Christmas on Mistletoe Lane--Includes a bonus short story
Page 1
This book 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 events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Annie Rains
Preview of Springtime at Hope Cottage © 2018 by Annie Rains
Cover design and illustration by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
“A Midnight Clear” by Hope Ramsay copyright © 2015 by Robin Lanier
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First Edition: September 2018
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ISBN: 978-1-5387-1395-2 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1394-5 (ebook)
E3-20180808-DANF
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Grandma Mable’s Gingerbread Cheesecake
A Preview of Springtime at Hope Cottage
Chapter One
About the Author
A Midnight Clear by Hope Ramsay
Author’s Note
CHAPTER ONE
AIDEN SPEAKS
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
AIDEN SPEAKS
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
AIDEN SPEAKS
CHAPTER EIGHT
AIDEN SPEAKS
CHAPTER NINE
About the Author
Newsletters
For Ralphie, Doc, and Lydia. May your dreams in life be as big as your hearts.
Acknowledgments
No book is ever written alone. There are so many people who come together to make a book come alive. First, I want to thank my family for making sure I have the time I need to put my stories on paper. Sonny, you win the “Best Husband Award” for spending an entire day touring bed and breakfasts with me as research for this book. And to my mother-in-law, Annette, for watching the kids during said research. Thank you to my parents for always encouraging my love of writing. Your support means everything to me, and I love you all to pieces!
Thank you to my editor, Alex Logan, for believing in this project and pulling me aboard the Grand Central / Forever team. Working on this book together has been a dream come true for me. I’m still pinching myself! A huge thanks to the entire Forever team for everything that goes on behind the scenes! I would also like to thank my agent, Sarah Younger, for your tireless work in finding this book its perfect home. I am so honored to be a part of your team and NYLA!
Thanks to my wonderful critique partner, Rachel Lacey. Your advice is worth its weight in gold, as is your friendship. Also to the #TeamSarah ladies and my #GirlsWriteNight gals. You all inspire me so much! Thank you for everything (to include ideas, support, and friendship).
A huge thank-you goes out to my readers group for offering up ALL the Christmas ideas to incorporate into this book. Thank you to all my readers for spending time in my stories and falling in love with my characters. Every review, message, and line of encouragement means so much! Xoxoxo.
CHAPTER ONE
Kaitlyn Russo twisted the key in her hand but the front door to the Sweetwater B&B didn’t budge.
“Great. Just great,” she muttered under her breath, which floated away in a little white puff of air. Shivering and wishing she’d worn a heavier coat, she turned the key again, pressing her full weight into the door as she did. This time it flung open and promptly dumped her on the pinewood floor inside. Dust flumed under her nostrils. With a cough, she looked up and inspected her grandparents’ old bed and breakfast.
Scratch that. Her bed and breakfast.
She climbed to her feet, grabbed her luggage, and then closed the front door to bar the wintry cold. Turning on the light in the front room, she surveyed the homey design with high wood-beamed ceilings, a detail that, as an interior designer, she’d always loved. The furniture was a tasteful blend of antique and contemporary. This place was exactly how she remembered it from her infrequent childhood visits, minus the dust mites.
Nothing a little hard work couldn’t fix.
But first she had plans to meet with the lawyer handling her grandmother’s estate. He’d be arriving sometime in the next half hour. When she’d spoken to Mr. Garrison by phone earlier, he’d mentioned something about another person in Mable’s will. Kaitlyn couldn’t imagine who that would be. Other than her parents, who’d inherited various other family heirlooms, her grandmother didn’t have any living family. The Russos were a dwindling clan—all the more reason to keep their legacy alive.
From the corner of her eye, Kaitlyn saw movement in the window. Then a dark figure filled the space behind the curtain. Something told her this wasn’t Mr. Garrison. Lawyers tended to be civilized people who knocked on doors. Maybe a squatter had been camping out here since her Grandma Mable’s passing last month.
The shadow slipped out of sight. A moment later, she heard a shuffling sound behind the front door.
Terror sliced straight down her middle, and her heart kicked into a choppy staccato. She dashed to the fireplace and lifted one of the long metal pokers used to move hot coals. It could second as a lethal weapon if necessary.
Like it had for her, the front door didn’t release immediately. Why, oh why, didn’t I lock it after myself? If she were still in New York, she would have.
The intruder gave the door a firm push, and it swung open, crashing against the wall behind it and making Kaitlyn scream.
