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    Snowy Christmas
    Snowy Christmas
    Snowy Christmas
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Snowy Christmas

    By Helen Scott Taylor

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    When wealthy landowner, Marcus Bramwell, stops to help Emily rescue a poor little abandoned Westie, he rescues her as well. Her scheming Spanish boyfriend left her penniless and Marcus offers her the job of housekeeper at Rosemoor Hall, his English manor house. He gives her a home, a job, and hope for the future. But what she really yearns for is his heart. Can a penniless housekeeper persuade Marcus that not all women are like his cheating ex-wife?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHelen Scott Taylor
    Release dateOct 31, 2015
    ISBN9781310403163
    Snowy Christmas
    Author

    Helen Scott Taylor

    Helen Scott Taylor's first novel, The Magic Knot, won the American Title contest in 2008, was a Golden Heart® finalist, and was chosen as one of Booklist's top ten romances of 2009. Since then, she has published other novels, novellas, and short stories in both the UK and USA. Her published works have been finalists in a number of contests including the Holt Medallion, the Lories, the Prism Contest, the Write Touch Award and the Maggies. Helen lives in South West England near Plymouth in Devon between the windswept expanse of Dartmoor and the rocky Atlantic coast. As well as her wonderful long-suffering husband, she shares her home with a Westie and an aristocratic chocolate-shaded-silver-burmilla cat who rules the household with a velvet paw. She believes that deep within everyone there's a little magic. www.helenscotttaylor.com

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      Book preview

      Snowy Christmas - Helen Scott Taylor

      Snowy Christmas

      Paw Prints on Your Heart #3

      by

      Helen Scott Taylor

      *

      Copyright © 2015 Helen Taylor

      Cover design © Helen Taylor

      *

      The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988.

      This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

      Chapter One

      Emily Tiptree stared through the slashing windshield wipers into the gloom as she drove home from her disappointing job interview. She'd thought her ten years' experience as a chef would let her walk into the job at the pub in the next village. She hadn't counted on the owner thinking she was overqualified.

      Churning out glorified pub grub wasn't what she wanted to do anyway, but she couldn't be picky when it was difficult to find a chef's job in the middle of the Cotswolds in rural England. She had to earn some money quickly, or she'd default on her credit card payments this month. Then she'd have to ask her brother for a loan and admit what an idiot she'd been.

      Something white caught in the beam of the headlights, jerking Emily out of her thoughts. With a shriek of surprise, she slammed her foot on the brakes and swung the car to one side, away from whatever had been in the road. When the car skidded to a halt on the wet asphalt, she sat still for a few seconds, recovering from the shock, her hand pressed over her pounding heart.

      It had been some kind of small white animal, she was sure. Had she hit it? Heavens, she hoped not. There hadn't been a bump. Grabbing her phone from her handbag, she switched on the flashlight app and stepped out of the car she'd borrowed from her brother to go to the interview.

      Her best black pumps sank in the road's muddy grass shoulder, and cold water ran into her shoes. Her years in warm, sunny Spain seemed like a distant memory now, even though she'd only left Malaga two days ago.

      Turning up her coat collar against the chilly rain, she pointed the flashlight at the woods beside the country road. At first she saw nothing, and wondered if whatever it was had gone. As she moved the beam of light, two shiny eyes gleamed back at her.

      That gave her a shock for a second before she ruled out anything dangerous. She was in the English Cotswolds. Nothing more threatening than a fox or badger could be hiding under a bush on the Rosemoor Estate.

      Her shoes squelching, she stepped closer to the shiny eyes, half expecting the creature to flee. She angled the light away from the animal, not wanting to dazzle it, and noticed that now she was out of the car, it wasn't as dark as she'd thought.

      She switched off the flashlight. Once her eyes adjusted, she could make out the small pale creature huddled beneath a leafless bush. In the fading light of the dreary day, big dark eyes stared back at her from an adorable fluffy white face. The little dog looked like a Westie.

