Stranded With An Insatiable Shifter, page 1
stranded with an insatiable shifter
Marooned For A Night
olivia t. turner
Copyright© 2024 by Olivia T. Turner.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, printing, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For permission requests, email Olivia@oliviatturner.com
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, companies, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.OliviaTTurner.com
Edited by Karen Collins Editing
Cover Design by Lori Jackson
contents
Copyright
Stranded With An Insatiable Shifter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Epilogue
Epilogue
Marooned For A Night
More Shifters!
Audiobooks
Get Obsessed
Follow Me…
stranded with an insatiable shifter
It’s been a lifelong dream and I’m doing it.
Driving across the country in a skoolie, which is an old school bus I converted into my house on wheels.
It’s going great until I get deep into the Montana mountains when my bus decides not to bus anymore.
I’m stranded.
With no reception, nowhere to go, and with no one to help.
Days turn into weeks.
I’m living off the land and actually enjoying myself when he comes.
Naked, hot, and claiming I’m his.
He says I’m his mate.
I say he’s crazy.
But I can’t ignore the way my body reacts to that possessive look he gives me.
I can’t pretend I’m not drawn to him in a significant way.
And whenever he calls me his mate, it feels right.
Maybe this crazy grizzly bear shifter is onto something after all…
Three new standalone stories by best-selling steamy romance authors, Hope Ford, Olivia T. Turner, and Michele Mills. Get ready to be Marooned for a Night with some hot possessive men!
To my real-life mate.
Who I’m still not convinced isn’t a bear shifter with all the hair he leaves in the drain.
one
. . .
Jemma
“Are you fucking kidding me, Jemma?” my sister shouts as she storms across my grandmother’s farm in a black pantsuit, which looks wildly out of place beside the chickens and cows. Her ankle wobbles as her high heel sinks into the mud, but that just makes her angrier.
“A bus?” she shouts so loud it sends a chicken scurrying away. “A goddamn bus!?”
“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” I say as I look up at it with a smile.
“No!” she shrieks. “What are you doing? Are you having a nervous breakdown? Are you on drugs?”
She’s huffing out breaths as she stands in front of me with her fists digging into her hips. Carly could play a ball-busting lawyer on TV. Instead, she is one in real life.
“After years of work,” she says as she stares at me in disbelief. “Years of studying. The money, the sweat, the tears, you’re going to give it all up for this?!”
She looks at my big yellow bus in disgust.
“You’re on track to have a bigger career than me, than Malcolm, than Dad. Even Mom if you’re lucky. What are you doing?”
She doesn’t understand. She probably never will.
Carly has that lawyer DNA running through her veins. She got it from Mom and Dad. I didn’t.
“You just got made partner last summer!” she shrieks. “In the biggest law firm in New York City!”
“Yeah, and I’ve been miserable.”
“All partners are miserable! It’s part of the whole thing! That’s why you get paid an obscene amount of money!”
I just stand here and let her work out her frustrated energy. Carly has always been like that. She comes in hot and you just have to wait her out until she calms down and can talk normally.
She cringes as she looks me up and down for the first time. My brown hair is in a messy bun and I’m wearing a big bulky set of overalls I found in my deceased grandfather’s closet. I’m never putting on a pantsuit again.
“It’s not too late,” she says in a calmer voice. “I’m sure Gary will let you go back. You’ll have to regain their trust, but it’s doable.”
“I’m not going back,” I tell her in a firm tone. “I’m done.”
“What about your condo?”
“I sold it.”
“What?!”
Her mouth drops as she stares at me in horror. “You sold that beautiful condo, for… for this?”
The bus doesn’t look like much now, but when I’m done with it, it will have all I need.
I don’t know how it will turn out or where I’ll end up, but I know it won’t be back in New York City.
I had it all. The perfect condo with the perfect job. My clients were the who’s who of the city and I was making more in a month than most people make in a year.
And I hated it.
I come from a family of lawyers. My mother is the best lawyer in Chicago. My dad is probably in the top ten. My brother is a successful lawyer in Miami and my sister is killing it in Philadelphia. Growing up, I always wanted to be a lawyer too. It was all I wanted. All I worked for.
But once I achieved that dream, I started to wonder if it was my dream, or a dream that my parents implanted in my head. During every long meeting and late night, doubt started creeping in.
I barely slept. I was never in nature. I didn’t even have time to jog in Central Park.
All I did was work.
I stumbled across a girl online who had converted an old school bus into a home, or a skoolie as it’s called, and traveled around, staying in the most spectacular places. Pretty soon, my feed was full of bold adventurous people like that.
I realized that watching those videos was the only time I felt happy all day long.