Standing before her was a broad-shouldered man with dark eyes, wavy, overgrown hair, and a close-trimmed beard. He was dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a weathered leather jacket. Her gaze fell to his brown mountain boots. Definitely not homeless, she decided.
She held the fire poker up like
a sword. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned with a shaky voice.
“Are you planning to use that on me?” His voice, in contrast to hers, was deep and gruff. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a little humor threading through it.
Was he teasing her? Because while, yes, he was larger than her, she was the one holding a pointy metal death stick. “I might,” she said, wishing there wasn’t a warm, tingly awareness settling low in her belly, competing with the fear still coursing through her veins. Rugged good looks had never been a more accurate description. This guy had it down to an art form.
He held up his hands in surrender. “So, you’re little Katie Russo?”
She cocked her head to one side. “How do you know that?”
“Mable spoke of you often.”
Kaitlyn lowered the metal poker just a notch. “She did?” she asked, keeping her eyes pinned on him.
“Your grandfather too—when he was alive.”
Grandpa Henry had died several years earlier, leaving Grandma Mable to run the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast alone. They’d been the only two people in the world to call her Katie, and her mom had always been vocal about her objections, preferring the formal name Kaitlyn instead.
“My name’s not Katie. It’s Kaitlyn. And you could’ve read that on my luggage there by your feet.” She’d met her fair share of con men living in the city. Guys who could conjure a name with only a pair of initials. “A simple inquiry into this place could’ve told you who my grandparents were.”
The man stepped forward and offered his hand. Kaitlyn didn’t move to shake it.
“I’m Mitch Hargrove. I grew up around the corner. Mable and Henry used to take care of me after school while my mom worked. They kept me supplied with milk and cookies and helped with my homework.”
That sounded exactly like something her grandparents would do.
“In exchange, I did odd jobs for them here at the inn during the school year. During the summers, my mom and I RV’d with my aunt, much to Mable’s disappointment. She always said she wanted to introduce us.”
He continued to hold his hand out to Kaitlyn. “Guess Mable finally got her wish. She always was a stubborn one.”
Reluctantly, Kaitlyn returned the rod to its place on the hearth and slipped her hand in his. Rough, calloused skin dragged across her palm as they shook. “I think I remember my grandmother speaking of you. She had a photo of you on her nightstand.” Kaitlyn was only able to come for a brief visit once each summer, the trip sandwiched between various camps her parents had enrolled her in. Each year, the photo on her grandmother’s nightstand was updated with a more recent version of the boy with the magic eyes. That’s how Kaitlyn had thought of him back then. Dark, magic eyes that seemed to jump out of the frame. In all honesty, the boy in that picture was her first crush.
And now he was standing in front of her.
Pinning her gaze to his, she recognized those eyes, changed only by a shimmer of something that resembled sadness. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said quietly.
“You’re family. I’m just”—he shrugged—“the neighbor boy. I’m supposed to be offering my condolences to you,” he said.
Kaitlyn swallowed thickly. Mitch was almost a foot taller than her, which required her to look up at him. “Thank you. So, did you break into the B and B to introduce yourself?” she asked.
“Jacob asked me to meet him tonight. Since I already have a key, he told me to come inside and wait where it’s warm.”
“Jacob Garrison, the estate lawyer? Why would he want to meet you here?”
“Seems Mable left half this place to me.” Mitch’s gaze roamed around the front room as he said it.
Kaitlyn shook her head, feeling breathless with panic. “No. You must be mistaken. I inherited this B and B.”
His gaze dropped to hers. Mistaken, but holy moly hot. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, reminding herself of her resolution on the drive down Interstate 95. This was a fresh start for her, an opportunity, and she wasn’t going to blow it.
“All I know is what I was told,” Mitch said.
As if on cue, someone knocked on the front door.
Mitch held up a hand, signaling her to stay where she was. “Wouldn’t want you to threaten Mr. Garrison with that fire poker,” he teased.
Kaitlyn watched as he opened the door to an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark-gray suit buried under a heavy coat.
Despite the cold, the man smiled warmly from the porch. “Hey, Mitch. Good to see you.”
“You too, Jacob.”
They shook hands, and then Mitch gestured the man inside, closing the door behind them.
“Mr. Garrison, I presume,” Kaitlyn said, stepping forward and shaking the older man’s hand.
“That I am. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Russo. Your grandparents spoke of you often over the years.”
“Please, call me Kaitlyn. Thank you so much for coming. I know it’s late.” She’d offered to meet Mr. Garrison tomorrow at his office but he’d insisted on seeing her as soon as she arrived in town. He’d apparently asked Mitch to come as well. And that little tidbit wasn’t sitting well with Kaitlyn at the moment.
