STRANDED
(IN MIDSUMMER #1)
By Jessica Frances
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Jessica Frances
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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Cover Design by MGBookcovers
Editing and Formatting by C&D Editing
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Synopsis
Authors Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Coming Up Next
Note to Readers
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Stranded (In Midsummer, #1)
One small town. One hot sheriff. One night of passion. One massive cold shoulder. One murder. One suspect. One chance.
I’m furious when my car breaks down in the small, quiet town of Midsummer, Arkansas. Then I meet the incredibly hot town sheriff and hope that things might be looking up. Unfortunately, that encounter sours fast, leaving me ready to put this town in my rearview mirror. That won’t be easy though, since my car has left me stranded here. Now I’m trapped in a town that has nothing to offer me.
Or does it?
When an opportunity presents itself that could see me staying longer than expected, I begin to notice Midsummer’s charm. I start to wonder if maybe staying won’t be such a bad thing. Even the sheriff is beginning to thaw toward me.
That is until someone commits murder and I become the number one suspect.
Can I convince everyone I’m not the murderer? Or will the real killer walk free?
Authors Note:
This series is set in a fictional town within Arkansas, along with surrounding fictional towns. I have taken liberties with Rocky being a sheriff and what that entails, as well as proper police procedures. This is a fictional book, so I hope you’ll just go with it and enjoy the ride.
Chapter One
“I can’t believe I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere!” I whine to my best friend, Sasha, over the phone. A phone that has very little battery left.
I stomp my feet through the dark night, frustration racing through me because of my predicament. And because I can already hear the naysayers in my head rattling on with comments like: “What kind of thirty-year-old man packs up his comfortable life, leaves everything and everyone behind, and goes off traveling alone?” or “What idiot goes out and buys a car on their own when they have zero knowledge on cars?” or my favorite, “Conner Sherwood has made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s gonna regret this.” And these people are supposed to be my followers, my supporters, my friends.
I know you should ignore the haters in life, but since I’m stuck in a town I don’t know, with no one seemingly around, and getting a very bad Children of the Corn vibe, I’m allowed to be a little melodramatic!
I need to get it out, since there is no way I’m posting any of what has happened today on any of my socials for my followers to see. They’ll know nothing of this bump in the road. I want at least a few weeks where people don’t think I’m an idiot. And I don’t want them questioning my sanity of breaking down only three days into my road trip and two states over from my starting point in Chicago.
Wallowing in self-pity, I listen to Sasha try to calm me down and take stock of myself.
I’m tired, hungry, and grumpy as hell. And dammit, I refuse to look too closely at the closed, charming small shops I walk past. I also decide to ignore the sweetness and old timelessness of the streets with their dangled streetlamps, rustic wooden features and benches, as well as many handmade signs with sales, opening hours, and posters for upcoming local events. And I’m definitely not going to even think about the fact that there isn’t a big chain store in sight. This is like the town that missed the crush of big corporations.
Maybe in a better frame of mind, I might have considered that cool. I might have even liked this place and wanted to spend some time here. I bet what I could film here would look great and different from the usual city landscapes I film in.
But no, I’m not thinking positively. This town is probably the landscape to some horror movie.
I’m in a shit mood, and I’m going to embrace that, because I’m angry that I managed to buy a car that broke down only three days into my trip. I’m frustrated because there is no one here in this damn place who can look at my car for at least a couple of days. And I’m annoyed that everything looks to be closed for the night.
I glance again at my phone, seeing the time is just past eight. The sun hasn’t even fully set yet, but nothing is open.
Have I managed to land myself in a town with a curfew?
I consider the movie Footloose and impulsively do a twirl, wondering if the townspeople will come out of the woodwork to tackle me.
They don’t, but I betray my mood by smiling a little at the silly moment.
I keep moving forward, umm-ing and ahh-ing at the right moments as Sasha gives me her pep talk, but I soon find myself frowning.
“That town should have a bus terminal. Get to it and get back to Chicago. I’ll pick you up, and we’ll forget all about this idea of you leaving me behind,” Sasha says, sounding completely serious, like I’m some sort of errant child.
Instantly, my bad mood rears back.
“I’m not giving up on this trip, Sash. I know there was a reason for me to leave Chicago. I know I’m searching for something that I can’t find back home. I’m not crazy!”
Part of my outrage comes because I’ve even had moments when I’ve considered doing what she says. I’m not cut out for this lifestyle. I’m not adventurous or impulsive. I’m just boring ol’ Conner Sherwood—gay, proud, resilient, woeful at dating, and beloved by hundreds of thousands of followers. I’m not going to mention being an idiot, hopeless with life decisions, and completely indecisive when it comes to my career and future.
