A Winter Wonderland

by Rebecca Hunter

  A Winter Wonderland

  by Rebecca Hunter

  Copyright © 2019 Rebecca Hunter

  ...except for the prologue, which is used with permission from Stacy Finz.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7341127-0-2

  Cover Design: Enroc Illustration

  Editor: Becca, Edits in Blue

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Rebecca Hunter

  Stockholm Diaries series

  Stockholm Diaries, Caroline 1&2

  Stockholm Diaries, Melanie

  One More Night

  Blackmore Inc. series

  Best Laid Plans

  Playing with Fire

  Baring It All

  Hotter on Ice

  What's worse than a broken-down car during a winter storm?

  When the hot tow truck driver is your ex-boyfriend, the one you left behind.

  Coming face-to-face with Jace after nine years is a reminder of everything Selena tried to forget when she left her hometown. A very sexy reminder. And it’s even more dangerous when mixed with a little holiday magic.

  Jace is supposed to be long over Selena, but he can’t let himself forget that she left for college without saying goodbye and never looked back. When she calls from the side of the highway, the temptation to see her again is too strong to resist.

  Will a taste of holiday magic make the reunion more tempting?

  ***

  A different version of this story was originally published in the anthology 12 Nights of Christmas. A Winter Wonderland has been re-edited and expanded into a novella.

  *Prologue*

  Christmas Whodunnit in Seaside Town’s Crime of Passion

  By Maddy Stein, USA Times staff writer

  DELILAH’S COVE, Or. – Someone in this quiet coastal town has a mysterious way of celebrating the holidays.

  It starts with an anonymous gift of a fruitcake and ends with two people falling in love.

  The bunt-shaped fruitcakes began showing up in seemingly random mailboxes five years ago. There was nothing to distinguish the packaging, just a generic holiday cake tin inside a brown box with four mini bottles of Wild Turkey and a card reading: “Enjoy the magic of Christmas and prepare to fall in love.” The return address was a Delilah’s Cove P.O. box.

  Every year since, a collection of people from the West Coast to the East Coast with no ostensible connection have received the cakes. Yet no one has been able to conclusively prove who’s sending them, despite a growing list of suspects. Some have called the cakes magical, while others maintain they’re a well-orchestrated publicity stunt to turn Delilah’s Cove into a thriving tourist destination. After all, Delilah, the town’s founder, was a suspected witch, so a love-potion fruitcake would be a fitting gimmick.

  Whether a true believer or a cynic, the general consensus is that the fruitcakes have had a strange way of bringing unlikely couples together.

  “I didn’t think anything of it at first,” said Janis Whiting, who received the cake two years ago in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. “It was Christmastime, and I figured my company had sent it. Then I saw something on the news about people receiving a mysterious fruitcake from a Christmas cupid in Oregon, dug up the box, and sure enough, it was from Delilah’s Cove. Crazy, right?”

  Whiting, 32, said she has never been to the seaside town, nor does she know anyone from Delilah’s Cove, but believes the cake was part of her destiny.

  “I’d just gone through a bad breakup, and out of nowhere, I get the package. Then my old high-school boyfriend calls, says he just moved to Coeur d’Alene and decided to look me up. Boom, four months later, we’re engaged.”

  Hattie Reed, the postmaster in Delilah’s Cove, said that first Christmas and every one since, she’s gotten calls from recipients requesting to know who sent the fruitcakes.

  “I have my suspicions,” she said, but stopped short of naming names. “I started logging the calls and so far, twenty-five people have reported receiving the fruitcakes and falling in love, just like the note said. My husband thinks it’s a load of hooey, but you can’t argue with those numbers.”

  Over at Delilah’s Cut and Curl, the salon staff and clients were divided.

  “Someone at the chamber of commerce cooked this up,” said Darla Jensen, one of the stylists. “I call it the power of suggestion. You tell someone the cake will make you fall in love, and the next thing you know, you’re in love.”

  There was much debate, but all agreed that the news stories had given the town a certain degree of cache.

  Mayor Randy Kim admits that the lore of the fruitcakes has indeed put Delilah’s Cove on the map but denies that they’re the brainchild of an elaborate marketing scheme.

  “I’m just as flummoxed as everyone else,” he said. “And honestly, I don’t think we would’ve gone with fruitcakes as a symbol of the city. People usually throw them away or regift them, not exactly the image we want to portray.”

  At the sole bakery in town, Dani Cornfield was ready to dish.

  “I know a lot of folks think it’s me,” she said. “But wouldn’t that be a little too obvious? Come on.”

  Cornfield said she has narrowed it down to three possible culprits: Bruce Willows, Tuff McNeil or the church ladies. Willows loves his romance novels, she said. McNeil owns the diner and is a direct descent of Delilah.

  “For all we know, he’s a witch, too,” Cornfield said. “And even if he isn’t, it’s a boon to his cash register.”

  And the church ladies? Cornfield didn’t have a good reason except “they always have their noses in everyone else’s business.”

