of Scrooge and his journey to become a better person. When Brenda Novak, Anna Adams and I first started brainstorming ideas for this project, I found myself intrigued by the idea of Scrooge (Simon Castle in my story) falling in love with the Ghost of Christmas Present (Emma Roberts). Okay, so Emma isn’t a ghost and Simon doesn’t wear a full-length nightshirt, but the idea that someone can make a difference in your perspective on life is fascinating. I hope you enjoy my lighthearted take on this classic tale.
I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site, www.melindacurtis.com, or regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316. Bah, humbug…er…happy holidays!
Melinda Curtis
ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS
Brenda Novak
Dear Reader,
I found the research for this novella very interesting, probably because I live close to the Sierra Nevada. I had no idea there were so many crash sites there, but it stands to reason. They’re such a rugged range. As sad as it is to think about the people who have gone down in these planes, I came across several stories of survival, which were very uplifting, especially the one about the boy who lasted several days alone—until rescuers could reach him—that is mentioned in the story. It’s amazing what people can do even in difficult circumstances!
I hope you enjoy Maxim and Adelaide’s story. Sometimes the best things come out of the greatest tragedy.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my home on the Web at www.brendanovak.com and sign up for my mailing list so that I can alert you whenever I have a new book out.
Merry Christmas and happy reading!
Brenda Novak
CHAPTER ONE
Tuesday, December 16
A DELAIDE F AIRFAX HAD been apprehensive about taking this flight from the very beginning. For one thing, she preferred not to be in such close proximity to her election opponent. Maxim Donahue, the man who’d filled her husband’s state senate position via special election two years ago, was working on his laptop across the aisle and slightly in front of her. He was the only other person on the seven-seater Cessna except for the pilot and, although he refused to show it, he couldn’t be happy that she’d been the one to claim Franklin Salazar’s endorsement at their meeting this morning. A very wealthy developer, Franklin would not only be a generous campaign benefactor, he’d be a strong influence on other key supporters.
But, despite the awkwardness of their association, it wasn’t being cooped up on a private plane with Donahue that’d tempted her to stay in Tahoe and forgo the governor’s fundraiser in Los Angeles. Neither was it the Christmas music that filtered through the speakers, reminding her of a season she preferred, for the third year, to forget. It was that she’d always hated flying. The newspaper article she’d read last week, detailing the shockingnumber of uncharted plane wrecks in the Sierra Nevadas, didn’t help. This range contained some of the highest mountains in the northern hemisphere—craggy, rocky peaks that soared above the timberline.
Those same craggy peaks were now lurking somewhere below them in the blizzardlike weather. How close, Adelaide didn’t know. But she had a feeling it was too close.
She knew the instant they were going to crash, but because of her fear, she couldn’t really describe it as a premonition. It was more of a gut instinct, a sudden prickly sensation that told her something terrible was about to happen—the same sensation she’d experienced right before she’d received the call notifying her of her husband’s fatal car accident.
She opened her mouth to ask the pilot if everything was okay but didn’t have a chance to voice the words. One of the powerful downdrafts they’d been battling almost since takeoff jerked the plane, and it lost altitude at such a rate her stomach jumped into her throat.
Senator Donahue looked back at her, his expression, for once, devoid of the contempt he typically reserved
I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site, www.melindacurtis.com, or regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316. Bah, humbug…er…happy holidays!
Melinda Curtis
ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS
Brenda Novak
Dear Reader,
I found the research for this novella very interesting, probably because I live close to the Sierra Nevada. I had no idea there were so many crash sites there, but it stands to reason. They’re such a rugged range. As sad as it is to think about the people who have gone down in these planes, I came across several stories of survival, which were very uplifting, especially the one about the boy who lasted several days alone—until rescuers could reach him—that is mentioned in the story. It’s amazing what people can do even in difficult circumstances!
I hope you enjoy Maxim and Adelaide’s story. Sometimes the best things come out of the greatest tragedy.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit my home on the Web at www.brendanovak.com and sign up for my mailing list so that I can alert you whenever I have a new book out.
Merry Christmas and happy reading!
Brenda Novak
CHAPTER ONE
Tuesday, December 16
A DELAIDE F AIRFAX HAD been apprehensive about taking this flight from the very beginning. For one thing, she preferred not to be in such close proximity to her election opponent. Maxim Donahue, the man who’d filled her husband’s state senate position via special election two years ago, was working on his laptop across the aisle and slightly in front of her. He was the only other person on the seven-seater Cessna except for the pilot and, although he refused to show it, he couldn’t be happy that she’d been the one to claim Franklin Salazar’s endorsement at their meeting this morning. A very wealthy developer, Franklin would not only be a generous campaign benefactor, he’d be a strong influence on other key supporters.
But, despite the awkwardness of their association, it wasn’t being cooped up on a private plane with Donahue that’d tempted her to stay in Tahoe and forgo the governor’s fundraiser in Los Angeles. Neither was it the Christmas music that filtered through the speakers, reminding her of a season she preferred, for the third year, to forget. It was that she’d always hated flying. The newspaper article she’d read last week, detailing the shockingnumber of uncharted plane wrecks in the Sierra Nevadas, didn’t help. This range contained some of the highest mountains in the northern hemisphere—craggy, rocky peaks that soared above the timberline.
Those same craggy peaks were now lurking somewhere below them in the blizzardlike weather. How close, Adelaide didn’t know. But she had a feeling it was too close.
She knew the instant they were going to crash, but because of her fear, she couldn’t really describe it as a premonition. It was more of a gut instinct, a sudden prickly sensation that told her something terrible was about to happen—the same sensation she’d experienced right before she’d received the call notifying her of her husband’s fatal car accident.
She opened her mouth to ask the pilot if everything was okay but didn’t have a chance to voice the words. One of the powerful downdrafts they’d been battling almost since takeoff jerked the plane, and it lost altitude at such a rate her stomach jumped into her throat.
Senator Donahue looked back at her, his expression, for once, devoid of the contempt he typically reserved
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