Read sample Snow hard feelings | A snowy and hot Romantic Comedy

Chapter One

Houses talk.

In the middle of the night—when sounds of the day have silenced, the noises that a house makes can be heard. Floorboards creak and squeak. Pipes bang as though tapped with invisible hands. Windows rattle at a gust of wind.

Summer Costello lay in the bed that had been hers since childhood listening to the familiar sounds. Eight long years ago she’d left home. Tonight was the first night back in her childhood bed. Back in her childhood home. The experience was both familiar and strange. She’d never expected she would be back—especially under these circumstances.

A scratching, scraping sound.

She looked toward the window. A tendril hanging from the Boston vine that clung to the outside of the house whipped against the window. It needed pruning. Tomorrow, she’d get out the ladder and attend to it. That’s if the weather improved; clambering up the ladder in a howling gale was totally out of the question.

At least the kitchen was well stocked. She hadn’t wanted to risk bumping into anyone in the local stores, so had done a large shop in a supermarket outside town on her way from the airport. There seemed no point in buying a turkey and all the trimmings, surely there could be nothing more pathetic than cooking and eating a Christmas dinner alone, so she’d stocked up with Christmas booze, chocolates, good coffee, and everything she’d need to cook simple meals.

Ma would be appalled to discover Summer had spent Christmas here alone. If she told her parents the truth, they would have cancelled their much-anticipated vacation in Spain with her brother. Would have stayed at home or paid for Summer to join them. She’d always been their golden girl—they’d be so disappointed in her if they knew the truth.

A high, keening sound. Summer tilted her head to the side and listened.

Again. She crept out of bed and walked to the window. Pressed her ear against the cold glass and strained to hear the faint sound through the noise of the storm. Again she heard it—a high, frightened yowling. Some poor animal was out there.

Quickly she dressed in warm clothes and pulled on snow boots. She stuck her arms through the parka and padded downstairs.

When she jerked open the front door a frigid gust of air whipped long strands of hair against her face. From inside, she’d thought it was raining, but the ever-growing pile of small ice bullets pushing against the front door proved her wrong. Hail. She sniffed. The scent of snow was in the air.

The Costello family home was a few miles outside town and anytime it snowed the road became quickly impassable. Its aspect, halfway up the mountain leading out of Brookbridge, provided breathtaking views, but the flipside made navigating the narrow roads difficult in the snow unless you had a vehicle made for it.

The Ford Fiesta Summer hired at the airport didn’t qualify.

The noise cut through the tempest again.

“Where are you?” She grabbed a flashlight from the hall table, stepped out and pulled the door closed.

The cold wind bit through her clothing. With jerky movements, she zipped the parka to the top, and pulled the fur-trimmed hood over her head. She played the beam of the flashlight out into the darkness, then back against the shelter of the house’s walls, searching for the animal.

She’d dipped her chin down, but cold beads of hail struck Summer’s face again and again stinging her forehead and cheeks as she circled the house. “Where the hell are you?” she muttered under her breath.

The cry again.

Summer’s head jerked to the right, following the noise, finally homing in on the animal’s location. The door to the woodshed was closed, but upon further examination, her flashlight revealed a hole at the bottom—a hole big enough…

She shot the bolt and stepped inside.

“It’s okay.” Her gaze tracked the beam to the wood stacked neatly at the back of the shed. To the piles of larger rings, yet to be cut, that littered the dirty cobbled floor. She played the light to the left. A pair of glowing eyes reflected in the darkness.

A dog.

Its breed was indeterminate in the darkness, but it was a large breed. Not skinny like a Lurcher, or powerfully built like a Doberman or Rottweiler, the dog was more like a wolf. Perhaps an Alsatian.

It lay on its side, its chest rising and falling rapidly. Its back leg was at an unnatural angle, and the light picked out a glistening black spot at the top of the leg.

“It’s okay.” She crouched to make herself appear less threatening and took a step forward.

The dog bared its teeth, and a deep growl issued from its throat.

It was warm and snug in Nick Logan’s hermetically-sealed apartment. He drained his coffee cup, stacked it in the dishwasher, and groaned at the sight outside the window. As usual, the weather forecasters had got it wrong. They’d foreseen the storm, but hadn’t said anything about snow.

