The Gingerbread Skirmish: A Merryvale Christmas, #3

By Genia Avers

A freak snowstorm puts the deep freeze on the delivery of a specialty gingerbread order. No delivery means no payment, and Kale McIntire won't make rent on her already-in-the-red coffee shop. She'll lose everything.

Abandoned in the middle of nowhere, the same snowstorm represents frostbite for Tanner Clayton. Instead of showing appreciation when Kaley rescues him during the blizzard, he fixates on getting home to his violets. Not understanding his plants are part of a NASA experiment, Kaley presumes he's gay, and Tanner doesn't correct her mistake.

That lie turns to a lump of coal when a visitor arrives, making the couple doubt everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robin Weaver
• Release date: Nov 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215027868

Genia Avers

Genia Avers is a Christmas tree enthusiast who spends far too much time on personalized decorations and measuring tinsel. The award-winning author of the Merryvale Christmas novellas is a regular blogger with Romancing the Genres.(www.RomancingtheGenres.blogspot.com). She teaches workshops on point of view and pacing. As part the London Avers team, she also writes comedy and women’s fiction. When not creating blueprints for next year’s tree, you’ll find her searching for Santa in hopes of getting a new plotline.

Book preview

By Genia Avers

Chapter One

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – a.k.a. Stranded

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Tanner couldn’t feel his toes.

The flurries dancing in the frigid night had multiplied and now threatened to become an out-and-out blizzard. He should go into the woods and create some type of shelter. If only he hadn’t drunk that entire bottle of Merlot.

Why had he traveled to the middle of nowhere with a lunatic? The quaint little resort near Asheville turned out to be twenty-five miles of zigging and zagging. He had no idea where the hell he was.

Nor did Tanner Clayton have any idea how long he’d trudged down the deserted road. He could solve that little mystery by checking the time, but he’d have to take his hands out of his pockets. No way would he make that mistake again. He’d braved the frigid air once with gloveless hands only to discover his cell phone had zero bars.

Ahead? Was that... Yes!

Headlights. She’d come back.

Tanner jumped. Despite the pain that shot through his lower limbs, he jumped again. For joy, for warmth, and mostly to get the driver’s attention. He’d play nice. At least until his feet thawed. Until he got back to warmth and civilization. He’d forgo the pleasure of telling the woman exactly where she could shove her icicle personality in exchange for a ride to his car. After that...

He probably wouldn’t do anything, but he had one little request for old Saint Nick. To never again set eyes on the grinchy bitch who’d dumped him in the middle of frozen hell.

A chugging sound radiated in the night air. Definitely not the purr of the sleek Land Rover he’d been ejected from earlier. Most likely an American car, and clearly not well maintained. Probably a good thing it wasn’t the woman. Tanner would rather rely on the kindness of a stranger instead of hoping for a bit of humanity from the Ghost of Christmas Horrible.

The car slowed, skidding slightly before the vehicle righted its direction and centered on the road. Or at least what Tanner perceived as pavement. Maybe standing in the middle wasn’t the intelligent choice. He hurried to the side of the snow-covered lane just in time to get zapped by slush from the clunker’s front tire.

The front window inched down. What are you doing out here? A female voice.

I...uh... What the elf could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a total loser? He moved toward the car.

Don’t come any closer, she warned. One more step and I’m out of here. This time, the voice sounded young—teenage young. No way would a girl driving solo give him a ride. And he didn’t blame her.

Okay, okay. Tanner held up his hands and froze in place. Don’t be afraid.

What are you doing out here? the girl asked again.

Good question. Would she actually believe he’d been left to freeze without it somehow being his fault? Not likely. In her place, Tanner wouldn’t believe it either.

The situation required another tactic. Can you just point me to the nearest town? he asked, concentrating so he wouldn’t slur. Someplace I can get a taxi.

His question earned him a half growl, half sneer from the half-inch opening in the frosted glass. The nearest town is twenty miles away. And Merryvale has no cabs.

Just great. I don’t suppose you could make a phone call for me? He sounded like a bleating sheep.

And who could he have her call? Several of his friends would rush to his rescue, but everyone he knew would have a four-hour drive. Minimum.

His drunken brain found a solution. How about an Uber?

"Don’t have those either. What happened to your car?"

That answer wouldn’t lower her fear meter. Long story. Please, miss, just make a call for me. I’m freezing my balls... Uh, I’m freezing my mistletoes off. Could you just call the local police? Or sheriff? Tell them I need help? Tanner wouldn’t blame her if she floored her accelerator and left him in the cold. Literally.

Show me some ID first.

ID? Damn. He’d have to take his hand out of his pocket. His fingers didn’t want to cooperate, but Tanner managed to get his wallet.

Don’t come any closer, the female insisted. Just throw your license into the car. She opened the window a little wider.

That meant he’d have to pry the license from behind the leather pocket. With fingers that didn’t work.

The hell with it. He could cancel his credit cards—if he lived. What little money he had wouldn’t do him any good if he turned into Frosty the Snowman.

Here you go. He tossed his entire wallet, somehow managing to get the thing through the opening.

I’ll be back. With those Terminator words, the window raised, and the old car fishtailed once, then spun into a donut. Somehow, she managed to right the car and speed away. Another burst of icy slush splattered his already subzero legs.

Impressive skill for a teenage girl.

His brain had clearly frozen. That teenage girl was driving away with his wallet and personal information.

She wouldn’t come back.

He was run-over-by-a-reindeer screwed.

* * * *

Kaley McIntire skidded into her driveway and made a beeline for the door. The man—potential serial killer—would find her little cabin soon. She’d left him less than a quarter mile away. Best to call someone before he broke down her door and chopped her into elf-sized pieces.

She fished her cell out of her parka pocket. No signal. Naturally.

If only she could get to town. Not possible, though. She’d barely managed to get her old clunker up the mountain. Given the blizzard behind her, even Old St. Nick wouldn’t attempt a drive on a night like this. Why on earth had she decided to live in the middle of elfin nowhere?

She prayed to the angels on high for protection from all things homicidal. Judging by what she’d seen with her ice-covered headlights, the man didn’t look like a mass murderer. He’d actually looked quite hunky, and his trench coat looked high-end, if rather weather inappropriate.

So what? Hannibal Lecter would be considered a charmer if one didn’t take his culinary preferences into account. How nice could the stranded man be if he’d gotten himself dumped in the mountains? Was he involved with the mob or something? If she helped him, would