Chapter 1
The afternoon sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across Yule Notch as I drove into town. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen overnight, covering the world in a layer of sparkling white, making the small New Hampshire town look like a Christmas postcard come to life. Someone had been up early plowing the main road. Tire tracks, crisp and clean, cut through the snow that still blanketed the rest of the landscape.
As I steered up the inn’s driveway in my old pickup truck, my heart did a little jig. The old Victorian home stood tall, a welcome silhouette against the winter sky.
“This is yours now, Annie. The Yule Drop Inn,” I whispered, my lips tracing the words.
Parking, I took a deep breath of crisp, cold air. When I stepped out, the snow crunched a welcome under my boots. Afternoon light dappled the frosted pines, sprinkling a diamond-dust sparkle around me. The inn stood majestic yet hospitable, its windows twinkling hellos in the sunlight.
I pushed open the front door, and a homey vibe washed over me. This had been Aunt Ivy’s realm. Flashbacks tumbled. I could almost envision her bustling around the old place, her welcoming grin infectious. Silence filled the inn now, but her essence lingered, infusing every corner. The scent of pine and cinnamon, the characteristic creaks underfoot, her mark on every bit of antiquity—the inn wasn’t just a building. It was Ivy’s bequest and my inheritance.
A lump formed in my throat as I toed off my boots and paced farther in. The mahogany staircase, grand fireplace, and snug corners offered plush seats. My great-aunt had been an influence on me when I was a child. I’d spent numerous holidays at the inn. Sure, I hadn’t been there much since I was a teen, but her recent loss was a gut punch. This gift of the inn felt like a balm, an opportunity to hit Refresh.
My thoughts meandered to my city life—the relentless hours, the imposing caseloads, the stress that permeated my very being. I recalled my chaotic desk, the teetering piles of case files, and the perpetual duel for justice amid shrewd defense lawyers. I shook the memories away. That was yesterday.
If city life had taught me anything, it was that surfaces lied. People harbored secrets buried under layers of cordial smiles. But surely, that was a city thing. This snowy hamlet would be different, right?
A subtle noise, like the scrabble of tiny hooves on frozen ground, broke through my contemplation. My heart thudded in my chest, the sudden shift in my serene surroundings putting me on high alert. I was a city girl, and any unexplained noise got my adrenaline pumping.
I stepped out onto the back porch, the cold wooden planks a sharp contrast to the warmth of my socks. Snowflakes began to twirl from the darkening sky, landing on my cheeks with a cool kiss.
I spotted movement near the tree line—a small, huddled form struggling against a snowbank. It was a baby deer, its feeble limbs plunging in and out of the
fluffy snow, a shimmer of panic visible in its wide black eyes. At least, I thought it was a baby deer.
“You sure don’t look like the ones I’ve seen on TV,” I muttered. I thought deer were bigger. But I was from the city. What did I know about wildlife? In Manhattan, the wildest thing I’d encountered was the occasional overly bold pigeon. Did deer attack people? I didn’t think so.
Summoning my courage, I trudged through the powdery snow, my socks immediately becoming wet and my feet frozen. The deer looked impossibly small, with strange ears poking out of its head, but it had antlers, it was the right color, and it looked like it needed help. I noticed subtle indents in the snow leading to the woods. Footprints? If so, they had been snowed over by a recent storm.
“Here, little guy. Are you stuck?” I held out my hand creeping closer. Something purple and shiny was tangled in its antlers. A garland?
With a surprisingly agile leap, the tiny creature sprang over a snowbank. Startled, I gave chase, but my clumsy city legs and inappropriate footwear were no match for this nimble forest animal.
With a sudden, unexpected spin of the world, I found myself on my back, the icy crunch of the snow against my sweater a sharp contrast to the heated rush of adrenaline surging through my veins. The world swam above me, and I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut as I took mental inventory of my bones to see if anything was broken.
Suddenly, a wet, warm sensation traced my cheek. Cracking an eye open, I found myself nose to nose with the baby deer. As my gaze cleared, I noticed we were not alone. Three elderly ladies loomed over me, seemingly more interested in my predicament than in the plight of the baby deer.
