Winter: A Small Town Sweet Romance: Finch's Crossing, #4

By Amy Ruth Allen

When the mean girl meets her match . . .

Winter blows into Finch's Crossing with a broken leg. Imposing on her sister. Alienating everyone around her. Watching her perfect life in the city float away.

She knows she is bossy, selfish, ruthless and cold-hearted. It's how she climbed the corporate ladder and became a millionaire.

So it's hard to fathom that he sees beyond her icy demeanor to what's really in her heart. Pain. Regrets. Sadness.

As they grow closer, profound and dangerous circumstances lead Winter to do the unexpected.

Is it enough to make people like her? When all is said and done, will the kindest man she's ever known become her champion?

Then his kind nature leads him far, far away from her.

There is no ways she can go with him. Her leg has healed, but is her heart big enough now to make a sacrifice so they can be together? She's not the only one who doesn't think so . . .

If you enjoy wholesome stories about opening your heart that also celebrate the charms of small-town life, you'll love this fourth book in the Finch's Crossing series. Buy Winter today and cozy up into a heartwarming journey through this delightful page-turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Ruth Allen
• Release date: Nov 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201814014

Amy Ruth Allen

I’m an American girl who grew up overseas, riding elephants in Thailand, dancing around the Maypole in Sweden, drinking tea in the United Kingdom, and touring castles across Europe. In these foreign (to me) and exotic locales, books were both my anchor and my escape. They connected me to my native land (and English-speakers in general), while introducing me to worlds even more awesome than the ones I lived in. Fast forward to present day in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I am the author of the small-town romance series Finch’s Crossing, seven non-fiction books for young adults, and the young adult novel, Stealing Away. In addition to writing fiction, non-fiction, and my blog, I support fellow indie authors by reviewing indie books.

Book preview

Chapter One

Win Hamilton gingerly opened one eye, then the other, as if this action might result in a change in her environment or circumstances. Nope. She was still in the ugly hospital bed that had been placed in the middle of her beautifully appointed living room. She had lovingly decorated her two-story penthouse in downtown Pittsburgh over the course of a year until it precisely matched the vision she had imagined for it. She had filled the airy, light-filled space with ultra-modern furniture, and had chosen a minimalistic style and color palette of varying hues of whites and greys. She had selected every piece of furniture and every accessory—down to the drawer pulls—to be beautiful and functional. There was nothing fussy or unnecessary. Win didn’t do fussy.

The hospital bed she currently found herself in was indeed functional, but it was not beautiful. In fact, it was, in a word, hideous. The faux wood plastic footboard and headboard and the black metal frame and side rails somehow made her feel like she was in a B horror movie, strapped down, helplessly awaiting whatever awful fate was drawing near. She had tried to find a less ugly bed, but the ones advertised as stylish and sophisticated on the various medical equipment websites she had visited were equally revolting.

Of course, she had bigger problems than an ugly, rented hospital bed. She was stuck in bed with a broken leg that was ensconced in a cast that extended from her foot to mid-thigh, and she had to keep her leg elevated for hours at a time. As she was forbidden from putting any weight on the leg, she really couldn’t get around without help, and the home health aides she had tried were useless. Timid and hesitant, they skittered around her like little mice, fussing over her until she wanted to scream. And what made things worse was that the doctor insisted that she not lay in bed for extended periods of time, so she needed the aides to help her move around. By the end of each day Win was exhausted, frustrated, and bitter.

From her hospital bed, Win could see into her home office just enough to observe the floating white shelves, muted glass-topped desk, and the white leather sofa where she loved to sit for hours, reading and reviewing designs and project plans. She longed to be sitting in her grey leather desk chair that fit her body like a glove. From the bed, the wall that contained an assortment of accolades and news articles was just out of view, but she knew what was on that wall. She had been featured in several thirty under thirty and forty under forty designations of up-and-coming or successful local, regional, and even national professionals. She had graduated from Cornell University, which was one of the top architecture schools in the country, studying for her bachelors and then masters, and was subsequently hired by a top firm in New York City, working on huge construction projects of high-rise luxury apartment buildings. Everything she touched turned to gold, and before long, the firm’s property development clients insisted that she, and only she, lead their projects. Most of the new business at her firm had come from the publicity and laurels she had generated, not to mention her immense reputation and ability. After fifteen years, realizing that the real money lay in land development, Win and a co-worker started their own firm, buying land to develop shopping centers, huge corporate complexes, and luxury residential buildings like the one in which she lived.

