Blog Tour: The Little Village Christmas @SueMoorcroft @AvonBooksUK @HarperCollinsUK #excerpt

  The Little Village Christmas

Sue Moorcroft

9 October 2017

Digital  release (PB in November)

Sue Moorcroft, #1 Kindle bestseller is back, with a Christmas novel that promises to warm your heart this festive season.

Alexia Kennedy has lived in the little village of Middledip all her life – and now it’s time for her to give something back. As an interior decorator, she’s been tasked with turning the village’s neglected Victorian pub into a community café that everyone can use.

After months of fundraising by all the villagers, Alexia can’t wait to get going – but disaster strikes when every last penny is stolen. With Middledip up in arms at how she could have let this happen, Alexia feels ready to admit defeat.

But help comes in the most unlikely form when woodsman, Ben Hardaker and his rescue owl Barney, arrive on the scene. Another lost soul who’s hit rock bottom, Ben and Alexia make an unlikely partnership. However, they soon realise that a little sprinkling of Christmas magic might just help to bring this village – and their lives – together again…

Settle down with a mince pie and a glass of mulled wine as you devour this irresistibly festive Christmas tale. The perfect read for fans of Carole Matthews and Trisha Ashley.

Praise for Sue Moorcroft:

‘I love all of Sue Moorcroft’s books.’ Katie Fforde

‘Effortlessly engaging…a magical must!’ Heat

‘A sparkly Christmas love story which had me cheering in the aisles!’ Julia Williams

About The Author: Award-winning author Sue Moorcroft writes contemporary women’s fiction with occasionally unexpected themes. She’s won a Readers’ Best Romantic Read Award, and been nominated for others, including a ‘RoNA’ (Romantic Novel Award). Sue’s a Katie Fforde Bursary Award winner, and a past vice chair of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and editor of its two anthologies. The daughter of two soldiers, Sue was born in Germany and went on to spend much of her childhood in Malta and Cyprus. She lives in Kettering.


He paused to shrug off his jacket and wipe the sweat from under his visor, checking that his line of fall was still good. That was when he realised he had an audience.

A woman who reminded him of Betty Boop was standing back, watching. He pulled off his hardhat and visor. ‘Alexia!’

The deep blue jacket and skirt she wore with heeled shoes made her look more grown-up than the jeans and T-shirt he’d so far seen her in. And out of. She tilted her head. ‘You’re using an axe when you have a chainsaw in your truck because . . . ?’

He glanced back at the tree, only a few strokes away from succumbing, the cream and brown heartwood exposed. ‘I wasn’t prepared to wield the chainsaw on a trunk with no one around to get help if I got into trouble. Anyway, it seems fitting that such an old tree meets its end by hand.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You looked like you were beating it to death.’

Face heating up, he felt as if she saw right through him. But he pushed the thought aside, wanting to make the most of their return to conversation rather than frozen silences. ‘I really need you to let me properly apologise—’

‘It’s OK.’ Her expression didn’t change.

‘It wasn’t OK! I was incredibly crass, doing a vanishing act while you were asleep then sounding as if I was accusing you of having something to do with what’s gone missing. I’ve hardly slept for wondering what you must have felt.’ Hardly sleeping wasn’t new, but he’d passed a bad night even by his standards. ‘You must have something to say.’

She stared. Finally she nodded. ‘I’m glad we didn’t have condoms.’ Then she turned and vanished around the corner of The Angel.

He stared after her, insulted, as he knew he was meant to be.

Turning back to the apple tree he pulled on his hardhat and visor and weighed the axe in his hands before swinging the glinting glade once more. Ten strokes and the tree creaked and whined. He stood back and watched as it seemed to fall in slow motion, landing with a thump that travelled up from the earth and into his legs.

It lay exactly where he’d planned. At least he was good at something.


Blog tour banner


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s