New Release: Home of Her Heart

All he needed was a bride…
Who said anything about falling in love?

Orphaned at birth and a loner all his life, the last thing Sergeant Klayne Campbell needs is for feisty Delaney Danvers to entangle his thoughts.  Bravely volunteering for a top-secret mission almost certain to get him killed, Klayne can’t bear the thought of dying utterly alone. All he wants is to face death knowing his life meant something to at least one person. Offering Delaney a marriage of convenience, he plans to leave behind a war bride as his beneficiary. After just one night as her husband, Klayne realizes he’ll do anything to survive and return to her.

The moment she met handsome Sergeant Campbell at a holiday party, Delaney’s whole world shifted off kilter. Full of fun with an unquenchable zest for life, she isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. And what she wants is Klayne. When he prepares to join a hazardous mission, she seizes the opportunity to give him a reason to fight his way back home — to her heart.

A tender, sweet romance rich with history and enduring love, Home of Her Heart captures the era and emotions prevalent during America’s entry into World War II.

Garden of Her Heart | Home of Her Heart

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USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes character-driven romances with relatable heroes and heroines. Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”
 
Convinced everyone deserves a happy ending, this hopeless romantic is out to make it happen one story at a time. When she isn’t writing or indulging in chocolate (dark and decadent, please), Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller.
 
Shanna is a member of Western Writers of America, Women Writing the West, Romance Writers of America, Sweet Romance Reads, Cowboy Kisses, and Pioneer Hearts.

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     ​“What kind of man spies on a woman from behind a Christmas tree?” she asked, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her face held a look of suspicious scrutiny.
      Dumbfounded and caught in the act, Klayne lost the ability to speak.
     The scornful look she’d given him melted into a warm smile. She laughed and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, soldier. What’s your name?”
     He stared at her another moment before he looked down to his arm where her hand rested. Her palm threatened to sear through the fabric of his shirt and brand his skin. Although he expected her to have soft hands with manicured nails, her hands were work-roughened, chapped, and with nails broken down to the quick. A scab covered the backs of two knuckles and a cut stretched along the length of her index finger.
     “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she asked, continuing to look at him as she dropped her hand.
     “Most of the time, ma’am,” he said, silently urging his tongue to regain function. “My name is Klayne. Sergeant Klayne Campbell.”
     “It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant.” She gave him a beaming smile and held out a hand to him. “I’m Delaney Danvers, but most of my friends just call me Dee.”
     “Miss Danvers, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Klayne took her much smaller hand in his, astonished by the calluses on her palm and the strength in her grip. Whoever this girl was, she wasn’t afraid of hard work. “Did you happen to provide a trick riding performance at the rodeo a few months ago?”
     She shrugged, as though it was nothing. “I did. My dad and his friends talked me into doing it.” Delaney leaned closer to him, as though she might confide a secret. “Did I look like an idiot? That costume gave me ten different kinds of fits.”
     Klayne swallowed down a laugh and shook his head, recalling the leather-fringed outfit she’d worn. “No, ma’am. You looked…” Before he voiced his thoughts, he snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t very well tell her she looked magnificent and dazzling, and had him on the edge of his seat the whole time she performed. The way she’d ridden her horse was poetic in its raw, wild beauty. The outfit in question made him wonder if she was a descendant of Annie Oakley or a heroine from the Old West. Each movement of the horse she rode caused the fringe to dance around her, leaving him spellbound. His gaze roved over her face again and he saw a glimmer in her eyes, as though she dared him to bombard her with idle flattery. ma’am.”

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