“I’m not planning to steal anything from your car, but could someone move it out of the way? It’s got the Jeep blocked in.” He locked eyes with her.
“Oh?” She seemed to consider this. “So, seriously, you’re the caretaker?”
“At your service.” He mocked a little bow then jerked a thumb toward his studio. “And that is the caretaker’s cottage.”
“And that is the snow shovel.” She pointed to the shovel he’d left by the front door for his guests to utilize, holding her head high like she was royalty. Maybe the Ice Princess.
“Feel free to help yourself to it anytime you like.”
“Seriously?” She scowled. “You’re the caretaker and you expect me to shovel the snow for you?”
“Hey, it’s great exercise. Very aerobic. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some other caretaking business to attend to.” He knew he’d offended her, but at the moment, he didn’t care. That woman was obnoxious. Shoveling snow would probably do her some good.
“I assume you’ll remove the snow,” the Ice Princess called out.
“You know what they say about that assume word,” he called back. As he strolled to his studio, he could feel her staring, and he imagined her snatching up the snow shovel and bopping him on the head with it. But he made it safely inside. He peeked through the blinds, hoping she’d take his hint and move that SUV. Instead, she stomped into the house. The Ice Princess was a real piece of work!
Initially, he’d thought the woman might’ve been Emma, but he could tell by the tone of her voice, it was the other one. He assumed she was the daughter of the cantankerous mother and the dude who’d made the arrangements for this stupid house swap.
West didn’t want to know one more thing about these people. He just wanted out of here. Then he’d bide his time in Arizona until this whole crazy trade was over and done with.
six
Emma felt like she’d won the lottery when she saw the third-floor bedroom. It resembled the first floor with wood-plank floors, Native American rugs, beautiful western art, and rustic decor touches. The huge bed, crafted from gleaming beautiful logs and topped with a gorgeous quilt in shades of burgundy, green, and gold, was very inviting. Plus the spacious bathroom with its roomy shower, all those shower heads, and a deep freestanding tub. But it was all the windows—and the view of the mountains—that took her breath away. Everything up here was absolutely perfect—and going up two flights of stairs was a small price to pay for this kind of solitude and beauty. But hearing raised voices downstairs reminded her that she was not alone . . . and a guest.
As Emma went down the stairs, she could hear Mrs. Landers’s voice, and not surprisingly, she had found something new to complain about. “What kind of place is this that they don’t have toiletries in the bathroom?”
“They have the basic necessities,” Mr. Landers told her.
“There’s no shampoo or conditioner or shower soap or—”
“It’s not a hotel, Lisa. Maybe you were supposed to bring those things for yourself. I brought mine. You can use them if you—”
“And smell like a man?” She scowled at him. “And the pillows on that bed. I can’t sleep with a rock-hard pillow. Never mind that the bedding is substandard.”
“Maybe you should complain to the caretaker.” Gillian opened the refrigerator, looking around.
“Caretaker?” Mrs. Landers sounded doubtful.
“Yeah. I just met him outside.”
“There’s a caretaker?” he asked. “I didn’t know about that.”
Gil tossed him the keys. “He wants you to move the SUV, Dad. And I’ll warn you, he’s a total jerk.”
“The listing never mentioned a caretaker. It did say that a housekeeper would be in every other day. But other than that, I thought we were on our own.”
“Nope. There’s a cantankerous caretaker. He’s got his own cottage behind the garage. He claims that he gets to use the Jeep, which I thought you said was for us to use.”
“No, I just reread the paperwork, and it seems there’s a compact car in the garage that we can use. And it’s equipped with a ski rack.”
“Well, unless you move the SUV so the cranky caretaker can move the Jeep, we won’t be able to get anything out of the garage. And we girls get first dibs on the car.” Gillian winked at Emma.
“Alright, I’ll go move the SUV.” He reached for his jacket. “I want to make a store run anyway.”
“You’re not going to the store without me,” Mrs. Landers told him. “In the meantime, Gillian, you go ask the caretaker about pillows and bedding. There must be something better than what’s on that bed.”
“Forget it, Mom. I refuse to speak to the ol’ grump.” Gillian shook her head. “Seriously, he’s a total jerk.”
“I don’t care if he’s Ebenezer Scrooge reincarnate. He’s the caretaker, and it’s his job to make the guests comfortable. Go ask him where the extra bedding is stored. I’ve already looked and can’t find a thing.”
“No way, Mom. If you want more bedding, you go talk to him.”
“Do I have to ask you again, Gillian?” Mrs. Landers’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared.
“I need to go to the store too.” Gillian flitted her eyelashes at her dad, ignoring her mom’s rising anger. “I forgot a couple of things, and my bathroom doesn’t have any—”
“Gillian Elizabeth!” Mrs. Landers looked like she was about to blow.
“How about if I go speak to the caretaker?” Emma quickly offered, wanting to defuse this before it got worse.
“Well, it’s not fair to impose on our guest.” Mrs. Landers still glared at her daughter. “But I would appreciate the help, Emma. Thank you very much. You’re such a thoughtful girl. Too bad your goodness doesn’t rub off on Gillian.”
