Page 1 of Sugarplummed By the Mountain Man
Chapter One
Anya
The snow coming down around me gives the illusion I’m inside a snow globe. The fat, fluffy white flakes drift lazily to the ground as they pile up on the road. My trusty all-wheel drive SUV with traction tires has no problem moving toward my destination.
I can’t wait to get to Blossom Grove and see my best friends, Becca and Everlee. It’s been far too long since we’ve gotten to hang out together. We’d been planning to spend Christmas together since the last time we saw each other for an impromptu girls’ weekend at the beach last summer.
Life has taken us in different directions, and though visits are few and far between, we talk and video chat often. It’s as if no time or distance has passed since we roomed together in college when we do manage to meet up in person. The fateful random room assignment gave me the two most important women in my life. We were inseparable during those years.
Now, a decade and a half later, life has changed drastically. We’re all older, and I would like to say wiser, but that’s most likely debatable, for me at least. I’ve recently made a major life decision, and I’m afraid of what the girls’ reactions might be when I tell them.
I don’t know why. They’ve always been supportive in the past, but the judgment and disapproval from my parents lingers. They, on the other hand, have never been happy with or supportive of me, and I don’t know why I expected it now. It was my own fault for sharing my plan and thinking they might be excited at what it would mean for them.
It seems purposely becoming pregnant without a partner in sight is trashy and uncouth, according to my mother, who still believes she is too young to be a grandmother anyhow. But I’m not getting any younger, and at thirty-six, my eggs are rapidly dying off with the chances of success becoming less and less each day. I could freeze my eggs in hopes of meeting someone eventually, but I don’t want to be an old mother who doesn’t have the energy or stamina to keep up with her child.
Thanks to a successful career in marketing, I have a nice nest egg and can easily afford to do this on my own or hire help if I need to. The longing to carry a child and raise it with all the love it deserves, without conditions, is an ache deep inside me. I’m positive a therapist would say I want to make up for my own childhood, and they wouldn’t be incorrect. I want a family where love doesn’t have to be seen as a burden but is given freely just because that’s what family does.
Is that so wrong?
I’m afraid of what the answer might be, so I have been studiously avoiding sharing the news too freely. Especially after the debacle with my parents at Thanksgiving. I know deep down Becca and Everlee will be happy for me, though. I need to shakeoff the persistent doubt Ronald and Jane so easily planted. This is a happy occasion, and my friends will celebrate with me.
That is if I ever get there. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts I haven’t been paying as much attention to the road as I should’ve been. The snow is now quite deep, and it’s been a long while since I’ve passed any other motorists, or even houses, as my car steadily climbs the mountain road. Glancing at the clock on the dash, I see it’s only just past mid-afternoon but dusk is already falling.
From the directions Becca gave me, I should be getting close to her new home at Blossom Grove, the apple orchard she has taken over after her grandfather passed. When did I pass the turnoff for Coyote Creek? I don’t quite recall.
I curse myself for not paying more attention to where I was going instead of getting lost in thought, which might very well have landed me lost in reality. My car continues to creep forward, but I’m not sure how much farther I should keep going. The snow is only getting deeper, and I don’t want to get stuck in the middle of nowhere and freeze to death.
I’m just about ready to attempt to turn around without getting stuck when a house appears on my right. It’s tucked into the trees with a short driveway. I stop in the middle of the road, not worried about getting hit because there’s no one else crazy enough to be out in this weather.
I debate stopping to ask for directions because I don’t want to get lost more than I already am. The little log cabin looks so cozy and inviting with smoke curling from the chimney, but it’s the Christmas lights and decorations on the front porch that clinch my decision. Surely anyone who decorates so nicely for Christmas couldn’t be some type of criminal who would take advantage of a lost motorist in a snowstorm.
Decision made, I ease my foot on the gas and turn down the driveway toward the cabin.
Chapter Two
Thane
The wood cracks and hisses as I lay another log on the fire, using up the last of the firewood in the house. I’ll need to refill the woodbox before I can stoke the fire when I go to bed tonight. For now, there’s just enough wood on the fire to last until then. I always have the electric heat to supplement if needed, but the fire is cheaper and much more efficient.
Christmas carols play from the Bluetooth speaker as I finish decorating my tree. Usually I have it done long before now, but I got caught up in plotting my latest novel when an idea hit me after putting the tree in place. The other decorations have been up for weeks, but I save the tree until closer to Christmas because it takes up so much room in my little cabin, and a real tree doesn’t last as long with the heat inside.
Nostalgia hits like it always does when I do this task. It is both a joyous and sorrowful event for me. Joy in the memories, which come in spades from each ornament placed just so, but alsosadness at what has been missing for far too many years now. Five, to be exact.
My mother loved Christmas. She spent her life working too hard to raise me on her own after my father walked out before I was born. Everything she did was for me, but anything extra she had she put into Christmas. She said there was magic in the season and it was a special time to be cherished. I will never forget how she worked extra shifts at the diner to make sure I had plenty of wrapped presents under the tree, even if they were mostly necessities.
When she finally went to the doctor after she’d been feeling ill, they discovered it was already too late and the cancer had invaded her entire body. I had been about to re-enlist for another tour with the army but opted out and spent what time she had left with her. We had Christmas early that year. She made me promise I would decorate for her every year after and not let her passing interfere with celebrating. So as much as it hurts, I continue the tradition to honor the woman who loved me unconditionally and gave me the best life possible within her means.
I save the snowflake ornament for last. It was her favorite, one I had crafted from wood while in high school. Hanging it in the spot I saved for it front and center, I step back to look over my handiwork. Ma would’ve been proud of this tree.
Now that it’s done, I’m looking forward to spending the rest of the Christmas season diving into writing this new book. Since it’s the first in a new series, I also spent extra time plotting for the following books as well. Settling in at my computer after grabbing a beer, I read over my notes. Tilting my head from side to side, I stretch and crack my neck as I place my hands on the keys. The words come hesitantly at first, but soon my fingers are flying across the keyboard as I get in the zone and the story comes to life.
I’m two and a half pages in, and the words are streaming almost without conscious thought, when a knock at the door interrupts me like a record scratch. Heaving a groan at the disruption, I shove back from the large oak desk.
Glancing out the window it’s hard to miss how high the snow has piled this afternoon. Now I wonder who could possibly be out in this weather. I don’t get much traffic up this way in normal weather, it’s one of the reasons I bought this place. Even if it’s clichéd for a writer to be reclusive living in a remote cabin. I’ve never cared much what others think of me anyway.
I take a swallow of my beer, which is now warm, before shuffling to the door, grumbling because I’ve lost the momentum I barely got a start on. It’ll take me forever to get back into the groove.
On that thought I pull the door open with a growl. “What?”
