by Sarah Morgan
Every idea I have is made better by my talented editor Flo Nicoll who brings insight, calm and her special brand of positivity to each project we work on together.
I am immensely grateful to the publishing teams around the globe who handle my books with such enthusiasm and dedication. Putting a book into the hands of readers is a team effort and involves huge complexity with many people and departments involved. Listing everyone would probably mean this book would have to be published in two volumes, but particular thanks go to Lisa Milton, Manpreet Grewal and the whole UK team, and also to Margaret Marbury, Susan Swinwood and the team at HQN books.
I doubt I’d finish a book without the support of friends, and I’m sending an extra big hug to RaeAnne Thayne, Jill Shalvis and Nicola Cornick.
My final thanks go to my readers who are so endlessly supportive and continue to buy my books. I feel fortunate that with so many books on the shelves, you choose mine. I hope you love The Summer Seekers.
Sarah
xx
Loved The Summer Seekers? Keep reading for a sneak preview of The Christmas Escape, the captivating new Christmas novel from USA TODAY bestselling author Sarah Morgan!
The Christmas Escape
by Sarah Morgan
1
ROBYN
She hadn’t dared hope that this might happen.
Someone less cynical might have thought of it as a Christmas miracle, but Robyn no longer believed in miracles. She was terrified, but layered under the terror was a seam of something else. Hope. The kaleidoscope of emotions inside her matched the swirl and shimmer of color in the sky. Here in Swedish Lapland, north of the Arctic Circle, the unpolluted skies and clear winter nights made for frequent sightings of the Northern Lights.
She heard the door open behind her, heard the soft crunch of footsteps on deep snow, and then felt Erik’s arms slide around her.
“Come inside. It’s cold.”
“One more minute. I need to think.”
And she’d always done her best thinking here, in this wild land where nature dominated, where a human felt insignificant beneath the expanse of pink-tinted sky. Everything she’d ever done that was foolish, selfish, risky or embarrassing, shrank in importance. Because this place didn’t care.
Trees bowed under the weight of new snow, its surface glistening with delicate threads of silver and blue. The cold numbed her cheeks and froze her eyelashes, but she noticed only the beauty. She instinctively wanted to reach for her camera, even though she already had multiple images of the same scene.
She’d come here to escape from everything she was and everything she’d done, and had fallen in love with the place and the man. It turned out that you could reinvent yourself if you moved far enough away from everyone who knew you.
Erik pulled the hood of her down jacket further over her head. “If you’re thinking of the past, then don’t.”
How could she not?
Robyn the rebel.
Her old self felt unfamiliar now. It was like looking at an old photo and not recognizing yourself. Who was that woman?
“I can’t believe she’s coming here. She was three years old when I last saw her.”
Her niece. Her sister’s child.
She remembered a small, smiling cherub with rosy cheeks and curly blond hair. She remembered innocence and acceptance and the fleeting hope of a fresh start—before Robyn had ruined it, the way she’d ruined everything back then. It had been a compulsion, a reckless determination to test the boundaries and see how far she could go.
Was family love unconditional?
Turned out it wasn’t, and she’d gone too far. Her sister had forbidden her ever to make contact again. “Stay away from me.”
There had been no room for Robyn in her sister’s perfect little family unit. Even now, so many years later, remembering that last encounter still made her feel shaky and sick. She tried to imagine the child as a woman. Was she like her mother? Whenever Robyn thought about her sister, her feelings became confused. Love. Hate. Envy. Irritation. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel every possible emotion within a single relationship.
Elizabeth had been the golden girl. The perfect princess and, for a little while at least, her best friend in the world.
Time had eased the pain from agony to ache.
All links had remained broken—until that email had arrived.
“Why did she get in touch now, after so long? She’s thirty. Grown.”
Part of her wanted to celebrate, but life had taught her to be cautious, and she knew this wasn’t a simple reunion. What if her niece was looking for answers? And what if she didn’t like what she heard?
Was this a second chance or another emotional car crash?
“You can ask her. Face to face,” Erik said. “But I know you’re nervous.”
“Yes.” She had no secrets from him, although it had taken her a while to reach the point where she’d trusted their relationship not to snap. “She’s a stranger. The only living member of my family.”
Her sister was gone—killed instantly two years earlier while crossing the road. There was no fixing the past now. That door was closed.
Erik tightened his hold on her. “Your niece has a daughter, remember? That’s two family members. Three if you count her husband.”
Family. She’d had to learn to live without it.
She’d stayed away, as ordered. Made no contact. Rebuilt her life. Redesigned herself. Buried the past and travelled as far from her old life as she could.
In the city she’d often felt trapped. Suffocated by the past. Here, in this snowy wilderness, with nature on her doorstep, she had felt free.
And then the past had landed in her inbox.
I’m Christy, your niece.
