Chapter 1

Friday 4.36pm

Brooke

My breath is misting, feet frozen, hands aching with cold as I stare at the giant crack in my wall.

I curse and check my watch again. Andy’s late. And with the snow falling thicker if he doesn’t get here soon, I’ll freeze again tonight.

I chew my lip and stare at the door, wondering for the umpteenth time since the weather got worse, why, oh, why, I thought moving to where my dad grew up was a good idea.

I exhale a foggy breath and wrap my arms around myself as I check out the window. The snow is falling so briskly it’s obscuring my view of the road.

Moving all this way out here just before winter was all kinds of stupid. But with loans hanging over my head and nothing in the bank, refurbishing the house my aunt left to me is pretty much my only chance at fixing the mess Nate made.

I snort a laugh through my nose. It’s a joke to think by fixing this place; I can fix my life in the process.

But with my job barely keeping me fed, and the money Mom and Dad loaned me dwindling, I literally have to get this place up and running before summer.

With a sigh, I run my hand over the back of the sofa, lamenting that the upholstery needs repairing.

The furniture is circa 1920s, and while it was built to last, like everything around the property, it’s in dire need of attention.

I slump into the sofa and put my elbows on my knees so I can cradle my chin. A gust of wintery air blows through the crack in the wall, making a shiver run down my spine.

At least I can crawl into bed in a few hours. Take a bath, maybe reheat some soup and light a fire in the master bedroom while I watch old black and white movies.

I should be thankful Aunt Jane at least got a new bed in the last couple of decades of her life.

None of the other five bedrooms have decent furnishings, let alone beds, so that’s yet another thing I have to remedy over the next three months.

With a groan, I start rubbing my hands together to keep them warm as I think about what I have left to sell.

The house is so still and so quiet, the knock at the door makes me jump.

I’ve hardly been out here a month, and already I’m growing accustomed to the lack of sirens, cars honking and occasional argument from my neighbors.

I open the door expecting to see the owner of Handy-Andy’s filling my porch with his girth, but all the wind leaves my lungs as I find an incredibly gorgeous man staring right at me.

My mouth slackens as I note the toolbox he’s carrying and my addled mind slowly starts to connect the dots.

He’s tall with muscle hidden under his plaid shirt, padded jacket and faded jeans.

Stubble covers half his face, but it’s his green eyes that turn my insides to mush.

His voice pours out like velvet treacle. “Brooke? I’m Carter. Andy sent me in to fix the wall.”

I’m rendered mute as I try to find my tongue. When I’m sure I’m in control, I near splutter a response. “Yes, of course. Sorry, I was expecting Andy.”

And Carter bears absolutely no resemblance to a balding, overweight and happily married man my father grew up with.

He nods slowly, a wary expression on his face, and steps inside, bringing with him the scent of subtle aftershave. “Andy hired me a while back. Sorry I’m late, had a few calls. People are trying to get things fixed before the weekend.”

I start to speak, but his eyes are on the wall, his hand running down the crack, a frown on his tanned face. “I have everything I need in the truck. I’ll patch it up then be on my way before the weather gets worse.”

I nod feebly and lean my hip against the sofa as I watch him set his toolbox down. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I doubt he’ll need me for anything, but he grunts acknowledgment before heading back outside again.

Since he’s going to be working in here, and I’m freezing with a to-do list that keeps growing, I head back to the kitchen and get to work sorting through the canned fruits Aunt Jane has collected over the years.

There are so many in the massive walk-in pantry; I get to three dozen preserved pears when I give up and decide since I lit the stove, I may as make a pie or something with them.

I grab two jars and make a note of how many peaches, apricots, and tomatoes she’s got stored then head back out the back door to grab the bag of groceries I brought with me.

I hurry through the snow to my car, and wrench open the door to grab all the supplies I’ll need in case I get snowed in.

The wind is picking up, tossing snow and my hair along with it as I hurry back inside.

The warmth of the kitchen smacks into me as I place the bags down on the large wooden table in the middle of the farm style kitchen.

I check on the woodpile beside the stove and look out the kitchen window at the shed and try to remember how much dry wood is still stacked inside.

I’m certain when I checked with Dad there was enough to last a few months but heating the living room, and the bedroom with firewood will chew through the supply far too quickly.

Open fireplaces might be cozy and romantic, exactly the atmosphere I’m going for, but no couple looking to get away from it all would sacrifice comfort over aesthetic.

The sooner I get the central heating up and running, the sooner I can focus on all the other things that need fixing.

I can hear Carter banging around in the living room. Given the way he fills out his clothes, and his smoldering intensity, he probably has a dozen housewives in the district already doing hovering while he works.

Unsure of whether to disturb him just to say the weather is getting worse, I pull out everything I need to get started on the pastry.

