Love at First Snow: A Christmas Miracle by Boroughs PublishingGroup

 
    Chapter 1—Blue Christmas
    Merry effing Christmas .
    Blake Daniels plunked his butt down on the
front steps of his rustic cedar home, elbows on his thighs, hands
clasped in front of him. He didn’t give a shit that the six inches
of snow and ice on the steps froze his ass through his jeans. The
snow might be pretty, but it was terribly out of place here in the
San Juan Islands and he was determined to ignore it.
    Yeah. Bah, humbug.
    Once, Christmas had been his favorite time
of year, a time to celebrate with family and count his many
blessings. Yeah, once. Now it was a mixture of melancholy
memories and painful realities.
    Blake stared at the surprisingly wintry
scene around him. Heavy snow bent the boughs on the cedar trees
nearby. Christmas lights twinkled cheerfully on his neighbors’
homes. Every once in a while laughter from inside the closest house
echoed off the water and drifted up the hill, but that only made
his chest clench with pain. In the distance, Madrona Channel
churned with water so black and angry a Washington State ferry
bound for the ferry landing rocked and rolled. He’d bet his best
pair of skates they would shut down the ferries for the night after
this sailing.
    The storm added to his dark mood. He
couldn’t explain why he tortured himself every year by returning to
this house. Maybe he kept hoping he’d find what he’d lost. Maybe it
was good old-fashioned denial. Maybe he was just plain nuts.
    Early this morning he’d walked onto the San
Juan Island ferry in Anacortes, Washington, to spend his Christmas
the same way he’d spent the last four: by himself on this remote
island with just ghosts for company. Not real ghosts, but
recollections from his past. The scent of his mother’s gingerbread
cookies in the oven. Christmas music played by his sister on the
piano near the window. A college football game on in the den. His
father and youngest brother arguing over whether or not the
Seahawks would make the playoffs. His older brother building a
raging fire in the fireplace. They were all things he’d taken for
granted, assumed they’d always be there. If only he’d taken that
same Christmas Eve flight four years ago, he wouldn’t be the one
left alone to pick up the pieces. He’d be in a watery grave with
his parents and siblings, none the wiser and a whole lot more
peaceful. There were worse ways to go, like dying a slow death
inside every day while going through the motions of a life he no
longer knew how to live.
    For as long as he could remember, his family
had flown from all parts of the country to spend the holidays at
their vacation home on Orcas Island here in the San Juans. Then
came the fatal night their chartered floatplane crashed into the
frigid waters of the Straits of Juan De Fuca. His sister had texted
him at takeoff to let him know they were in the air and would see
him soon. A few hours later, completely unaware of the tragedy,
Blake arrived and wondered where the hell everyone was.
    It had been snowing then, too. He’d texted
his sister first. No response. He’d called her cell and actually
got through, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Next, he
tried both brothers and his sister-in-law. Same result. His parents
didn’t have cell phones. To quote his dad, they’d lived without
them for sixty-plus years and didn’t need them now. Frustrated and
wondering if they were playing one hell of a joke on him, he’d
called the floatplane company. He hadn’t expected an answer and
didn’t get one, but he left a message with contact info. He then
spent a sleepless night pacing. With no internet access, no
late-night ferry service and spotty cell phone reception, he
couldn’t do much but wait for morning. Staring at the snow.
    A county sheriff knocked on his door at six
a.m. One look at the man’s face and Blake knew. He just knew . Two days later he’d walked onto the ice and played
hockey because only on the ice could he possibly forget.
    Only, he couldn’t