Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

by McConnell, Lucy

  Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

  Lucy McConnell

  Orchard View Publishing LLC

  Copyright © 2018 by Lucy McConnell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

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  Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

  Frost buried her face in her hands, feeling all the pressure. Neither Stella nor Robyn had the potential for love yet. They were starting from scratch. But she had more than potential; she had an invitation. It was up to her to find Tannon; get him to profess his love to her; and save her family, the North Pole, and Christmas for children all over the world.

  Oh, Tannon, I hope you’re ready to love me.

  Frost Kringle broke one of the North Pole’s rules the day she replied to a letter from Tannon Cebu; but, her Kringle-enhanced empathy wouldn’t allow her to walk away from the anguish in his words. What began as a disobedient impulse grew into friendship and eventually love. If her secret is revealed, she’ll be banished from her home and family.

  When the Kringle’s discover Christmas Magic is dangerously off balance, Frost musters up the courage to meet Tannon in person with the hope that they can marry and save Christmas. While she’s away from her precious Letters Room, her secret is blown right open and she’s exiled. In order to make it home for Christmas, Frost has to bring Christmas cheer to those who need it most.

  Tannon, is tired of the corporate grind and wants out. He’s decided to sell his paper mill and retire to a quiet corner where he can raise his son in peace. His announcement, right before the holidays, creates an uproar as employees wonder if they’ll have a job in the New Year. No one in town feels like celebrating and they have little hope of a happy holiday.

  If Frost can get Tannon, and the town of Elderberry, to believe in Christmas once again, she’ll make it home and save Santa’s workshop from turning into a block of ice and ruining Christmas for children all over the world. Trouble arises when Tannon’s interest turn to Frost more than to Christmas. She walks a tinsel-fine line between falling for him and failing in her Christmas quest.

  With her whole world out of balance, Frost must look deep inside herself to bring about a Christmas miracle—with a little help from her jolly family.

  Prologue

  2003

  Dear Santa,

  I haven’t exactly been good. I yelled at my dad. I threw a food tray at the wall. And I peed on the bathroom floor on purpose. But, if you can, I’d like my leg back for Christmas this year.

  That’s all,

  Tannon

  Eight-year-old Frost Kringle clutched the handwritten letter to her delicate chest. The schoolroom paper crinkled in the great big silence in the North Pole’s mail room. The elves were off to dinner. She should have been on her way to the dining room, but she couldn’t leave mail unsorted. That was unthinkable. And this letter in the cream-colored envelope with a gold outline had called to her, even though it was in the regular mail pile and not the “approved mail she was allowed to read from” pile. She couldn’t seem to leave it alone.

  And now she knew why. This boy needed her.

  Heavy tears pooled in her amethyst eyes at the thought of Tannon waking up on Christmas morning without a leg. Her mind tripped over the questions his letter brought up.

  How does a child lose a leg?

  Does it hurt?

  Is he hurt?

  Can they make the hurt stop?

  She swiped the moisture from her heavy lashes with the back of her hand and climbed down from her perch at the incoming letters desk. The stool was just the right size for Dad, but it was too tall for her, allowing her feet to dangle and kick as she opened and sorted letters.

  An urgency to get the letter clutched to her chest to Santa sped her spindly legs faster and faster still, through the ornately carved wooden door, down the carpeted hallway, past the production facility, and into the quietness of the family library.

  She slowed to a gangly trot and stopped at her father’s flannel, plaid-clad elbow. His snowy white beard and hair matched her mane, which hung down to her belt loops. Perhaps it was the lack of color in her hair that propelled her to choose clothing in every color of the rainbow. Then again, her nanny was a Christmas elf who loved to sew doll clothing, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that she dressed like Barbie’s little sister.

  Frost cleared her throat, sounding like an upset chipmunk.

  Dad turned from his perusal of the Naughty and Nice Lists. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “What have we here?” His arms lifted, allowing Frost access to his lap—a place children from all over the world had whispered their wishes into Santa’s eager ear.

  “A letter.” She sniffed and loosened her hold, allowing the letter to slide out of her grasp. Instantly, she felt as though an ice block settled in its place, and she wanted it back. With all her eight-year-old fortitude, she refrained from grabbing it out of Dad’s large hands.

  Dad adjusted his gold-rimmed, half-moon glasses before silently reading the letter. As his eyes moved down the page, his eyebrows sank lower and lower. “Was this in your approved pile?”