  Willows and McNeil denied being involved, and the church ladies could not be reached for comment.

  “I just wish someone would send me one of those cakes,” Cornfield said. “I haven’t had a date in two years.”

  *

  Chapter One

  Selena pulled her ailing car onto the shoulder of the road and rolled to a stop. The car gave another ominous rattle, this one louder than the last. Tendrils of smoke seeped out from one side of the hood, then the other. Shit. She turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel.

  On both sides, the pine forest rose up, thick and dense, making a little valley for this stretch of the two-lane road. She couldn’t be more than ten or fifteen miles from her house, but it was too far to walk in this weather. Especially considering her shoe selection. The bright red ballerina slippers had been perfect for a quick trip back to Boston for Melanie’s holiday party…but not nearly as suitable for a walk in the blustery rain of Upstate New York.

  Plus, walking home would take her straight through Sacred Harbor. Right past Wilkinson’s Garage. And coming face to face with Jace Wilkinson would be nothing short of a disaster.

  Outside her fogging windshield, the road stretched along the deep green forest and disappeared into the mist. No other cars were in sight, not a sign of civilization. And only one mechanic shop within a fifty-mile range. She knew the number to that garage by heart, even now, nine years later. Not that she was counting.

  Selena sighed. She had to call someone. The car wasn’t going to fix itself, and weather along the Lake Ontario coast was notoriously unpredictable. Rain could quickly turn into ice, then feet of snow, so waiting out the storm in her broken-down car wasn’t an option. If she didn’t dial that familiar number, who else could she call? Her parents had moved back to Mexico long ago, and her closest high school
friends had fled their hometown after graduation, just like she did. Everyone she was close to was gone. Or related to Jace.

  The old, familiar ache of regrets and wants and what ifs churned deep in her gut, the same way it did every time memories of him snuck back into her thoughts.

  The way he used to smile at her.

  The way he used to slip his hands under the hem of her shirt when he held her, his fingers warm against her skin.

  The way his voice heated her, deep inside.

  What if he answered the phone?

  Selena bit her lip. Last she’d heard, people were crossing state borders to get Jace Wilkinson to restore their antique Mercedes Benzes. He’d taken his father’s garage and made it into something bigger, just as he had planned nine years ago. It was bad enough just to drive through Sacred Harbor and see the name Wilkinson on that sign. Every time she passed it, leftover memories settled in the pit of her stomach, churning.

  But some poor young kid was probably stuck on Sunday tow truck duty, not Jace. And that gave her courage.

  Selena looked out the window into the endless pine forest and shivered. The sky was darkening. The sun was probably nearing the horizon behind all of those storm clouds, and the car was getting colder by the minute. There was no good way to avoid what she had to do. She blew out a breath, pulled her phone out of her purse, and punched in the number.

  Nothing happened.

  She tried again. Still nothing. Selena studied the screen. No signal. Of course. People came to the Lake Ontario coast for wilderness, not guaranteed cell phone coverage.

  Selena blew out a breath and turned to look out the rear window. The bridge over the river was still in sight. Which meant a break in the hills that lined this stretch of the coast. It was either backtrack to that bridge—on the chance that the opening meant cell phone coverage—or walk another ten miles home.

  She zipped up her jacket, threw the hood over her head, and stuffed the phone in her pocket. Grabbing her keys, Selena pulled on the handle of the door. A gust of rain blew in, and the wind slammed it closed. She tried again, leaning against the door to wedge it open, then slipped out before it blew shut again. Definitely still pouring.

  She jogged along the shoulder of the road, dodging puddles and larger stones as the raindrops echoed loudly under her hood. Water pounded at her back, soaking through her designer coat, versatile for any vacation, according to the tag. Clearly, the designer hadn’t had the pelting rain of Upstate New York in mind.

  By the time Selena reached the bridge, the rain had turned to sleet, and she was shivering in fits. Her shoes were sticky and soaked, stretched a size or two larger, and her back was half-numbed. Apparently, “water resistant” was a slippery term in the raincoat industry. She pulled out her phone and huddled over it, zeroing in on the corner of the screen.

  Thank God. Coverage.

  Selena dialed the familiar number from her past with a shaky finger and pressed call. The wind roared in her ears, and her teeth chattered as she waited. Three rings. Four rings. Finally, a voice came through above the din.

  “Wilkinson’s Garage. How can I help you?”

  Jace. It was him. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. If she spoke, there was no turning back.

  Chapter Two

  “Hello? Are you there?”

  Jace Wilkinson glanced at the garage’s phone. Someone was on the line, but he couldn’t hear worth shit because of a raspy static, probably wind. He considered hanging up, but it was raining and cold as hell outside right now. Exactly the reason he had kept the line open today while he was working, even though he had given his on-call driver the day off.

  He tried again. “Can I help you?”

  “I n-n-need a t-t-t-t-tow.”

  The voice was mostly lost in the wind.

  “Where are you?”

  “Heading n-n-n-n-north on Lakeside Road, j-j-j-j-ust past Willow River.”