I told myself I’d do something like that when I retired, but then one day I looked at my bank account and realized I didn’t have to wait. I could afford to do it now.
So, I quit my perfect job in the perfect city and sold my perfect condo.
My grandmother let me move in with her on her hobby farm outside of Warwick and I bought this old school bus to convert into a skoolie.
“How are you even going to convert this monstrosity?” she asks while grimacing at it.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say with a smile.
All I’ve done so far is buy the battery and electrical system, but I’m learning new things every day. Tomorrow, I’m going to start taking out the seats with my grandfather’s old tools.
There’s a lot to do, but I’m so excited for all of it. I’ve never felt so alive.
“You’ll figure it out, huh?” she says with a sarcastic shrug. “Just like that. You’ve never even held a hammer and you’re going to make a house on wheels?”
I know she’s just looking out for me in her own Carly way. She just doesn’t see my vision. That’s okay. Maybe one day, she will.
“And where are you going to go?”
“I’ll just drive,” I say with a grin. I can already feel the clean mountainous air on my skin. I can hear the scratchy radio and feel the excitement of rolling into a new place and not knowing what to expect.
“Are you sure you’re not on drugs?”
I laugh. She doesn’t.
My family are all lawyers, so I’m used to them arguing until they win. It can go on for a while, so I kneel down with the battery pack and start fiddling with it while she continues.
“What about a boyfriend, huh, Jemma? Did you think about that? How are you ever going to meet a guy who’s not busless?”
“It’s not like I met anyone in New York,” I tell her with a bitter taste in my mouth. “If I can’t find a guy in a city of eight million people, it’s hopeless anyway.”
I didn’t always think like that. I used to be so excited to meet ‘the one.’ The perfect man who would sweep me off my feet. I thought I’d meet him in New York City, but I’m twenty-eight and he hasn’t come along.
I don’t care. I’m over it.
I’m starting to think that ‘the one’ doesn’t exist. He isn’t out there. He never was.
“I’m doing this for me, Carly,” I tell her. “And I’m not looking for anyone’s approval. I spent my life doing things for everyone else’s approval and look where it got me.”
“An incredible career in the best city in the world?”
“It got me miserable. And I’m done being miserable.”
Grandma comes walking out holding a tray with three glasses of lemonade on it. I’ve never been so happy to see her.
“Carly, I thought I saw you arrive,” she says with a warm smile.
“Hi, Grandma,” Carly says as she goes over and kisses her cheek. “I just came to talk some sense into my sister.”
“It seems like she’s finally making s
“You think this is a good idea?” Carly asks her in disbelief.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Grandma says. “Freedom on the open road. That beats being locked up in an air-conditioned boardroom all day.”
Carly looks like she’s trying really hard not to roll her eyes.
Grandma smiles at me and it gives me a boost of confidence. Carly takes after our parents, but I think I take after my grandmother. While I’ve been staying here the past week, I’ve realized we’re more alike than I ever knew.
“If I was a few years younger,” Grandma says, “I’d be heading out with you.”
“Grandma, she’s going to be taking dumps in a bus!” Carly shrieks. “What’s wonderful about that?!”
She’ll never understand. None of my family will.
I’m just built different than they are. It’s time to embrace it instead of trying to smother it down.
Living in the mountains, bathing in streams, eating wild fruits and berries—I can’t wait for it all.
It’s time to get started on making my dream a reality.
“Quit your yapping and pass me that hacksaw,” I say with a grin. “We have twenty-eight benches to cut out.”
Carly’s face goes white. “What do you mean we?”
two
. . .
Jemma
“Keep going and you’re going to be my customer of the month,” the guy behind the counter at the general store says as I add more food onto the counter. He’s about sixty years old with deep-set crow’s feet around his eyes and a large Adam’s apple that bobs in his throat whenever he talks.
I’m in a small Montana town called Caldwell. There’s a barber shop, which is also a used bookstore, a diner, a gas station, and this general store. It’s not much of a town, but the location is incredible. Stunning mountains and pristine forests stretch out as far as the eye can see. Some of the peaks are snow-capped and all of them are gorgeous. I can’t believe this place is real. It’s exactly what I had in mind when I was working on my bus a few months ago.
“What can I tell you?” I say with a grin as I put another few boxes of Pop-Tarts onto the counter. “I’ve got a heck of an appetite.”
He looks over the mountain of food with a keen eye. “Even with the heartiest of appetites, you got yourself enough food here for months. You must be going a long way.”
“Nope,” I say with a smile. “I’m going a short way for a long time.”
I grab a few boxes of matches and try to find room for them on the packed counter.