I tie my hair back, wash my hands in the large sink, and get to work.

Baking is the one thing that always takes my mind off my troubles. From teenage dramas to losing my job, to Nate taking all our savings, baking has been my escape.

As silly as it sounds, my mood always lifts when I’m able to bake something and put a smile on someone else’s face.

My hands are covered in flour, back to the kitchen door when I hear his footsteps over the wind.

I turn and find him staring at me, a curious expression on his face as he gives me a half smile. “You like to bake?”

I swallow hard, heat blazing across my cheeks as I dust my hands and grab a towel. “I do. And my aunt left me enough preserves to last a decade. I thought I’d make a pie or a cobbler.”

He doesn’t say anything just looks around the kitchen. “Don’t see many woodstoves being used these days,” he says.

I glance at the beat-up stove, currently warming the kitchen and cover a grimace at how dirty it is. “I think they’re banned now or something. Something about air pollution. I was thinking about removing it.”

He shakes his head; green eyes narrowed slightly. “That’d be a shame. People do that all the time, just rip stuff out of old places like this and replace it with something modern.”

I have no idea why he sounds so irritated at the idea of merging old and new, but I’m not about to disagree with him since he’s the only thing standing between me and a weekend spent huddling in my bedroom or here the kitchen.

I clear my throat and manage a weak smile. “Is the wall fixed then?”

He nods slowly. “I ran into a couple problems. It’s not pretty, but it’ll do the job. You’re going to need a sparky to check the wiring. Looks like rats have gotten in.”

I grimace and mutter a curse. Great. More money I don’t have. “Oh, so you can’t finish the job today?”

I should be pleased he can’t fix it completely today. It buys me a few more days to find the money to pay Andy.

Carter’s eyes are back to the oven when he nods. “Once you give me the all-clear, I’ll need to come back to plaster it and paint.”

With a final look at the stove, then the mixing bowl on the counter, then me, Carter walks out the door.

I blow out a breath and scoff at myself for being so affected by him. Wasn’t that the problem last time I fell head over heels?

Nate was love at first sight. Or so I thought. But his lies were as cheap as the suits he used to wear. I should have seen it coming. Looking back, the signs were there. But I so wanted to believe he wasn’t as superficial and as vain as my father tried to tell me he was.

I’d fallen for him. Fallen for his slick smooth-talking veneer. I was too trusting, too willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Too damn convinced everyone else had him wrong, I failed to see what was glaringly obvious.

With Nate’s teasing smile and his broken promises in mind, I make a mental note to stop acting like an idiot.

The living room is still icy as I enter, but where the crack was, what remained of the wallpaper has been covered in board and nailed in.

Carter is packing up his tools as I look out the window. The snow is coming down so thick the visibility is almost zero out past the fence line.

Carter follows my line of sight as he gets to his feet, toolbox in hand. “Turning into a blizzard. I better hit the road before I get stuck here.”

For the strangest reason, my heart leaps into my throat at the very idea of him staying.

I flush crimson as my mind starts wandering. “I’m not set up for guests yet,” I say.

His lips curl into a semi-smile as he nods. “Let Andy know when you’re ready, and I’ll come finish.”

He opens the door to leave, and we’re both blasted by a gust of wind and snow. Carter sets his face and ducks his chin against the wind.

I have to hold on to the door to keep it from slamming as he hurries back outside. The wind fights against me as I struggle to close the door after him.

From beside the window, I watch him throw the toolbox on the back of his truck and pull the driver’s door open.

He slides behind the wheel, pulling the door closed against the growing blizzard.

Over the wind, I hear the engine reluctantly turn over. The wheels spin as he pulls away, but with chains on the tires he gains enough traction to drive out past the letterbox.

He disappears into the snow, and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

At least I don’t need to worry about him getting caught here. There is literally one place he could have comfortably bedded down for the night.

And that’s in my room.

***

Carter

The windscreen wipers can’t compete with the snowfall. It’s beyond stupid to keep driving. But the only option is to turn around, and that isn’t something I’m dumb enough to do.

I know all about Brooke. All about her ex and why she’s here. And after dealing with my own shit, that kind of complication isn’t something I’m even remotely interested in.

I squint out the windshield, leaning forward as I try to see the road. Even with my lights on high, I can’t see where the hell I’m going.

Turning around is the smart thing to do. Even if she’s damn fine to look at. Even if the idea of spending more time alone with her appeals way more than it should.

A woman like that, with sexy curves, chocolate-colored eyes and long dark hair, is the last thing I want or need in my life right now.

When I can’t see Jack, and I’m pretty sure I barely made it a yard from her house, I mutter a curse and bring the ease my foot on the brake.

I grab my cell and call Andy. I don’t have to wait long as Andy’s cheery voice crackles down the line. “Carter? This is turning into a blizzard.”

