Northern Escape. JENNIFER LABRECQUE

       Alaska—the last frontier

      The nights are long. The days are cold. And the men are really, really HOT!

      Can you think of a better excuse for a trip up North?

      Don’t miss the chance to experience some

       ALASKAN HEAT,

      Jennifer LaBrecque’s new sizzling mini-series:

      Northern Exposure (October 2011)

      Northern Encounter (November 2011)

      Northern Escape (December 2011)

      Enjoy the adventure!

      Dear Reader,

      Welcome back to Good Riddance, Alaska, where everyone is invited to leave behind what troubles them. This small outpost in the Alaskan bush is similar to many towns I discovered when I was lucky enough to visit Alaska years ago.

      Nick Hudson is a world traveler who writes a travel blog about places off the beaten path. Sophisticated, yet down-to-earth and sincere, Nick shows up in Good Riddance to cover their pre-Christmas celebration activities. Only he finds far more than he bargained for when he catches a glimpse of Augustina, “Gus”, the Paris-trained chef who owns the local eatery. Nick and Gus learn that though love doesn’t always take the traditional path, it’s always worth savoring …

      I hope you enjoy their Northern Escape. Writing these books has definitely made me think about going back …

      I love to hear from readers. Please visit me at www.jenniferlabrecque.com.

      Happy Holidays!

       Jennifer LaBrecque

      After a varied career path that included waitress, corporate number cruncher and bug business maven, JENNIFER LABRECQUE has found her true calling writing contemporary romance. Named 2001 Notable New Author of the Year and 2002 winner of the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence, she is also a two-time RITA^® Award finalist. Jennifer lives in suburban Atlanta with a Chihuahua who runs the whole show.

      Northern Escape

      Jennifer Labrecque

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       1

      A MOOSE WEARING A SANTA costume and hat, complete with beard, stood next to a Christmas tree adorned with moose ornaments. Where had they found a life-size plush moose? Journalist Nick Hudson looked around the airstrip office, soaking up the atmosphere. He liked Good Riddance, Alaska already. It was just what he’d hoped for and just what his blog readers would eat up. Quirky. Different.

      It might be colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra, the sun had already made its brief appearance for the day, and though it was snowing outside it was cheery and toasty in here. The mingled aromas of fresh-brewed coffee, cinnamon rolls and wood-smoke scented the air.

      An assortment of photos covered the wood walls. Lace-trimmed flannel curtains hung at the windows. Two old men with gray beards and baseball caps sat arguing over a chess board next to a potbellied stove. On the television set in the corner, Elvis crooned “Blue Christmas.”

      “Okay, Mr. Hudson—”

      He turned back to face the woman at the airstrip desk. “Please call me Nick.”

      “Okay, and I’m Merrilee.” Before she’d had to field a phone call, she’d introduced herself as Merrilee Danvers Weatherspoon, the airfield and bed-and-breakfast operator, as well as the town founder and mayor.

      Nick estimated she was in her mid-to-late-fifties and still carried a surprisingly Southern accent, considering she’d told him she’d been in Alaska for twenty-five years.

      “Let’s get you checked in and I’ll show you to your room,” she continued. “We’re delighted you decided to join us for our Chrismoose Winter Festival.” Her warm smile exuded gracious charm.

      “I’m excited to be here.”

      “Do you know how Chrismoose began?” she asked, clearly eager to relay the story.

      “Just in bits and pieces,” he said. A friend of a friend of a friend had mentioned it to Nick, which was why he’d decided to come to cover it in the first place. Juliette, the bush pilot who’d ferried him in from Anchorage, had given him a little more to go on, but he still didn’t have it all straight.

      “It’s not real complicated, but it does make a good story,” she said with another smile. “There was a hermit named Chris, no one ever knew his last name, who lived out in the bush. He’d come into town about every four months for supplies. When he did, he kept to himself. He just showed up, got what he needed, and left. About fifteen years ago, when our little town was really starting to grow and expand, it was two days before Christmas and we all about dropped our jaw when Chris came riding into town on a moose.”

      “He was riding a moose?”

      “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. He’d found an orphan and raised it as a pet. Anyway, here he comes, wearing a Santa costume, riding through the middle of town on a moose with a bag strapped on its back.”

      “That must’ve been a sight to see.”

      Merrilee led him over to the wall of photographs. There in the midst of the mix was a color photo of a man in a Santa outfit on a moose. It was one of the craziest things Nick had ever seen. He grinned. “That is something else.”

      “Yessir, it was. And that bag on the back? Chris had carved wood toys for the children in town. He said he wanted to make sure the kids all had a Christmas, in case Santa couldn’t find us out here. Every year, he’d show up and it wasn’t just the kids who looked forward to it. Then one year Chrismoose day came and went and no Chris and no moose. We had a rough idea where he lived so a few of us drove out to check on him. We found him dead. We figured he’d probably passed a couple of months before. In the spring, when the snow melted, we found the moose dead, too. Because Chris had kept it as a pet and fed it, once Chris was gone it didn’t know how to survive on its own. We never did find out who Chris was or if he had any family. We buried him but thought it was a shame such a wonderful tradition should die with him so our Chrismoose celebration was born. Eventually, it turned into a full-blown winter festival.”

      “That’s a great story,” Nick said.

      Merrilee looked pleased with his reaction. “It is, isn’t it? Now we draw quite a crowd every year. When you walk around town, you’ll see all the campers and RV’s parked on the outskirts of town. We get folks coming in from as far as five-hundred miles away.”

      “Awesome.”

      “You’ll find a schedule of events in your bedroom and all the businesses in town have them posted in their window.” A frown wrinkled her forehead. “Unfortunately flu season has hit early and we’ve got a bit of a situation going on. We’re telling everyone to make sure you wash your hands often and keep them away from your face.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Now enough about that. How far have you traveled to join us? We like to track these things.”

      Before he could answer, a door set in the wall beneath a sign that read Welcome to Gus’s opened and a ponytailed blonde came barreling through, only to stop short and gape when she saw him.

      “Oh my God. Oh. My. God.” She blinked as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “Are you Nick Hudson?”

      Nick laughed. Sometimes people recognized him but it was usually in New York. He certainly hadn’t expected to be pegged in a small Alaskan town. “I am.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you …”

      “Teddy.