Uninhibited in Apple Trail, Arkansas - Volume 2
Uninhibited in Apple Trail, Arkansas
Volume 2
Making Her Nights
Satisfying Her Tastes
Chasing Her Trail
By Keri Ford
Uninhibited in Apple Trail, Arkansas, Volume 2
Copyright © 2011, Keri Ford
Digital ISBN: 9781937389727
Digital Release, December 2011
Editor, Jacquie Dahr
Cover art design by Kim Jacobs
A Sapphire Nights Book
Published by Turquoise Morning Press
Turquoise Morning, LLC
P.O. Box 43958
Louisville, KY 40253-0958
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the publisher, Turquoise Morning Press.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC.
Uninhibited in Apple Trail, Arkansas
Volume 2
Welcome to Apple Trial, Arkansas. Something must surely be in the water in this small town. Women are tossing their inhibitions out the window and the men are grasping at what to do about it!
Keri Ford's sexy, erotic six-novella series will have you laughing, crying and grasping for something hot and spicy!
This combined volume brings you the last three novellas in the series:
Making Her Nights
Satisfying Her Tastes
Chasing Her Trail
Making Her Nights
Acknowledgements for
Making Her Nights
KJ Reed. Thank you for the best comments ever while critique my work. “…” has been my favorite so far. I agree, that cool breeze on the hero left me speechless when I read it again, too. Bet you wished I’d edit my work more before sending it, but then I wouldn’t get all these fun comments.
J
As always my editor, Jacquie Daher, thanks for giving me flexibility with my voice and helping Apple Trail take shape!
Thanks to Inez Kelley for the research on the Chief Deputy position and the needs of the office. Any errors or mistakes are all mine.
The Bowflex. Thank you for serving as a decently comfortable office in a quiet room when I needed to work the most. That leg curl attachment of yours even made for a great foot prop. We shall be BBF 4Ever.
He never loses control. She always tests the rules.
Chief Deputy Mike Gabel is the man in charge in Apple Trail. No one gives him more trouble than a certain blonde. While her stunts are frustrating enough to deal with, it’s the constant way she keeps him trapped in knots that sends him over the edge.
Tiffany McBride has a reputation for act now, think…never. She’s been betting and causing trouble since her parents died when she was a teenager. What looks like a young woman sewing her wild oats, is actually desperate measures to gamble for extra money to put food on the table.
When these two acknowledge their attraction, sparks fly…that is if Mike’s public position can survive Tiffany’s frowned upon reputation.
Chapter One
Mike turned the wheel of his boat and rounded the final bend before Dutch Row Sandbar. He sighed. God only knew what he might find there. Drunks doing drunk things. Drunk things never turned out well.
The shimmering silvery blue of the river gleamed from the early summer sun on the surface and had him pushing his sunglasses farther up his nose. It’d been a peaceful day so far. A few fishermen here and there. A couple of skiers and a few inner tubes. Aside from Dutch Row Sandbar, he really didn’t mind taking a rotation patrolling the waters. Enjoyed it even.
The bend narrowed as he pulled out of the turn and he edged back to the center of the river. The sandbar was just ahead on the right and, as expected, covered in people. Drunken idiot people by the hooting he was already hearing over the whine of his outboard motor. But at least they were on land and not joyriding the river and doing stupid shit like unofficial boat races.
Instead they likely had their asses in the sand while filling their empty beer cans with water before tossing them out in the river to sink and disappear. He shifted forward in his seat, droplets of sweat slithered down his spine as he pulled back on the throttle and slowed the boat. Just a slow cruise by was all that was necessary and then he was done for the day. Well, done on the river. There was still work to be checked at the offices. He glanced ahead for oncoming traffic and his belly dropped to the seat of his pants.
A flash of neon pink cut through the still water surface. With knots twisting his belly, he urged the boat a little faster to the dumb idiot trying to swim the width of the river. He’d been close to getting out of there with no complications. As if attempting the swim wasn’t dangerous enough with the current and trash floating down stream, plus just the sheer length of the swim—no less than 200 yards—this one didn’t even have a life vest on. And dollars to donuts, this swimmer was likely half drunk. Because it was always the drunks attempting this sort of thing. Anyone else in their right mind would know better.
Just as he was nearly to the white female, she sat up and treaded water. A smirk took her full lips and Mike nearly ripped the leather from the steering wheel.
Tiffany McBride.
“Tiffany!” he yelled a warning for her to wait. The sweat on his body was now a blanket of cold dread. His blood fired through his veins in a mix of worry and plain old pissed off. Anybody but her. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but her? He’d rather deal with a mean-ass fighting drunk than what he knew would be a completely sober Tiffany.
