Chapter One

Snow peacefully fell outside the mullioned windows of the rustic mountain getaway, the Babbling Brook Bed and Breakfast, carpeting the pine trees and guest cabins in fluffy whiteness, sparkling against the inky late afternoon sky while inside the large kitchen a mighty battle waged on.

“Don’t beat the sugar and butter to death!” Vinnie burst out laughing from the computer screen.

Smiling at her sister’s critique despite herself, Mel O’Rourke slapped the rubber spatula at the goo in the mixing bowl. “It says to cream them, that’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m not sure ‘cream’ means what you think it does. You’ve got the flour, baking soda, and salt measured in separate bowls, right?”

“Yes, I did learn a few things from Paul Hollywood,” Mel joked as she dumped the mixture into the eggs and sugar. With a puff, flour dusted her wavy bob in a cloud of white. Both sisters burst out laughing.

The snowstorm, an unwanted holiday surprise, shut the sleepy mountain resort town of Pine Cove off from the rest of the world below, including leaving Mel stuck getting ready for the Christmas Festival Cookie Exchange without her star baker, her sister Vinnie. This should have been the Babbling Brook Bed and Breakfast’s grand re-opening since the O’Rourke family voted to buy it a few months ago. If they were going to be introduced to the community via a cookie, it had to be the family favorite—Grandma O’Rourke’s Starlight Mint Surprise cookies.

Mel hadn’t baked since she was a child, but she figured if she binge watched The British Bake Off, all would be well. It was not.

Finally, with Vinnie’s help via Zoom, they got the first batch of cookies in the oven. Mel never understood the name, since everybody knew Starlight Mints were those red and white hard candies—and this confectionary delight couldn’t be further from that sticky sweet. Grandma’s cookie comprised a round chocolate mint buried inside a vanilla and almond flavored cookie dough with half a walnut on top. The recipe was so old, passed down from one generation to the next, that the chocolate mint wafers were no longer commonly found in stores. Fortunately, Mel put her investigative skills to work and found a source online and had ordered extra just in case.

While the cookies baked, the sisters chatted about the five guests who had managed to make it up the hill before the snow closed the road.

Vinnie voiced the same question Mel had pondered several times. “Why on earth would the four yoga teachers from Culver City pick Pine Cove, in the middle of winter, for their retreat?”

“Beats me. They’re pleasant enough,” Mel paused before adding with a frown, “but it was so weird this morning. I swear Mr. Hubbard glared at one of them over breakfast.”

“Your scrambled eggs probably gave him indigestion,” Vinnie teased.

The dinging of the timer cut off Mel’s retort. Eager to see the result, she pulled the baking sheet from the oven only to have her face fall as flat as the cookies. She held the giant, pancake-like globs up to the computer screen.

Vinnie’s eyes twinkled in merriment. “Oh my gosh, what happened?”

As frustrated as Mel was, she joined in the laughter. “Shut up. I followed Grandma’s recipe to the letter, I don’t know what went wrong. She always makes it look so easy.”

Suddenly, Mel felt terribly alone. It wasn’t the baking failure, she didn’t mind that. Much. This was the first time she’d been more than a fifteen-minute drive from at least one member of her family for Christmas.

The rumble of a truck out front caught her attention. “Hang on, Vin.”

She hustled through the bed and breakfast’s small lobby to peer outside. All day long a band of volunteers had been setting up the booths and lights in the tiny town square opposite the Babbling Brook for the upcoming Christmas Festival. They were testing the multiple strands of cheery lights when a huge pickup truck chugged up the street and parked right in front of the inn, coming between Mel and the magical holiday display.

“Oh no he doesn’t!” Mel dashed back into the kitchen. “Sorry, I gotta go, Vin, this is the third time today he’s parked that truck right in front of our driveway to unload the stuff for the Christmas Festival. I’ll call you later.” She slammed the computer shut.

****

Mel banged out the front door, ramming her arms through the sleeves of a jacket meant for Los Angeles’ version of winter rather than the arctic blast of the top of a mountain. She stormed toward the young man unloading more lights and ladders from the back of the giant, sparkly new pickup truck.

“Hey!”

A man with the dark curly hair and mocha skin, slumped his shoulders and turned toward her, revealing startling aquamarine eyes. “Hey there. Again.” He greeted her in a voice that said he was as tired of this exchange as Mel.

Annoyed at the spark of humor that lit his eyes or the laughter he failed to suppress, she snapped, “What’s so funny—Jackson, isn’t it?”

“Excellent memory, yes, ma’am.” Because he spoke with a slight southern accent, she forgave the “ma’am” thing as part of his upbringing. They were the same age, for Pete’s sake. “Sorry, you’ve got powder all over your face”

Mel impatiently wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jacket, turning the navy material white with flour. “I told you before you can’t park here.”

It hadn’t taken her long to learn that in a small town with narrow roads parking was the biggest issue. Especially since the snowplow hadn’t come through to clean off the streets.

His smile showed off dimples that probably charmed most women. Thank goodness Mel was immune. “I’ll only be here ten minutes, tops. I promise. This is your first Christmas Festival, isn’t it? You’re going to love it. Food and carols, and snowball fights, of course. The most wonderful time of the year and all that? You can’t possibly hate Christmas so much that you’d stop me from setting it up?”

“And I told you before, I don’t care if this ‘will only take a minute.’ ” She used annoying air quotes for emphasis, having heard the same ‘only be a minute,’ line a hundred times back in LA. “Your truck is blocking my driveway. Again. How are my guests supposed to check in?”

His eyes sparkled behind his long, dark eyelashes. “If your guests aren’t here, they ain’t coming. No one is making it up that road for at least two days, so calm down, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

She opened her mouth to protest when a scream from inside the Babbling Brook pierced the night.