Take a Chance

by D. Jackson Leigh

  Take a Chance

  Veterinarian Trip Beaumont likes being a big fish in a small pond. There’s hardly an animal she can’t heal or a woman she can’t charm within fifty miles of Pine Cone, Georgia—except for the irritating and elusive new cop who keeps leaving parking tickets on her truck.

  Officer Jamie Grant has never liked rule breakers, but she’s especially incensed when she discovers Trip owns the truck that is constantly parked illegally. She’s searched carefully for a quiet, eclectic community to settle down with her drug-sniffing—albeit gastric-challenged—canine partner, Petunia. Instead, she finds herself on a collision course with the woman who stole her college girlfriend and broke her heart after an ill-conceived threesome.

  What Reviewers Say About D. Jackson Leigh’s Work

  “Leigh writes with an emotion that she in turn gives to the characters, allowing us insight into their personalities and their very souls. Filled with fantastic imagery and the down-to-earth flaws that are sometimes the characters’ greatest strengths, this first Dragon Horse War is a story not to be missed. The writing is flawless, the story, breath-taking”—Lambda Literary Society review of Dragon Horse War: The Calling.

  “Call Me Softly is a thrilling and enthralling novel of love, lies, intrigue, and Southern charm.”—Bibliophilic Book Blog

  “D. Jackson Leigh understands the value of branding, and delivers more of the familiar and welcome story elements that set her novels apart from other authors in the romance genre.”—The Rainbow Reader

  “Her prose is clean, lean, and mean—elegantly descriptive…”—Out in Print

  Take a Chance

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Take a Chance

  © 2018 By D. Jackson Leigh. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13:978-1-63555-119-8

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: July 2018

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Photograph By Evelyn Braddock

  Cover Design By Paige Braddock

  By the Author

  Cherokee Falls Series

  Bareback

  Long Shot

  Every Second Counts

  Romance

  Call Me Softly

  Touch Me Gently

  Hold Me Forever

  Swelter

  Take A Chance

  Anthology

  Riding Passion

  Dragon Horse War Trilogy

  The Calling

  Tracker and the Spy

  Seer and the Shield

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I have to tip my hat to Bold Strokes Books Senior Editor Sandy Lowe.

  Missouri Vaun, VK Powell and I—three unsupervised and over-caffeinated writer friends—were cooped up in Vaun’s living room on a rainy Friday, when the discussion of novella anthologies devolved into an entertaining brainstorm for our own collection of novellas. Our ideas weren’t serious, of course, because the titles sounded like a bar tab, and the plots were a contest of who could make the others laugh the hardest.

  The next morning Vaun told us she’d put our ideas into a proposal and sent it to Sandy. You did what? After ingesting caffeine, we agreed it was a good prank. Despite her affectionate nickname of “the angry librarian,” we were confident Sandy would laugh at our little game. We were all surprised, however, when she called our bluff and laid some new cards on the table—serious suggestions, drawn from our silly ideas, for three separate full-length novels. When Vaun read Sandy’s ideas to our little group, we sounded like the SNL skit about Alexa for seniors—“I don’t know about that.” Then we were quiet for a long minute. You know… What if… A third head was nodding. If only we’d known what a difficult challenge we were about to attempt.

  Secondly, I have to bow to my writing partners in the three-book Pine Cone romance series. Vaun and VK were the perfect partners for creating a small Southern town full of quirky characters, quaint places, and hot romances.

  The most difficult part, overlapping our three stories, was our own design. It was much more arduous than we anticipated, and complicated by conflicting time zones. I was on the East Coast, Vaun on the West Coast, and VK was in Australia most of the summer. Our timeline ended up being a shared spreadsheet. It’s a task that can only be undertaken with friends you love and trust deeply, and who can weather the pressure of deadlines and frustration of chapters that have to be rewritten because “my character totally would not act like that.”

  If you enjoy this book, I hope you’ll visit with my characters and their friends in Take My Hand by Missouri Vaun, which was released last month, and Take Your Time by VK Powell, which will be released in August.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my cohorts in this Pine Cone caper: Missouri Vaun and VK Powell. I love you guys.

  Chapter One

  “Ouch.” Dr. Trip Beaumont grimaced as she slid onto the sun-heated leather seat and reached for the control to cool the temperature of the driver’s seat. She loved her new Ford F450 XLT Super Duty and all its high-tech features. It’d been well worth the wait and cost of the custom-built veterinary cabinet for the bed of the heavy-duty crew cab dually. Trip sighed as icy relief seeped through the stretch fabric of her riding breeches. The hot leather of the seat wasn’t what stung so much. It was the heat applied as the result of Virginia Hathaway’s enthusiasm for role-playing and rough sex.

