Christmas Comes to Snowfall

By Erika Marks

Christmas with the confirmed bachelor...

Quaint Christmas or quirky vacation? Newcomer Maggie Iverson comes to the small resort town of Snowfall, Vermont, for a one-week repreive from her high-powered marketing job in Boston. She's designing a new website to boost tourism traffic (both virtual and foot) to Snowfall for the holidays. She enthusiastically throws herself into all things Christmas, but deftly dodges each match-making hint.

Long-time bachelor and veterinarian Alden Marshall has never embraced the holiday season, but when he meets Maggie, their chemistry is powerful enough to light up a dozen Christmas trees. Suddenly he finds himself immersed in the town’s merry-making with Maggie by his side. Will the magic of Christmas cast the spell Maggie and Alden need to let go of their pasts and finally find a love that lasts?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Oct 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949707168

Erika Marks

Erika Marks is a women’s fiction writer and the author of Little Gale Gumbo, The Mermaid Collector, The Guest House and It Comes In Waves (July, 2014). On the long and winding road to becoming published, she worked many different jobs, including carpenter, cake decorator, art director, and illustrator. But if pressed, she might say it was her brief tenure with a match-making service in Los Angeles after college that set her on the path to writing love stories (not that there isn’t romance in frosting or power tools!) A native New Englander, she now makes her home in Charlotte, NC, with her husband, a native New Orleanian who has taught her to make a wicked gumbo, and their two little mermaids.

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

Snowfall, Vermont

Two weeks before Christmas

The first taste was nutmeg, slightly floral and peppery. Next, was the cloud of whipped cream, soft and pillowy as it brushed her upper lip. Then, at last, the kiss of sweet, velvety nog across her tongue…

Squinting through the falling darkness beyond the windshield of her rented SUV, Maggie Iverson consumed her imaginary glass of eggnog, one cool and creamy sip at a time, until her fingers finally loosened on the steering wheel.

She called it Flavor Meditation—a relaxation trick she’d invented in seventh grade while waiting to perform her piano recital. Standing off stage, heart hammering, she’d caught a whiff of chocolate cookies being set out for the post-concert reception, and decided that she’d be better off imagining eating one of those warm, gooey cookies than contemplating the butterflies banging around her stomach. Barely five minutes later, she’d stepped out onto the stage and completed her piece flawlessly. After that, Maggie had found many more opportunities to hone her technique. So that by the time she was taking final exams in college, she was consuming imaginary five-course dinners—including appetizers and dessert—and scoring in the top of her classes.

Her first year at Empire Marketing and Media in Boston, when Maggie had felt certain every new email alert was notice of her firing, the technique had been gold—and four years and two promotions later, Maggie hadn’t needed to employ her Flavor Meditation in a very long time.

Until tonight. When she’d pulled out of the airport car rental lot and found herself navigating narrow mountain roads with more twists than a box of ribbon candy. Which explained why it had taken her an embarrassing two hours to get from the airport, despite the GPS’s insistence that the journey should take fifty minutes.

But now, at last, a wooden sign greeted her, draped in pine boughs: Welcome to Snowfall, Vermont—Where Snow has fallen every Christmas since 1917!

Maggie frowned at the carved letters as she steered past, her gaze swerving dubiously back to the bare ground on either side of her headlights. No wonder she’d been hired to pump up promotion for the struggling resort town. With two weeks until Christmas eve, Snowfall looked far from a winter wonderland.

Not that the decision to leave Boston for a week at the height of the holiday season had been a hard one. Michael, her boss, had assured her the trip could wait until after New Year’s—that any changes they made to the website wouldn’t impact Christmas visitors since holiday tourists would have already made their plans—but Maggie had reminded him that she didn’t take holidays when it came to getting the job done, and wasn’t that why he picked her to head up the design team in the first place?

Ever since getting her big break at Empire, Maggie had made it clear to Michael—and anyone else at the company who’d listen—that succeeding in her field was her number one priority. And if that meant working holidays and missing celebrations to get the best accounts, then so be it. With her newly retired parents always on the cruise circuit, it wasn’t as if Maggie had a home base to come back to for holidays anymore. And she certainly wasn’t leaving behind anyone to stand under the mistletoe with, either. After three failed holiday romances in a row, Maggie had come to the not-so-difficult conclusion that love at Christmas was simply not in the cards for her. So why not seize the moment?

Another curve and the road blissfully straightened, the thick fence of pines on either side of her thinning as Snowfall emerged and Maggie felt her fingers loosen over the wheel.

