Stranded

STRANDED MEN OF MISCHIEF MOUNTAIN BOOK 1 KB CINDER Copyright © 2023 by KB Cinder All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover by Pretty In Ink Creations ALSO BY KB CINDER Standalone Novels Circle Jerk Jack Off The Barrett Brothers Privately Barrett All Painted Love Holly Hearth Dashing Through the No Coming of Sage Later Slater Rebel Bay Breeze One Night Stan Baby On Board KB CINDER AS KARINA LIGHT Kiss & Control See more on Amazon. For every good girl needing some good d♥ck... CONTENTS Introduction 1. Cara 2. Drake 3. Cara 4. Drake 5. Cara 6. Drake 7. Cara 8. Drake 9. Cara 10. Drake 11. Cara 12. Drake 13. Cara 14. Drake 15. Cara 16. Cara 17. Drake 18. Drake 19. Cara 20. Cara 21. Drake 22. Cara 23. Drake Drake Ready for More Mischief? Acknowledgments About the Author I hated being the good girl until I became his good girl. Breaking down on Mischief Mountain wasn’t in my plans. Spending the night in a remote cabin with a broody stranger wasn’t either. Pierced, tatted, and grumpy to the bone, Drake’s the opposite of my type, but he draws me in, and under all the gruff talk and teasing, he seems interested too. Now I’m second-guessing everything I thought I knew about myself. One night with a bad boy can’t hurt. Right? ONE CARA “Good girls listen,” Mommy scolds, dabbing at my tights. She has me cornered on a park bench for yet another scrub down with lemon-scented wipes. “They don’t chase lizards.” “But it was a skink!” All around, the carnival roars with fun, bringing screams from the Zipper and laughs from the House of Mirrors. The once-sleepy park is bursting with life as the Fall Festival rolls on for a second day. “Watch your language, missy,” Mommy warns before glaring at Daddy. “Nice going, Alan. I wonder where she learned that?” Beside her, Daddy is handsome in khaki pants and an orange sweater that matches our dresses. My baby sister, Ella, could pass for a pumpkin in his arms. “Skink, Marjorie. S-k-i-n-k. It’s a lizard.” Mommy pats the stain on my knee harder. “I don’t care if it was Jesus Christ himself. Her outfit’s ruined.” Daddy lifts a squirming Ella higher on his hip. “Lighten up, Marj. She’s a kid.” “I won’t let my daughter chase pests. People will think she needs medication.” I frown. “Skinks eat grasshoppers. You should love them, Mommy.” “Dear Lord,” she murmurs before standing and smoothing her dress into place. Hanging knee-length, it isn’t puffy like mine and Ella’s, but she doesn’t need all the ruffles and ribbons. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, with perfect makeup and her red hair held high in pins. “I wish you’d get over this tomboy phase already. Can’t you like dolls like a normal little girl?” “Marj, why don’t you sit with Ella and rest your feet while I take Care Bear on some rides?” Daddy asks, gesturing at Mommy’s heels. “Why? I can walk fine. I was a model, Al. A small-town park has nothing on a catwalk.” “I know you can, but I thought you’d like a break.” “You thought wrong. I won’t take the backseat while you hijack a day with my kids.” They argue back and forth until Mommy takes my hand and pulls me from the bench. Marching toward the rides, our shoes click off the path covered in chalk drawings of acorns and turkeys. The scents of sugar and coffee from the Robin Roast tent swirl in the air, mixing with kettle corn and funnel cake. “What are we going on next?” I ask, watching the go-karts race around a track in the distance. They’re painted like bugs with wiggly antennas on the front of each. Daddy will have to drive mine again this year. I already checked the walk-up sign, and I’m still too short. “The hayride.” “Again?” We’ve already been on it four times today. My legs are still itchy from our last ride. “It’s fun.” Mommy swings our linked hands, jingling her gold bracelets. “And you look so cute in the pictures. If you practice posing, you could be in a magazine someday. Remember to look for the light, baby.” I scrunch my nose at the thought. Mommy knows all about posing. She used to be a model until she met Daddy, and they fell in love and had me. Sometimes I think she liked modeling more than being a mommy. Daddy catches up to us, the taps of his dress shoes echoing ours. “Why don’t we ride the tilt-a-whirl?” “Great idea,” Mommy says, sighing. “We’ll scramble the baby and make the big one hurl. You could be Dad of the Year, you know?” They break off into another round of arguing that I tune out, imagining the pages of my field guide instead. It has every reptile and amphibian in Colorado. I can list most of its animals from memory. Daddy’s going to help me make flashcards soon so I can remember them all. Mommy stomps to the hayride line, tugging me along. Each of her steps is so hard I’m surprised a heel doesn’t snap off one of her shoes. Not many people are ahead of us. Probably because everyone knows hayrides are boring and itchy. Daddy catches up to us again, his cheeks now flushed. “Today isn’t about you, Marjorie. Newsflash: We’re here for our kids.” “My kids.” “Oh, you made them on your own? That’s impressive.” “Just about!” People stare at us, some whispering and others laughing. This happens a lot. They argue everywhere we go, even at church. My face burns. I want to sink to the ground and hide in my dress. The line moves ahead as a