  Trip had been scheduled to pick up two of Virginia’s prized Friesian mares to board at her clinic for the final weeks of their pregnancies and first weeks after foaling. It wasn’t necessary, but certainly more convenient for Trip to walk down to the clinic barn from her house than to drive to the Hathaway farm when the mares went into labor. And a minimum of four weeks of full board would cost Virginia a pretty penny. Trip buckled her seat belt and squirmed in her seat again, but chuckled. It cost her a little, too.

  Virginia had practically purred over the phone. “I have a new stallion just shipped in from Spain that I can’t wait for you to see. Wear those sexy riding breeches and boots. I want you to take him for a test spin, and tell me how you think he’ll do on the show circuit this summer.”

  Forewarned by past experience, Trip knew Virginia had a kinky side. So she could have protested that her morning was too booked up, but Hathaway Farms was one of her biggest accounts and Virginia readily accepted that Trip had boundaries—only the two of them, no video or audio recording, and no observers. Besides, sex with Virginia was no hardship. She was a beautiful fiery redhead married to a bisexual husband who Trip doubted gave Virginia the aggressive sex she desired. Virginia had practically drooled as Trip put the magnificent stallion through a thorough workout and gave her stamp of approval, then dragged Trip into the barn office and locked the door. After five minutes of heated kissing and groping, Trip’s breeches were around her ankles, Virginia had strapped her favorite dildo to Trip’s hips, then dropped her jeans and leaned over the des
k begging Trip to take her.

  “Ride me, hot stuff. Put that big thing in me and ride like you rode my stallion.”

  Filled with endorphins from having the stallion’s controlled power between her legs only moments before, Trip was only too happy to oblige. Her only mistake was failing to notice the riding crop resting on the desktop well within Virginia’s reach.

  When Trip slowed her thrusts to dally a bit in Virginia’s race to orgasm, Virginia snatched up the crop and laid some stinging encouragement across Trip’s bare rump to reach the finish line quicker and more than once. Good Lord, she hoped it didn’t break skin. It could leave a scar, and how would she explain that next time she went skinny-dipping or if she ever settled down with a real girlfriend? Ha. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t cut out for settling down. She was Fast Break. The CB handle she’d jokingly taken in high school had proven prophetic. Hadn’t she lost the one woman she desperately wanted to win by racing to score too quickly?

  No matter. She wasn’t exactly lonely. She enjoyed some notoriety in her profession as a rising star among equine veterinary surgeons before leaving a huge private specialty clinic in Atlanta and dropping out of the rat race to open her own mixed practice in her hometown. Her colleagues thought her crazy, but she was happy in the small South Georgia town of Pine Cone where the pace was slower, the women beautiful, and her two best friends—Clay Cahill aka Paintball, and Grace Booker, CB handle Glitter Girl—still lived.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of Virginia’s drive and stuck her hand out for a farewell wave. Virginia waved back, a white card held tightly between her long fingers. Trip chuckled. Virginia had complained that her Mercedes wouldn’t crank that morning, so Trip had given her Clay’s business card.

  “Give Clay a call. She’ll come take a look and tow it to the repair shop if needed,” Trip said. “I’ve known her since high school, and I can vouch that she’s honest.” She winked at Virginia. “And I know a lot of ladies who can vouch that she gives first class service.”

  Virginia took the card, her smile predatory. “The Mercedes is fine for the moment, but I’ll check with her about coming over tomorrow afternoon to see about it.”

  Oh, yeah. Clay was going to owe her for this one.

  * * *

  Deputy Jamie Grant stepped out of the Dollar Store and slapped her Stetson on her head. The few other female deputies in the department didn’t bother with the hats, but Jamie was ex-military and felt out of uniform without it when outdoors. She scanned the line of shade trees at the parking lot’s edge for her canine partner. “P!” The scruffy mutt was engaged in a staring contest with a squirrel chattering from a high limb, but instantly turned to Jamie. After a check for moving vehicles, she flicked a hand signal that brought the dog running.

  “Good girl,” Jamie crooned, bending to reward Petunia with a scratch behind one half-erect ear. She opened the driver’s door of her patrol car, and Petunia hopped in to settle behind the steering wheel. “Over,” Jamie said. “Until you get your license, I’m driving.”

  Petunia scrambled over to the passenger seat, emitting an audible burst of flatulence and a malodorous cloud.

  Jamie grimaced and hit the control on the door to lower all windows in the patrol car. “Thank you for that.” She instantly regretted her growled remark when Petunia flattened her ears and ducked her head in the doggie equivalent of a cringe. It tore Jamie’s heart out that the little dog had been conditioned by someone in her past to expect punishment for a medical condition she couldn’t control. She deliberately softened her expression and voice. “It’s okay, P. I know you can’t help it.” She extended her hand slowly and stroked Petunia’s rough wirehair coat along her back. “Does your belly hurt?”

