Sleigh Bell Sweethearts

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

In her wildest dreams, Zoey Hathaway never thought she’d wind up an heiress. And dreaming was something of a specialty for Zoey. She’d been dreaming for the better part of her life.

But this...

She glanced overhead at the snow-covered arched sign that read Up on the Rooftop Reindeer Farm, wondering how in the world she’d lived in Aurora, Alaska, her entire life and never known such a place was nestled right in the cleft of the mountains. She’d never even heard of the place. And now, according to the lawyer who’d called her the day before, it was her reindeer farm.

...impossible.

“Smile!” Anya Parker, Zoey’s friend and former boss, snapped a photo with her cell phone. “I still can’t believe it. You’re a reindeer heiress.”

“I know. I’m having trouble processing it myself.” Zoey peered at the snow-covered horizon, searching for a glimpse of antlers.

Nothing.

From what the lawyer had told her, this was a small operation. A hobby ranch—that was what he’d called it. Which made sense, considering she’d never even known Gus lived on a reindeer farm. Her flight instructor had been like a surrogate grandfather to her, but he’d been a man of few words. Too few, apparently.

She wondered where the reindeer were hiding. And how many of them were lurking around. Four? Six? A dozen? A dozen seemed like a lot. She was hoping for six, at most—a manageable handful. What could she possibly do with twelve or more reindeer?

“Gus really never told you about this place?” Anya asked.

“No.” Zoey shook her head. “Over two hundred fifty hours of flight time and more ice-cream sundaes than I can count, and he never said a word. I always knew he lived alone, but he never mentioned the reindeer.”

“No family,” Anya whispered, her words dancing in the air in a fog of vapor. “How sad.”

A lump formed in Zoey’s throat.

Get a grip.

She swallowed it down. She’d never been one to feel sorry for herself, to bemoan the tragic circumstances life had thrown her way. And she wasn’t about to start now. But picturing Gus living here alone—dying alone—was sobering, to say the least. She’d lost her parents when she was sixteen years old. And she hadn’t seen her only other living relatives—an aunt and uncle who lived in the Lower 48—since the funeral. Zoey was every bit alone as Gus had been.

Will this happen to me someday?

Anya’s arm slipped around her shoulders. “Poor choice of words. I’m sorry.”

Zoey pasted on a smile. “It’s okay.”

“You’re not alone. You know that, right?” Anya’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t know a soul in Aurora who doesn’t think of you as a little sister. You’re the town sweetheart.”

Zoey pulled a face. “I don’t know about that.”

Town sweetheart? That was awfully flattering. Too flattering, perhaps. Granted, Aurora had a way of taking care of its own. And Zoey had always felt cared for, even after she’d found herself adrift. But being known as the perennial kid sister had its downside, particularly in the romance department.

Town sweetheart? Town mascot was more like it.

Not that it mattered. When it came to men, Zoey had a way of making sure things never got too out of control. Sure, she’d dated. Some. But never the same guy more than a handful of times. Relationships led to attachment. And in her experience, attachment eventually led to loss and pain. She’d been down that road before.

No, thank you.

“And now that you’re an heiress, who knows?” Anya gave her a playful hip bump. “Half a dozen marriage proposals will probably come your way by lunchtime.”

Before Zoey could utter a word of protest—and she had plenty of them at the ready—a rumbling noise came at her out of nowhere. Beneath her feet, the snowy ground quaked. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought an avalanche was tumbling down the mountainside. But Anya’s face showed no signs of alarm. And as a member of Aurora’s Ski Patrol, Anya was something of an expert on avalanches, so Zoey exhaled a relieved, albeit curious, sigh.

“What is that?” Anya frowned as a cloud of snow on wheels came barreling toward them.

Zoey hopped backward out of its path, yet still managed to be on the receiving end of an onslaught of fine white powder. A chill ran through her as tiny pinpricks of cold sprayed her cheeks.

“Hey,” she squealed.

The rumbling noise came to an abrupt stop.

Zoey blinked cold eyelashes against the sudden stillness. The white dust settled, revealing a rider clothed head to toe in black sitting astride a motorcycle. A large, powerful-looking motorcycle. Also black.

He parked directly beneath the reindeer farm’s arched sign. At least she assumed it was a he. The rider’s gender was impossible to discern, given all the protective gear—glossy helmet with an impenetrable jet-black face shield, sleek slim-fit parka and black leather gloves that covered not only his hands and wrists, but half his arms. Not a fraction of skin was visible.

Still, the thought of riding around on that thing sent a shiver up Zoey’s spine.

A motorcycle?

In Alaska?

In December?