Page 2 of Once Upon a Frosty Winter

“I can’t believe Dawn is all grown-up and married now,” Fern says, trying to redirect the conversation. “I still remember when I used to babysit her.”

“Such a good girl.”

“I’m just glad she and Jack finally found each other.” Merry checks her bet and turns to Fawn.

“They wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for us,” Fawn reminds the other two.

Both women nod in agreement.

“I thought that was never going to happen, no matter how many times we kept signing Dawn up to volunteer with Jack at Parks and Wildlife.” Merry rolls her eyes.

Fawn shrugs. “They finally stopped fighting it.”

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Fern says.

“I already said that.” Merry stares at Fawn.

“Who cares? It’s still true.”

“We need more weddings.” Fawn checks her bet, and Fern deals the last card.

“No one is close to dating, let alone marriage.” Fern studies her cards in her hands before lifting her shrewd gaze to the five cards on the table.

“Neither were Dawn and Jack last year, and look at them now—on their honeymoon.” Merry clasps her hands together, and the cards in her hand crinkle.

It wouldn’t be the first deck to be lost to their lack of attention. And it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Fawn asks.

“Same thing we always do,” Fern responds. “Let’s see, there’s Pierce and Hudson, either of whom would be a catch.”

“Don’t forget Robyn or Elle. But not for either of those boys.” Fawn taps her lip as she adds to the list.

“No, all four of them are ready for something special. Something spectacular. It’s…” Fern’s voice fades as her attention shifts back to her cards.

“It’s matchmaking time,” Merry says and gasps when Fawn pushes in all her chips.

“All in, ladies. Who’s next?”

ChapterOne

Hilda

I’m glad he died. Not that he died, but the way he died—away from me. If he’d been home or anywhere in my vicinity, I’d been prime suspect number one. Everyone knows that the “trophy wife” is always accused of her husband’s untimely demise. I already carry the labels “gold digger” and “child bride,” so adding “murderer” wouldn’t be much of a stretch for these folks.

It’s been five years since his death, and the suspicious glares and whispering when I walk by still haven’t stopped. Mistletoe Creek is a small town that isn’t too forgiving, doesn’t forget, and thrives on gossip. Their wealthiest widower marrying a youngstunninglybeautiful outsider did raise a few eyebrows. Then him dying while away on business only a couple of years after marrying the stranger was downright suspicious. John White was loved by everyone. His wife who had passed years before him was even more loved. I, however, am not loved.

What everyone fails to acknowledge is that, though I didn’t want the marriage, I certainly didn’t want him dead. His death left me with a child to raisealone.Not a cute little baby—no, a daughter almost the same age as myself. We only have a six-year age difference. During the two years that John White and I had been married, his precious Eira, who is loved beyond belief by all, had yet to show any kindness toward me.

Her name meanssnow—fitting since she’s pale and cold. Nobody has been considerate enough to think about how I felt through all this or what I went through. A barely nineteen-year-old woman who was uprooted from her home to be relocated and married to amucholder stranger and becoming a stepmother to a thirteen-year-old. A freakin’ teenager. It. Was. Hard.

The majority of the time, I didn’t know what to do. I tried being her friend, a big sister, a mother, anything she’d allow me to be. Nothing worked. Trying to get her to go to bed was a nightmare, so a few times I injected some cold medicine into her apple slices to help her sleep. When she figured out what I was doing, she lost it, and rightfully so. I’ll admit it wasn’t exactly ethical, but dammit, I was at my wit’s end. She still tells everyone I fed her a poisoned apple.Brat.“Poisoned” is a strong choice of wording. Of course the town ate that up.

Everyone loves to hate someone. It makes their sad and dull lives more interesting if there’s someone’s name to trash. Which is fine. I can be the villain—gladly, if that means everyone will leave me alone. The only good thing to come out of my arranged marriage was my apple orchard. He gave me the land as a wedding present and told me I could do what my heart desired with it. I always dreamed of having an apple orchard, and John turned it into reality. He went beyond my wildest dreams.

My maiden name is Queen, so we named it Queen Apple Orchard. And it is fit for a queen. The landscaping and vast size are like walking into a fairy tale. After John died and Eira played up the pretty little victim, I got dubbedThe Evil Queen.Jokes on them. Nobody invites the evil queen to sign up as the Girl Scout leader or to help with school bake sales and parties,especiallyif she’s already been accused of having poisoned apples. Being the town’s coldhearted bitch does have its perks. The whole thing has turned into a blessing in disguise.

But this isn’t me… this is who they made me. I simply refuse to argue and instead allow them to believe what they will—as long as they keep the stories creative, of course. If they make me out to be ordinary and dull in the rumors, then they’ll find out just how wicked I can be.

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