Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Guilt floods through me.
This isn’t about inventory management. This is about the fact that my brain has been gnawing away at itself for days. And now, I’m taking it out on Bran, who’s done absolutely nothing wrong except want his grouchy older brother come stay at the mansion with the rest of them for the entire season.
“Sorry.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m…wrestling with some things. For work. I’ll go get the coffee. I need some fresh air anyway.”
Bran nods. “Clearly. Get lots of air. And fudge. You need fudge. It’s the only thing with enough sugar in it to sweeten you up again.”
He leaves before I can respond, which is just as well.
I don’t have anything nice to say.
Best if I don’t say anything at all.
The ride into town on the snowmobile is cold and loud, which helps.
The wind whips against my face, numbing my cheeks and making my eyes water. The roar of the engine drowns out thought, forcing me to focus on the mechanics of navigation—the turns, the terrain, the patches of ice hidden under fresh snow.
But once I park behind the post office and start walking toward the Kountry Store, the intrusive thoughts intrude once more.
Now, they’re layered with a fresh coat of guilt about snapping at Bran. We’ve all been growing closer, especially since the sick spell, bonding in a way we haven’t since we were children. They were starting to relax around me, to treat me more like a brother and less like the taskmaster guardian who took over ruling their lives after our father failed them.
And now I’ve gone and damaged our progress.
I wasn’t just an ass to Holly. I’ve been a terror to live with since what I saw at the caroling that night.
Or what I thought I saw.
I’m so lost in rumination that I don’t register the voices coming from beside the Kountry Store until I’m almost on top of them. But then I hear a strained voice beg, “Let’s just take a breath. Maybe she just needs a minute to calm down and realize she’s safe here.”
I recognize the sweet, patient tone immediately.
Holly.
It’s her professional voice, the one she uses to great effect to soothe both anxious pets and owners alike.
I glance around the corner, spotting her in the space between the Kountry Store and the art gallery, where the light is nice and even, and a mural of Silver Bell Falls in the 1950s forms a perfect backdrop for an outdoor portrait.
It looks like she’s shooting a couple—late forties, expensively dressed in a way that screams “five-star ski resort”—with a small, traumatized terrier. The dog is trembling hard enough to lift its small body off the ground, its ears pinned back, trying desperately to hide behind the woman’s legs.
It makes Daisy, the beagle, look calm by comparison.
“Come on, Colette, don’t do this again,” the woman grits through clenched teeth. “I swear, Kyle, this dog is impossible.” She gives the leash a sharp jerk, making the small dog yelp in pain as she drags it forward by the neck.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“Here, why don’t I give her a little something to distract her?” Holly moves forward, a treat in hand, but the man—Kyle—shifts to block her path.
“She doesn’t need treats. Our trainer discourages bribing the animal.” His voice drips with condescension. “Colette knows how to behave. She’s just being stubborn because she didn’t want to leave the room and go out in the cold.”
“Well, it is chilly today,” Holly says, wincing slightly as Kyle roughly adjusts the dog, ignoring her whimper of distress. Her professional tone is strained as she adds, “And I understand that some trainers have that philosophy, but in a new environment, away from home, dogs often need—”
“We’re paying you for photos, not training advice,” the woman cuts her off with a put-upon sigh. “Can we please just get this done? We have dinner reservations at six, and we need time to get back to the lodge and change.”
Holly’s shoulders tense, but she nods. “Of course. Let me see what I can get.”
She moves back, bringing the camera to her face with one hand as she gently wiggles her free fingers at her side. “Hey, sweetheart. Hi, Colette, can you look up here for me, princess? That’s right, just a little—”
The man jerks the dog’s collar again, attempting to force her chin up toward the camera. The terrier lets out a sharp bark of protest, her claws scrabbling on the pavement as she makes a desperate attempt to run back toward the parking lot behind the store.
“Colette, stop!” the woman snaps. “Sit! Now.”
“Sit!” Kyle roars, making everyone flinch, including me.
The dog cowers, trembling harder as she leaves a small puddle beneath her.
Holly sounds sincerely shaken as she begs, “Please. I think we need to take a break. She’s clearly—”