She’d been skeptical of the charming pictures she’d seen of the town online—after all, she made places look and sound better than they actually were for a living—but as soon as Maggie drove under the archway of twinkling lights and passed the quaint storefronts of downtown Snowfall, her heart lifted. Maybe redesigning the website for the historic resort town wouldn’t be such a tough job after all.

The key, she’d already decided, would be to highlight what made the town of Snowfall unique compared to all the other bigger hotels and resorts that had blown up nearby over the years. Passing the town green and spotting a statue of an alpine skier dressed in a Santa costume and hat, Maggie could see there was great charm in this place. Character. History. After all, the famed Wintersong Lodge, where she’d be staying for the next week, had been active since 1902, bringing families to enjoy a variety of winter activities. Maggie looked forward to digging into its past to find that singular gemstone.

As a PR person, she knew that the cornerstone to any good marketing campaign was to find the story behind the event. Consumers—people in general, really—loved stories.

Maggie knew there was a great story here in Snowfall.

And she couldn’t wait to find it.

Chapter Two

Alden Marshall pulled his blue pickup against the curb and let out a grateful breath, relieved to see the lights on inside Snowfall Sporting Goods, despite the Closed sign pressed against the glass.

His plan had been to come by at four to check on Mogul, the shop’s recently rescued golden retriever, but a flurry of walk-ins that afternoon had changed all that. Alden didn’t know what it was, but in three years of owning a vet clinic, Friday afternoons were always magnets for pet emergencies.

Taking the brick path to the shop’s gingerbread-trimmed front door, Alden just hoped Randy would see the day’s wear on his face and not rib him—but knowing the perennial ski bum who’d been running the shop for the past ten years, and how much Randy enjoyed giving Alden grief over his family’s unfortunate history in Snowfall, Alden wasn’t hopeful.

Especially not when it was two weeks before Christmas—and the town had yet to see even a dusting of snow.

Hello? Inside, Alden scanned the shop, seeing the usual displays of winter wear and sports equipment.

Over here, Doc! Randy emerged from behind a half-decorated Christmas tree, the store owner wearing his typical uniform of a faded flannel shirt and a backward Snowdrift cap over his curly blond hair.

I was afraid I might have missed you, Alden said, snaking around piles of shoeboxes as he made his way across the store floor.

Randy snorted. I wish. The manager held up overflowing handfuls of tangled string lights and blew out a deep sigh. I told Don I’d have this place all done up by the time he brings the new website designer around for a tour tomorrow and I can’t even find the plug. Maybe I’d be better off letting Mogul take over decorating duties.

As if on cue, the golden retriever came trotting out from the back office, her thick, coppery coat swinging like cowgirl fringe, a red bandana knotted loosely around her furry neck.

Hey, beautiful. Alden dropped down onto his heels to greet her.

Told you she was doing great, said Randy. Now if only I could say the same thing about these lights…

Let me give it a try. Alden stood and waved the load of tangled wires his way. I got so good at untangling my dad’s fishing lines when I was a kid, he used to time me.

Randy dumped the piles of strings into his open palms. Be my guest.

Alden took a seat on one of the store’s benches and began to pull apart the nest of wires. Now what’s this about a new website?

Don hired some big marketing firm in Boston to redesign Snowfall’s website, Randy said, climbing the step stool with a handful of star ornaments. The web designer’s getting here tomorrow—which explains why I’ll be here all night.

Why would someone bother trying to design a new website right before the holidays?

Eager beaver type, I guess.

Alden could just imagine the guy. Probably right out of college. Tapping his phone with one hand, holding a giant cup of coffee in the other.

And since when does Don hire PR firms? Alden asked, managing to free one string.

Since our revenue went down 25 percent last year and the town approved a special emergency marketing budget, Randy replied dryly, sliding a foil star over one of the fake fir’s branches.

Alden wasn’t surprised. While he hadn’t seen much fluctuation in his veterinary practice in his three years in Snowfall, he’d seen plenty for many of his neighbors’ more seasonal businesses, and heard their grumblings when they came in with their pets. He knew that time had faded the glory of the once hugely popular family winter play land. Where once tourists flocked to Snowfall to enjoy the simple pleasures of candlelight ice skating or a toboggan ride down Flurry Hill, now they traveled to the larger, fancier resorts. Apparently lack of good phone service wasn’t the charming perk it once was.

Clink-cling!

Mogul heard the jingle of the bell above the front door first, the dog swinging her coppery snout toward the entrance, her floppy ears rising.

Turning to get a view of the door, Alden recognized Don Bayloff right away—the town manager’s bald head shining like polished marble as he passed under the recessed lights—but Alden couldn’t place