Hoping to escape the mother-daughter conflict that was about to escalate to a new level, Emma hurried outside. Pausing on the snow-covered path to the driveway, she allowed fat snowflakes to fall on her, even catching a couple with her tongue. Snow couldn’t hurt you. She looked all around, taking in the other large homes, beautifully blanketed in snow, and the mountains behind them. This place was truly magical!
As she walked up the driveway, she spotted what looked like a caretaker’s cottage and slowly approached it. Hopefully the ol’ grump wasn’t as bad as Gillian had described. Holding her breath, she tentatively knocked on the door, expecting a gray, grisly old man to answer. To her surprise, a younger man opened the door. Dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, he stared at her with a puzzled expression. She suddenly wondered if she’d knocked on the wrong door.
She smiled stiffly. “Sorry to bother you. I—I was looking for the caretaker, and I thought this was the right—”
“Yeah, yeah.” He studied her with a furrowed brow. “This is, uh, the caretaker’s cottage.”
She blinked. “Oh, so . . . are you the caretaker?” For some reason this guy didn’t look much like a caretaker to her. And she wondered why Gillian had taken such a dislike to him. Especially considering how good-looking he was—in a country boy sort of way.
He nodded with pursed lips. “And who, may I ask, are you?”
“I’m Emma. I, uh, I’m here with the Landers family. They’ve got the house throughout Christmas. But you probably know all about that.”
“Yes, I know. And I’m West.” He ran a hand through his shaggy auburn hair.
“West? That’s an interesting name. I like it.” Her smile was sincere now.
“Thanks.” His dark green eyes flickered with interest. “So what can I do for you, Miss Emma?”
“Well, I guess we need some more linens and things. And Mrs. Landers thinks the bed pillows are a bit hard and—”
“The master suite has spare pillows and blankets in that trunk at the foot of the bed.” He frowned as if she’d presented a great imposition.
“Oh, okay. Mr. and Mrs. Landers aren’t using the master suite, but I can take—”
“Which room are
they using?”
Emma explained how Mrs. Landers didn’t want to go up the stairs. “They took the room on the first floor.”
“That’s good.” He rubbed his chin. “So no one’s using the master suite then?”
“Actually, I’m in it,” she confessed. “I can’t believe I scored the best room in the house. But no one seemed to mind. The view up there is so spectacular. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Have you ever been up there?”
He seemed amused. “Yeah, a time or two.”
“Yes, of course you have. So anyway, Mrs. Landers needs some softer pillows and more bedding. Should I take things from the master suite, or is there a linen closet or something somewhere?”
He let out an irritated groan. “Yeah, yeah . . . of course.”
“Maybe you can just tell me where it’s located.” This must be his grumpy side. “And then I can take care of it myself. I don’t want to trouble you.”
“Might be easier to just show you.” He reached for a ski parka hanging by the door.
“Do you mind?”
The edges of his eyes crinkled like he was about to smile. “No, I don’t mind.” He slipped on the parka and stepped out. Then instead of going to the front door, he led her around back and, using a key, unlocked a door. “This is the mudroom.” He led her through a large room that was well equipped with skis, snowboards, snowshoes, and miscellaneous other sporting goods.
“Wow, this looks like a miniature ski shop,” she said. “The homeowners must be very rich.”
“I guess.” He shrugged as he led her through another door. “This is the laundry room.” He looked around the spacious room with two sets of washers and dryers. “There should be a cabinet in here where the linens are stored . . . somewhere.”
“Meaning you don’t know exactly where the linens are kept?” she asked with suspicion. Was he truly the caretaker, or was she being taken in?
“Well, this is the housekeeper’s purview. Of course, she’s not here right now. She only comes in three days a week—and she was just here today getting things ready for the Landers family.” He tried a cabinet to reveal cleaning supplies and then another with paper products. Finally, he opened a cupboard stacked with linens and bedding. “Bingo.”
“Thank you. So if we have other questions, should we direct them to you? Or wait for the housekeeper?”
He rubbed his chin. “Well, I’m not sure I’ll be around during the holidays.”
“Yes, of course.” She nodded. “You probably have family . . . someplace to be. Naturally, you have a life.”
His dark eyes twinkled. “Well, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”
She looked down at the floor. “Yes, of course.”
“Are those people—the Landerses—your family?” He peered at her with a curious expression.
“No, they’re not family. I’m just friends with the daughter. My parents are in Africa . . . so I spend holidays with the Landerses.”
“Your parents are in Africa?”
She quickly explained about the mission school. “But that’s probably too much information.”
“No, I think that’s really cool.” He nodded. “You must be proud of them.”
She nodded. “I am. Not everyone understands what they’re doing . . . or why.”
“So you’re pretty good friends with the Landers family?” He sat on a folding counter, swinging his legs.
“I guess so. I’ve known Gillian for years.”
“Is that the one who spoke to me in the driveway?”
“Yes. You met Gillian.” She explained about Gil’s brother, Grant, and his friend, Harris. “Harris is actually a good skier. So he’s pretty jazzed about being up here. And I guess Grant’s more of a beginner skier. But Gillian . . . not so much.”
“And you?”