Win and her partner opened their firm in Pittsburgh because there was a lot of opportunity for development, but soon their reputation traveled around the world and they were hired for projects around the country, and as far away as Asia. In just a few years, the firm had become so successful that Win did not need to work. But she craved the high of finding fallow land, turning it into something useful or beautiful, then watching it turn a huge profit for her. There was nothing like the feeling she experienced as she watched the zeros multiply in her bank account and investment portfolio. She was set for life. She was practically untouchable.

Kimberly, Win called loudly and somewhat officiously. Can you get my files on the Winslow project from my desk? As an afterthought she added, Please.

In addition to home health aides, Win tended to run through assistants quickly. Her newest assistant had been with her for only a few months when Win had her skiing accident in Austria. Win had been vacationing in December with her French mogul boyfriend, Jean-Claude, whom she had met a year ago at an architecture association meeting. He, as the founder of a multi-national real estate development company, served on a panel that she had attended. Sure, he was self-absorbed, vain, and sometimes shallow and materialistic. But if Win was honest with herself, which was getting easier and easier to do being left alone with her thoughts for hours on end, she was in firm possession of those qualities as well.

She and Jean-Claude always had a good time together, jet setting around the globe on his private plane for luxury vacations and long-weekend getaways. On the most recent trip, they had been at a ski resort in Austria, hitting the slopes in the mornings, reading by the fire or hiking in the afternoons, and then enjoying dinner at the finest restaurants, followed by some serious clubbing.

On the last day of their trip, Win had come off the gondola lift and lost her balance. Instead of righting herself, Win tucked into position, put her poles under her arms and sailed down the slope. She had been going too fast and with the momentum and speed, she couldn’t regain her balance, and instead wind-milled her arms, lurching forward, then backward, then sideways. She knew she was going to fall and tried to shift into the snow-plow position to slow down, but it was useless. She was out of control. She wound up heading for the edge of the slope and crashed into a row of snowy bushes that separated the slope from the woods. She heard the cracks. The pain was excruciating. She had to be carted off the slope by the ski patrol, then airlifted to the hospital. From there it was all a blur. She was pretty much out of it because of the painkillers, sedatives, and anesthesia.

When Win finally awoke, she was more than a little miffed that Jean-Claude was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Giselle, his assistant, was reading a magazine in the chair next to Win’s hospital bed. It was Giselle who explained to Win that she had broken her leg in several places, and that a metal rod had been placed in her leg during surgery.

As she listened to Giselle go on and on, all Win could think of was what a disappointment Jean-Claude had turned out to be. He should have been there telling her about her accident. But apparently, as soon as it was obvious to him that Win could no longer be his happy-go-lucky companion, and that she would need round-the-clock care for several weeks in a rehab facility, he had disappeared. He did, however, make arrangements to pay for all of her care in an expensive facility in Vienna, which she could have easily done herself. That was a month ago, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

At least he sent his plane to bring me back home.

Distraction. She needed a distraction. Win hated to admit it, but his desertion hurt her feelings. True, many of her colleagues and acquaintances might be surprised to know that she even had feelings, but that was beside the point. She didn’t want to think about Jean-Claude anymore. Work. She would think about work. That was the most important thing in her life after all. It had always been there for her and helped her through many rough times. When she threw herself into designing or negotiating a land deal, she felt every burden lift off her, and she became one with whatever project she was working on.

Kimberly, Win yelled again. Where’s that file?

Coming, Miss Hamilton, Kimberly called from the kitchen where she was preparing a tray of food that she had just unpacked from the delivery boxes. She organized the sushi on a small plate along with the sliced cucumbers soaked in vinegar, edamame, and a small bowl of miso soup. She placed a glass of lukewarm water and a bottle of soy sauce on the tray and walked into the living room.

It took you long enough, Win groused, as Kimberly placed the tray on the bed’s swing table that was attached to the rail and positioned in front of Win, ready to receive the tray of food.

Sorry, Kimberly said, the delivery was late. I’ll get you that file now.

