret it.

Handing the license back, he said, “Could you step out of the car?”

He ignored the glare she gave him as she shut off the car’s light, opened the car door, and stepped out.

“I’m pretty sure you need probable cause to pull me over,” she added, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the door.

He very specifically did not let his eyes drift down past her neck. It was hard enough to concentrate on what he was doing at the moment; remembering how perfectly her breasts fit in his hands wasn’t going to do anything to help matters. “You drifted between lanes, drove well beneath the speed limit, and then came to a stop in the middle of the road. I had every right to pull you over.”

Her glare went nuclear. Took him straight from roasted marshmallow to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. But instead of lighting into him, she let her head fall back, dropped her arms to her sides, and breathed in deeply through her nose a few times. When she straightened up and met his gaze, she was cool and collected. “I’m not drunk.”

No, he’d realized that as soon as she’d opened her window to him, her bloodshot eyes notwithstanding. Something was going on, though; even a rookie cop would have figured that one out. Before he could decide on what approach to take, she snatched the penlight out of his chest pocket and held it out to him.

She wasn’t supposed to do that. No one did that. And if anyone else had, he probably would have…

Well, he had no clue because no one did that. Yet all he could do was watch the way her lips formed the words— “Here. Feel free to check.” —and flash back to the way those same lips had felt on his about-to-burst-into-flame skin.

He pushed the thought back as he took the penlight from her, careful not to make actual contact.

“You want me to do the walk and turn thing?” she was saying. “Stand on one leg? Say the alphabet backward?”

Yeah. Something was definitely going on. Her attitude was still up around DefCon 1 and she hadn’t backed down one bit. So he ran the tests, enough to confirm she was sober—which she was. But as he stepped back so she could get back into her car, he saw her eyes change. And something changed inside him as well. Enough of a something for him to step in closer. He only barely managed not to reach out to her. “Are you okay?”

She stared up at him, no less shocked than he was. Then her lips trembled. Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She shook her head slowly, her voice no more than a whisper. “I had a really bad day.”

Tuck had had some pretty bad days himself. They haunted him regularly, pushed away only by thoughts of much better nights. Thoughts of her, in fact, from time to time. He wanted to draw her to him, fold her into his arms. But he was already dangerously close to crossing that hard line called, oh, professionalism so he resisted, instead asking, “Is there anything I can do?”

Want to read more? Preorder now at:

Dr. Karen Carmichael prides herself on being capable, optimistic and always in control. But even neurosurgeons have breaking points, especially as the holidays approach. When Karen finds herself on the side of the road, explaining to a cop that her less-than-stellar driving was due to stress and tears rather than too much booze, it's humiliating. When that cop turns out to be a one-night stand from her past, it's icing on the bad-day cake.

Officer John "Tuck" Tucker didn't expect to see Karen again after their night together. The circumstances may not be ideal, but convincing this beautiful, stubborn woman to get to know him with his clothes on is more fun than he could have imagined.

Karen swore she'd never fall for someone who risks his life for his job. She sees enough heartbreak at work without inviting it into her personal life, and she has no interest in becoming involved in the small town Tuck calls home. But despite valiant efforts to keep her walls up, her affection for Tuck is growing into something much stronger. With a life built around work alone looking less appealing by the day, Karen will have to take a leap of faith—and trust that Tuck will leap with her.

HOLIDAY HOUSE CALL will be available on October 23, 2017.



BREATHE (Hansons of St. Helena #2) is now available

My latest novella, BREATHE, released on Wednesday of this week. It’s only $1.99 and is available now at Want a sneak peek?

In this scene: Heroine Beth Walker has sprained her ankle at the top of a not-unsubstantial hill, and hero Drew Hanson, gentleman that he is, offers to carry her--via piggyback ride--because it's the only way he can think to get her downhill fast. Their conversation goes something like this:

¸.•*(¸.•*´♥ BREATHE ♥`*•.¸)`*•.

“Just another hundred yards. We can reevaluate then.”

She looked at him for a minute, and then her own gaze drifted to the darkening sky. “You have flash floods around here, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said. No need to pull any punches.

And yet she still seemed mostly undecided--at least right up to the moment she forgot she’d hurt her ankle, began to put weight on it again, and then went totally white as she fell into him. Since this was neither the time nor the place, he tried not to think too much about how nicely she fit in his arms. She fit really nicely, however, so it wasn’t the most successful endeavor.

Still pale, she straightened up, leaving one hand on his arm in order to steady herself. “Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” she asked.

She didn’t seem at all heavy to him. He’d put her at maybe 120, 130 pounds and probably 5’5” or 5’6”. And anyway, he wasn’t a well-sought-out Pick Till You Punt teammate for nothing. “Entirely sure.”

Crouching down on a narrow, slippery trail on the side of a hill did take some concentration, and there was a moment there when she tightened her arm around his neck, nearly cutting off all his air, where it was a bit touch and go.

“So this is oddly awkward,” she said a couple of minutes later, once they were settled in and on their way.

Still working at not concentrating on the this-is-not-the-time-or-the-place aspect of things—especially now that they were even more intimately aligned—Drew responded, “How so?”

“Because I’m riding you?” she answered, not helping the situation one bit.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, no. You misunderstood. It was the use of the word ‘oddly’ I was questioning. I’m in total agreement with the awkward part.” Hell, he had his hands around the woman’s thighs and was having a very difficult time trying to ignore the fullness of her breasts pressed up against his back. Plus, her coconut-ish shampoo was infinitely distracting. He’d had lovers with whom he’d never been this close, the exception being the act itself. “I feel like I should be smoking a cigarette right now.”

Unlike most of those lovers, however, she got his joke. Her laughter was like music that hit the perfect combination of notes. “Well, I suppose if we’re at the cigarette stage,” she said, “I should introduce myself. I’m Beth. Novice hiker, horrendous about checking weather reports, and petrified of snakes and spiders.”

As she spoke, her body relaxed against him and he was beginning to understand the appeal of owning a motorcycle. Of course, since his brother-in-law-to-be took Maggie, Drew’s sister, on motorcycle rides all the time, that wasn’t a thought upon which Drew particularly wanted to dwell.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied. “I’m Drew. Long time hiker, a bit too much of a believer in weather reports, and I could care less about snakes or spiders. But I do have an irrational fear of trombones.”

¸.•*(¸.•*´♥ You can pick up your copy NOW at ♥`*•.¸)`*•.