Here’s a little sneak peek at Inheriting Christmas. This is still going through revisions so everything is subject to change.
Emma
Emma gripped the wheel of her rented Mercedes with tight fingers, her knuckles turning white as she squinted over the dashboard. She cradled her phone between her ear and her shoulder, balancing it like a server carrying a loaded tray. The directions from the rental clerk and her map taunted her from the floorboard, as useless as her GPS app that couldn’t get a signal. She’d taken a turn too fast, distracted by arguing with her brother, sending the papers plummeting right along with her spirits.
“How long will this little project of yours take?” Technically Vaughn was her stepbrother, but technicalities were as pointless as fake yelp reviews. “You know the deadline to approve the layout of the San Francisco location is in three weeks, right? The date cannot be moved. You’re the one that said you wanted the chance to run that property from start to finish.”
“I know, and I do. I’ll be there. I’ve already contacted the potential buyer you referred my way, and it sounds promising. This will be quick and easy.” She punctuated her words with confidence. Proving she could oversee their newest location from construction to staffing was the best way to get the position she really wanted with Hanslberg hotels. COO.
Vaughn sighed the way he used to when she suggested the play hide and seek in the basement laundry facilities at the Paris property. “It would be even easier if you’d let legal handle it. This is what we retain them for.” He’d used his manager’s voice, not his brother’s voice.
But leaving it to lawyers and accountants didn’t feel right. Emma hadn’t known Nicholas Sinclair, but he was her father. She owed this much to him. It shouldn’t take long to wrap things up, and she’d be back to her amazing job, back to her exotic life, and back to the newest Hanslberg Hotel. Her days filled once more with staff changes, problems to solve, and cranky guests, but also housekeepers, a chef on staff, and a spa on site. A spa with a deliciously handsome masseuse.
“Are you doing this because of what happened with— “
“This has nothing to do with Derek Whitcomb. Nothing,” Emma snapped. And it didn’t. “I trusted him. He cheated me. I made a bad investment. And now, I’m over it. It’s done.” Or would be, when her lawyers finished with him. Okay, sure. The way he’d tossed her aside as soon as the ink was dry on their deal still stung. Emma had gotten caught up in hopes and dreams, taking Derek at his word that the property he wanted her to buy would suit their needs. Now she was the not so proud owner of both an expensive swamp that couldn’t be built on, and a reputation for letting her heart get in the way of business. She had every intention of liquidating both of those assets. Selling Candy Cane Lane was Emma’s chance for redemption. If she could remain impartial and sell the property for a good price, despite her personal connection to it, she would be on the right track.
“Hey, can you look up the directions for me? My map’s on the floor and GPS is crapping out.”
Silence filled the line. “Vaughn?”
Nothing.
Great, just great. Emma pulled the phone away from her ear, chancing a glance at the screen.
Black.
She tried to wake it up, and nothing happened. That explained the beep she’d heard a few minutes ago. Her battery had died, caving under the constant attempts to get a signal for GPS.
If the airline hadn’t lost her suitcase, she could have charged it. She should have stopped at the store and gotten another charger, but it was too late for shoulda-coulda-woulda. She would make do.
Emma glanced down at the floor where the map taunted her. She’d been confused when the clerk gave her the paper map, with a cheery — and somewhat amused — “Good luck.” Now, Emma understood.
This was like being back in the stone ages. Or at least the previous decade. No wonder her mother had high-tailed it out of Timber Ridge at the first opportunity. At least Emma had experience using an old-fashioned map.
Sort of.
She’d used one before. Once. Her mother took her to Italy for the ribbon cutting of a hotel there. For the last twenty years, that had been her life. Traveling all over the world, a different hotel every few months as her parents oversaw numerous properties. Hank Hanslberg prided himself on being a hands-on owner.
That was another reason Emma insisted on seeing the property Nicholas Sinclair left to her. Hank was the only father she’d ever known, and getting a good price for the farm would make him proud. She’d prove to the shareholders she was every bit as much a Hanslberg as Vaughn, and they needn’t worry with Emma and Vaughn in charge.
While in Italy, she and Mom made a game of exploring the city with only a paper map. No phones, no technology, no itinerary. Just wandering and enjoying and seeing what they could discover. They’d stumbled across the best pastries she’d ever tasted. Soon those divine little bites of bliss were on the menu of every Hanslberg property.
Something told Emma she wasn’t going to find luxuries like that here in Timber Ridge.
There was an obituary tucked under the map, its edges already wrinkled from overhandling. She hadn’t been able to help reading it over and over. It told the story of the man who’d given her life, but never love. He’d been a highly valued member of the town, on the town council, the kind of man everyone knew. Everyone but his daughter. It pained her to read about him, recognizing none of the details. Maybe she’d just leave it sitting there. But the map on the other hand… No matter how she squinted, she couldn’t decipher where her next turn should be. She didn’t recall seeing anyone else on the deserted road in quite a while, so rather than pulling over she leaned down to grab the map and directions. Her fingertips brushed the paper. Emma stretched, determined to grab it.
There! She’d gotten it. She straightened, returning her eyes to the road just in time. Emma jammed the brake pedal, her heart thundering as the car careened onto the shoulder, then bucked to a stop amid screeching tires mere inches from a line of barbed wire fencing. But several feet away from the source of her panic.
Right there in the middle of the road, a massive black and white cow met her gaze through the windshield. It took a half step toward her, and Emma flinched, wondering belatedly if cows were aggressive. Bored with their staring contest, the creature lowered its head and nibbled at a taller weed not covered by snow. Either these roads were very narrow, the cow was exceptionally large, or both.
