Merry Mended Hearts

One quirky radio, two guarded hearts, and a love worth tuning into.

Grace’s Christmas getaway to Harper’s Inn hits a snag when she arrives to find her room taken. Stranded in a small town, she reluctantly agrees to stay in the inn’s old family quarters—much to the dismay of Boone, the brooding sleigh driver with a painful past.

Boone isn’t just annoyed by Grace’s presence; he’s guarding his wounded heart.

The inn holds another peculiar secret: a radio once owned by Santa Claus. Legend says anyone who hears it play is destined to fall in love. When the radio crackles to life for Grace and Boone, he’s determined to resist its magic. But as a snowstorm traps them in Boone’s cozy cottage, the walls he’s built around his heart start to crumble.

Love wasn’t on Boone’s holiday agenda, but Santa—and his radio—might have other plans.

If you like the charm of Hallmark, the romance of Nora Roberts, and the swoon of Anne-Marie Meyer, then you’ll devour this festively tender Christmas romance by Catelyn Meadows!

Buy Merry Mended Hearts, the first book in this series of snowed-in escapades by bestselling author Catelyn Meadows, and get lost in this romantic storm today!
This book was previously titled Snowed In at the Cottage.

Chapter One
Grace

After everything it took to get here, I refused to believe I’d come to Harper’s Inn by mistake.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist insisted.

Her curly, shoulder-length brown hair was held back by a brightly colored headband with reindeer antlers. The red band brought out the flush in her cheeks and the freckles across her nose.

“But I have nothing under the name of Grace Eastland.”

“That can’t be right.” I gripped the edge of the reception desk and worked to tamp down my frustration. “Check again, please.”

My suitcase tipped over on its side. Frazzled, I reached to steady it. In the process, the leatherbound notebook I had tucked beneath my arm slipped and clattered to the tile, narrowly missing the puddle where snow was melting from my boots.

Boots I’d bought just for this trip, for the record.

Because I didn’t need them in Arizona.

My panic hiked. I dove, hoping the water hadn’t touched the pages I’d been scribbling on during the flight here. Inspiration had really struck from ten thousand feet in the air. I couldn’t lose that progress just because I was currently living in my own version of the movie Inception.

When I saw it, that movie had played with my mind so thoroughly that by the time it was over, I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or awake. Or dreaming inside of a dream.

This felt a little like that emotional vertigo.

I cast my eyes around the lobby. The inn looked like the pictures Mom had showed me. It smelled like a Christmassy getaway, all cinnamon and spice plug-ins.

But was it possible I was imagining everything?

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, her attention on the screen near the wall. “Your name isn’t anywhere in our records.”

Placing the notebook on the counter, I frowned and peered toward the inn’s quaint lobby. A woman seated on the couch across from the fire glanced in my direction.

Feeling feverish, I swallowed the painful tightness in my throat.

“What do you mean my name isn’t—?”

My suitcase tipped over again.

I bent to right it.

“—in your records?”

This wasn’t possible. My parents had booked this trip for me. Mom had outlined everything last night, showing me my plane tickets, the inn’s beautiful setting, its many accommodations.

She and Dad had made all the arrangements. They’d talked up Harper’s Inn and its charming setting and what an amazing writing getaway it would be for me.

Was it possible that between all the planning, Mom had forgotten to actually book the room?

Merry Christmas to me.

“Grace Eastland,” I said, telling the receptionist my name one more time.

I had to give this one more try.

“Or maybe check Donna Eastland,” I said. “That’s my mom. She’s the one who made the reservations. She gave me this trip as an early Christmas present so I could get away and have some quiet time to work on my book.”

The receptionist smiled. I knew I was oversharing, but like a swarm of caffeinated monkeys breakdancing in my brain, my panic was getting to me.

I’d flown all the way from Arizona to Montana. It was days before Christmas. Days before my round-trip flight would kick into gear and take me back where I’d come from.

And this book wasn’t going to write itself.

I needed a calm, peaceful setting. A getaway from my frantic, overworked life. I had goals, people.

What was I supposed to do? My cell service was patchy, and the driver I’d hired to bring me up the mountain had already gone back to the small town that airport shuttle had dropped me off at. A town with no hotel.

Without this room, I was stranded.

“I checked. You’re not there,” the receptionist said.
“Our rooms are often booked a year in advance. If you didn’t get your reservations last Christmas, I doubt we have anything for you.”

Lovely. The panicking monkeys started juggling balls and riding unicycles.

Concern cloaked the receptionist’s gaze. She chewed her lip for several seconds before her outlook brightened.

“Hey, this is just like the Christmas story, isn’t it? No room at the inn. Except you’re not pregnant—that I know of—and we don’t even have a stable for you. I’d offer you the barn, but that sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

The receptionist’s quick change of topic threw me for a moment. I’d seen the bright red barn as I’d entered minutes ago. It was quintessential, and a man wearing a cowboy hat had been leading a horse into its wide-open door.

Hope flickered like a candle in the wind.

“Do you have rooms in the barn?” I asked.

The receptionist’s smile fell. “No. Not really.”

There it was. I was miles from home with nowhere to stay.