He takes them and puts them on the counter behind him, making more room for me.
“Are you staying at the campground in Hollar?”
“No,” I say as I glance out the window. “I’m parking in those mountains and just living for a while.”
He cranes his head to look out the window at my parked bus. “In that?”
“Yup!”
“Sounds like an adventure.”
“I know, right?”
“Did you convert that yourself?”
“I did,” I say proudly. It took all summer and a lot of blood, sweat, and frustration, but I did it. My skoolie turned out even better than I imagined.
I have a bedroom in the back, a kitchen, a full bathroom with a compostable toilet and a working shower, and a small couch to read on. I’ve never felt so alive in all my life.
“You’re gonna wanna take some of these,” he says as he grabs the plastic case of beef jerky and offers it to me.
“Thanks,” I say as I grab a few. I hand him one. “It’s on me.”
He laughs as he cracks it open. “You are the customer of the month. It’s final now.”
I chuckle as I open one and take a bite. It’s jalapẽno flavor and it’s delicious. I add the rest of the container onto my pile.
He chuckles. “Told ya.”
I’m perusing the chocolate bars as he looks at my bus again. “Where did you drive that thing in from?”
“New York.”
He slaps the counter, making me jump. “You don’t say! Wow. I love New York City. Been there a few times a few decades ago.”
“I used to work in the Empire State Building,” I say with a grin.
His mouth drops. “That’s the most incredible thing I’ve heard all year.”
I like this guy. I was in New York City for years and not once did I ever strike up a conversation with a cashier. It’s kind of cool.
“And now you’ve moved to the mountains,” he says, staring at me in awe. “From one side of the pendulum to the other.”
“Yup! And loving every second of it.”
“Well, you got here just in time. Mosquito season is over.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” It’s that wonderful time between the end of summer and the beginning of fall. A few overzealous trees have already started to turn their leaves red and orange, but it’s still warm enough to wear a T-shirt in the afternoon. Although, not today. The wind is blowing like it’s in a rush to be on the other side of the state.
He scans all of the items and then helps me load them into my bus. I give him a quick tour and I feel a swell of pride at how impressed he looks.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m surprised a city girl like you got all this done.”
“Maybe I’m a mountain girl who had no business being in the city.”
He shrugs his slim shoulders. “I guess we’ll find out. I’m Earl,” he says, offering his hand. “Come back and visit when you’re done finding yourself in those mountains.”
I shake his hand and am surprised at how rough and calloused it is. “I will. I’m Jemma.”
“Jemma, the customer of the month.”
I laugh as he steps down onto the sidewalk. I head into the driver’s seat and he backs away with his hands in his pockets.
Having a skoolie is a lot of fun, but it does have its drawbacks. I can’t see anything behind me. It’s like trying to navigate a building on wheels.
“I hate this part,” I mumble as I push it into reverse.
I hit the gas a little too hard and my bus jerks back. A horn goes off, loud and aggressive.
Where did he come from?
“Sorry!” I shout even though he can’t hear me.
My back tire hits the curb—at least, I hope it’s the curb—and I get jerked around in my seat.
“Shit!”
I’m flustered from still not being used to driving around on these small roads. I hit the gas again and the bus jerks back. Shit, I forgot to put it in drive!
“Sorry!”
The prick behind me lays on the horn, flustering me even more.
“Okay!” I shout as I push it into drive.
The honking continues.
This guy is stressing me out!
My chest tightens and I get a prickling along the back of my neck.
“Okay, bro! I hear you!”
My bus rocks to the side as my tire goes off the curb. He honks again.
“Oh, fuck this guy!”
I shove my hand out the window and give him the finger.
I’m not totally zen yet.
I must have a little bit of lawyer still in me. A little piece of New York City still floating around.
A little bit is not so bad.
It comes in handy when I need it for pricks like him.
three
. . .
Michael
Is this lady seriously giving me the finger?
She almost hit me and now her hand is out the window with her middle finger in the air. Unbelievable.
I lay on the horn as I back my truck up before she slams into it with her giant blue bus. Is she even looking where she’s going?
I shake my head as I back away, giving her lots of room.
I love my small mountain town of Caldwell, Montana, but I can do without these types. This lady converted a bus into a house and is now driving it around my small roads, expecting me to move out of her way.
That thing has a freaking chimney sticking out of the roof.
She puts it into forward and starts driving away. When she finally stops giving me the finger, I take my hand off the horn and park.
My heart is pounding as I get out of my truck and slam the door. I give the bus one last dirty look as it disappears around the corner. The wind is to my back, so at least I can’t smell the hippy scent wafting off it.