Don’t get it now, Win snapped, picking up her fork. I can’t look at it while I’m eating, now can I?

Kimberly did not reply for a moment and then said, very quietly, Why are you so nasty? All I’m doing is trying to help you, since no one else will. The least you can do is be grateful and say thank you every once in a while. And as far as my continuing employment goes, you’re going to have to find someone else to help you with your personal needs. I’ll stay on as your professional assistant, but that’s it.

And with that, Kimberly grabbed her coat from the front closet and departed, closing the door quietly behind her.

Stunned, Win put down her fork. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Unwanted tears stung her eyes. She pushed the tray table out of the way. She had lost her appetite. Thank goodness her laptop was on the nightstand and she was able to reach it. Tapping her finger on the track pad, she woke it up and pulled up a list of home healthcare companies that could provide her with someone to replace Kimberly. Not replace Kimberly the assistant, but Kimberly the personal aide, or rather, Kimberly the no-longer-willing-to-be-a-personal-aide, personal aide.

Win called the first company on the list.

This is Win Hamilton, she barked officiously, I need to hire another aide to start right away. When the person who had answered did not respond, Win said, Hello?

Just a moment, the voice finally said. I’ll transfer you to Ms. Garrison’s office. Hold please.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Mrs. Garrison, the company’s president, finally picked up the line. Hello, Miss Hamilton, she said coolly. I understand that you need another home health aide, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to accommodate you this time. I’d be happy to suggest a few other companies to call.

And why is that? Win asked, irritated.

Miss Hamilton, we have sent you three aides in the past week and you have fired all of them. The last one you sent back after just an hour. It seems that we aren’t suited to each other.

Oh, Win replied. I didn’t realize it was that many. But surely there must be someone I haven’t tried yet. You must have more than three employees.

There was a long pause and then Mrs. Garrison said, It’s not a matter of how many employees we have, Miss Hamilton. We have decided to sever our relationship with you, for the sake of our employees. Now, if you’d like a list of other places you can call....

Win interrupted, No, don’t bother. She ended the call.

For the first time in a very long time, Win didn’t know what to do. First things first, she told herself, as she put the phone down on the tray table next to the uneaten food. She needed to use the ladies’ room but was under strict instructions not to get out of bed without help. But what was she supposed to do?

She pressed the button to elevate the head of the bed, then swung her legs out from her torso and twisted until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She grabbed the crutches that had been leaning against the bed and positioned them under her arms. So far, so good. The physical therapist had been so annoying, telling her not to take things too fast and not to push herself. Her recovery would take time and if she did too much, she would suffer a setback. She had broken her tibia in two places, and her fibula, and the surgery, or rather surgeries, required to patch her up had been quite extensive.

Gingerly, Win lifted herself up off the bed and leaned forward to distribute all of her weight on the crutches and her good leg, standing there like a wobbly tripod. She wrapped her hands firmly around the crutch handles, and shifting all of her weight onto the crutches, swung her good leg forward about a foot, careful not to put any weight on her broken leg, just as the physical therapist had taught her. Next, she leaned forward slightly, then brought the crutches forward simultaneously. How she longed to go upstairs to her master bedroom, complete with a steam shower and heated floors. Thinking of the heated floors made her look outside. Another Pittsburgh winter storm howled outside her window and the pretty morning’s snow had been replaced by sleet.

Win had just reached the bathroom when she took her hand off one crutch to reach for the door handle. That’s when her good foot skidded a little, just enough for her to slightly lose her balance. She was able to hold onto the crutch so that she didn’t actually fall to the floor, as much as she just eased herself down, stretching out on her left side. It was obvious that she had not hurt herself in any way. But she did a mental checklist anyway. There was no pain in her leg. She looked at the cast and the position of the leg. Nothing looked out of place. So, the only problem that remained was how she was going to get up from the floor. It became immediately clear that she was absolutely incapable of getting herself up off the floor, so she instead achieved a sitting position, and began to scoot backwards on her rear end, using her hands and arms to lift herself just far enough off the floor to allow her to move. She would have to get herself back to the bed and call for help.

Oh, why didn’t I agree to a wheelchair?