“Exactly! Now keep that attitude up and stop doubting yourself. Also, stop whining. I know how your lips pout when you whine, and it isn’t your best look.”
“Bitch,” I grumble, saying it through a smile. Sasha just turned my thoughts around and did that reverse psychology shit on me.
But bitch or not, she’s done what I needed her to do.
I left Chicago and the home I made myself there for a reason. I was getting restless. I was feeling an itch that living there couldn’t scratch. I felt something dark bubbling up inside me as I kept to the same, safe routines. Even though I had a good life there, and many friends whom I adore and cherish, I just knew I needed a change.
So, what better way to do that than to travel America in my brand new, secondhand car and film it for all my followers to see? I even had a few sponsors lined up with places to hit along the way and events to host. I had a loose plan, with several months before I had any commitments. It was meant to be the open road and me. Not the open road, a smoking engine, and me stranded in a town that I never planned to stop in.
But I didn’t label this adventure “Halfway to sixty – Crisis Time!” for nothing.
I needed a shake up, and I guess my car has delivered on that.
“Conner,” Sasha pulls my
attention back to her. “Even the middle of nowhere has a bar. Go get a drink and calm down!”
She’s always been the voice of reason, even if her reasoning isn’t always on the up and up.
“I need to find a damn hotel or B&B or whatever else a small town like this has,” I growl, frustrated again that this place is like a ghost town.
The sign I drove past boosted a population of twelve hundred. I’m pretty certain there were about twelve hundred people living in my apartment block back in Chicago. Or, at least it sure sounded like it.
But out here it is so quiet. As in, too quiet. Who can live in this much silence? This is definitely how every horror movie starts. First, there is the eerie silence. Then you see someone out by themselves—enter myself with a broken down car that is just the cherry on the cliché cake. Next, I’ll meet a local who seems super nice but is actually some crazy serial killer who will kidnap me, and then I’ll never be seen again.
“Screw looking for a hotel.” Sasha brings me out of my crazed thoughts.
I’m most definitely losing it. Serial killers? What the hell!
“Sash, I need a place to sleep.” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice, but honestly, I’m just so tired and angry right now.
“You won’t need a hotel room if you go to a bar,” she singsongs with a clear grin in her voice.
“Huh?”
“You’ll pick someone up, and then you can stay at theirs overnight. That saves you money and means you’ll have a better night than you would if you stay in, doing nothing. And not to be rude, but you sound like you need to get laid. You’ve been grumpy ever since you broke up with Whatshisname.”
I sigh at the fact that Sasha purposely cannot remember a single ex of mine. As soon as they leave, they’re regulated to Whatshisname, or You-know-who, or something more insulting, like asshole.
“Sash, for all I know, I’m the only gay man in this place!”
“And for all you know, you’re in a town full of hot, bossy, sexy men who are just lining up to give you a good time. Didn’t you decide to go on this adventure so you could experience new things? So grab your camera and get busy with—”
Sasha’s voice cuts off, and I glance down at my phone, only to discover that my battery has officially given up.
Just another reason I should find a place to crash and get some food in me.
Gas station food is not something I enjoy, or ever believe I’ll feel accustomed to, no matter how long I stay out on the road. But a hangry Conner is never a good thing. A sexually frustrated one is probably worse.
Truth be told, I haven’t had my usual interest in sex lately. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy sex as much as any other healthy, virile man. But lately, I’ve felt like my encounters have lacked passion. They’ve been missing something. In fact, my entire life has felt like that. I know something is missing, just out of reach, yet I don’t know what it is. However, as soon as I got it in my head that I wanted to pack up my things and go on the road, it felt right.
I shove my dead phone into my back pocket then reach to my other side and pull out my spare. This one, I only use to take photos or record videos for my socials. It means I save storage space and I don’t wear my battery down, only to be stuck without a working phone.
I switch it on and, as it’s booting up, I hear a commotion in the distance.
I follow my ears, hoping to find signs of life. Besides, staying out on a mostly deserted road isn’t the safest—I was thinking about serial killers just five minutes ago. Hearing voices means people, or that I’m officially going crazy. Assuming it’s the former, this means someone will hopefully be able to point me in the direction of a hotel.
I pull the sleeves up on my Henley, feeling the warmth in this dusty town beating into me, even with the sun almost set, and I wipe my sweaty hands over my jeans. My hair is permanently slicked back from sweat and my constant worrying fingers running through it. I’m positive I look exactly like you might think someone would look after sitting for far too long in their car.
I would probably give anything for a cool shower and a comfortable bed, but I bite down my annoyance that this dream is going to take more time and social interaction than I can be bothered with right now.
Briskly walking two more short blocks, I discover what I have to assume is the local bar. Midsummer Bar and Grill is written on the signage above, and there are plenty of people littered outside the establishment, many standing around tall tables and others sitting on stools. The large, floor-to-ceiling windows show a similar view inside the bar.
