This week we’re casting Owen over on the Facebook page. You should see who your fellow fans have chosen to play the role. While you’re there, be sure to cast your own pick and be entered to win a pack of these beautiful, brand-new bookmarks:

Aren’t they pretty?

But first, you might want to refresh your memory about Owen with these teases:

“Owen,” Tristan and I both said as my protector appeared in the open doorway to the bedroom.
“At your service,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“Do they know anything?” Tristan asked.
Owen shook his head. “Sophia told them Alexis gets all whacked out about the next daughter and she probably needed air.” He peered at me and then Tristan. “Well, not those exact words. I think she said, ‘especially sensitive.’ So … what happened?”

Or maybe this will help:

“Is this it?” Owen asked.
I opened my eyes and almost whooped out loud when I saw the homestead. Bertha sat in front of an old farmhouse, facing a faded red barn. My mind was already inside, drinking a cold glass of water and then standing under a hot shower. But as I looked around more closely, my heart sank to my lap. Siding hung off the dilapidated barn, and the roof was caved in. The fields and stock pens were overgrown and unkempt. Paint peeled off the walls of the house, and grime tinted the windows a yellowish-brown color. A tiny, old airplane sat at the end of what once may have been a dirt runway, but now was littered with overgrown weeds and potholes nearly the size of Bertha. This can’t be it.
“Yep, this is it,” Tristan said, pushing me forward so he could stand up.
Owen turned in the driver’s seat, and his face looked how I felt. “Dude … seriously? I think the owners abandoned this place decades ago. Probably ran away scared.”
“Perhaps. I haven’t been here in … a lifetime.” Tristan hopped out of the truck. “Come on. Let’s check it out. There’s nothing here you can’t fix, Scarecrow.”
“True,” Owen agreed, sliding out of the driver’s seat, “very true.”