“Was it a mistake to ask her here?” It was the first time she’d invited the past into the present. “Apart from the fact we don’t know each other, do you think she’ll like this place?”
For her it had been love at first sight. The stillness. The swirl of blue-green color in the sky. The soft light that washed across the landscape at this time of year. As a photographer, to her the light was an endless source of fascination and inspiration. There were shades and tones she’d never seen anywhere else in the world. Midnight-blue and bright jade. Icy pink and warm rose.
Some said that life up here was harsh and hard, but Robyn had known hard and this wasn’t it. Cold wasn’t just a measure of temperature—it was a feeling. And she’d been cold. The kind of cold that froze you inside and couldn’t be fixed with thermal layers and a down jacket.
And then there was warmth. Of the kind she felt now with Erik.
“Christmas in Lapland?” He sounded amused. “How can she not like it? Particularly as she has a child. Where else can she play in the snow, feed reindeer and ride on a sled through the forest?”
Robyn gazed at the trees. It was true that this was paradise for any Christmas-loving child, although that wasn’t the focus of the business. She had little experience of children, and had never felt the desire to have her own. Her family was Erik. The dogs. The forest. The skies. This brilliant, brutal wilderness that felt more like home than any place she’d lived.
The main lodge had been handed down through generations of Erik’s family, but he’d expanded it to appeal to the upper end of the market. Their guests were usually discerning travelers seeking to escape. Adventurous types who appreciated luxury but were undaunted by the prospect of heading into the frozen forest, or exploring the landscape on skis or snowshoes. Erik offered his services as a guide when needed and she, as a landscape photographer, was on hand to coach people through the intricacies of capturing the Aurora on camera. You couldn’t predict it, so she’d learned patience. She’d learned to wait until nature gave her what she was hoping for.
Through the snowy branches sh
e could see the soft glow of lights from two of their cabins, nestled in the forest. They were five in total, each named after Arctic wildlife. Wolf, Reindeer, Elk, Lynx and Bear. Each cozy cabin had floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breath-taking view of the forest and the sky. The Snow Spa had been her idea and had proved a popular addition. The focus here was wellness, with an emphasis on the nature that surrounded them. She and her small team used local resources whenever they could. Guests were encouraged to leave phones and watches behind.
Erik was right. It was the perfect escape. The question she should have asked wasn’t Will she like it here? but Will she like me?
She felt a moment of panic. “The last time I saw Christy—well, it wasn’t good.” The kitten incident... The memory of that visit was carved into her soul. Despite all her good intentions, it had gone badly wrong. “What age do children start remembering? Will she remember what happened?”
She hoped not. Even now, so many years later, she could still remember the last words her sister had spoken to her.
“You ruin everything. I don’t want you in my life.”
Robyn pressed closer to Erik and felt his arms tighten.
“It was almost three decades ago, Robyn. Ancient history.”
“But people don’t forget history, do they?”
What had her sister told her daughter?
Robyn the rebel.
She wondered what her sister would say if she could see her now. Happy. Not married, but in a long-term relationship with a man she loved. Living in one place. Earning a good living—although no doubt Elizabeth would have seen it as unconventional.
Christy, it seemed, was happily married and living an idyllic life in the country, as her mother had before her.
What would Elizabeth have said if she’d known her daughter was coming to visit?
Robyn gave a shiver and turned back toward the lodge.
Elizabeth wouldn’t have been happy. And if she could have stopped it she would have done so. She wouldn’t have wanted her sister to contaminate her daughter’s perfect life.
2
CHRISTY
“Living the dream, Christy, living the dream.” Christy stuck a bucket under the leak in the downstairs bathroom and glanced at the spreading stain on the ceiling in despair. Sometimes it felt as if she was living in a sieve, not a cottage.
How was she going to tell Seb about this latest crisis?
“If one more thing goes wrong with this place...”
Maybe she’d wait a few days before mentioning it. Or she could get it fixed without telling him. She still had a small amount of savings left from her mother’s estate.
She slumped against the wall and snuggled deeper into her thick sweater.
Christmas was usually her favorite time of year. Warmth, coziness, the smell of the tree and festive baking. Tradition and togetherness. She’d thought the cottage would enhance those feelings. Instead it was promising to kill them.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d wanted to create the perfect home for her family. She’d imagined pets, sunshine, apple orchards, fields of daisies, dreamy Christmases and a cottage so loved it was almost another family member.
She stared gloomily at the damp, feeling betrayed. If this house was a family member she should be talking to lawyers. She’d had a plan for the day—twenty-two items, neatly laid out in her notebook in priority order, ready to be crossed through. Oh, how she loved that part. So far she hadn’t put a line through a single one. The cottage refused to co-operate.
When she’d first laid eyes on the place, on a sunny day in June, it had been love at first sight. She’d told herself that if only they could live here she’d never complain about anything again.
