Alaskaâthe 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?
Donât miss the chance to experience some
ALASKAN HEAT,
Jennifer LaBrecqueâs 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, âGusâ, the Paris-trained chef who owns the local eatery. Nick and Gus learn that though love doesnât always take the traditional path, itâs always worth savoring â¦
I hope you enjoy their Northern Escape. Writing these books has definitely made me think about going back â¦
I love to hear from readers. Please visit me at www.jenniferlabrecque.com.
Happy Holidays!
Jennifer LaBrecque
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 heâd hoped for and just what his blog readers would eat up. Quirky. Different.
It might be colder than a witchâs 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 âBlue Christmas.â
âOkay, Mr. Hudsonââ
He turned back to face the woman at the airstrip desk. âPlease call me Nick.â
âOkay, and Iâm Merrilee.â Before sheâd had to field a phone call, sheâd 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 sheâd told him sheâd been in Alaska for twenty-five years.
âLetâs get you checked in and Iâll show you to your room,â she continued. âWeâre delighted you decided to join us for our Chrismoose Winter Festival.â Her warm smile exuded gracious charm.
âIâm excited to be here.â
âDo you know how Chrismoose began?â she asked, clearly eager to relay the story.
âJust in bits and pieces,â he said. A friend of a friend of a friend had mentioned it to Nick, which was why heâd decided to come to cover it in the first place. Juliette, the bush pilot whoâd ferried him in from Anchorage, had given him a little more to go on, but he still didnât have it all straight.
âItâs not real complicated, but it does make a good story,â she said with another smile. âThere was a hermit named Chris, no one ever knew his last name, who lived out in the bush. Heâd 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.â
âHe was riding a moose?â
âI wouldnât have believed it if I hadnât seen it with my own eyes. Heâd 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.â
âThat mustâve been a sight to see.â
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. âThat is something else.â
âYessir, 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 couldnât find us out here. Every year, heâd show up and it wasnât 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 heâd 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 didnât 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.â