Lost and Lassoed by Lyla Sage

Teddy Andersen doesn’t have a plan. She’s never needed one before. She’s always been more of a go-with-the-flow type of girl, but for some reason, the flow doesn’t seem to be going her way this time.

Her favorite vintage suede jacket has a hole in it, her sewing machine is broken, and her best friend just got engaged. Suddenly, everything feels like it’s starting to change. Teddy is used to being a leader, but now she feels like she’s getting left behind, wondering if life in the small town she loves is enough for her anymore.

Gus Ryder has a lot on his plate. He doesn’t know what’s harder: taking care of his family’s 8,000 acre ranch, or parenting his spunky six-year-old daughter, who is staying with him for the summer. Gus has always been the dependable one, but when his workload starts to overwhelm him, he has to admit that he can’t manage everything on his own. He needs help.

His little sister’s best friend, the woman he can’t stand, is not who he had in mind. But when no one else can step in, Teddy’s the only option he’s got. Teddy decides to use the summer to try and figure out what she wants out of life. Gus, on the other hand, starts to worry that he’ll never find what he needs.

Tempers flare, tension builds, and for the first time ever, Gus and Teddy start to see each other in a different light. As new feelings start to simmer below the surface, they must decide whether they should act on them. Can they keep things cool? Or will both of them get burned?

Why I Picked It Up

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To set the scene here, Lost and Lassoed was a book I picked up past midnight when I couldn't sleep. I finished it at my kitchen counter around 3 A.M. when I got really hungry, eating the final scraps of an overdue grocery haul: havarti cheese, which very well could be my Death Row meal, and hint-of-lime tortilla chips, which I am allergic to. Surprisingly delicious in combination.

You have no reason to know the details, except for that's exactly the type of situation in which this book and series are a good idea. A sudden consumption. Not shameful at all, because I think often we use "guilty pleasure" in a super condescending and/or gendered way when it comes to romantic books, but more so that I have no real reason for picking it up late-night other than there was no friction keeping me from doing so.

Having finished the book, that's roughly how I feel too. I'm not into this series, per se. I don't enjoy it the way I'd go to bat for other romance or beach reads I'd recommend, even as so-called fluff. I find the plot overdone and super basic with no conflict, I hate to say it but I do find a lot of the writing so absurdly cliché that it almost feels satirical, and it generally has a lot that I would heavily dislike in any other book.

I'm a little baffled by the series' popularity considering I don't find much beyond the setting to be particularly distinctive; I do suspect it's a buzz-feeds-buzz scenario in which the titles have familiar, clicky names that appeal to the casual reader. Of course, I'm happy for the author and do think the books clearly scratch an itch for others, or else people would not flock to them as heavily as they do.

It's a fine book. It's a solidly nice way to spend the time. Lost and Lassoed is the bookish equivalent of hint-of-lime-and-havarti at your kitchen counter in the witching hour when you know you're screwing yourself over for work in the morning. And that alone gives it value, although I have plenty to nitpick about the book itself. So this sounds like a negative review, but is really not.

In terms of recommending, I'd say it comes down to reading time. If you're like me and can crank out a book like this in approximately two hours the same way you would a movie, it's a sleepless rec or an on-the-beach rec. If it takes you longer and you're not an avid romance reader, there may be other titles I'd recommend instead for more substantial experiential factor and texture i.e. character development, vibes, and chemistry that feels more earned. (That being said, Teddy and Gus do have good chemistry.)

But Lost and Lassoed is frictionless. In the same way that the book took me two hours to read versus other books occupying more of my taste/time/attention, this review will likely take me half an hour versus the maybe-two I spend on more. In one ear, out the other-type read.

About the Book

I started the Rebel Blue Ranch series with Done and Dusted, which I read beachside, slathered in sunscreen, which primed my expectation of these books as the type I'd read when I want brain off.

To reiterate my points there: I'm Southern and a fan of a country aesthetic, and have especially been tapping into those roots lately. I unfortunately adore a Stoic cowboy. Wyoming's underutilized in terms of setting for the books I read. I pretty much had the same issues with Lost and Lassoed as I did with Done and Dusted but will get to that shortly.

I skipped the second book because I definitely library-ed each of these, and as noted, it's a popular series. Major, major props to Lyla Sage because she has hundreds of thousands of readers clamoring for installment after installment (impressive.) And I do love the vintage, pulpy covers. There was also another reason (ha) that I wasn't especially gunning to read Swift and Saddled, about the brother looking to renovate a bed-and-breakfast on his family's sprawling ranch—who then falls for the interior designer they call in from the city. I wasn't worried about missing any big plot twists or anything. The series is connected, and chronological, but you're not going to cheat yourself by going out of order because the very nature of a happily-ever-after means that you know the characters introduced in other books will end up together. This hold came in first.

