Release Day Blitz - The Start of Something Good by Jennifer Probst

by - June 05, 2018

THE START OF SOMETHING GOOD kicks off a brand new series by Jennifer Probst and it just went live!

An enriching story of family ties, broken hearts, and second chances from New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Probst.
When Ethan Bishop returns to the Hudson Valley, his body and spirit are a little worse for wear. As a former Special Forces paratrooper, he saw his fair share of conflict, and he came home with wounds, inside and out. At his sisters’ B & B and farm, he can keep all his pain at a safe distance. But quiet time isn’t easy when a fiery woman explodes into his life…
It’s business—not pleasure—that brings Manhattan PR agent Mia Thrush reluctantly to the farm. Tightly wound and quick tempered, Mia clashes immediately with the brooding Ethan. Everything about him is irritating—from his lean muscles and piercing blue eyes to his scent of sweat and musk.
But as the summer unfolds and temperatures rise, Ethan and Mia discover how much they have in common: their guarded histories, an uncontrollable desire, and a passion for the future that could heal two broken hearts. But will their pasts threaten their fragile chance at a brand-new future?

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The Kia bumped along pot holes, mud, and scattered brush blocking the lane. Her temper grew as she drove. How was a guest able to find this place? Why on earth wasn't it paved and well-marked? Was she being dropped into one of those horrid Wrong Turn movies to find herself chased by country deformed bumpkins?
Finally, the car jerked to a halt at the end of the path. She stared open mouthed at the tiny bungalow in front of her.
Holy shit.
This was the place she was staying at?
Horror unfolded. It wasn't even Victorian. It had no sprawling front porch that served tea and cookies. It was just a basic mud brown house with standard issued windows, basic concrete stoop, and plain beige door. No cheery potted Geraniums or herbal gardens or quirky antiques like she'd imagined a B&B to have. Instead, there was a bunch of chickens roaming around, squawking and pecking at the unpaved ground. No real parking lot. Just a battered black truck parked in front. Was she the only guest?
And if so, now she knew why.
She was going to have a panic attack.
Gripping the door handle in a merciless grip, she dragged in deep breaths and tried to calm herself. Maybe the inside was amazing. Maybe it was a lesson so she'd learn the motto: Don't be fooled by the surface because great things lie beneath. Or in this case, inside.
She grit her teeth and got out of the car, giving the chickens a wary glance. Her Prada shoes were open toes. Could chickens draw blood if they pecked at her toes? She stilled, watching them carefully, but they didn't seem interested in a stranger so she began to walk toward the house. Her heels sunk into the mud, aggravating her even more. Why wasn't anyone here to take her luggage or greet her?
Worst. B&B. Ever.
"Hello?" she called out. "Anyone around?"
The answer was not what she'd expected.
From behind the dirty red coop thing, a massive chicken monster appeared in response to her call. She froze, mouth opening in horror, staring at the thing that seemed like a scary cross over of animal genetic madness.
It had a giant head full of crazy white feathers, sticking out from every angle like one of those memes on her Facebook newsfeed. Beady eyes focused on her with sheer fowl suspicion. Fat red jowls hung down beside his massive beak. His body was a mottled inky black and ended with tremendous clawed feet.
"Umm, nice chicken?"
A pissed off sound emitted from the creature's beak, and he began lurching forward in a drunken walk of doom. She backed up, hands out, terrified to die of a chicken attack in the backwoods where no one would find her.
"Stay away from me!" she warned. "I mean it. I'll make you the main course of my Thanksgiving, you freak!"
The thing clucked harder, beginning to flap his wings in crazed motions, his long curly clawed toes moving faster toward her, beak open, ready for the kill.
She screamed.
"Hei Hei!" The masculine voice snapped through the air in command. The chicken monster stopped mid-charge, cranking its feathery head toward the house. "Leave her alone."
The chicken let out a murderous shriek.
"Wanna be left out this winter so your feathers freeze? I mean it Hei Hei, I won't save you like Harper. Go back and finish your lunch."
Feathers shook. With one last glance at her that promised retribution, the chicken monster disappeared back behind the house. The man who had saved her propped his hands on his hips and didn't budge. "Sorry, he's a bit temperamental. Can I help you?"
The long howl of a dog made her jump back. What now? Was this place a zoo? A black lab came racing out with one intention: to take her down. She squared her shoulders, stood her ground, and prayed he or she was friendly.
