Table Of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Cast Iron Beef Stew
About The Author
Sneak Peek Of A Cottage Wedding
Christmas in Bayberry
Copyright 2020 Jennifer Faye
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the 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.
Print: 978-1-947892-81-1
eBook: 978-1-947892-82-8
www.hallmarkpublishing.com
Chapter One
Last week of November
New York, New York
Big lazy snowflakes drifted toward the ground.
Standing in front of the large glass windows of the Manhattan skyscraper, Wesley Adams had an excellent view of the late-November sky, making it seem like the city was inside a great big snow globe that someone had given a shake. Or maybe that’s just how life felt right now—shaken and turned on its head.
He started walking, refusing to let the entire day go sideways on him. If he kept moving, he could meet all of his deadlines. He glanced at the black leather wristwatch with the gold face that his mother had given him when he’d graduated from college. It had been all she could afford—probably more than she could afford—and he loved both her and the watch dearly.
For a senior business advisor, there was so much work when the end of the year rolled around. Worst of all, everything needed to be done at once. For Wes, when it came to holidays or a deadline, the deadline always won out. There were always risk analyses and restructuring deals that needed to be completed ASAP. Business didn’t take holidays. It was the mantra of Watson & Summers.
Wes rushed down the hallway toward his office. Even though the holiday season was upon them, the office was devoid of decorations. Not one tiny Christmas tree or so much as an ornament was to be found anywhere on the floor. There wasn’t even holiday music playing over the speaker system. Mr. Summers, as he insisted on being called, thought bringing Christmas into the office would encourage employees to act as if they were on holiday instead of proceeding with business as usual. Wes didn’t agree, but it wasn’t his place to argue the point.
As usual, Wes was prepared to work through the entire Thanksgiving weekend. He was certain it would be the same for Christmas. Too much work and not enough time. He told himself that being in the office was the way he liked it—a chance to get ahead.
After all, he was in line for a promotion to assistant vice president. If he could land the prestigious position, it would mean more money—money he could use to rent a place for his mother here in the city, near him. As his father had passed on a few years back, Wes worried about her living all alone in Florida. It was so far away. And she didn’t like to fly.
Of course, she insisted she had all of her friends, should she ever need anything, but sometimes he wondered if she was truly as happy as she let on. Or was she saying what she thought he wanted to hear? He wouldn’t put it past her. All she’d ever wanted was for him to be happy.
Right now, he had fifteen minutes to verify the projected five-year growth report and print out an income statement for his next meeting with an important client. He’d meant to get it done this morning, but one impromptu consultation had led to another. No wonder the work on his desk piled up.
“Hey, Wes,” the president of the firm called out to him.
Wes stopped in front of the office door. He peered in at the older man, who had just a few gray hairs left on his head and permanent frown lines marring his face. “Hello, Mr. Summers. What do you need?”
His boss’s bushy brows drew together. “Do you have the report on the Wallace account?”
“I do. It’s in my office. I’ll get it for you.”
“No rush. As long as you have it to me by eleven.”
Wes nodded. He checked his watch again. Fourteen minutes till eleven. So much for not worrying about getting the report to Mr. Summers right away. His mother had always said, If you want something done, give it to a busy person. Had that been some sort of prediction about his life?
After the promotion, things would slow down. He’d have staff under him to help balance out his workload. It would all get better. He just had to hang in there until the first of the year. That should be easy. Not a problem at all.
He couldn’t help but smile at the world’s biggest lie.
Wes stepped into the hallway, noticing Mr. Summers’ assistant at her desk. “Good morning, Jan.”
“Good morning, Wes.” The older woman’s ivory face lit up as color bloomed in her cheeks. She peered at him over her black-rimmed reading glasses. “Thank you for the Boston cream donut. I was going to save half for lunch, but one bite led to another. It was so good.”
At least once a week, he made a point of stopping at the bakery on his way into the office. It was a small way to thank the people who helped him throughout the week.
“Glad you enjoyed it. How’s your mother doing?”
“Better, now that her cold has passed,” Jan said with a smile. “She’s promising cookies and pie for Christmas. And she’s making a nut roll just for you.”
“You’re both too good to me.” He’d gotten to know Jan’s mother a few years ago, when he’d volunteered to help move Jan’s mother into a senior’s high rise.
Jan whispered, “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you. It won’t be long now.”
