Three reasons why you should read: The Farmer and the Wood Nymph by JoAnn Ainsworth

Wood Nymph COVER_300x200-2

Today’s feature is from my fellow Blue Ridge Literary Agency author JoAnn Smith Ainsworth. One of her latest releases is book 2 in the Buffalo Series.

Take it away, JoAnn…


Waking alone on a mountainside, LILAH recalls nothing about her life, except a strong belief that some man somewhere loves her. A well hidden wedding band holds the hope that man will come to rescue her. But when her salvation comes in the form of a farmer resembling a Viking God, Lilah struggles to stay faithful to the ideal she cannot remember.

ERNEST NOLAN finds the vivacious beauty wandering in the wilderness and hopes that true love will be his at last. Spontaneous and exciting, Lilah is everything his careful heart has longed for. But a decent man never trifles with another man’s woman. The mystery of Lilah’s identity and that wedding ring must be resolved.

Searching for answers, these two opposites discover that differences can bring both attraction and difficulties. Can they overcome the obstacles and learn to walk a path of love and harmony?


#1 – After the excitement of Lilah’s rescue diminishes, practical aspects loom. How can she—with propriety—include Ernest in any future plans when she can’t remember if she’s a widow? How can she confidently build the foundation of a new life when her old life might reappear at any moment? What if she likes the person she’s becoming better than the person she was before the memory loss?

Opposites Attract

Opposites Attract

#2 – Opposites attract because they complete each other, but being able to live in harmony is a different ball of wax. How can Ernest and Lilah learn to accept their differences and rise to a level of unconditional love?

#3 – When both the past and a future seem to have collapsed, what inner strengths can Lilah dredge up to survive in limbo until her God shows her a new path?

Excerpt THE FARMER AND THE WOOD NYMPH (Buffalo Series Book II) historical western romance (sweet romance)

Her brain must be addled. She’s calling me “darling”.

Ernest took his time dismounting, not wanting his bloodied appearance to scare this delicate creature. If only he had some way to wash off Diablo’s blood. Here was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and he must reek to high heaven.

As he led the horse toward her, closing the distance, a flesh and blood woman threw herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Illusion had given way to tangible reality. Reluctantly, he pried loose her arms and set her back on her feet. “Hold up, there. You have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Husband, don’t you know me?”

“Regretfully, ma’am, I’m not your husband.”

He could kick himself for letting the “regretfully” slip out. It was unwise to expose his vulnerability to this unknown flesh-and-blood wood nymph.

A look of disappointment spread across her sun-kissed face. “He sent you to rescue me instead of coming himself?”

“No, ma’am.”

She cocked her head. “Who are you, then?”

“I’m Ernest Nolan from the Osterbach farm near Buffalo. I’m with that posse.” He pointed toward the dismounting men in the distance. “I apologize for my appearance. I was in a knife fight with an outlaw. He lost.”

“Thank goodness. I thought that was your blood.”

“Some is.”

She came closer, pulling a lace-edged handkerchief out of a torn apron pocket. Taking his hand into hers, she wiped at the dried blood.

“How did you come to be here?” He asked the question in as unthreatening a manner as he could muster. He looked at her torn clothing. “Were you ravaged?”

She gave up on the dried blood, dropped his hand and stepped back. “I can’t remember. I think I got lost.”

He rubbed his chin. “What’s your name?”

“Lilah. That much I do remember. But not my last name.”

She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. The golden band glinted with the morning sun. “This ring and its inscription—Beloved wife. Love forever—are all I know about my marriage.”

Ernest looked around the meadow for clues on how she got this far away from her people. There was no structure nearby, not even a shed.

“Where’s your horse?”

“I don’t have one. I did find broken pieces of a wagon and some food.”

This woman didn’t fit into the niches into which Ernest organized his life. Instead of crying, she was curious. Instead of panicking, she was talking with him as if they’d met on the sidewalk in town. With farming, every seed became a particular plant. This woman exhibited no recognizable structure. Everything seemed fluid. He rubbed the back of his hand over his face. “How will you get home?”

“I don’t know where home is.”

Ernest shook his head. Maybe she was an illusion after all, created in a brain hit too hard by a pistol butt. Yet, he’d never seen an etching of a folklore nymph wearing a sun bonnet and an apron.


When JoAnn Smith Ainsworth carried wood as a pre-teen so her Great Aunt Martha could stoke up the iron stove to prepare dinner, she wasn’t thinking, “I could use this in a novel someday.” Yet, the skills she learned from her horse-and-buggy ancestors translate into backdrops for her historical romance and paranormal suspense novels.

To learn more, visit, Twitter @JoAnnAinsworth or Facebook’s JoAnn Smith Ainsworth Fan Page.

Contact her at


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