And how was she supposed to get around? What if she tried driving past, and it ran into the side of her car? Vaughn totaled his first car when he was a teen because a deer ran into the passenger door late one evening. He joked he hadn’t hit a deer, a deer hit him. Emma certainly didn’t want to hit a cow with her rental car.
Shifting into reverse, she figured she could at least get the car back on the road.
The tires spun wildly, yet the car didn’t budge. She’d have to get out and examine the problem. “I just need a plan. I can handle this,” she told herself firmly. The only thing Emma was better at than formulating plans was seeing them through. She’d analyze the problem, draft a solution, and then execute said plan. No big deal. She could handle this.
First the car. Then the cow.
Emma pried open the door handle and climbed out, silently congratulating herself on her choice of practical footwear. She’d dressed casually in a pair of designer jeans, a puffy vest, luxury white turtleneck, and knee-high brown fashion boots. It seemed like the perfect outfit for visiting a horse farm.
Her horse farm, she had to remind herself. At least until she sold it. But she needed to remember her role. She wasn’t sure how many employees Candy Cane Lane had, but just like with hotel staff it was imperative she establish her authority if she wanted to garner any respect. Especially since they didn’t know her at all. Friendly, but firm. That’s how she should conduct herself.
Moisture seeped through her boots, soaking her socks. So much for practical footwear. She steadied herself with a hand against her rental car, trying not to slip on the slick road. The snow was only up to her ankle, but even that was enough to be a nuisance. Turning to the back end of the car, she immediately saw the problem. The nose of the car rested far enough into the ditch that the back wheel lifted in the air.
With a dead phone, she couldn’t even call for help. Not that she had anyone to call. Did AAA even come out this far? She was almost surprised anyone actually lived out here! The wind picked up, trying to pull her long brunette hair from the tidy bun she’d twisted it into before getting on the plane in London.
Emma glanced at her watch.
That had been nearly fourteen hours ago! No wonder she was so bone tired. Two connecting flights, and even then, she’d had a ninety-minute drive to reach Timber Ridge, which offered no airport of its own.
And no Hanslberg Hotel, either. Emma was accustomed to travel, but she always stayed at her family’s properties, or other luxury resorts. Timber Ridge didn’t have anything like that. But wallowing over the conditions wouldn’t get her off the frozen road, wouldn’t move her car, and wouldn’t move the cow, so she’d just have to worry about that later. The only way to go was forward.
Emma looked around. If there was pasture, this had to be a farm. Or a ranch or something. She hadn’t passed a lane anytime in the last few minutes, so she’d bet if she kept going, she should come to a driveway. When she did, she would follow it to the house and ask to use their phone.
Headlights glowed in the distance, accompanied by the rumbling of a large engine. Whoever it was would have to stop, because the cow was still very much blocking the road. The nerves that had tightened her chest loosened. The relief of not having to walk in the cumbersome snow outweighed any concern about encountering a stranger on a deserted road.
The silver beast of a truck that came around the bend was even bigger than she’d predicted, with huge tires that glided easily over the snow.
The driver parked on the opposite side of the road from her tiny rental—which looked even smaller compared to his truck—and came around the front toward her. Emma flashed him a sheepish grin.
“Hello, there!” he called. “Are you all right?” His voice was as smooth as honey, which fit well with the dark, dirty blonde color of his hair. He’d cropped it close on the sides, but the top was a mess of tousled waves, like maybe he had a habit of running his fingers through it. She found herself smiling back. The man’s eyes were warm and kind, and crinkled at the corner when he returned her smile, putting her at ease.
“Well, I seem to be stuck, but I’m okay. Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead.” She held it up, as if offering proof. “I was just thinking I’d have to walk to find a house with a phone when you came along.” She’d call the farm, explain who she was, and then instruct someone to come escort her.
He paused by the cow, his eyes roaming up and down, over its back, then its legs. Whatever he saw, he seemed satisfied. Maybe he owned the cow?
“There aren’t any houses for a couple miles, but don’t worry, I can probably get you out. Let’s have a look see.” He glanced at his watch, frowning. “We don’t get many people passing through this way unless there’s an accident on the interstate. Where ya headed?”
Emma wasn’t sure why, but the thought of telling him why she was here made her self conscious. Something she almost never was. But it wasn’t like she could lie to him, and she had no reason to be ashamed. “Candy Cane Lane. It belonged to—” Words stuck on her tongue like they’d been papier-mâchéd in place. “I came to see it before I sell it later this week.” Emma stuck out a hand. “I’m Emma Sinclair-Hanslberg. Nice to meet you.”
His entire expression changed. The smile lines disappeared as his eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. He refused her offered hand, looking at it the way she looked at competitors’ properties. She pulled her arm back, tucking her fingers between her elbow and her side.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be.”
Emma blinked, trying to process the abrupt shift in demeanor. “I can’t use your phone first? Please?” She hated the way a note of fear crept into her voice. He’d said there weren’t any houses nearby. What would she do out here on her own? “Or could you give me a ride into town? Something?” Anything.
The attractive man with the less than attractive attitude just shook his head, glaring at her like this was all somehow her fault. Like she’d asked for the father she didn’t know to die. Or asked to be put in charge of his estate. Or asked to have a cow run her off the road! None of this was her fault, and she was just doing the best she could. Before she could tell the stranger any of that, he nodded to her once more, saying, “Have a nice day, Ms. Sinclair.” Then he climbed back into his enormous truck, drove right over the shoulder as if it was nothing, veering around the cow and heading down the road. His tail lights shrank rapidly, and within a minute, Emma was alone with the cow once more.
The long day and impossible situation finally got the best of her and her good manners. “It’s Sinclair-Hanslberg!” she shouted, though only the cow could hear.
Now what was she supposed to do?
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