And snow there was. Inches of it.

The creak and snap of the metal letterbox, and then a flurry of mail hit the mat inside the door. Nick walked over and picked it up. Junk mail, junk mail, bill, junk mail, bill, postcard. He tossed all the items except the postcard onto the hall table.

A large black bull. With a grin, Nick flipped the card over.

A scrawled D concluded the note from his best friend, Declan Costello. He’d been vaguely tempted by the offer of flying out to spend Christmas in Declan’s new pad in Andalucía—who wouldn’t be? After working all through the holiday last year, it was his partner in the practice’s turn to be on call this year, so he had a week off—starting tomorrow. But the thought of playing happy families with Declan’s parents for the week had cemented Nick’s decision to defer it.

Two weeks in July. That’s when he’d go. Declan had been in Spain for four months, and his job contract was for a year—there was plenty of time to take Declan up on his offer.

Nick grabbed the Land Rover keys off the table, picked up his coat, and left the house.

Traffic was light in Brookbridge, partly because it was early, but also because of the snow. The roads were covered; the council hadn’t salted them yesterday, so conditions were treacherous. He pulled up outside Brookbridge Veterinary and parked.

The building was in darkness. As usual, he was the first one in. The practice didn’t open for an hour, he’d have time to go through the paperwork and prepare for the day. He and his partner Sean were the principal vets in the practice and they employed another two vets and three veterinary nurses. Evie the receptionist rounded out the team.

Nick put on the coffee machine—they always complained about the strength of his coffee, but drank it anyway—and walked to Evie’s desk to scan the appointment book. Two operations—easy ones, a cat to be spayed and a dog to be neutered. Various smaller procedures.

He rotated the appointment book back into place and straightened.

The phone rang.

He glanced up at the clock. No-one would be expecting the office to be manned at this time in the morning—he should let the answering machine get it—but something made Nick snatch up the receiver. “Brookbridge Veterinary.”

“Oh, thank goodness you answered,” a flustered female voice said. “I really need your help.”

“We’re not actually open for another hour—”

“I understand, but I really need your help. I’ve been out all night with an injured dog—I can’t get him inside, and he’s so cold.”

“What happened?” Nick picked up a pen and ripped a page off Evie’s notebook. “Are we his vet?” Her voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

“I don’t know who his vet is. I doubt he even has one. He’s not my dog.” She spoke quickly. “Look, I just didn’t know who to call. I haven’t lived here in years. He must be a stray, or have been dumped. His ribs are sticking out, and he has a frayed rope around his neck—maybe he was tied up and escaped or something. I didn’t want to call the ISPCA…His leg is hurt and he can’t walk…”

“Okay.” Every animal, no matter the circumstances, deserved a chance. Nick made a snap decision. “I’ll come out. What’s your address?”

“It’s sort of complicated.”

He jotted notes as she explained the route out of town, mentally cataloguing all the houses. A lifetime in Brookbridge meant he knew practically everyone and had visited most of the houses in the immediate area for one reason or another.

“So you turn left, drive two miles, and the house is on the left…”

He’d stopped writing a few minutes ago. Had sat in Evie’s chair and marveled at the fact that he’d somehow not recognized her voice instantly.

“Hello, Summer.”

Summer blinked. “Who is this?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat. “Ah, this is Nick Logan. Declan’s friend.”

Nick Logan. She closed her eyes tight. Of course. Declan had said something about Nick training to become a vet, but she’d forgotten. She’d presumed he would have left the small Irish town when he qualified, that he would have struck out for a new town, or another country—not only would there be more opportunities for a vet in other places, but somewhere else would also be more exciting, more interesting. Before she’d even left school, she was planning to study overseas and exploit all the opportunities the big, wide world had to offer.

A brief memory of her younger brother’s best friend flashed into her mind’s eye. Nick Logan, seventeen, dressed in board shorts and lounging around in this very house’s back garden, one hot, long ago summer. At twenty, he’d been here at this very house at her sendoff party.

“Nick. Wow, I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Three,” he said quickly. “Declan and I came over to London for the opening of Summer’s Kitchen.”

Her pride and joy. The culmination of all her dreams. That night, her future stretched ahead full of wonderful possibilities. Michael had asked to move in with her that night, and with her friends and family around her it had been the best evening of her life.