She laughed. “I’ve never skied. To be honest, I’d never even seen real snow until today.”
“You’re kidding!” His eyes lit up. “What do you think of it?”
“I love it.” She sighed. “And I do want to learn to ski.”
“Well, you couldn’t ask for better snow.”
“That’s what Harris said. And he’s promised to teach me.”
“So are you and Harris a couple?” He slid down off the folding counter.
“No. In fact, Gillian will probably be upset if Harris gives me ski lessons.”
“So they’re a couple then?”
“No. Not yet. Gillian is hoping.” Emma felt surprised at herself—she wasn’t usually this friendly with a strange guy, and yet he was so easy to talk to . . . and so much more peaceful than Gillian and her family.
“So how will you learn to ski?”
“I thought I could sign up for a class or even private lessons. Do they have something like that up here?”
“Sure. But it can be booked up this time of year if you don’t have a reservation.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about the holidays.”
“But I could teach you.”
“You?” She wasn’t too sure about this. “Don’t you have your job here—I mean caretaking?”
He chuckled. “Not as much as you might think.”
“But the homeowners, would they be bothered if you spent time with a guest? I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your job.”
“I happen to be on great terms with the homeowner. He won’t mind a bit.”
“Seriously?” She studied him. Was he overstepping his bounds here? And yet something about him just made her want to trust him. He seemed like a regular good guy. “So you’re a good skier?”
“Good enough to teach a beginner like you.” He grinned.
“Well, that might solve the problem with Harris. I know Gillian will throw a serious fit if I spend too much time with him.”
“And she won’t mind if you spend time with the caretaker.” He led her back into the mudroom.
Emma shrugged. “Oh, she’ll probably mind. But not in the same sort of way. And anyway, it might be good for her.”
“How’s that?”
“I shouldn’t say this, but Gillian can be . . . oh, you know, a little snooty. It’s sort of how she was raised. Underneath all that, she’s okay. But I’ll warn you, she can come across as superficial and materialistic at times.”
“And you’re not?”
Emma laughed. “No way. I substitute teach for a living. You can’t be materialistic on my meager salary.” She wanted to add that it was probably about the same as his but didn’t want to insult him.
“And yet you’re friends with Gillian and her family?”
“It’s a long story.” She sighed. “And sometimes—not always—well, it kind of feels like they need me. I know that’s weird, and it probably sounds egotistical, like I think I’m something special. But it’s not like that. I just think I help bring them down to earth.”
“Well, you probably need to get back to them. I have some, uh, caretaking things to take care of. But if you want your free skiing lesson, meet me down here at eight. The lift opens at nine, and we’ll want to make fresh tracks.”
“Fresh tracks?”
“You know, the first ones down the slope. Beat the rush.”
“Oh . . . yeah. You’re sure your boss won’t mind?” she asked again.
“Positive. Part of being a good caretaker is taking good care of the guests.” He grinned as he picked up a random ski pole and dropped it into a barrel. “Here at eight and don’t be late.”
“It’s a date.” She felt her cheeks warm. “Not really a date. I mean, I was just trying to rhyme with you.”
He laughed. “I like that. A girl who can rhyme.”
She promised to meet him here the next morning then, returning to the laundry room, Emma gathered up a few things she hoped would appease Mrs. Landers and took them into the now quiet house. She wasn’t sure where the guys were, but she’d overheard Grant telling Harris that he wanted to visit a nearby brewery. So it seemed, for the moment, she had this marvelous hous
e all to herself, and she intended to fully explore it. Whoever owned this place wasn’t just wealthy, they seemed to have good taste too. Everything about this place felt so right. At least to her. She knew Gillian’s mom had her own opinions. But to Emma, this house was perfection. And its caretaker wasn’t bad either.
seven
West didn’t know what it was about that girl . . . but something about Emma had gotten under his skin. Sure, she was pretty. Almost exotic looking with that long, glossy black hair, espresso-colored eyes, and fine features. But it was more than just looks. She had a quiet gentleness about her. Sort of peaceful and calming. A quality he didn’t often see in women. Especially in beautiful women. Especially in women who discovered his true identity. Once a girl found out he was TW Prescott, one of the “most successful songwriters of his generation,” not to mention best buddies with Gunner Price, the games would begin. And they were games he wasn’t good at playing. As a result, he tended to avoid dating in general.
So when he called his mom later that night, he wasn’t quite sure what to tell her. “Something has come up here, Mom,” he began. “I might not make it out tomorrow.”
“The weather?”
“Well, the weather is one thing. But it’s something more.”
“Is it the house-swap guests?” she asked with concern. “I had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, but Drew was so certain. And I must admit this home is pretty gorgeous. The boys have sure enjoyed that pool. But if the Arizona guests are a problem, I’m so sorry.”
“Not a problem exactly.” He didn’t want to say too much. “But I think I’ll be waylaid at least one more day—maybe two.”
“But you’ll be here by Christmas Eve?”
“That’s my goal. As long as I can get a flight.”
“I sure hope this house swap hasn’t ruined your Christmas, West. Where are you staying anyway?”
“In my studio.”
“On that Murphy bed?”
The Christmas Swap Page 4
