Sleigh Bells in the Snow (O'Neil Brothers 1)

“How many tourists?” Jackson ignored the food in front of him. “How many tourists do you think came last year? Because I can tell you it’s not enough to keep this place going.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much developing those fancy cabins and refurbishing the lodge. Did we need a spa? Did we need a pool? Did you need to employ an expensive French chef in the restaurant? Extravagance, all of it.” His grandfather was red in the face and Jackson rose to his feet, worry gnawing at his insides. He knew how much they were hurting. He also knew if they didn’t face up to what was happening soon, Snow Crystal Resort would be going under.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I’m going to do what needs to be done. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“So now you’re an autocrat.” But his grandfather’s voice shook a little, and Jackson saw something in the old man’s eyes that nailed his feet to the floor.

This was the man who had taught him to whittle an arrow from a stick, to dam a stream and catch a fish with his bare hands. This man had picked him out of deep snow when he’d wiped out on his skis and taught him how to check the thickness of the ice on the pond so he didn’t fall through.

And this was the man who had lost his son.

Jackson sat back down in the chair. “I’m not an autocrat but I have to make changes. We’re operating in a stagnant economy. We have to stand out from the crowd. We have to offer something special.”

“Snow Crystal Resort is special.”

“It’s Snow Crystal Resort and Spa now, and for once we agree on something. It’s special.”

His grandfather’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. “So why change things?”

“Because people don’t know about it, Gramps. But they’re going to.” The puppy nuzzled his ankle, and Jackson leaned down and stroked the dog’s soft, springy fur. “I’m flying to New York tomorrow to meet with Kayla Green.”

“I still don’t get what a girl from Manhattan is going to know about running a resort like ours.”

“She’s not from Manhattan. She’s British.”

His mother brightened. “She’ll fall in love with the place. I did. From Old England to New England.”

Walter frowned. “You’ve lived here so long I don’t think of you as British. Hell, I bet this Kayla woman has never even seen a moose!”

“Does she need to see a moose to get the job done?” But an idea was forming in his head. Not a compromise exactly, but a solution that might work. “If I can persuade Kayla Green to come and experience firsthand exactly what we offer here at Snow Crystal, will you listen to her?”

“That depends. She’s not going to see much in a couple of hours, is she?”

Jackson stood up. “She can stay for a week. God knows, we’ve got enough empty cabins.”

“No way is Miss New York or Miss London or wherever the hell she’s from, going to want to stay in the wilds with us for a week in the middle of a Vermont winter.”

Deep down, Jackson agreed with him but he wasn’t about to admit defeat.

“I’ll get her here and you’ll listen.”

“I’ll listen if she says something worth listening to.”

“Deal.” He shrugged on his jacket while his mother looked on anxiously.

“Stay and eat. You’ve been working so hard I’ll bet you haven’t gone near the shops.”

“He shouldn’t have moved out.” His grandfather clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the puppy. “He shouldn’t have spent all that money converting that crumbling old barn into a fancy place of his own when we have all these empty rooms.”

“I’ve trebled the value of that crumbling old barn.” And saved his sanity. Jackson slipped his tablet computer into his bag and thought it might as well have been made of gingerbread for all the use it had been to him. “No food, thanks. I need to put together some figures for the people at Innovation. I’ll do my own thing tonight.”

“You always do,” his grandfather muttered, and Jackson shook his head in exasperation and walked out of the warm, cozy kitchen into the freezing winter air.

His boots crunched through the thick snow and he stopped, breathing in the peace and quiet along with the smell of wood smoke.

Home.