1. December, Last Year

CHAPTER 1

DECEMBER, LAST YEAR

O nly one more lie, Juniper Burrows promised herself as she stood at the fence beside the snowy reindeer pasture. One more, and she’d be done.

She couldn’t handle the secrets anymore—and she especially hated keeping things from her parents.

If anyone questioned her, she’d keep her secret safe. But this would be the last time. She couldn’t go on like this.

“What are you thinking about?”

Juniper glanced up at the sound of a cheerful voice. She’d been so lost in her own problems that she hadn’t even heard her friend approaching.

Her thoughts immediately shifted to the fact that Peppermint had come out in public—something her friend had vowed not to do. No one could know she was at the camp. The revelation would only create more tension.

“What are you doing out here?” Juniper glanced around. “Someone might see you.”

“Anyone who sees me will think I’m a guest here. It will be okay.” Peppermint stared at her as if willing Juniper to understand. Then she pulled her black cap down on her forehead and tugged her oversized white coat closer.

“Not my parents! They won’t understand.” Panic crept into Juniper’s voice. She thought she’d explained this to her friend.

“Then I’ll make sure they don’t see me.” Peppermint flashed a smile.

“Why did you come out?”

“Because I’m going stir crazy. I need to be around people!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t stay here. This isn’t the place to be social. You’re going to get me in trouble.” She hated to be harsh, but sometimes Peppermint didn’t seem grateful for the sacrifices Juniper had made to let her stay here.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble. I promise you I’m being careful, and I’m trying to figure out my next steps. I know I can’t stay here forever.”

Her words eased some of the tension across Juniper’s chest.

Peppermint shifted and leaned against the fence, looking so laid-back that Juniper felt a touch of jealousy.

“What were you thinking about when I walked up?” Peppermint asked. “You looked so preoccupied when I saw you over here.”

“I’m thinking about what to get people for Christmas,” Juniper lied and instantly chided herself for breaking her earlier vow.

Secrets and lies . . . two things she hated. Yet here she was engaging in them both.

But it wasn’t just her. Her parents had been keeping secrets from her also.

Truthfully, she was miffed at them. She’d wanted to take some college classes in person in Fairbanks. They’d said they needed her here.

Then they’d had the nerve to tell her to stay away from the one boy she was interested in. They’d told her this guy was bad news—just like they’d told her that Peppermint was a bad influence because she was flighty and had a wild streak.

The disagreement made Juniper want to rebel. Made her want to date Caleb, even though she’d been forbidden. Wanted to make her gloat about Peppermint living at the camp right under their noses, though they were clueless.

She was an adult now! Why did they still think they could dictate all her decisions? It wasn’t fair. How could she be so different from her parents?

Starla, her favorite reindeer on the farm, nudged Juniper’s hand and pulled her from her thoughts. The creature clearly wanted more of the hay Juniper held. She was surprised none of the other reindeer had run over to get some. Instead, they munched on their dinner from a feeding trough at the center of the pen.

“You’re one hungry girl, aren’t you?” Juniper murmured. “Is that because you’re getting ready for your big flight on Christmas Eve?”

Juniper didn’t really believe that, but she had fun thinking about it—and thinking about reindeer flying was better than thinking about secrets and lies.

Her family ran a reindeer farm forty-five minutes outside Fairbanks, Alaska. Visitors came from all over to stay here. To meet the animals. To take hikes through the boreal forest with the creatures.

Even though Juniper had practically grown up here, she still thought the experience was magical.

Even if her life here had been built on a lie.

“This is a great place to spend Christmas,” Peppermint murmured with a glance around the property. “I’ve always been jealous of you being here, and I desperately wanted to visit, to step into your perfect life.”

“It’s hardly perfect.”

“It’s better than the way I grew up. My parents barely decorated for Christmas, and they didn’t believe in presents. They still don’t. They’re such downers.”

A lump formed in Juniper’s throat. Her friend hadn’t had an easy upbringing—and it wasn’t just because her parents didn’t have much money.

Peppermint’s parents were never violent with their daughter, but they were manipulative and controlling. Plus, her dad had major anger management issues.

Peppermint had needed to get away. Her mom and dad were even pushing for her to marry a family friend—as if this were the olden days of arranged marriages or something.

They wanted to force her. Peppermint had been terrified.

“Speaking of your parents . . . have you talked to them lately?”

She shook her head. “Nope. As you know, I ditched my old phone. They have no idea how to find me. That’s the way I like it.”

Peppermint’s parents had moved without her to Seattle a couple of months ago. That was where a new career opportunity had arisen. That was also where the man they wanted Peppermint to marry lived.

Juniper knew of an old cabin on the property here at the camp where her friend could live until they figured something else out.

One thing was for sure: Juniper couldn’t tell her parents Peppermint was here. They were the kindest people on the planet . . . until it came to Peppermint’s parents. Peppermint hadn’t even been allowed to spend the night. That was how much contempt her parents had toward the couple.

Their friendship had all been cloak and dagger.

“I wish I didn’t have to spend Christmas in that cabin by myself.” Peppermint frowned and rubbed Starla’s face. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything. It just gets awfully lonely out there.”

“I wish you didn’t have to either.”

A smile tugged at Peppermint’s lips before quickly disappearing. “Maybe I won’t soon.”