Be careful what you wish for.
This was all her fault.
The cottage had been outside their budget, and Seb had been resistant to the idea of stretching themselves financially, but she’d persuaded him that they could make it work. That a few sacrifices would be nothing compared to the benefits. They’d spend Sundays exploring the leafy lanes and open fields. Holly could go to the village school and have friends back to play in the pretty garden. She’d be part of the local community. Maybe they’d even buy a puppy.
Turned out there was enough local wildlife already living in the place, without adding to it, and as for the local community—
Her phone buzzed and she checked the number and groaned. Her finger hovered.
Reject the call...reject the call...
Good manners prevailed.
“Alison! How lovely to hear from you.” She flinched as another drop of icy water hit her head. “Yes, I know I promised to call, but—Will I be at the village book group this week?”
Say no, Christy. Say that you loathe the books they choose, feel patronized by the people, and can’t bear to spend another evening sitting in that drafty church hall.
“Yes. I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.” Each lie eroded her self-esteem a little more. But she had to live in this place. The locals were already suspicious of her. If she upset the village matriarch maybe the local store would refuse to sell her bread and milk. “Food? Yes, you can rely on me for a quiche... Vegetarian? No problem.”
She ended the call and closed her eyes.
“You are pathetic, Christy. Pathetic.”
She had a feeling that the only way she was ever going to extricate herself from the torture of the local book group and the crushing boredom of the village fundraising committee was to move house. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.
If the headlines were to be believed, everyone wanted to move from the city to the country. If they put it up for sale in spring or summer people would fall in love with the idea of living in this fairytale cottage—as she had. They wouldn’t discover the truth until they were standing in the cottage with the key in their hands.
A shout came from the kitchen. “Mummy!”
“Coming!” Christy pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Stay. If you fall in this close to Christmas, that’s it. I’m leaving you.”
And now she was losing it—talking to the house as if it was a person with a grudge against her.
She closed the door behind her and mentally drafted a sales pitch.
Beautiful country cottage for sale. Would suit a water-loving, draft-loving family with an interest in local wildlife (mice, bats, rats and the occasional squirrel) and money to burn. Must enjoy boring books and judgmental locals.
“Mummy!”
The shout was louder this time, and Christy hurried to the kitchen. “Oh, my—Holly, what have you done?”
“I’ve done you a painting.”
Holly flourished the paper with pride and Christy gave a weak smile.
“Most of it seems to be in your hair and on your face.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know.”
There were days when she wondered if Holly was really her child. At the same age she’d loved wearing dresses and staying clean. Holly was never happier than when she was climbing a tree or digging in the dirt for worms.
“How many sleeps until Christmas?” Paintbrush still in hand, Holly bounced in her chair, scattering blobs of color across the surface of the table. “Can we go to Lapland today?”
“Not today. Seven sleeps until we travel. Fourteen sleeps until Christmas.”
Christy reached for a cloth and wiped up the mess. Outside, rain lashed at the window. Their little garden, so pretty in the summer months, had turned into a droopy mess.
“Don’t wave the brush, honey.”
She checked the forecast on her phone, her spirits plummeting when she saw the amount of rain in her future. It was impossible not to anticipate the next disaster the cottage would throw at her. Yet another leak. More damp.
“I want to go to Lapland.
I want to see the snow and the lights.”
Christy wanted that, too. Christmas here should have been romantic and gorgeously festive, but no matter how many decorations she added to the tree, or how many fairy lights she hung, it didn’t change the fact that all she wanted to do with the cottage right now was escape from it. Lapland would give them a Christmas to remember—which was why she’d delved into her precious savings to pay for it.
“Snow will be fun.”
Christy was excited about more than snow. She was finally going to meet her mystery aunt. Her only living relative. Robyn and her husband owned an upmarket retreat for intrepid travelers. The Snow Spa. How cool was that?
Christy grinned. Very cool—literally.
And visiting her rebel aunt probably came under the heading of “intrepid”.
Part of her felt disloyal—as if she was betraying her mother’s memory by reaching out to Robyn. But that was ridiculous. She was an adult. Her mother was gone. This was Christy’s decision.
What exactly had her aunt done to cause such a major falling out? Christy didn’t know, but she felt a pang of empathy. Living up to her mother’s impossibly high standards wasn’t easy, as she knew only too well.
“You’re pregnant, Christy? You’ve only known the man for a matter of weeks! How could you be so careless? This is the worst mistake you have ever made.”
Of course her mother had come around eventually, once she’d met her granddaughter, but that faint cloud of disappointment had always hovered.
“Six o’clock. Time for your bath.”
She gently removed the brush from her daughter’s grip. Holly was the best thing that had happened to her, not the worst. Unplanned did not mean unwanted. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of her as a mistake.
“Will Santa be there? Can we see him?”
“I hope so. We’re going to try.”