He knew she was talking about the promotion. He grinned. “Thanks. I’ve got to run.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
He greeted other co-workers but kept moving, because time was money and there was never enough of either. Still, he liked to acknowledge the friendly people he worked with every day.
“Morning Joe,” he said to the mailroom guy, who was pushing a full mail cart down the hallway.
“Morning.” A few years younger than Wes, Joe attended night school. He liked to say that he was working his way up through the company—starting on the ground floor. “I left those files you put a rush on in your office.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
Joe smiled and continued pushing the loaded mail cart in the opposite direction.
&nb
sp; Buzz. Buzz.
Wes stepped into his office and fished his phone out of his pocket. It was his mother. He really didn’t have time to speak to her. He had the pages to print, the report to get to Mr. Summers, and he had to get back to the conference room in—he checked his watch—ten minutes.
It wasn’t like his mother called all that often. She could need something important. He pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Hey Mom, is everything okay?”
“Of course, it is. Is that any way to greet your mother?”
He moved to his desk and perched on the edge of his chair. His hands moved rapidly over the keyboard as he entered his password. “Sorry. It’s just that you don’t normally call during business hours.”
“I did this morning, because I need to discuss some business with you.”
His finger struck the wrong key and the printer started spitting out five copies of the necessary file. He tried to stop it, but the computer froze. With a frustrated wave of his hand, he let the printer finish producing all five copies. Fortunately, the report was only three pages long.
“What business?” he asked.
“Do you remember Bayberry?”
“Bayberry the candle? Or the town in Vermont?”
“The small town.”
He checked the time. He was down to nine minutes. “Of course, I remember. We lived there briefly when I was, ah, fifteen.”
He envisioned his mother smiling and nodding her head. “That’s right. You have a good memory. Well, I was just talking to my friend there. Do you remember Penney Taylor?”
He remembered a girl in school with the same last name. She’d been in his class, and he’d had the biggest crush on her. They’d lived in Bayberry less than a year, however, when his father had announced that they had to move because he’d landed a new job. Wes hadn’t taken it well. He’d intended to ask the girl to the Candlelight Dance on Christmas Eve. He hadn’t thought of her in years.
“Sorry Mom, but I don’t know your friend.”
“No worries, dear. You’ll like her. She’s the sweetest.”
Why was he going to like her? He didn’t have any plans to meet his mother’s friend. “Mom, I don’t understand, and I really have to go. Can we talk about this later?”
“My friend, Penney, owns The Bayberry Candle Company.”
She said it as though it was supposed to mean something to him. “I’m not following.”
He grabbed the file for Mr. Summers. Wes’s gaze moved to the time on the lower right corner of his computer monitor. Five minutes and counting. He moved quickly. His elbow struck a stack of reports for his meeting. He reached out. They fell into his hands.
“My friend, she needs you to come to Bayberry and advise her on her business.”
He was touched that his mother was talking him up, but he couldn’t drop everything. “Mom, I can’t just leave the office.” He straightened the papers. “It doesn’t work like that. Right now, I have to get to an important meeting. Can we talk more later?”
“Sure. But there’s something else you should know—”
“Mom, I really have to go. I promise to call you back. You can tell me all about your friend’s situation this evening.”
“Okay, dear. Love you.”
“Love you too.” He disconnected the call, grabbed the file for Mr. Summers and rushed out the door. If he hurried, he’d make it to the meeting in the nick of time.
He hoped Mr. Summers was out of his office or tied up on the phone so he could drop the file folder off and keep going.
Mr. Summers looked up and smiled. “Wes. Just the man I need to see.”
Wes glanced in the office, finding Chad lounged back in one of the leather armchairs. Chad with his white-blond hair and too-bright teeth, was another senior analyst—also very eager for the assistant vice president position.
“That will be all, Chad,” Mr. Summers said.
“Yes sir. You can count on me. If you need anything else—anything at all—you know where to find me.” On Chad’s way out the door, he paused and grinned at Wes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure all of your accounts are handled.” And then he tucked his thumbs in his gray suspenders and sauntered down the hall in his designer suit and shiny shoes.
My accounts? What?
Chad must be confused. That was the only reasonable explanation. Although when Mr. Summers gestured for him to enter the office, Wes got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He entered the very spacious corner office. The two outside walls were glass, giving a jaw-dropping view of the city. Right now, though, Mr. Summers had his full attention. Why did Chad think he was taking over Wes’s accounts?
