His Apple Sauce (The Secret Sauce Series)

By Frankie Love

Getting attacked by a bear wasn’t a part of the plan when I went on a hike —but what’s even less expected is finding this forbidden fruit in the kitchen of the closest farmhouse.
Eve is everything I want but can’t have.
It’s not just her ripe innocence that tells me she’s off-limits...
She’s Amish ... with plenty of curves hiding behind her apron.
But I want to taste more than the apple sauce she’s cooking.
I want all of her.
But even out here in the country, nothing’s quite as simple as it seems.

Dear Reader,
Yes, this is a thinly veiled Amish-romance.
Yes, I understand your hesitation.
But trust me.
This is over-the-top and filthy-sweet in the yummiest way.
I promise.
xo, frankie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Love
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021

Frankie Love

Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie. Get ready to fall in love … you deserve it! **Frankie also writes under the name Charlie Hart!

Book preview

1

Eddie

I don't drink, don't do drugs, and certainly don't date.

It's not because I'm straight edged or an asshole, it's because all those things lead to trouble, and the last thing I want is any more of it.

I've had more trouble than I need in one lifetime and that's putting it simply. When I moved out to Baker Valley — the heart of Amish country — I found exactly what I craved. The land of simplicity.

I didn’t want to live here because I wanted to grow out my beard — though I do have a fine ass beard. And it wasn't because I wanted to start driving some carriage or wearing a straw hat. No. I sure as hell didn't plan on any of that.

I have a vintage Chevy and I like my hair just as it is. I'm not turning Amish, that's not moving here was about. I came out here for the quiet way of life because there's no drama out in the woods, certainly not in my neck of them.

After my buddy decided to sleep with the woman I had just started dating, I swore off women and cheaters for good, which has worked out fine for the most part.

And I had already bought this land, with plans to start building a life out here. My parents were hippies with a farm, so I grew up chopping wood and grinding wheat — it was a way of life. I never wanted the big city life, so I bought this land out in Apple Valley and built a life for myself.

But I've been out here for a year now and truth be told, sometimes it gets lonely.

Sometimes I crave a woman in my bed at night. But more than that, what I really miss is the chance of finding love, the kind I've never had before. Real, true, deep in your bones, head over heels, oh my fucking God, what just hit me, love. Sappy as fuck, maybe, but I don't give a shit, it's the truth.

Moving here meant forfeiting the dream of getting married and having a family — because there sure as hell aren’t any women out here who’d want to settle down with me. The women here are Amish, and I’m certainly not.

Yes, I sound defeated. Today I'm feeling it hard, feeling lonely, feeling like I need to clear my head and focus on why I love this place. Because after this fall, it's going to be a long ass winter in the woods alone, so I figure I better set my mind straight now, before the storms start rolling in, before the snow falls, and before I'm holed up in my cabin for who knows how long.

So I pack my tent and sleeping bag, and enough food for a long weekend, and decide I’ll go hike the mountains until I forget about the life I don’t have.

The plan is working for the most part. A day in and I feel the fresh air in my lungs and my eyes seem brighter and the sun, damn, it's just what I need. To be reminded that I don't need to let the past ruin my future and all that self-help shit really does a body good.

With all this fresh air, my head is beginning to clear and I’m thinking about some articles I can write this winter.

I run a blog. I know, who wants to read about some bearded ass writer in the woods? Hell, I'm no Thoreau. I'm not writing Walden. All I'm doing is writing about what it’s like living out in the middle of nowhere. I'm a true homesteader — at least, I'm trying to do that — and I have a lot of sponsorships and readers. I don't like to brag. I'm just saying it as it is.

When I moved out here after quitting my gig leading hipsters on weekend hikes in the mountains, I put my knowledge to good use, and it's worked out. I make a fine living, and besides my internet connection, I keep mostly under the radar. I've got a well for my water, a generator to keep my freezer running. It’s filled with the meat I've hunted and fish I’ve caught. I have a fine garden, and I even have a goat so I can make myself some cheese when I'm feeling extra fancy, which isn't too often. But hell, the goat's cute. Sally is her name.

After