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CHAPTER THREE

G arrett McCarthy glanced back at the big old house. This was his opportunity to establish himself as a general contractor. He’d taken small jobs here and there—a kitchen remodel, an addition over a garage—but he’d never been hired to manage the renovation of an entire house. When he completed this job well, new opportunities should open up.

He’d arrived at the two-story home early that morning, plowed the drive, and had almost finished shoveling the walkway when the growl of an engine interrupted the silence. As remote as this house was, he assumed his client was arriving. With the shovel propped beneath his hand, he faced the road. A small red SUV turned down the long driveway and parked beside his pickup. A woman in a puffy parka, the hood pulled up over her head, stepped out of the vehicle and approached him.

When she reached the shade of the house, she took off her sunglasses and pushed back her hood.

His heart did a weird little hitch.

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but not this.

She was beautiful with dark blond hair and pale green eyes. Despite her puffy blue jacket, it was clear that she was trim and fit and…

“Aspen Kincaid.” She held out her hand, covered in what looked like expensive leather, and he yanked off his dirty work glove to shake it.

“Garrett McCarthy. Welcome to your house.”

She looked up at it, and so did he, feeling protective of the old place that had been so poorly used in recent months. The cedar siding was faded, splintered in places. The concrete steps behind him, though clear of snow, were cracked, and the iron railings listed to one side. From the front, it didn’t look like much, especially with the rise that blocked most of the structure from the road. But, despite all that, the fresh snow enshrouding it made it look…well, if not new, then at least bright and clean.

He couldn’t read the look on her face. She seemed shocked.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” he said. “We can freshen up the siding, or even paint it.” Though the thought of painting it did not set well. “Either way, it’ll look great when we’re done. A few of the rooms have been updated already. Not the kitchen or… most of the baths.” He’d have to explain about the creepy rooms in the basement, but not yet. “It’s functional. You should be able to live here while we do the renovations.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend the property. It was what it was. Maybe it wasn’t her dream home, but his understanding was that she’d inherited the place free and clear. Whatever she could sell it for would be money in her pocket.

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 realized she 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.”