Lost and Lassoed bills itself as the enemies-to-lovers iteration of the series: between Gus, the moody single dad toting around his adorable six-year-old Riley, and his sister's best friend, Teddy. Teddy's a fashionista down on her luck after the boutique in town she works for closes, and she's drowning in responsibility too: caring for her sick father, the ex-rock star who adores her beyond measure. (Detail I love: Hank gave up drumming to raise Teddy when he knew of her existence, and has THEODORA tackled across his knuckles. Their dynamic was sweet.)

Gus needs help with childcare for the summer, Teddy's out of a job, and Riley happens to adore her, which is how she ends up in his guest room for the summer helping out with the kiddo. You know what happens next...

The trope established here is very much "people taking care of others never have anyone taking care of them," which comes with the familiar scenes and moments of tenderness. Someone finally getting to rest.

It's a usual, often-repeated one, which is why I think I've read this exact plot a thousand times and wish it had more of a twist to it. But, of course, I write about similar dynamics in my own book, and know that's the demographic I tend to fall into myself: having no problem being useful to others (and actively enjoying it), but feeling like accepting help yourself makes you weak.

Pacing, Voice, etc,.

Like I said, my main issue with these books is that they're sort of plotless, which I'm happy to let coast if there's enough else I love to pull it through—like complex execution, gorgeous prose, sense of place.

While I adore the setting and the small-town warmth, I don't even feel like the books are strong enough on any of the fronts for it to make any logical sense for me to continue with them. I just sort of did.

The writing is all telling, and telegraphed. The sentences are pretty simple, and often veer into painfully cheesy. Sense of place should be an easy get, but the descriptions all feel very basic. And my sincerest apologies for that sounding harsh, because I do think the sheer popularity of the series (and my willingness to read them) means Sage captures this intangible "it" factor that makes people continue with them, which is what you want anyway.

The arc is obvious. You meet characters. There's tension up until they kiss at the midpoint, and then they're basically together for the rest of the book. The moments of sweetness are all scenes I've read a hundred times. And I would even understand it more among readers who love "spicy" books if the sex scenes were, well,....they're fine. They're what every other graphic scene is like. If anything, I cringed at a bit. Personal preference: I hate immediately calling someone 'baby,' or even 'baby' at all. More universal cringe probably: the mustache reference?

Still, I like the book well enough and you'll just have to trust me when I say this isn't a negative review. It's more so an orientation one: gearing readers towards the type of situation this book is best for, and who might want to pick it up versus veer away (which is what I believe the role of a review to be in the first place.)

Some Bits I Loved

I've noted this before in various reviews, and it's probably extremely obvious based on how I talk about kids and youth in general on the blog, but one of my absolute favorite qualities in a book is when kids are treated as kids, not as placeholders. Which should be bare minimum, right? The bar is on the floor. And yet somehow, so many books miss the mark (in my opinion) on treating kids with the same seriousness and/or tenderness that they deserve, depending on what their role is in the narrative. So my favorite books channel that same appreciation for kiddos I think they deserve.

Teddy and Riley's relationship was sweet. How they used Riley could be funny, even when predictable. The one part of the book that made me cackle was Riley outing Gus and Teddy to everyone else via a "get well soon" card that depicted them holding hands.

I appreciated that Gus's main character conflict was largely worrying that juggling his responsibilities meant he wasn't being a good father, and that one of the pivotal moments of closeness between him and Teddy was when she asked him about Cam (Riley's mother) and their relationship with curiosity rather than calculation. He reflected on how refreshing it was to be able to acknowledge Cam as a natural part of the family without hedging it at all, like with other women he dated who often made him feel feel weird or cagey about acknowledging their genuine friendship. That co-parenting balance seemed well done.

The rivals banter was amusing, even though it quickly fell away.

“Mostly, I just always felt like he didn't like me, so I didn't like him, and then it spiraled into our being delightfully mean to each other all the time.”

Again, I almost think there needed to be more going on in absolutely every category for me to flag these books as notable, but what it did well was handled at least fine. I very lukewarm liked it, and I wouldn't necessarily pick up a different book for the purpose I was looking for.

Notable: we have apparently graduated from using "head over boots" to "hat over boots" as a descriptor, and I'm not sure which one I prefer.