She’d forgotten that Nick had also attended.

“Time flies.” Dreams die. “So you’re the vet now.” She mentally face palmed at the obviousness of her words. Duh, yes…but she just kept talking, making it worse. “I mean, obviously you’re the vet, um…”

She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d been determined not to meet anyone she knew in Brookbridge. Not to even confess that she’d spent Christmas in her parents’ home alone until she felt strong enough to fasten the mask she always wore back in place. Nick must be wondering about her being in Ireland—he must know her parents were in Spain—she should say something.

He beat her to it. “I want you to explain this dog’s injuries to me in as much detail as you can.” His voice was impersonal and matter-of-fact. “Your road is always terrible in the snow, but I have a Land Rover, so I’ll make it. I want to be ready for anything.”

He’d cut through her waffle like a chef with a Sabatier.

Summer took a deep breath, and gathered her thoughts. “I think his back leg is broken, I can’t get close enough to check, but it’s at an odd angle, and there’s a big cut with blood at the top of his leg. He’s pretty wild. When I approached him last night he bared his teeth and growled at me. He’s obviously frightened. I gave him a steak and he devoured it. After that, he stopped growling, but he wouldn’t let me nearer. You should bring a tranquillizer.” The dog was obviously frightened and traumatized. It was more than likely that the only option would be to put him down—an aggressive dog didn’t have many options.

Any of the farms nearby would have shot the dog on sight.

“He may be beyond saving,” she said. “But I can’t just leave him out there. I have to give him a chance. Um…” Summer hesitated for a moment, then decided she had no option but to make the request. “I hate to ask, but could you bring some dog food with you?”

“Of course,” Nick said. “Do you want me to bring you anything else? This weather is setting in—firelighters, milk, bread?”

She’d loaded up with most things but…“Firelighters and matches would be good. And I guess extra bread could be useful. I’m fairly well stocked, apart from those.”

“Okay. I need to brief my colleagues here, so it’ll be an hour or so before I make it out there.” Brief, to the point, and efficient.

“That sounds great. Thanks, Nick.”

She hung up. It had been one hell of a night. The dog had been unable to make it across the floor to where she crouched, but she had no doubt if he could, he would have attacked her. Maybe she was crazy even trying to save this dog.

Chapter Two

Summer Costello.

Nick leaned back in Evie’s leather swivel chair and closed his eyes. He hadn’t seen her for three years but the mental image that popped into his mind was vivid. Average height, around five foot six, but that was the only thing average about her. She’d won every prize there was at school, and as well as excelling academically she had been captain of the hockey team and head girl. She’d been popular and confident, girls wanted to be her, and boys wanted to be her boyfriend.

The last time he’d really had a chance to speak to her was before she left to go to London. At twenty-two, Summer had worn her auburn-verging-on-red hair long, framing her face in unruly waves. Her eyes were a vivid shade of blue he’d never seen on anyone else—her brother’s were brown. Crushing on Summer’s friends had been a popular pastime of his and Declan’s, but Summer was always out of bounds. And for her part, Summer had never reciprocated his interest.

In fact, the very opposite.

Three years ago, the crazy dream of one day being with her had died forever.

Nick stood up and walked into the surgery to pack supplies he would need to treat the dog. Ideally, after sedation he would bring it back to the practice for surgery, but there was always the possibility that would prove impossible so he also packed the chemicals needed to put the dog to sleep.

A tinkling sound alerted him to the fact that someone had entered the building. In the reception area, Evie was hanging up her coat. Her hair was covered in a fine dusting of snow. She pulled a pair of slippers out of her voluminous handbag and toed off her boots, leaving them under the coat stand. “Good morning.” She gave him a big grin. “Hell of a day out there, huh?” She brushed the snowflakes from her hair, slipped her feet into the slippers and rounded the desk to flick on her computer.

“Sure is. I guess by the look of you it’s snowing again.” He opened the door and stared across the car park. His Land Rover had turned white since he’d arrived three quarters of an hour ago.

“They’re saying on the radio that it’s going to get worse,” she said. “They were giving that don’t-travel-unless-you-have-to warning.”

It was the worst possible time to drive into the mountains.

The bell above the door tinkled again and both the other vets dashed in.

