Page 5 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

And the renovation price would be money in Garrett’s, as long as she didn’t choose a different contractor. Her attorney—an old friend of his uncle’s—had recommended she hire him, though there were plenty of other guys who were looking for work in the winter.

“You’ll see the potential,” he said, “once we go?—”

“It’s not that.” Her voice had taken on a breathy quality. She backed up a few steps into the snowy yard. She wore waterproof boots that looked brand new, so she’d probably barely realizedshe was standing in six inches of snow as she gazed toward the second floor. “It’s so big.” She looked up the hill that rose in front and to the side of the property, then to the trees on the other side. “And all this land. So much land.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d seen photos, hadn’t she? She’d understood what she’d inherited. They’d talked about it on the phone.

She looked at him, her smile shy, maybe embarrassed. “It’s just… I can’t believe my dad owned this.”

“You didn’t know?”

She shook her head. “We never owned a house. The biggest place I’ve ever lived was a three-bed, two-bath apartment. It had a small office and a large living room, and it felt like the lap of luxury.”

Garrett waited until she seemed to shake off the confusion and awe. “You ready to see the inside?”

“I am.” She tucked her gloved hands under her arms. “It’s cold out here.” Then she squinted at him. “Aren’t you freezing?”

He’d worn a jacket that morning, but after working in the sun for an hour, he’d tossed it in the cab of his truck. Besides, it was almost thirty degrees, not so much cold as slightly chilly. The temperature would be practically balmy that afternoon, over forty degrees. Almost unheard of at this time of the year this high in the mountains.

He probably looked like an idiot wearing a T-shirt and winter gloves. “Shoveling is hard work.”

“Thanks for doing that.”

“Wouldn’t want you to drive through all that snow to get into your driveway and then walk through it to get to your door. Fortunately, I have a plow.”

Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the shovel in his hand.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “This is a snow shovel.”

She didn’t seem offended by his amusement. “That makes sense. I’ve heard of plows, but I thought they were giant things used on highways and stuff.”

“There are giant ones for highways, and there are little ones for driveways and parking lots.” He pointed to the front of his truck and the plow attached there.

“Ah. Must be convenient.”

“Incredibly.” He didn’t add that plowing was one of his sources of income in the winter months when most construction jobs were put on hold. After remodeling Aspen Kincaid’s house, new opportunities would open up for him as long as he earned a good review.

He climbed the steps and pushed open the front door. “Well, let’s check it out.”

CHAPTER FOUR

She gazed at the living room with its vaulted ceilings. A gorgeous gray stone fireplace took up one entire wall. On the other side, a staircase led to the second floor, where a walkway lined with doors was open to the living area below.

Aspen had known the house was almost three thousand square feet. She’d known it sat on five acres. She’d been told all that when Dad’s lawyer had read the will. She’d even seen a few photos.

She was still stunned.

Maybe because, deep down, she’d hoped to walk in the door and find her mother. Dad had given Aspen the impression she was here. Or maybe Aspen had filtered his words through a heavy dose of wishful thinking.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was still alive.

The thought thrummed in Aspen’s chest, beating a rhythm of hope.

When Aspen turned thirteen, she’d demanded to know what had happened to the woman who’d given birth to her. Dad had seemed reluctant, but she’d argued she was old enoughto understand. Finally, he’d conceded. She could still see the kindness in his face when he sat her down that day.

“Your mother suffered from a mental illness. When you were a baby, she got into some trouble, and then she disappeared. Though we’ve never found her, she is presumed dead.”

Aspen had wanted to hope Dad was wrong, but he’d been so confident, adding, “If she were alive, sweetheart, she would have come home.”