“No problem at all. I’m on my way home, actually,” Mr. Garrison said.
“Well, let’s sit and get to business, shall we?” She moved toward the room’s high-backed Victorian couch and sat down. “I would offer you a warm drink but I just arrived myself. I’m not sure what’s in the cupboards.”
“Oh, I’m fine.” Mr. Garrison sat next to her and laid a briefcase on the coffee table in front of them. She watched as he pulled out a file. Hopefully, it would set things straight. She was the owner of the Sweetwater B&B, and only her.
Mitch sat in a matching antique chair off to the side and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. His chest was thick and broad like a linebacker’s, although his appearance made her think of a man who’d emerged from a mountain cabin rather than a football field.
Kaitlyn pulled her gaze back to Mr. Garrison. What if she’d misunderstood on the phone? What if this place wasn’t hers after all? She’d purchased a used car and had moved out of her pint-sized apartment in New York City, taking everything she owned with her. She had no home or job to return to because she didn’t plan on going back. It’d been a rash decision, yes, but she hadn’t really had another viable option. This was it, her only lifeline, and she’d latched on with all the grit and determination that had once made her an up-and-coming interior designer.
“So.” Mr. Garrison clapped his hands together. “Congratulations, you two. Looks like you’ll be business partners.”
Kaitlyn straightened. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Mable left you half of the Sweetwater B and B,” he told her and then looked at Mitch. “And you the other half. I’m sure you know the Russos thought of you as a grandson, Mitch. They were very proud of your service as a military police officer.”
Kaitlyn’s eyes darted between the two men. “Excuse me, Mr. Garrison, but I was under the impression that I was the new owner.”
“You are. Along with Mr. Hargrove.” Mr. Garrison pointed at the papers in front of him. “Says so right here. Under one condition that your grandmother spelled out in no uncertain terms.”
Kaitlyn’s head was spinning. “Condition?” she asked.
Mr. Garrison nodded. “That’s right. The condition is that you and Mr. Hargrove must run this place together for the first two months after signing these documents.” Mr. Garrison settled his glasses up on his long, narrow nose as he read. “Both parties must stay in Sweetwater Springs and run the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast on Mistletoe Lane as a fully functioning inn for exactly two months from the date of signature. If either party declines, the bed and breakfast is forfeited for both parties and turned over to charity.”
“What?” Kaitlyn sat up straight, panic gripping her as it had when she’d thought Mitch was an intruder. And he was. She did not want him here
, claiming half of what she’d thought was solely hers.
“No way I’m staying in Sweetwater Springs for two months,” Mitch said flatly. “I love Mable but charity can have this place.”
Kaitlyn shot him a scornful look. “This was my grandparents’ business. We can’t just let it go.”
“I hate to break it to you but this place has been declining for years,” Mitch said. “Mable rarely had a full inn. Any charity we offered it to likely wouldn’t even take it. A bed and breakfast requires time and money. I say we save ourselves the trouble and forfeit now.”
“We are not forfeiting,” Kaitlyn snapped between gritted teeth. She didn’t care how big or attractive Mitch Hargrove was—and he was big and attractive—she’d lost too many fights lately. She was fighting for this B&B with every ounce of strength she had. “Is there any way to get around the legal terms?” she asked. “So I can run the B and B and Mr. Hargrove can go on his merry way?” Which would be best for everyone. The sooner, the better.
Mr. Garrison frowned. “I’m afraid not. The will is detailed. Mable was insistent that you two work here together. Leaving the inn to the both of you was her final attempt to revive this old place.”
Mr. Garrison angled himself to look at Kaitlyn. “Mable was proud of how creative you are. She said you could turn menial things into magic.” He turned back to Mitch. “And she said you could fix just about anything. Between the two of you, she was adamant that the Sweetwater Bed and Breakfast could be transformed back into the jewel it once was. Her words, not mine. Two months. That was Mable’s terms, and she asked me to make sure that’s what happened.”
Mr. Garrison’s gaze flitted between them. “She knew it would take the talents of both of you combined.”
Kaitlyn stared at Mitch. She’d liked him a whole lot better when she’d thought he might be trying to kill her.
“So,” Mr. Garrison said on an inhale, “do you accept or not?”
“No,” Mitch barked at the same time that she said, “Yes.”
Kaitlyn folded her arms across her chest. How dare he even consider refusing her grandmother’s final wish. “We’re not giving up on this B and B.”