What did that mean? Juniper studied her friend. Probably nothing. But something about Peppermint’s tone made Juniper wonder if her friend had some type of plan she hadn’t shared yet.

Juniper swallowed hard and glanced around, making sure no one was out here with them.

She didn’t see anyone. But that didn’t ease the tension between her shoulders.

She was probably just nervous about possibly being spotted with Peppermint.

Juniper’s radio beeped, and her mother’s voice cut through the air. “Juniper! We need you at home. Right now.”

She grabbed the radio and squeezed the Talk button. “Be right there.”

Her mother’s tone sounded urgent. She and Juniper had gotten into an argument earlier today about college and Caleb, and now Juniper didn’t feel like hurrying. She would take her time getting back to the cabin.

“Wonder what lit the fire under her?” Peppermint asked.

Peppermint had never been a big fan of Juniper’s mother.

“Beats me.” Juniper placed the radio back on her belt and then tossed the rest of the hay on the snow.

Since the reindeer needed to eat about nine pounds of this per day per animal, this was merely a snack for Starla. With thirty-five reindeer at the camp, a lot of hay and pellets was needed to keep the majestic critters healthy and happy.

“I’m going to run.” Peppermint stepped away from the fence. “We’ll catch up later, okay?”

“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 she did like 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.

Just last week a man, his wife, and son had been here. The man had been so upset that he’d screamed his head off. He’d demanded a refund because the sky had been too cloudy to see the northern lights. He’d thought they’d have more snow. And it was too cold.

Mom had refused to offer any money back. The man had vowed to destroy their business through bad online reviews and social media callouts.

Despite that, her mom had stood firm and refused a refund.

Juniper had been proud of her mother. People shouldn’t back down to bullies. It only rewarded their bad behavior, making things worse in the long run.

But the man—his name had been Bert Something or Other—had an unsettling look in his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to being told no. Her mom even had to call the police on him when he’d shown up at the camp a couple of days later making more threats.

The whole confrontation had left Juniper uneasy. Hopefully, Bert wouldn’t be back any time soon. He’d ruined the whole happy vibe of the camp.

Having a happy vibe was something her parents emphasized as very important to maintain. The family’s problems should always be private and not take away from the overall experience of their guests.

She supposed the theory made sense.

As Juniper slipped inside the cabin, she inhaled the scent of freshly baked cookies and chili. She couldn’t wait to eat both.

The smell of evergreen and cinnamon hit her next.

The aromas of Christmas. She loved them.

Tundra met her at the door, barking and whining. The sound made her gut twist. He wasn’t usually this agitated.

“Hey, boy,” she murmured as she rubbed his head. “I told you I’d be right back. Did you miss me? Is Mom mad because I took so long?”

She glanced around the living room, her gaze skimming the nine-foot-tall Christmas tree, one she and her dad had cut from the forest themselves. Three stockings hung by the fire—one for each of them. Garlands were strung across every doorway and the mantle.

Her mom went all out at Christmas. They spent an entire day decorating and baking and listening to Christmas music.

“Mom?” Juniper called. “Where are you?”

When no one responded, she paced across the knobby wooden floor toward the kitchen. Tundra remained on her heels, panting as if anxious.

She paused in the kitchen. Mom wasn’t at the stove, even though chili still simmered, and a tray of fresh sugar cookies teased her from the counter.

A new scent hit her nostrils, and she stiffened.

Something . . . smoky.

Was something burning? That was when she noticed the oven was on.

She hurried toward it and threw the door open. Smoke billowed out, filling her lungs. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.

Wasting no more time, she grabbed a potholder. She snatched the pan from the oven and shoved it on top of the stove.

Cornbread. Black now darkened its edges.

She frowned as she stared at it. It wasn’t like her mom to leave something cooking without being close. She was usually much more careful.

Juniper turned the oven off, more apprehension embedding itself between her shoulder blades.

Strange. Maybe Mom had gone upstairs.

Tundra stayed with Juniper as she searched the rest of the cabin.

Her mom and dad were nowhere to be found.

She grabbed her radio. “Mom, are you there?”

There was no response, only static.

It didn’t make sense. Mom had radioed her less than fifteen minutes ago. Where could she have gone in such a short amount of time?

Why would she leave if she’d asked Juniper to hurry home?

She remembered walking into their cabin two days ago to see her mom and dad whispering about something. They’d quickly shut down their conversation when they saw her.

Her parents had their own secrets. Maybe even their own lies.

She didn’t want to think they might. But didn’t everyone have aspects of their lives they kept hidden? That was what Juniper was learning.

Tundra whined beside her.

“What is it, boy?” Juniper rubbed the dog’s head. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Tundra let out another low whine and paced toward the back door.

Juniper followed and peered outside.

Three sets of footprints were pressed into the snow, leading from the house to the metal barn in the back, a place where the family stored farm equipment and personal UTVs.

Wait. Three sets of footprints?

Who did the third set belong to? Juniper hadn’t seen anyone else approach the house. Employees knew not to come to the family cabin except for emergencies. Dad insisted their family should have a little separation between personal and business.

Juniper shoved her shoes back on, pulled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the back door. She would follow the tracks to the barn.

But the bad feeling brewing in her gut grew larger.

She should have come right away, she realized. Why hadn’t she come right when her mom asked?