“I had a call this morning,” Nick explained as they shed their coats. “A woman has found an injured dog. I have to drive out there.”

“Where?” asked Alison Cavanagh, one of the vets.

Everyone knew Summer and Declan’s parents, and that they had left for Spain a week ago. If Declan had known Summer was in the house he would have told Nick, so he had to presume she was there without anyone’s knowledge. He hadn’t asked if she was alone—hadn’t needed to, at Christmas everyone wanted to be with family, so her boyfriend must be there.

Still, something kept him from revealing her presence in Brookbridge. “The Land Rover is probably the only vehicle that will make it up the mountain in these conditions.”

Alison frowned. “The weather is getting worse, driving into the mountains…” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t even try it.”

“I have to. There’s an animal in pain, I can’t just leave it to die. You know me, Ali, I’ll be careful. I have my phone and a blanket in my car. The Land Rover can handle any conditions, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, keep in contact,” Alison said. “Check in the moment you arrive. If this weather gets worse you could be marooned.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

Once upon a time, being marooned with Summer Costello would have been on his to-do list, but being marooned with her and her boar of a boyfriend would be pure torture. “The sooner I get out there the better.”

Summer was on the point of phoning Nick again—it had been an hour and a half since she’d made the early morning call—when the distinctive sound of an engine cut through the silence.

“He’s here,” she said to the unresponsive dog. “Help is here.”

In the past hour the dog had barely raised his head from the cold cobbled floor of the woodshed—even when she spoke to him—and the fight had gone out of his eyes. She’d gotten close enough to drape an old blanket over him in a vague hope of keeping him warm. The growl that issued from his throat was a faint and pathetic noise. He looked like he was staring death in the face and welcoming it.

“Hold on—just hold on a little longer.” She left the woodshed and walked around the house to the front door.

A tall figure was climbing out of the Land Rover. The last time she’d seen him Nick Logan had been tall and skinny. Like her brother, he’d shot up in his late teens. This Nick Logan was different. He’d grown into his frame, and while he was still lean, he’d developed muscle. He’d always been a good-looking boy, but now, as a grown man, he was devastating.

“Hi, Summer.” He slammed the door of the Land Rover and walked to her. “Good to see you.” He enveloped her in a warm hug—which should have been no surprise—the Logans were notorious huggers. He’d hugged her when she left for London eight years ago.

She was pretty sure she hadn’t felt anything back then, but being enveloped in Nick Logan’s warm arms, breathing in his scent, sent a ripple of awareness through her now. So she stepped back as soon as was politely possible. “Hi, Nick.” Her face felt hot. Am I blushing? She swallowed. “Thank you so much for coming out.”

He and Declan had been friends forever—he must know she wasn’t expected to be here.

To her relief he didn’t question her. Instead, he grabbed a black doctor’s bag from the back of the Land Rover. “Where’s the patient?”

“He’s different this morning.” They trudged through the snow to the woodshed. The snow was still falling, dusting Nick’s dark hair with snowflakes. “It’s as though the fight has left him.” Nick strode along next to her, not touching, but a tangle of awareness spread at his proximity.

She pulled open the door to the woodshed, pointing at the hole. “He must have crawled through here somehow.” For the first time, she noticed a trace of blood on the broken wood.

The dog didn’t look up as they approached. His eyes were closed.

“He was awake when I left.” Her gaze focused on the dog’s chest; relief flooded her seeing it rising and falling slowly.

“Ah, poor fella.” Nick walked straight to the animal’s side and placed his bag on the ground. He crouched. “How are you doing, fella?”

The dog’s eyes flickered open, but he made no noise, probably too exhausted.

Nick reached out a hand and let the dog sniff him. “Okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He continued talking in a low, comforting tone that made the tension leave Summer’s body. The dog, too, seemed to relax, mesmerized by the sound Nick’s voice. Her breath caught as Nick stroked the dog’s head. She wouldn’t have had the courage.

Slowly, still murmuring, Nick lifted the blanket and ran his hands over the dog’s flanks. He examined the cut on the back leg carefully. “He’s in bad shape.” He stood up and took a step back to where she stood. “You got him to eat something?”

“Yes, he had the steak I was going to have for dinner tonight.”