The doctor and physical therapists had tried to talk her into it, even just for a backup, but she was too proud. But, in her defense, she had not really understood just how difficult her recovery would be. Accustomed to getting her own way, she had convinced herself that she would heal quickly and without incident, therefore a wheelchair was unnecessary.

By the time Win had scooted herself all the way back to the bed, she was sweating profusely through her silk pajamas. She reached as far up as she could to try to grab her phone off the tray table, but it was too high. She gingerly pulled the lever to lower the table, until she could finally feel around with her hand, and grab her phone. Relief swept over her. But who to call? Kimberly had made it clear that she was no longer going to help her. Her sister, Autumn, lived only an hour away in Finch’s Crossing, but that would have to be a last resort. There was no getting around it—she would have to call 911. As she lifted her phone to make the call, she heard the front door open and close, and Kimberly emerged from the foyer into the living room.

Oh, Miss Hamilton! she cried, running to Win’s side. What happened? Why are you out of bed?

After you deserted me, Win said pointedly, I had to use the ladies’ room and there was no one around to help me.

Why didn’t you call me? Kimberly asked. I’m not heartless. I would have come back. I just had to let off some steam.

Win, exhausted both physically, mentally, and emotionally, leaned back against the side of the bed. I honestly don’t know.

Kimberly helped Win up and took her to and from the powder room. After Win was settled back into bed she said wearily to Kimberly, If I doubled your salary, would you stay and help me?

Isn’t there anyone else who can help you? Kimberly asked. Don’t you have relatives nearby? You must know someone who would help you.

Win sighed. No, not really. But never mind. I’ll figure something out. You can go now. Win cringed at her own words, dismissing Kimberly so indifferently. Kimberly was the only person in the world, it seemed, who cared about her at the moment. Why did she always do that?

Yes, ma’am, Kimberly said with a mock salute. I’ll come by again in a few hours with dinner. But after that, we’ve got to figure something else out.

Chapter Two

Autumn Hamilton Rasmussen turned the front door handle of her beautiful home in Finch’s Crossing with one hand while groping around in her purse for her ringing phone. Hello, she said distractedly, noticing that she did not recognize the number.

Mrs. Rasmussen, this is Kimberly Hoyt, said the voice. I’m Win’s personal assistant.

Autumn froze in the doorway and had to step out of the way as her husband, Ethan, brushed past her carrying two large suitcases out of the house.

Is she okay? Autumn asked, suddenly worried. She had so little interaction with her older sister, and it seemed out of character for Win to have her assistant call her.

I guess that depends on your definition of okay, Kimberly said. She’s been having a rough time since the accident.

Autumn, startled, asked What accident?

She didn’t tell you? asked a confused Kimberly.

Tell me what? Autumn asked, as she joined Ethan at the car and slid into the passenger seat. Did you remember your snacks? she asked Ethan in a whisper, cradling the phone on her shoulder and fastening her seatbelt.

Ethan scrunched up his face in confusion but nodded his head.

She had a skiing accident in Austria about a month ago and broke her leg, Kimberly was saying. She was at a rehab center there for a while, but now she’s home and she needs at least another month of almost-full time home care. She’s still pretty much bedridden.

Oh, thank goodness, Autumn said, I was afraid you were going to tell me that she was dead. When Kimberly didn’t say anything, Autumn continued. Sorry, bad joke. Of course, it’s terrible. Who’s been looking after her until now?

Look, Mrs. Rasmussen, Kimberly said, obviously frustrated. Long story short, your sister has pretty much run out of people who are willing to help her. She’s been blacklisted by two home healthcare companies already and as far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any friends, at least not any real friends. I’ve been taking care of her, but I’m at the end of my rope. I can’t do it anymore, and besides, I’m not qualified to administer medical aid. I found you in her phone contacts while she was sleeping. I’ve told her I’ll stay on as her professional assistant, but she’s got to make other arrangements for a home health aide. She’s giving the physical therapists a lot of grief and, on top of that, I think she may have an infection in one of her incisions.

Sounds like Win, Autumn responded. I’m actually on my way to Pittsburgh now to drop my husband at the airport. I’ll swing by once that’s done. Will you stick around until I get there?

I guess so, Kimberly responded grudgingly.

Autumn didn’t blame Kimberly. Win was a handful and could alienate people in a matter of minutes with