      Hey there, sweetie. Emily crouched and held out her hand for the animal to sniff. Are you hurt?

      The small dog stretched out its black button nose, and its warm tongue brushed her fingers. Twigs and bits of leaf litter clung to the dog's fur, and it was soaked and shivering.

      It's all right, little one. I'm going to help you.

      Gently, she reached under the bush and eased the dog out. Her fingers sank through the wet, matted fur to the bones beneath. Oh, baby. You're hungry, aren't you?

      Emily eased the small dog closer and drew the wet bundle of fur into her arms. She was a little girl, and there was nothing of her. The small creature trembled harder and licked Emily's hand. Her heart nearly melted.

      The poor little thing needed something to eat, but although there weren't any visible injuries, the first stop had to be a veterinarian in case she was hurt.

      The rumble of a vehicle approaching drew Emily's attention, and headlights cut through the gloom as a huge four-wheel drive pulled up behind her car. It looked like a Rosemoor Estate vehicle.

      The driver stepped out. His tall, square-shouldered silhouette suggested he was one of the Bramwell men. Is someone hurt? The upper-class English accent confirmed it.

      Owen? she said tentatively, hoping it was her brother's boss. She hadn't seen him since she arrived back from Spain two days ago, but she knew he was a nice guy from what her brother said.

      No, I'm Owen's cousin Marcus.

      Oh. Emily swallowed. She knew who Marcus was, of course—the lord of the manor in effect. Although he didn't actually hold a title, he owned Rosemoor Hall and most of the surrounding area. She'd seen him from a distance around Rosemoor Village many times while she was growing up, but she'd never spoken with him before.

      Hi, I'm Emily Tiptree. My brother, Ned, is the dairy manager at Rosemoor Farm. This dog ran across the road in front of me, but I don't think I hit her.

      She couldn't see Marcus clearly because he was silhouetted in the beam of light from his headlights.

      Have you checked her over to see if she's hurt? He raised a hand towards the dog and she shrank back against Emily, shaking violently. He quickly pulled back. I think we need to take her straight to my sister-in-law. She's a veterinarian.

      Okay. I was thinking she needed to see a vet.

      I'll give you a ride so you can hold her.

      What about Ned's car? I borrowed it, and he'll need it tomorrow morning. The keys and my handbag are still in there.

      Ned can get a ride out to pick it up later. It's only five minutes from the farm.

      Without further discussion, Marcus placed a hand on her back and ushered her towards his vehicle. He opened the passenger door and supported her elbow to help her into the blissfully warm interior. A black Labrador's nose poked between the seats.

      Stay in the back, Peggy, Marcus said, stroking the Lab's face.

      Marcus grabbed Emily's handbag from Ned's car before he locked it, and climbed into his driver's seat. Emily managed to fasten her seat belt using one hand before hugging the little white dog closer, hoping the contact would reassure her.

      It's all right, sweetie. We're taking you to someone who'll make sure you're not hurt.

      They drove the five minutes to Rosemoor Farm in silence, Emily smoothing a hand over the little dog's coat, gently pulling twigs off her. Marcus's car smelled new and expensive, with a pleasant hint of aftershave in the air. She glanced his way, taking in his thick dark hair and clean-cut profile.

      He was about five or six years older than her. When she was a teen, the local girls all had crushes on him or his brother, Jonathan, or cousin Owen, but the Bramwell boys didn't mix with the local girls. They'd moved in different circles.

      The tires rattled over the cattle grid at the entrance to Rosemoor Farm and Emily turned her attention back to the poor dog, whispering to calm her.

      Marcus stopped beside a vehicle similar to his near the farmhouse and climbed out. Then he rounded the car and supported her elbow again as she stepped down. He spoke like a gentleman and behaved like one too, a man from a bygone era. A refreshing change after Vicente, her sweet-talking jerk of

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