Sleigh Bell Sweethearts

Alec did his best to make the ride a smooth one. Tossing his new boss out of her seat didn’t seem like a smart thing to do, even though she would have had it coming. Apparently, she was every bit as stubborn as she was cute. Great.

Despite the fact that Alec had cleared the path with a snowblower an hour or so ago, it was a bit bumpy. Just as they made their way around the log cabin, which stood at the front of the property, the bike hit a slippery groove in the hard-packed snow. The motorcycle lurched to the right. Alec corrected the steering before Zoey could take a tumble, but immediately afterward he felt her arms wrap around his waist.

I told you so, his thoughts screamed. Even so, having her arms around him wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

She held on tight until they reached the fence and Alec cut the engine. Then she hopped off. With record-breaking swiftness.

“You didn’t ride all the way here from Washington on this thing, did you?” she asked as she removed the helmet.

He took it from her and hung it on the handlebars. “How else do you think it got here?”

“It sounds a little dangerous. Not to mention cold.” She made an attempt to smooth her hair. It wasn’t all that successful.

For some reason, the sight of her—cheeks pink, perfect blond hair slightly mussed—made him smile. “You don’t like motorcycles?”

“I didn’t say that.” She didn’t have to. “It just doesn’t seem like the most practical method of transportation this close to the arctic circle. But suit yourself.”

Oh, I will. He didn’t need her permission to drive his motorcycle. He could ride around in a flying saucer if he wanted. She might be his boss, but she wasn’t his mother.

Not that his mother had ever cared a whit about him. She’d been too busy getting high and avoiding the angry swings of his father to pay much attention to him.

He stalked toward the fence without saying a word. Zoey crunched through the snow behind him.

The Chugach mountain range rose before them in jagged silver peaks. Low-hanging clouds obscured the mountaintops, and a layer of what looked like fog spread out over the base of the foothills. Then the fog rolled toward them. A spectacular set of antlers came into view. Then another, and another.

Dozens of reindeer trotted toward them, kicking up snow so thick that their legs were barely visible. They appeared to float in a snowy mist, as though carried by a cloud of glittering ice crystals.

“Oh, my,” Zoey whispered.

Alec recognized the wonder in her tone. He’d felt the same way the first time he’d seen the reindeer. As much as he hated to admit it, the sight of them still sometimes took his breath away. Even if the whole thing was a little too Norman Rockwell for his taste.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, his throat growing tight.

“They sure are.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Are they always so quiet? I feel as if I’m looking at a dream...something that’s not quite real.”

He took a sidelong glance at Zoey and felt a wholly unexpected flicker of connection with her. “They typically don’t make much noise. I think they like the cold. They seem happy to run and play most of the time.”

Then she opened her mouth, and the moment was gone. “You mean play reindeer games?”

She just had to go there—the saccharine-sweet Christmas route. He really should have expected it.

With great reluctance, Alec said, “I suppose you could call it that.”

She laughed, oblivious to the mercurial change in his mood. “I just had no idea. Gus never told me about any of this.”

And yet the man had given it to her. All of it. “I suppose this sort of thing happens to you all the time.”

She frowned but somehow managed to look all wide-eyed and innocent. “What sort of thing?”

“Inheriting reindeer farms and the like.” He hadn’t meant to inject acid into his tone, but there it was all the same.

“Actually, no. It doesn’t.” Zoey’s eyes flashed. Alec was thrown for a minute by the fire in her gaze. Fire aimed directly at him. “If you think I’m some sort of spoiled princess, Mr. Wynn, you’re sorely mistaken. I suppose I can’t really blame you. Usually people who inherit things—houses, money, reindeer—come from privilege. Or at least from loving homes. I have neither of those things. So you might want to revisit your first impression of me. I’m not your average heiress.”

She spun on her heel and stomped back down the path toward the waiting SUV, leaving Alec to wonder what had just transpired.

Zoey Hathaway had surprised him. And people didn’t surprise him often. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had.

Zoey Hathaway...average?

Hardly.

Chapter Two

“North Pole Nails? Really?” Zoey glanced at the sign on the door of the nail salon where Anya and their mutual friend Clementine had suggested they meet for an emergency pedicure session. “I thought the purpose of this mission was to make me forget about reindeer.”

Anya opened the door and nudged Zoey inside. “That’s our intention. I promise. But it’s not like Aurora is teeming with day-spa options.”

“Try to pretend it’s called something else, something non-Christmasy,” Clemetine said.

Try not to think about Christmas? When it was less than a month away? That idea only made Zoey feel worse. “I love Christmas. I just never imagined I’d be spending it with my very own herd of reindeer.”

Or that they were such expensive creatures.

She would have been perfectly happy to stop thinking about her reindeer’s spending habits. But that wasn’t possible. She’d even declined the pedicure offer at first. Surely she had something else she should be spending her money on. Like reindeer chow or something.

What do they eat, anyway? I don’t even know.

She really shouldn’t be here. This afternoon was one of her regularly scheduled volunteer shifts at the church thrift store. Staffed entirely by volunteers, the thrift shop raised money to help a few of the impoverished, hard-to-reach communities out in the bush, the area of Alaska that was inaccessible by roads. Having flown with Gus on numerous missions of mercy to such villages, Zoey had a heart for the people of the bush. But her pressing need to see her lawyer had thrown a wrench into her afternoon plans.

Since when had she become the sort of person who met with lawyers?

Since she became an heiress.

One thing had become crystal clear over the course of the morning—being an heiress wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

“Sit down and take off your shoes. And smile. This is supposed to be fun. Remember?” Anya steered Zoey by her shoulders to one of the sumptuous leather spa chairs.

Zoey sank into it, and Anya flipped a switch. The chair hummed to life. “What’s that noise?”

“It’s a massage chair. Relax. Please.” Anya sank into the next chair.

“Are you sure your mom is okay with this?” Zoey frowned. Anya’s mother headed up the church thrift store. As a seamstress, it was pretty much her baby.

“She’s fine. I just talked to her. She’s got more volunteers there this afternoon than she has customers. The thrift store is fine. Everything and everyone is fine, except for you, apparently.” Anya pointed at Zoey’s feet.

She took the hint. She removed her snow boots, dipped her bare feet in the tub of warm, bubbly water in front of her chair and said a prayer of thanks that her friends had insisted on treating her to this little luxury.

“Did you get a chance to meet with the lawyer yet?” Clementine asked as she settled into the chair immediately to Zoey’s left.