Nick nodded. “That fits. He’s badly malnourished and dehydrated. I don’t think he’d survive the trip back to the surgery.”

Summer felt a pain in her heart as though someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed. “You mean you have to put him down?” Her gaze flicked to the dog who opened his eyes and stared at them.

“No. But I can’t treat him here, the conditions are filthy and there isn’t enough light. I’ll need the help of your boyfriend to carry him inside.”

My boyfriend. “Michael isn’t here.” She couldn’t bring herself to reveal the truth, that her three-year relationship had ended four months ago, and she hadn’t seen him since. She crossed her arms. “I can help you get him inside.”

Nick looked out at the falling snow. Emotions mixed within him at her pronouncement. Curiosity, that her all-too-perfect investment advisor boyfriend wasn’t here, and relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the city slicker sliding around in the snow in his shiny, black leather shoes. Michael was the sort of man who probably didn’t even own a pair of jeans—he doubtless wore a suit five days of the week, and dressed in designer gear every weekend.

From the sarcastic snippets Declan had furnished over the years Nick had built up a fairly clear picture of the man Summer had chosen. Haircuts once a week, manicures every fortnight, and regular manscaping appointments at his salon.

The last time Declan had visited them in London, Michael offered to treat him to a back, sac and crack wax. When Declan returned to Brookbridge, they’d laughed their asses off in the pub at that.

Not having him here was a relief.

He looked down. The dog was young, maybe a couple of years old. She’d described him on the phone as an Alsatian, but he wasn’t a pure bred—if Nick had to guess he’d say the dog was possibly half Labrador or collie as well. His size was intimidating, and the rope around his neck indicated he’d been tied up—probably used as a guard dog by someone with something to hide. He knew too well how the lives of many of these dogs went. They were permanently chained outside, infrequently fed, and encouraged to snarl and bark at strangers.

Even if he survived the significant health challenges that faced him, he might never be rehabilitated enough to become a family pet.

The dog’s eyes flickered open; the expression in them made up Nick’s mind for him. He looked like hell, looked as though he’d been living in hell, but he deserved a chance.

“I’m going to sedate him—it will take a few moments before he’s out and then we can get him inside.” He crouched at the dog’s side again, took a syringe from his bag and carefully filled it. “Okay, fella, you will feel better soon.” He located a vein in the dog’s foot and injected him.

Then he stood up, brushed damp sawdust from his knees and turned to Summer.

Driving up here, he’d hoped that the years might have dimmed her beauty. That he might have grown out of the oversized crush that had tormented him through his teens and early twenties. Unfortunately, she was prettier than ever. Sure, there were a few more lines on her face—but they just added character.

It was a shame she was such a bitch.

While she stared at the dog, he looked closer. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and didn’t even seem to have brushed her hair, which was unusual for Summer—she’d always put great stock in looking good. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed to have lost weight since the last time he’d seen her.

“Let’s go inside. We need to prepare the kitchen.”

“Okay.” She cast a last look at the dog. “I hope he makes it.”

“We should give him a name.”

She smiled. “I think you’ve already done that—I reckon his name is Fella.”

She talked away as they walked to the house. Summer had always been blessed with the ability to talk to anyone, anytime, and make them feel special. She excelled at charm—when it suited her. “I’d forgotten that you were training to become a vet,” she confessed. “When I lived here the veterinary practice was around the back of Main Street—the vet was Patrick Jackson I think.”

“He retired. My partner and I took over the business.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the news, but she didn’t comment. She pushed open the back door into the kitchen.

The warmth made his cold hands tingle. “You lit the wood-burning stove?”

“I thought that would be sensible. The heating is on, but if the power goes out…”

“Good.” He walked to the heavy pine table, and started to clear it. “Have you an old oilcloth or something we can cover this with? There’s likely to be blood.”

Her face went pale, but she straightened her shoulders. “I’ll get it. What else do you need?”

Nick thought for a moment. “A bowl for hot water. An old cardboard box and a couple of blankets.”

“And a bowl for some water for Fella to drink?”

“Not right now—I’ve brought a drip to rehydrate him and he won’t be taking anything by mouth for a while, but later, yes we’ll need one for water and one for food.”

She hurried from the room, and he shoved the table closer to the range.