  Something about that voice sent a familiar prickle down his spine. It was hard to hear, but… He frowned, focusing on the call.

  “What kind of car?”

  “Red Mercedes.”

  Jace froze. There were just over eight hundred people in Sacred Harbor and another few hundred spread out along the surrounding coast. Only one of them owned a red Mercedes. Though he had never seen it up close in his garage, he knew as well as the rest of the town did that the red Mercedes belonged to Selena Guerrero. Or Selena Miller, as she now was called. Not that he was keeping track.

  “Hello? Are you s-s-s-still there?” Her voice sent another prickle down his spine, but this time, it didn’t stop there.

  Her voice. Goddamn. It had been so long.

  “Yes, Selena,” he finally said. “I’m here. I’ll be there in ten.”

  He hung up the phone and massaged his temples. When Selena and her rich-ass husband had bought a vacation house just outside Sacred Harbor, every one of his siblings had found a way to mention it. Who the hell had the money for a vacation house, especially one they almost never visited since Selena’s parents moved back to Mexico. Not that he was keeping track. It wasn’t his business, not anymore. And it shouldn’t matter that his sister Lizzie had mentioned seeing her at a distance during the fall. He had expected to run into her at some point, but he wasn’t ready for it right now, when he had just closed up shop and changed for his brother’s engagement dinner. He ran a hand through his hair. Just get this encounter over with and move on.

  Jace grabbed his coat and jogged to the truck, the rain smacking hard against the dress pants he had just put on. Too late to change back. He jumped in and steered the truck toward the highway, the phone conversation looping through his mind.

  Since Lizzie had dropped hints about Selena, he’d had some late-night fantasies that started this way. She would call for a tow, and he’d take the job instead of his regular crew. She’d be surprised to see him, the good kind of surprised. She’d tell him that she’d made a mistake all those years ago, that she shouldn’t have turned him down, and he’d tell her that she could show him how sorry she was. She’d climb in, straddle him, and they’d be right back where they were nine years ago, going at it in his truck, despite her marriage. Then, after he made her feel good one more time, the way he used to—after he’d given her one last reminder of what she had given up when she traded him in for a luxury model—he’d finally put her out of his mind forever.

  The cheating aspect of that scenario didn’t feel great, but the fantasy always got the job done quickly.

  Except this wasn’t one of his fantasies. She had called him in the middle of a storm, and her teeth had been chattering. Forbidden reunion sex wasn’t nearly as appealing when real-life Selena was in distress.

  The wind had muffled her voice throughout the call. Why the hell was she outside? Was her husband with her, or was she alone? Jace had tried to block out all the rumors around town about why she was in Sacred Harbor a lot more often these days.

  The sleet turned to hail as he neared Willow River, and he slowed the truck, searching for the red car. It was a good choice of colors, considering the situation. The car came into sight just past the bridge. Jace swung the truck around and parked. He turned off the engine and blew out a long breath. His heart was racing, as if it still hadn’t gotten the message that it was better not to think about the good parts. The way she looked at him when his hands were on her bare skin. The way she loved Lizzie, too. The way she had so deftly navigated his mother, a feat most of his family still hadn’t mastered. The way holding her had felt like the home he didn’t know he was missing.

  Jace scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a breath. It was time to get this over with.

  He pulled the hood of his raincoat over his head and climbed out of the truck. The windows of the car were steamed up, and the hail piled on her windshield. He knocked on the driver’s side door, and she pushed it open. Bending down, he peered in.

&
nbsp; Selena was wrapped in a white raincoat with grey and black designs, hood up. The coat looked expensive and impractical as hell. How fitting for this new version of her. Even her raincoat said I don’t belong with a small-town guy who runs a garage.

  Big brown eyes with long, dark lashes blinked up at him, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

  “J-J-J-J-Jace?” she said, her teeth knocking together. “I didn’t mean to call you.”

  Despite everything, he had to laugh. “Next time, try a different number.”

  Selena rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  Yes, he did. Jace looked inside her car again and found it empty. Good. It was probably easier for both of them this way, without her husband. Seeing Selena again shouldn’t be a big deal, but his heart was doing strange things in his chest.

  “Come climb into the truck,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “It’s warmer in there.”

  She gave a quick nod and stepped out into the rain.

  Jace fought images of that X-rated scenario he had imagined as he followed her. Not happening. Eighteen-year-old Selena would have been a different story. But twenty-seven-year-old Selena, in her designer coat? Not a chance in hell.

  He led the way to the passenger’s side and opened the door, helping her in as water poured over the hood of his raincoat. His gut clenched as her cold hand brushed against his. Damn. She was freezing, and his mind was in the gutter.

  He walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, trying hard not to look at her. The engine purred, and he turned up the heaters. Well...just one good look wouldn't hurt, would it? He turned as Selena slid off her hood and lifted her hands to the truck’s little heating vent, rubbing them together. Wet strands of hair fell in her face, and she pushed them away. Her hair was different.