I nearly mutter an expletive at him for stating the obvious. If it weren’t for the fact he gave me a shot, I would. “Yeah. I’m driving blind here. I’m going to have to leave the truck and…”

And what? Go back to Brooke? Back to her cozy bed and breakfast to wait out the storm together?

That’s exactly the kind of unnecessary temptation I’ve spent the last year avoiding. “Ah, fuck,” I mutter.

Andy chuckles down the line. His voice is cutting out letting me know the storm is messing with the coverage. “Get—home—go back—not worth the risk—leave the truck—Brooke’s a good woman. Watch it—"

I lose him completely, but it’s not hard to piece together what he’s telling me to do. He wants me to go back to Brooke’s house.

Because apparently after knowing her for four weeks, Andy thinks she’s a good woman.

She probably is. But I’m not a good man and going back to her house when I can’t leave again until morning, is dumber than dumb even for me.

With nothing else to do but freeze my balls off sitting in the truck and with Andy’s go-ahead to leave the truck, I open the door to the blizzard and start to retrace my steps.

The wind is biting into my exposed skin and chilling my entire body as I follow the fence line.

I’m almost walking blind, but I manage to see her red Nissan through the snow.

I stumble up her front steps and with frozen fingers, and a gnawing feeling in my gut, I knock on the door.

I huddle against the wall, trying to figure out how best to ask an impossible question when the door opens.

Her eyes widen as she stares at me. With the wind howling around us, I have to half shout at her. “Can I come in? I had to leave the truck.”

She arches her eyebrows and purses her lips but steps back, still holding onto the door.

I step inside, covered in snow, as she shoves the door closed with a grunt. I’m half-way out with an explanation when she speaks. “Andy called. The reception was terrible, but he said to expect you.”

From the look on her face, she’s none too pleased about me being here. I can only imagine how that conversation went.

But instead of hostility, she smiles warmly. “Well, hang up your coat. Since it's my fault you got stuck out here, the least I can do is give up my bed for the night.”

I start to protest; I’ll sleep on the floor when she jerks her thumb to the back of the house. “Do you want a cup of something? I was just about to put the pie in the oven.”

I’m so surprised, I just grunt in her direction. If she takes offense or thinks I’m an imbecile, she doesn’t say anything or show it which stupidly makes her even more attractive.

She turns and starts heading back to the kitchen, and against my will, my eyes slide to her ass.

I’m appreciating the way she fits her jeans, the way her hips curve into her waist when I have to remind myself to take a mental cold shower.

This isn’t the time or the place to even think about how pretty she is. Or how nice she’s being.

One night, then come hell or high water, I get out of here, and even if I have to ski, I’m staying as far away from Brooke as possible.

All my resolve dissolves when I take a seat in her homey kitchen and watch her bend over to place the pie in the oven.

She stands by the window and her throat. “So, since you’re my first ever guest, do you mind if I try a few things out on you?”

I stare at her, wondering what she could possibly be thinking when heat blazes across her cheeks.

She pulls a face. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were a guinea pig. It’s just I’ve never done this before—”

Her voice trails off as the water starts to boil in the old-style teakettle on the stove.

She looks over her shoulder as she uses a pot-holder to remove it. “Is Earl Grey tea okay? I’m trying out a few before choosing which ones I want.”

I have no idea what ‘Earl Grey’ is but since I don’t give a shit, I just nod. “You’ve never done what? Run a bed and breakfast?”

She talks as she pours water into a teapot and adds a couple of teabags. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy for picking up and leaving.”

Brooke sits down and shakes her head. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about me? The dope whose fiancé took all her money and ran off?”

Her eyes seek mine, a nervous smile flickering at her mouth as the seconds tick on.

I have heard all about her. Mainly from Andy’s wife, Sarah, who’s got an insane idea in her head, Brooke would be a perfect match for me. But I’m not about to tell Brooke that.

I nod and relax back in my chair, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s a small town.”

She toys with the mugs on the table. “I know it’s a long shot, but Rover’s Retreat seems like the perfect place to start again, you know?”

My stomach tightens. I do know. “That’s why I settled here,” I say.

A crooked smile appears on her face. “Anyway, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to try a few things out while I have you for the night—”

She sucks in a breath as her eyes flick upward and fix on mine.

“Oh, um, I mean recipes and movie and book selections I planned to have in the rooms,” she says in a rush of breath.

As she scrambles to recover, I hide a smile.

Brooke mumbles to herself as she looks up at me through her long dark lashes. “Uh, sorry, I’m talking too much, I ramble when I’m…um.”

This time I do smile, more to put her at ease than anything else. “It’s fine. I’m happy to be your guinea pig.”

And I am. Probably a little too happy.