  She shook her head, her chin almost touching her chest. Kringles weren’t supposed to lie—it was part of their heritage. Frost found that she had the ability to stretch the truth, but not the desire. With her white hair and small stature already setting her apart from her sisters, she didn’t want to stand out because Christmas Magic hadn’t included the compulsion to tell the truth in her genetic makeup. So the truth tumbled out like children down a sledding hill. “I couldn’t help it. The envelope was so pretty.” She patted her tummy, thinking she’d tucked the beautiful stationary between the envelope and her shirt. Too late, she realized she’d left her excuse in the mail room.

  Dad patted her, his hand so big it covered her whole back. “You need to stick to your letters, Frost. Or I can’t let you help sort anymore.”

  She cringed away as if he’d struck her. Not sort letters? That was like not being allowed to eat Christmas fudge or give a gift on Christmas morning. Sorting letters was part of her DNA, and she loved sorting. “But what will happen to Tannon?”

  Dad stroked his snowy beard, the curls pulling into waves and then bouncing back into place. “I’ll have your mother look into this one. Perhaps we can get him a prosthetic.”

  “What’s a prostheadache?”


  Dad let out a soft Ho Ho Ho. “It’s a replacement leg that will allow him to walk.”

  “But he wants his leg back.” Frost pointed at the letter. Hadn’t Dad read it all the way? “Tannon doesn’t want a fake leg; he wants his leg.”

  “I know, sugar. But there’s some things even I can’t do.” He kissed her hair. The comforting smell of peppermint wrapped her up like a warm blanket. “Promise me you’ll stick to your letters?”

  “I promise.” Frost swiped her fingers across her chest to make an X.

  “All right, then. Clean up your work station and wash up for dinner.” He set her on her feet and patted her head.

  Frost dragged herself out of the library. She’d never imagined that her father, Santa, couldn’t do something. He’d always been able to fulfill children’s Christmas wishes, assuming they were on the Nice List, of course. While Tannon may not behave well, he had a good reason. He did sound like he felt bad for what he’d done.

  Dad didn’t say anything about putting him on the Naughty List, thank goodness.

  She passed the production area and plodded down the carpeted hallway towards the mail room, her heart heavy knowing Santa couldn’t fix this for Tannon.

  There were things Santa couldn’t do.

  The knowledge tipped her world on its axis. All her life, Santa was full of magic and mystery and goodness. He was perfect. Or at least she’d thought he was perfect. A chink in his armor was disturbing, to say the least.

  Once back on her stool, a glitter of gold drew her out of her contemplative haze. She reached for the envelope, neatly opened and forgotten on the table in her rush to find Dad, and turned it over to brush her fingers across the address.

  Santa Claus

  North Pole

  In the upper left-hand corner was Tannon’s name and address.

  Frost looked and looked at that address. She chewed her lip and she squirmed in her chair as an idea began to form.

  A Naughty List idea.

  Frost got a wonderful Naughty List idea.

  She reached for a pen, a paper, and stamp.

  She wrote a letter by the light of a lamp.

  And she folded it tight, stuffed it into a ’lope,

  Her eyes burning as bright as a heliotrope.

  The letter went out with the evening mail,

  And Frost kept her secret and chewed on her nails.

  Not a week went by before Tannon replied,

  And Frost answered that letter and she lied, lied, lied, lied.

  She lied by omission, denial, and mistake.

  She lied over dinner and breakfast and cake.

  But with each letter that came from Tannon Cebu,

  She fell for the boy and her heart grew and grew.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  “I hereby call the first meeting of the Single Kringles to order.”

  Frost Kringle, age 23, jumped as her sister, Stella, clanged a Christmas bell. The sound filled the family room and bounced off the rock fireplace. A Yule log burned bright, its yellow warmth muted by the overhead lights. The North Pole was running on full power—for now.

  Frost discreetly covered her ears in case Stella decided to ring the bell once again for fun. Having worked in the mail room her whole life, Frost was used to the soft sounds of papers shuffling and elves typing and not the loud clanging of Christmas bells. Stella was in production, where she often shouted to be heard over the toy-making machines. Plus, she was a loud personality.

  Across from Frost, Robyn groaned. “Peppermints, Stella, don’t call us the Single Kringles.” Robyn was the oldest and most sensitive about their single status. She’d dated a man for six years only to have him break her heart. Then, her heart went through an earthquake two Christmases ago when Christmas Magic picked Ginger to be the next Santa instead of Robyn. She’d been through a lot the last two years, watching Ginger and then Lux fall in love and get married, always the bridesmaid and never the bride. This should be her year to find a husband, and yet Robyn hadn’t left the North Pole in six months. Maybe she’d given up on love.

  That would be catastrophic for them all. According to their math geek and resident scientist Lux’s calculations, all five Kringle girls needed to find true love—it was that love that fed Christmas Magic, which in turn powered the North Pole. If even one Kringle failed, their home would fall into the sea, the elves would disappear into puffs of elfin dust, the reindeer wouldn’t fly, and children would wake up to empty trees Christmas morning.