She dropped under water and continued her strokes. Of course. Of course that’s what she would do. Because damn Tiffany McBride always knew what was best. …best to get herself in trouble, that he wouldn’t argue with.
Fuck. He slowly powered the boat forward until he was alongside her. She continued to swim and he reached over the side and tapped her on her smooth, warm back, startling her into sitting up and treading water. A brow rose on her wet oval face. Water dripped from the tip of her perfect little nose. Her breasts rose with her deep breaths, cresting and bobbing out of the dark water. A teasing temptation of showing just enough, but never enough.
“Do you mind?” Her voice was breathless and the gasping sound ripped through him. Not that he needed her out of breath for her voice to wrap all the way down his spine. She, like always, didn’t seem to notice. “Trying to go for a swim here.”
He held out his hand, one part knowing it was a mistake to touch, another thirsting for just a gentle swipe of her hand. He ignored the thickening in the back of his throat and every other thing she put his body through with simple looks. It shouldn’t be possible for one woman to turn his tail in knots, but she did it. All the damn time. He’d spent years hiding and tucking away how she pushed him to the edge of his control while she, never once seemed bothered by his presence. Or at least, bothered to a state of distraction like him. She did make it clear often enough she wished he’d go away.
He gestured with his fingers for her to take his hand. “Get in the damn boat.”
This wouldn’t be easy. It never was easy with Tiffany. Not with anything. By the smirk on her lips, this was going to be no different. “Since when is it illegal to take a swim, Chief?”
She pulled in a deep breath and dropped back under water. He reached, but only caught the cool river flowing through his fingers. He groaned and crossed to the other side of the boat and waited, already knowing this was her destination. Right on cue, she crested the dark depths, a tempting, frustrating laugh rang out with her heaving breath.
He shook his head and hooked his hands under her arms. Her chuckles died as he hefted her in the boat.
“Mike, damn it!” She kicked out and twisted as he finished pulling her from the water. “Let me go.”
“No.” As she twisted and turned, he had little choice but to keep his hands on her, feeling down her trim arms and catching her wrists in his grasp, all the while forcing his mouth closed. He’d never voiced his thoughts. If he never voiced them, he could keep ignoring this attraction when she wasn’t around. She made him crazy enough, he didn’t need her to hold this desire over his head too.
He tugged her to the back of the boat and held tight to make sure she wouldn’t jump overboard. That’s just the kind of shit she would pull, if for no other reason than to piss him off. He sat down behind the wheel and turned the key. Just get to the sandbar, get to the fucking sandbar and he could get his hands off her. Get her out of his boat. Out of his breathing range so his dick would stop tenting his loose cargo shorts. “You’re welcome for saving your life.”
Her wrists still in his grasp, she sat impossibly straight next to him. Her long, tanned legs crossed over one another. The sun caught on all the nicks and scars marring her shins and knees from over the years. Half of those he knew what happened because he’d pulled her out of dozens of situations when she'd gotten them. Shoving her through a barbwire fence to get her off private property, forcing her to haul ass through a plowed field before she was caught, even hiding her in the bottom of this very boat once. He’d wanted to wring her neck every time he’d gotten her to safety but then he’d see she was bleeding from more cuts and scraps on her knees, shins, elbows. Hell, there’d even been busted lips and one time a black eye.
She never did anything but shrug off the damage she was doing to her perfect body. “I must have missed the part where I was dying.”
“Do you know how many people die swimming the width of the river like that?”
“Let me guess.” She rolled her head back, giving only the smallest hint that she wasn’t paralyzed with pissed off rage. “One in a million. I probably have higher odds of getting struck by lightning while showering during a storm.”
He frowned. “You shouldn’t take a shower while it’s storming out.”
“And you should mind your own damn business.” She tugged at her arm, but he didn’t release her soft wrist. They weren’t close enough to the bank yet. “It hasn’t rained in some six weeks, the river is down by feet, there’s no current, no trash floating to sweep me by. All you did was cost me sixty dollars.”
Sixty bucks. She put her life on the line for sixty fucking dollars. He forced a calming breath and it eased the anger out of his jaw enough so he could speak. All these nonstop bets of hers were going to send him to a grave before he reached forty. “And what about boats flying down the river? Didn’t think about them, did you? Someone could have hit you and never even known.”
Looking uninterested as she stared toward the sandbar, she lifted her bound hands and popped the shoulder of her neon pink bikini. “You didn’t have any trouble seeing me.”
As if he could ever miss her anywhere. Ever.
He gave up years ago trying to fight what was surely an unnatural and unhealthy attraction and just realized he needed to acknowledge what he couldn’t risk having. It seemed to take the edge off. Or at the very least, he was able to hold a conversation with her without feeling like the jolly Green Giant was standing on his chest. Most of the time. It worked, until she pulled stunts like this, which happened more often than not here lately. “And if you got tired halfway across?”