Wes stepped up to his boss’s very large oak desk. “Here’s the file you requested. Everything should be in there.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Summers took the folder, then gestured to the two charcoal gray chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
Wes was torn between doing what the president of the company wanted or speaking up about his pending meeting. After all, Mr. Summers had the final say on who got the promotion. Wes had to stay on the man’s good side, but he also had to get his work done.
Wes’s mouth grew dry. He swallowed hard. “Sir, I’m expected in the conference room on the twelfth floor right now.”
Mr. Summers leaned forward, resting his elbows on the large oak desk. “They can wait.” His gray brows drew together in a formidable line. “This is important.”
Wes had no idea why Mr. Summers was so worked up, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with the promotion. Was Chad being promoted over him?
He took a seat, perching on the edge. Then realizing he needed to appear wholeheartedly interested in what Mr. Summers said, and not ready to rush out the door at his first opportunity, Wes slid back in the chair.
Mr. Summers got to his feet. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, I think I’ll get something.”
The man was certainly not in any rush to get this conversation over with. Maybe the promotion had been decided upon early. And if it was bad news, he didn’t think Mr. Summers would waste time with pleasantries—in fact, he was quite certain of it. He wasn’t one to draw out bad news.
“Sir, I want to tell you how happy I’ve been here at Watson & Summers for the past nine years.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve learned a lot.”
“That’s good to hear.” Mr. Summers turned with a glass of sparkling water in his hand. “I know you’re up for the promotion.”
“Yes, sir.” He sat up straighter and smiled. “It’s an amazing opportunity.”
“You do know there’s only one spot open and a number of strong candidates.”
Wes could feel the promotion slowly slipping from his grasp. After being uprooted numerous times as a kid, moving from town to town, crisscrossing the States, he liked the thought of staying in one spot for the rest of his life. There was something to be said for putting down roots.
But if he didn’t land this promotion, he was going to have to rethink his plans. Manhattan wasn’t the cheapest place to live—far from it. As of right now, he didn’t have a Plan B.
Mr. Summers took a drink of water. He set the glass aside. “I have a way for you to gain an edge over the competition.”
Wes couldn’t help but be suspicious. Mr. Summers had never showed any favoritism toward him before, so why now? Still, he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate this—”
Mr. Summers held up a hand to stop him. “You haven’t heard the plan just yet.”
Wes had a feeling there would be no chance of turning down Mr. Summers—not unless he also wanted to say goodbye to his bright future
at the company. And that was not something he intended to do.
“I need you to go to Vermont.”
“Vermont, sir?”
“Yes. Bayberry, Vermont, to be specific.”
“Bayberry?” Wes tried to process this turn of events. First his mother, now his boss. “Have you been speaking with my mother?”
“Your mother?” Mr. Summers’ forehead creased. “Why would I speak to her?”
Wes cleared his throat. “What do you have in mind, sir?”
Chapter Two
First week of December
Bayberry, Vermont
Christmas was in the air.
As Katherine Taylor strolled down Main Street, just as she did every morning, she smiled. To her friends and family, which was everyone in the small town of Bayberry, she was Kate.
Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.
Santa Claus rang a brass bell next to a red kettle. Large snowflakes fluttered in the air, slowly making their way to the ground. The autumn decorations had come down. Now festive red ribbons and colorful ornaments adorned street lights as well as shop windows.
Everyone passing on the sidewalk dropped some loose change in Santa’s kettle. In turn, Santa paused the bell and wished everyone “Merry Christmas,” followed by a hearty ho-ho-ho.
Kate reached to the bottom of her oversized black leather purse, where most of her change ended up. She grabbed a handful of coins and dropped them in the kettle. She tried to guess at the identity of the person behind the Santa beard. Fred was their usual Santa, but this wasn’t Fred. Whoever was behind the costume had done a really good job, because she wasn’t able to put a name to the face.
“I’ve checked my list once and then twice,” Santa said, “and it says you’ve been really good this year. Santa has something special in mind for you this Christmas.”
Kate didn’t mind playing along. “Any hints? Is it the new cell phone that just came out?”
“It’s much better.”
She was intrigued. She liked to believe in Christmas wishes. “What could be better than a phone that works? And doesn’t keep dying because the battery is toast?”
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