With a thin cackle of dry amusement, a voice drew my attention. “Well, aren’t you a sight,” one of the women said, her silver hair pulled tight into a bun, spectacles magnifying the gleam of mischief in her sharp eyes. She stretched a hand toward me. “Agnes, at your service, and this here is Betty and Doris.” She nodded at the other two.
“Are you Annie?” Betty asked in a much softer voice, her rosy cheeks dimpling.
Caught off guard, I nodded. “Yes, how did you know?”
The third woman, Doris, gave a soft chuckle, her face a landscape of warm wrinkles. “Ivy did love to talk about you, dear. We knew you were coming, so we figured we’d come over and welcome you to town.”
“You’re friends of my aunt?” I asked, already feeling warm at the thought of these ladies making a special trip to welcome me. I remembered Ivy talking about “the girls” but couldn’t remember meeting them.
The three of them exchanged an ominous look that faded some of the warmth. “Indeed, we are. Her best friends, I’d say.”
I clutched the deer in my arms, its tiny nose burrowing against my neck, a flurry of warmth against the chill. My mind spun trying to keep up, taking in the friendly faces and the absurdity of my predicament.
Betty, the rosy-cheeked woman, tilted her head. “How on earth did you end up on the ground?”
“I was rescuing this baby deer. It got stuck and—”
A sudden burst of laughter cut me off. “That’s no deer, dearie,” Agnes managed, her words interspersed with gleeful chuckles. “That’s a chihuahua!”
“Someone put reindeer ears on him!” Betty reached down and removed the antlers. I should have noticed they weren’t real antlers. Betty looked them over. “Well, they are quite realistic.”
The dog looked up at me with hope in his deep-brown eyes.
“Do you know who he belongs to?” I asked the three ladies.
They shook their heads. “You’d better take him in, and you can ask Nora down at the animal center tomorrow. It’s right on Main Street. It’s too late today. She’s closed by now,” Doris said.
A gust of frigid wind blew by, making us all shiver. Agnes, rubbing her gloved hands together, nodded toward the inn. “For now, let’s get inside. A hot chocolate sounds just right now. What do you say, ladies?” She didn’t wait for an answer, already marching toward the back door of the inn.
With a last look at the tiny creature nestled in my arms, I followed the ladies inside. A new town, a new home, and a new temporary pet—my life was certainly taking an unexpected turn.
***
The door shut behind us, keeping out the biting cold. I gazed around the inn’s kitchen, which was untouched since Aunt Ivy’s sudden departure. The cozy room held the faint scent of cinnamon and warm bread, a testament to many a joyous meal.
Agnes rolled up her sleeves and started rummaging through the cupboards for mugs. Apparently, she knew where everything was. Doris patted a sturdy oak chair, beckoning me to sit at the wide pine table in the center of the room.
“So, Annie,” Agnes began, setting a kettle to boil, “what’s your plan? Are you going to reopen the inn?” The clink of porcelain mugs being set on the table filled the momentary silence.
“I think I will.” The words came out with more confidence than I felt. Yet in that instant, I knew it was the right decision. “It’s what Aunt Ivy would’ve wanted.”
“Good.” Betty’s voice held warmth, and her smile was genuine and encouraging. “She’d like that. It was her pride and joy.”
Meanwhile, the Chihuahua danced around happily, occasionally pausing to sniff at various items, his tiny tail wagging excitedly. He was undeniably adorable, and my heart was already softening toward him.
Betty squinted at the dog. “Doesn’t he look a bit on the thin side?”
I cast a glance at the Chihuahua. He did seem to be all bones and big, hopeful eyes. “Maybe we can find something for him to eat around here.” Cupboards creaked open one by one under my inspection until I hit the jackpot: a can of dog food.
“Well, look at that,” I murmured, my surprise mirrored in the three pairs of eyes watching me. “Aunt Ivy had dog food.”
A bark and a whirlwind of tail wagging confirmed the dog’s approval of my discovery. ...
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