“Well, gee, Mike, I guess I would have flipped to my back and floated for a bit.”
He shook his head and turned his boat for the sandbar. “People get out here and they don’t realize how wide it is until it’s too late.”
“I’ve swam it four times, when the water was higher than this. I know exactly how wide it is.”
He stroked a hand over his face.
Four times?
“Tiffany, you’ve got to start thinking better than this.”
She jerked her arm away. He didn’t immediately free her, but when she pinned him with a hard stare, so much intensity and life radiated off her, he released her. Not out of fear, but because it burned all the way through him. That Tiffany look with her ferocity and hunger and this nonstop thirst for testing and trying everything. She never half-assed anything, always seemed to like the hard, complicated road.
She shook her head and the anger in her straight shoulders collapsed. “Why do you have to do this all the time?”
“Look out for you? ‘Cause you won’t do it on your own and that’s part of my job.”
“I’ve been looking out for myself for over eight years now, starting before you were chief deputy of the county and put in charge of Apple Trial. I’ve done fine so far. So just stop it.”
Like hell she had.
He’d
been the one pulling her out of more hairy spots in the last eight years than he cared to think about. She knew that too, but of course that damn McBride Pride running through her veins would never allow her to say differently. Just like her daddy. The bow rammed into the sand and she hopped over to the side before he could even get the engine cut.
Drunk bastard and average pain in Mike’s ass, Rory Christoff, ambled over, silver can in his hand with a scraggily three week old beard clinging to his face. Sand dusted his tan, leathered skin clinging for his bones as if it would fall off otherwise. Except for his gut. That part was ample and full.
“Thanks, Mike.” Rory slapped him on the back as if Mike had saved her for his sake. “Pay up, Tiffany. You didn’t make it all the way across before coming back.”
She groaned and marched toward a green bag on the sand. “I’ve got it.”
Mike’s gaze dropped to her swaying ass juicily displayed in her bathing suit bottoms as she crossed the thick sand. Mistake, holy-fucking-hell, disaster mistake. He ripped his gaze from her tanned curves and turned to Rory with a swallow surely half full of dirt with the way it rasped down. “She could have been killed doing that.”
Rory laughed in that obnoxious way that only a drunk knew how to do. Loud, spitting, and did he mention loud? “Ain’t illegal to go swimming in the river, officer.”
He glanced around and thankfully didn’t see Rory’s pickup. There were a number of boats though. “Who’s your ride?”
“I’m being ‘sponsible.” He gestured with his can. “Riding with Jacob and his old lady. She ain’t drinking.”
Christ.
Not drinking, but he knew damn well Jacob owned a two-seater, topless jeep. The backend was usually filled by a couple ice chests and people using them for seats. He had a feeling here old Rory had sat his hairy ass down on one of them for the trip here.
“And even still, Tiffany came down with us and she’s keeping things in line too.”
A headache, starting low and deep in the back of his skull just shot to cripple his entire forehead and stab behind his eyes. Any ideas making his cock tent the front of his shorts were gone.
Tiffany crossed back to them and handed out a fold of twenties. “Here you go.”
Rory took the money and turned away. “Thank ya, m’dear. Probably couldn’t have done it anyway. We’re lucky Officer Mike came along when he did, else I probably would have had to swam after you.”
“
Mmm-hum
and it’s Chief Deputy Gable.” But Rory had turned away and if he heard her correction, he didn’t show it. She faced Mike again. Fire and passion and whole hell of a lot of anger burned in her brown eyes. “I’m going to have to win that back from him later somehow. It’ll take me all night waiting for him to drink himself into memory loss. Hope you’re happy.”
“Not even close.” He glanced down either side of the sandbar, unable to stop himself from checking people, seeing how close they were to the water, looking for litter. Watching the kids who looked to be their own babysitters.
It was an automatic list he couldn’t stop himself from checking off. Every person on this sandbar failed in some form or another. He jerked his sunglass off his face and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t deal with them and Tiffany. He couldn’t deal with
anything
when he was also dealing with Tiffany. “I can’t believe you rode down here with Jacob and Rory. Son of a bitch, Tiffany, are you just asking for more trouble than usual?”
She rolled her eyes and walked up the bank. “It’s fine, but don’t worry, I’m not riding back with them.”
He followed after. “How are you going to get home?”
“I’ll catch a ride with someone so responsibly boring, you won’t be able to complain.”
He doubted that. For some reason, when it came to Tiffany, there were very few he trusted her not to wrap around her finger. None of those people would be on the sandbar on a Sunday afternoon.