He or she was. The dog bounded around her without jumping up, thrilled to have some company. She reached down and pet the dog. At least, one animal made sense out here. She'd always loved dogs. Not cats. Not chickens. Not horses or squirrels or chipmunks or snakes. Just dogs.
The man whistled. "Wheezy, come here. She's had enough of the animal crew welcome." The dog obeyed, trotting back to his or her master, and settled down near his feet. "Let's try this again. Can I help you?"
Her words seemed to drift away. She stared at him in total fascination, her mind short circuiting the endless possibilities of this man.
She'd just met a semi hot Grizzly Adams.
The man was tall. Super tall—at least six four. Feet braced apart, hands on hips, he towered with an impressive presence clad in worn, tight jeans and a basic black t-shirt that stretched over his muscular build. Russet colored hair curled wildly over his brow and brushed the nape of his neck. An impressive beard hugged his jaw and was longer than the usual goatee, bordering on wild. His features were an odd slashing of crude bone structure that kept him from ever looking pretty or soft. But his eyes. She'd never seen anything like them.
A pale, ice blue with a piercing intensity that froze her in place. The startling contrast of light and dark was mesmerizing. She wasn't usually a fan of gingers or beards, but his entire presence as a whole gave her a funny lurch in her tummy.
There was no laugh lines to spot. No humor or warmth in his eyes. This man had seen things; done things; and wasn't about to share them with anyone. "Miss? Are you lost?"
She shook off her odd thoughts and reconnected with the land of the living. Also, her temper. This entire day had been craptastic. "I'm here to check in. I don't know what type of place you run here, but the roads are atrocious, and being greeted by a psychopath chicken won't get you a five star rating on YELP."
His brow arched. "Check-ins not till three pm."
She pressed her lips together and prayed for patience. "I know that. I'm early. That doesn't excuse your set up. Now, if you can take my luggage from the car, get me some water with lemon, and show me to my room, I'd be grateful."
"I don't work here."
Her temper frayed. "Then can you get me someone who does before I lose my shit?"
Those eyes narrowed. "You're from the city, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm exhausted, and hot, and cranky so I'd appreciate some help."
"This isn't the B&B. You must've taken a wrong turn."
Relief shot her through her, followed by annoyance. "Well, I'm relieved since this place looks like a nightmare, but I did follow the sign. Why isn't anything marked properly here?"
"It is. It clearly states Inn Horse Trail."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. So, this is where the horse people sleep?"
He just stared at her, his gaze flicking from her head to her toes in complete dismissal. "Nah, they just sleep in the barns. The hay is super soft. They even have an outhouse."
She ignored his comment, knowing he was making fun of her. Yes, she was acting bitchy but she hadn't eaten the last half of her Kind bar and her stomach was ravenous. She was damn Hangry. "I don't have time to exchange clever banter with you. Just show me where the Inn is and I'll be on my way."
"Go out the way you came from. Take a left. Go further down about half a mile and you'll see the right sign."
She forced a fake smile, already disliking him as much as the chicken. "Thanks so much for your help."
He cocked his head. His drawl was as sarcastic as her comment. "No problem, princess."
With one last withering look, she got back in the car and bumped her way back to the road, leaving the horrible man and cabin and chicken behind her. Oh, she'd dealt with plenty of his kind in her years of PR. Men who thought a woman who enjoyed nice things were entitled and silly. Men who had such big egos they couldn't comprehend a successful woman clearly stating what she wanted and how she wanted it. She shuddered. He probably mansplained to his girlfriend.
No, thank you.
At least, she'd never have to see him again.


Jennifer Probst wrote her first book at twelve years old. She bound it in a folder, read it to her classmates, and hasn’t stopped writing since. She took a short hiatus to get married, get pregnant, buy a house, get pregnant again, pursue a master’s in English Literature, and rescue two shelter dogs. Now she is writing again.

She makes her home in Upstate New York with the whole crew. Her sons keep her active, stressed, joyous, and sad her house will never be truly clean.
She is the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of sexy and erotic contemporary romance. She was thrilled her book, The Marriage Bargain, was ranked #6 on Amazon's Best Books for 2012. She loves hearing from readers. Visit her website for updates on new releases and her street team at

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