Some Bits I Didn't Love as Much

Like I've said, I think the writing doesn't stand out to me because it feels pretty plain and straightforward. Not quite conversational enough to feel voicey, but often reverting to very internal/passive/etc,. constructions that we're usually taught to avoid. I hate to say it feels generic, but it does, which is why I went into the books originally expecting some real other wow factor to pop up.

The amount of cursing sometimes just felt gratuitious.

Teddy's dad collapsing as soon as she let down her 'caretaker' guard and had a good night with Gus was so predictable, sorry.

Some of the writing or moments were actually so corny and overexplained that I would have hated the book if I were in any other mood. It does not trust the reader. It does beat a dead horse, also! But Lyla Sage apparently just knows how to toe the line of Grace approval.

There's no way for me to describe how I feel about this paragraph without sounding mean.

Is Modern Romance Avoiding Real Conflict?

Someone pointed this out in romance nowadays, and I think it dovetails with our discussions of modern convenience culture/inability to handle relational friction, but the genre right now "seems almost afraid" to have characters have conflict. I'm not sure if this is a broader trend, because I can only speak to this book and a few others, but I sort of agree based on new releases I've read?

My issue with this series is that basically, the characters are always headed towards a trajectory of getting together, and have no real obstacles in their way—even misunderstandings. And once they kiss or hook up or decide, they're pretty much done, and the book turns into a series of bonus scenes of them together.

Credit from Threads user @difficultwomanreads.

And I think that theory's probably dead on, because I've felt that way about other modern romance books (caveat being that I'm definitely just reading the popular books and not reading widely.) If you're an avid romance reader: do you feel that way? Like authors are afraid to have the characters actually be people to each other? Or like they have to be airbrushed and stay perfectly in love the entire time and have no possible conflict—God forbid—lest a reader get nervous about their compatibility?

Granted, I've been thinking about that a lot lately, about how it's ultimately irrational to assume that compatibility means zero conflict. That someone you love has to make you feel good all the time. There's this all-or-nothing deification or condemnation behind that (which, coincidentally, goes along with my recent "idea of you" book thread curiosity.)

It's why I feel like Gus and Teddy have fun chemistry and are a solid couple to root for, but that's not really a plot. Plot is conflict, and part of what makes me want a couple to work out is how they handle problems with each other. Because that's the messy part, right there. The beauty of figuring out how to?

What I wrote in my review outline (phone note) while reading was that there tends to be angst up until they kiss and then they very easily just decide they're both down to become a couple, whereas I think the compelling difficulty in a romance book is usually whatever comes between those two stages. So it does feel like these books just...skip the actual challenges, and thus don't really feel "earned" to me. Which is why I'll read them, pleasantly, but not necessarily go to bat for them. There are so many other things you can bake into a romance that complicate the simple act of caring for another person. Taking something simple that becomes complicated and choosing to make it simple again. Isn't that the goal, and also the hardest part?

Whereas Done and Dusted and Lost and Lassoed pretty much stay simple and end simple—but still enjoyable.

The Strongest Part of the Book

I actually thought the highlight of the book—and arguably the crux of the book—was Teddy standing up to Emmy about how their friendship changed when she got into a significant relationship, and how that wasn't a problem, but they did need to be aware of how the dynamic changes when one of them (Emmy) got to be the number-one priority of both her partner and her best friend, whereas Teddy suddenly no longer got to be a priority. That's a real shift and not a bad one, but it does require an honest look at how to be intentional to someone else as they enter a new stage of life.

That conversation, the real feelings and pushback, and how they each handled it—done beautifully, in my opinion, and that sentiment captured a lot of the tapestry of the unevenness of friends dating, getting married, or entering new life stages in their late twenties or early thirties. That was probably the most compelling part of the book for me.

Overall Thoughts

Overall, I liked it fine. And normally, I would avoid 'fine' or wish I'd read a different book instead. But I'm glad I picked it up last night, and think it might be perfectly fine for other readers who similarly want a midnight snack-type read (of a sort.)

Like I said (and I keep repeating that), the Rebel Blue Series has an avid readership who go absolutely wild for these books, so there may be some element to them that I simply don't get. I'm not an instalover, which could be it.

If you like it without picking up on any of what I did, I'm happy for you. And I'm happy to see the series getting attention. I enjoyed it in spite of all I picked up on, but my critiques are still very much a part of my reading experience.

I don't love the writing or the plot or the pacing or anything. But I do love a cowboy. Apparently that's enough to keep me reading.