  Robyn pinned Stella with a look that said don’t mess with me today. Her auburn hair was tucked into a beautiful chignon, and she wore a simple white shirt with a quilted teal vest. Her lipstick was perfect and stayed that way all day long.

  Frost rubbed her dry lips together, doing her best not to compare herself to her older sister—a difficult task on her best day. While Robyn was a classic beauty, Frost was … an acquired taste. Her snowy white hair didn’t take color from a bottle, no matter how many times she tried dying it brown, black, or red. She wore it halfway to her waist in loose waves. And instead of wearing serviceable clothing, she dressed like a Barbie doll. Designing and sewing clothing was one of her favorite pastimes, second only to reading. Today she had on zebra-striped leggings and a chunky hot-pink cowl-necked sweater with matching ankle boots.

  “What?” asked Stella, her chestnut-colored eyes dancing with mirth. “I thought it had a nice ring to it.” She clanked the bell, this time much softer.

  Robyn made a sour face.

  Frost giggled behind her hand. She loved a good punny joke.

  “Eat a chocolate,” Stella commanded Robyn, “or your face will stay that way.” Stella was the wild Kringle daughter, the one who flirted with the Naughty List on a weekly basis. She had short black hair that she used to spike up on a swoop, but she’d grown it out so that one side was longer than the other, tucking just under her chin and accentuating her striking bone structure. She had on olive-green hiking pants, a black T-shirt, and black army boots that thumped on the hardwood floors, sounding an awful lot like their dad when he tromped into a room.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Robyn reached for one of the hand-dipped chocolates in the middle of the table. They were beautiful, nestled into Mom’s favorite candy dishes. Frost’s eyes darted from the blank pad of paper in front of her to the open computer in front of Stella and the cup of eggnog before each sister—Stella knew how to hold a meeting. Frost took a sip, enjoying the extra dash of cinnamon and sugar across the top.

  Stella rubbed her hands together. “All righty, then. Robyn, you’re in charge of coming up with a name for our little group before the next meeting.”

  Robyn shook her head and muttered, “When reindeer skate.”

  Frost lightly kicked Robyn in the shin. “You’d better not pout.”

  “I’m not pouting.”

  Frost’s lips twitched with a smile. “Your bottom lip is so far out, Ginger would put you on the Naughty List.” She snatched up a piece of fudge and tossed it into her mouth to suppress her giggles.

  Stella rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. “Let’s get right to business—we need men.”

  Frost choked on the fudge. The backs of her eyes prickled. She took a deep breath and then drank a long pull of eggnog.

  Stella continued as if she hadn’t pointed at the elephant in the room. “One of us has to say I do before Christmas. Since me and Snake broke up, and it’s November, things are desperate.”

  “Did you really think a guy named Snake was going to work out?” asked Robyn. She eyed the chocolates before selecting one with a rum butter center. “Talk about desperation.”

  Stella’s nose wrinkled. “I am desperate. You’re still moping over what’s his name who broke up with you three years ago, and Frost doesn’t leave the mail room. I’m carrying this family—and the survival of Christmas as we know it—on my shoulders. It’s time you two step it up.”

  Robyn’s eyes took on a faraway look. “
I can’t imagine loving anyone else. Elmer was perfect.”

  Frost reached across the table and patted Robyn’s hand. A six-year relationship was nothing to get over quickly. They’d all thought Elmer was the one—except for Dad. But Dad didn’t like any of the men they dated, so that wasn’t saying much. Since Elmer had broken their sister’s heart, the Kringle women all thought he was a tool.

  Stella was less understanding. “You’ve had two Christmases to get over him. What do you do with a broken candy cane?”

  “Throw it out,” answered Robyn.

  “Well?” Stella tipped her head, saying so much more with her attitude than she could ever get out with words.

  “I know.” The pain in Robyn’s voice caused Frost’s heart to ache in sympathy. Part of her Santa gift was an understanding of people and their motives. She could read between the lines of the letters children wrote and know exactly what they meant. That ability often transferred to conversations. That was one of the reasons she didn’t like to leave the North Pole. The opportunity to take upon herself other’s problems got her into trouble.

  “We can’t give up,” Stella insisted. “If Ginger and Lux can find good men, then we can too.”

  Frost pressed her palms together in front of her chest. “Every time I think about Ginger’s Christmas Eve wedding—the coordinating dresses, the magical twinkling lights, and the giant snowflakes falling softly—I’m giddy with the romance. And Lux’s elopement was just as romantic, but in a totally different way.” She sighed contentedly. “I can’t wait to see you two married.”