Page 3 of Only One More Lie

“Sounds great. Remember—stay out of sight. Please.” The last thing Juniper needed right now was for her parents to discover she’d let Peppermint stay on the property. World War III would break out if they knew.

Trying to do the right thing was so hard sometimes. Doing right by Peppermint meant doing wrong by her parents and vice versa.

“I’ll be a ghost,” Peppermint promised, wiggling her fingers near her face as if to look like an apparition.

The problem was, Peppermint wasn’t the quiet, ghostly type. She was more like a wrecking ball. It wasn’t a coincidence that her favorite song used those words in the lyrics.

Her friend scampered away, skirting the edge of the property to avoid running into anyone.

Juniper’s lungs loosened as she stepped out of the pen, careful to lock the gate behind her. She’d need to put the feed bucket away before heading inside. That was okay. She wasn’t in a hurry. She was still cooling off from their argument earlier.

Before she took another step, she paused.

There it was again.

That feeling.

Like someone was watching her.

She scanned everything around her. Saw the snow-topped buildings and trees. The festive streetlamps. The cheerful Christmas flags.

Nothing that gave her pause.

But the feeling remained.

Like someone was keeping an eye on her.

Did someone at the camp know her secret?

They couldn’t. How would they?

She shoved the thought aside and headed to the small shed where they kept the reindeer food. She placed her bucket there before trudging back outside.

Juniper glanced over the hill at the log cabin she called home. A rock-encased chimney complete with smoke snaking toward the heavens stretched high on one side, and a large porch welcomed visitors.

Her mom and dad had built this business from the ground up six years ago. Before that, they’d been on the verge of bankruptcy after the diner they’d opened in Fairbanks had failed to thrive. They’d feared they might need to leave their little slice of heaven here in Alaska.

Instead, they’d started this reindeer farm. Had opened the place up to visitors. They’d added more attractions every couple of years.

Juniper paused at the cabin and glanced behind her one more time.

That feeling remained—the feeling of eyes being on her. But she still saw no one.

She wished she could shake the paranoia. But it stayed with her like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

She climbed up onto the wooden porch, the hollowness beneath the space causing her footsteps to echo. She stopped abruptly as something new caught her eye.

A snowman stood on the porch, weird multi-colored hair shooting out from beneath its top hat.

Who would have left this here? Not her mom and dad. And most guests didn’t come near their cabin, especially since there was a sign outside marking it as private.

She’d ask her mom when she found her. There had to be a story behind this.

For now, Juniper stomped the snow from her boots. Tundra, her husky, barked inside, almost sounding agitated.

Sometimes Juniper thought she’d rather be with animals than with people, although shedidlike people. Just not the angry ones who on occasion stayed here.

Ninety-five percent of their guests were amazing. Unfortunately, the other 5 percent stuck in her mind, the ones poorly behaved.

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