The Naughty List: A Jack Frost Story

By AR DeClerck

Life had never been kind to Merry. Her best friend disappeared one cold winter's night, and she'd spent the rest of her days in solitude. But a chance encounter with a jolly neighbor leaves her with a very surprising gift under the tree.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AR DeClerck
• Release date: Sep 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386525936

AR DeClerck

AR DeClerck is a wife, mother, romance writer and all-around goofball. Reading ninja, food assassin and self-proclaimed nerd.  AR writes romance from the comfort of her couch in her little house on the Mighty Mississippi. She hopes her readers remember what it's like to fall in love.  Connect with AR DeClerck on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authoramydecerck and sign up for her newsletter at  http://www.eepurl.com/cecnzL

Book preview

THE NAUGHTY LIST

Chapter One

JACK! WHY MUST YOU be so naughty?

She was upset with him again. He taunted her and pulled her hair, but he really was the only friend she had. She reached for him, to make him stop, but her fingers closed on thin air. He was gone.

MERRY CAME AWAKE QUICKLY, as always. She sat up in bed and pulled the thick comforter around her shoulders. She hadn’t dreamed of Jack for many years. But, Christmas time always brought back memories of the past, she supposed.

She climbed from her bed and made it up quickly, her breath fog in the cold morning air. She stoked the fire and started the coffee, the smell of the beans in her small cabin making her breathe deep. Her house was bare of decoration; no tree or lights for her. She would celebrate these nights as she would any other. Alone.

There weren’t many people this far up the mountain, and it was a climb to get up here even in the summer. Her little cabin was nestled among the pines and protected from the wind by the mountain, but her windows looked out over all the valley below. Even if the townsfolk below remembered she was up here, they would never invite her into their homes. She was, after all, the Witch of Whiteberry Bush.

She grinned at the name as she stirred her oatmeal and poured her coffee. Her. A witch. The idea in itself was preposterous, but she supposed the simple people in the village below would never believe that what she practiced was science. Not magic.

It wasn’t only her strange hobbies that made them afraid. Her hair, as white as snow, and her pale blue eyes, put them off as well. She knew she didn’t look like any of them, like anyone really, but she was over it now. She’d overcome all her awkward yearning for a different face as she’d grown to adulthood.

She ate quickly as the sun rose, shining into her cabin and lighting up the rooms with pale golden rays. She had work to do, and a storm was coming. Her only neighbors, the old man and woman up the mountain, would be passing by today to go to town, and she would catch them on their way. She needed more coffee and some provisions to survive the days it would take for the snow to melt.

She washed her bowl and cup and put them up to dry and then she pulled on her long johns, down-lined pants and thick fur-lined boots. Her hair was always a challenge, as long and heavy as it was she had no choice but to braid it and tuck it down inside her collar. Next came her coat, gloves and hat. Then she stuck her roll of money into her pocket and marched out into the cold.

The day was sunny, but the winter was fully upon them now. There would be no thaw until spring. The trees hung low with ice and snow and she lifted her legs high to make it through the drifts. At the fork in the road she waited. The left fork went to her cabin, the right continued up the hill to the little house the old couple lived in. She’d only been up once, when the woman was ill with the flu, but she’d appreciated the loving way the home had been cared