  Petunia rolled onto her back, presenting her stomach, and thumped her tail softly against the seat in a silent plea for further rubbing. Jamie laughed and complied, then nearly choked when the belly rub elicited another loud emission of stench. She pulled a handful of air fresheners from the bag she’d carried from the store. “Pine, oranges, or coconut?” Petunia sniffed each one, then touched her nose to the coconut. “I like that, too,” Jamie said. “But I’m not sure it will go well with your aroma du jour. Let’s try the pine scent.” She freed the tree from its plastic covering and hung it from the rearview mirror. Petunia sneezed, then jumped into the rear seat.

  “Sorry,” Jamie said. “Sergeant’s orders. It won’t be so bad once we get going with the windows down.”

  Jamie turned the police cruiser toward the old abandoned rail station at the east end of town. She waved, and Petunia yipped a greeting at three homeless men sunning on the porch of the ramshackle building. Two of them were familiar, but the third face was new. Every patrol during the short weeks since she’d come to Pine Cone, she’d slowly circle the small parking lot and then go back the way she came to let them get used to her. Today, she stopped, stepped out of the car, and waited for Petunia to hop out. “Heel,” she said softly.

  The men eyed her, then Petunia. The new guy was younger than the two familiar men. His face and hands were dirty, but his clothes weren’t ragged. His eyes were haunted and his posture defiant. She’d seen the look often on the faces of soldiers serving their second or third tour in Afghanistan. She judged him to be around thirty years old and probably a veteran. Homeless folk always had a story, and a little kindness toward them usually went a long way.

  “How are y’all today?” she asked.

  One of the men, a wiry fellow with a face leathered by the sun, shrugged and spit on the ground. “We’re keeping our heads down and minding our own business.”

  Jamie smiled. Like I should be minding mine? She held her hands up, palms out. “I’m not looking to hassle you. I just wanted to make sure you had plenty of water. There’s a heat advisory today, and you need to drink a lot of water if you’re out in it.”

  The two older men looked at each other in silent communication about whether she was to be trusted, but Jamie looked into the eyes of the new guy. “Not as hot as the desert, but humidity here pushes up the heat index and you can dehydrate before you realize it.”

  He looked away, and she knew she’d guessed right about his military service.

  The first man slid off the edge of the porch to stand. “You got water you’re giving away?”

  “I’ve got something better than that.” She walked to the rear of the car and popped the trunk open. “I’ve got a gallon of sweet tea from the diner and a bag of peaches from that produce stand out on the highway. My eyes were bigger than my stomach and I bought too many. I’d rather give them away than have them spoil before I can eat them all.”

  The men looked wary, but licked their lips when she held up the bag of six peaches. Ice dripped from the plastic gallon of dark tea.

  “I’m kind of new in town and haven’t made any friends to share them with.” Jamie waited a long moment while they weighed their desire for the tea and peaches against what she might want in return. “I’ve been poor and even homeless before,” she said softly. She shifted her gaze to the veteran, who was staring at the ground. “I’ve been in the desert, too.”

  He jerked his eyes to hers, and she knew he could read the truth in them.

  “My mama—before she passed—used to cook a peach cobbler that would make you believe in Jesus.” His smooth tenor voice sounded much younger than he appeared. He reached hesitantly, then took the peaches Jamie held out. “Thanks,” he said, holding the bag out to the other men to share.

  Jamie took four plastic cups from a sleeve of twenty that she kept in the large duffel. She poured a half cup for herself, then handed the other cups and gallon jug to the biggest man, who finally slid off the porch to join them. They waited until she took a big swallow from her cup, then each poured themselves a full cup before handing it back to her. She waved it away. “Y’all keep the rest.” Jamie smiled again when they instantly accepted, and then squatted to offer a cup of water to Petunia. She peered up a
t them while Petunia lapped noisily. “I’m Jamie. You guys got names?”

  The big man, his dreadlocks white against his dark brown skin, eyed her for a few seconds, then spoke in a low rumbling voice that reminded her of James Earl Jones. “I’m Toby.” He jerked his thumb to the smaller man. “That’s Pete.”

  The younger man chucked his peach pit into the straggle of knee-high weeds nearby. He wiped the peach juice from his left hand on his pants as he offered his right hand to Jamie. “My mother named me Francis, but I was christened Adder—” He shrugged. “You know…over there.”

  Jamie shook his hand. “Which do you prefer?”

  He hesitated, a scowl crossing his face. “Adder, I think.”

  Jamie nodded. “You sticking around for a while?”

  He stared into the distance. “Don’t know. I take it day to day.”

  “I understand.” She waved at the duffel in her trunk. “You guys need anything? I’ve got soap, razors, shaving cream, toothpaste and brushes…all the basic stuff. I keep a stash because you never know when you might need something like that.”

  “Soap,” Pete said. “Lost mine in the river last time we went down there to bathe and cool off.”

  “Do you have some toenail clippers?” Toby asked.

  Jamie shook her head. “Not this time, but I start my patrol here most days. If you’re here tomorrow, I’ll have some.”

  “I could use a new razor,” Adder said, taking the one Jamie dug out of her bag.