Relief hits me. This town is alive, help is only feet away, and my wish for a shower and a bed is closer than it was just minutes ago.
Having plenty of people to choose from to ask for directions, I almost take a step to cross the road when my eyes are drawn to someone, a man, stepping out of his parked car just to the side of the bar.
I’m not sure why my attention moves there since, at first, the person exiting the car is mostly hidden by said car and the setting sun framing them to the point where I can’t see any features. I squint—even though I have perfect vision and do not need glasses, thank you very much, like every single person I know back in Chicago—and as the man steps away from his car and closer to the building, the sun is blocked and I can finally see him. And then my staring turns into flat-out gawking because …
Holy shit, who the hell is this Adonis and what the hell is he doing in this small town?
I watch his every confident step as I take in the loose jeans that still hug his ass in a way that has me breathless. His dark-colored T-shirt stretches over his wide shoulders, the sleeves tightly gripped around muscled, tanned arms, and don’t even get me started on that fucking face of his. He has a chiseled, square jaw that is basically a requirement for any superhero, with enough stubble that my fingers actually twitch beside me in a desperate need to run them over it. His lips are curled into the hottest smile that I’ve ever seen, and just to make that damn smile even better? He has dimples … on both cheeks! He’s tall, definitely taller than my six-foot height.
He nods hellos and freely gives that welcoming smile to every person around him. Would he ever direct that smile at me? The thought has my heart racing, which doesn’t stop when he shifts, perhaps sensing my stare that is definitely going on way too long to be considered polite, and he takes me in with his eyes.
I’m still on the other side of the road, standing there like an idiot, probably looking at my worst, while this godlike man looks to be at his best.
Damn, I thought this town would have nothing to offer me. Well, turns out the joke is on me, because it has the hottest man in the world, one who has revved up and revived my libido with just one look. And I look like absolute shit.
I sigh, watching someone steal his attention away from me, which is good since his easy smile was gone and a stern look was taking me in. He looked unsure and apprehensive all at once. Not exacting how I want him to look at me, especially when I likely look like I’m ready to jump him.
I shake my head and force myself to glance away from him, trying to ignore that wavy, dark brown hair that I’m so desperate to touch, perhaps my fingers tangled in it as he blows my mind with the best kiss I’ve ever received in my life.
Fuck. I groan aloud now, rubbing my tired eyes and taking deep breaths.
I need to get a grip, and preferably not on strange men who I have no idea if they’d be interested or not. Besides, for all I know, I’ve become delirious from my earlier hangry outbursts, and I’m unconscious somewhere, likely about to be bear chow.
Yeah, that’s probably more likely.
This doesn’t stop me from crossing the road. Instead of asking the multiple people outside for directions though, I skip pass them all, seeking out the man who is no longer standing in view of me to gape at.
I enter the busy bar, searching the crowd for the ruggedly handsome stranger and not finding him.
Either he’s hidden well, or he nev
er entered the bar. He might have kept walking while I was internally talking myself out of being a creepy idiot.
Great. I finally find someone who gets my blood pumping, and I lose him in a town barely large enough to get out of breath running the perimeter.
Disheartened and with my grumpiness settling back in, I move to an open seat at the bar and consider my options.
I need to get my head out of lustful thoughts and back to my main problem. I need to find accommodation, and I need a plan of action for what I’m going to do moving forward. If my car is fucked, like I fear, then I need to work out a budget for what I can afford and how this will affect things.
I set out to travel for six months, which is also what my savings will comfortably allow. If the content I make and upload to my social channels is worthwhile, then I might be able to stretch that out longer.
Damn, I should have thought about this harder. Maybe I could have been sponsored by a car company. Then at least I would have gotten a decent ride that would have lasted more than the few days that I’ve owned mine.
I pull out my charged phone and send a quick text message to Sasha, letting her know I’m okay, that my other phone died, and that I’ve found human life.
Her completely unsurprising response?
Sasha: Don’t forget to find a warm body, have some fun, and make sure you’re safe. Love you!
I shake my head at her just as the bartender approaches with a questioning glance. I’m tempted to add alcohol to this night, because how can it possibly get worse? Instead, I do the appropriate thing and order a glass of water.
My twenties were often a blur of bad decisions and breezing through life. I felt as though I had forever to worry about shit like mortgages, long-term careers, and settling down with a partner. I spent every moment until I turned twenty-nine having fun, shopping away any savings, and keeping everything light. And I don’t regret it. I truly don’t. I just regret waking up to being twenty-nine then freaking the hell out when I realized how close to thirty I was. One year of being an adult didn’t prepare me to enter this next decade.
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