Page 3 of Winter Beginnings
“Looks like a decent view,” he remarked, pointing out the distant mountains.
Our proximity sent a shiver through me. Though I was layered in a thick jacket, I could sense the heat radiating from him—subtle, but undeniably present. He smelled of spice and something faintly sweet, maybe the remnants of coffee. When he brushed past me to check a rotting window frame, I nearly forgot to breathe. Rory, get a grip, I scolded myself. He’s your contractor, not a potential date. Yet my pulse refused to settle. Every time our eyes met, it felt like a spark jumped between us. Maybe it was just the eagerness we both felt about taking on such a significant project.
Eventually, we headed back to the foyer. Cass tucked his flashlight into his coat pocket and exhaled a cloud of white breath. “That’s probably enough for today. I don’t want to push our luck with these floors. But I’ve seen enough to make a preliminary estimate.”
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my arms for warmth. “This house is enormous.”
He gave me a sympathetic half-smile, stepping toward the door. “It’s big, it’s old, but not unsalvageable. I’ll be honest, though: it’s going to cost a fair bit. Might be a shock at first glance, but we can tackle it in phases.”
Even though I’d prepared myself, my stomach still twisted with anxiety. “I figured. I appreciate you not sugarcoating it.”
He paused, his gaze lingering on my face. “You don’t strike me as someone who wants sugarcoating.”
My heart gave a betraying flutter. The calm certainty in his tone, the flicker of challenge in his hazel eyes—some part of me thrilled at the idea that maybe he saw me as strong, not just desperate. “I guess we’ll see if I run screaming,” I joked, trying to hide how jittery I felt.
He laughed. “I have a hunch you won’t.”
Outside, the frigid winter air assaulted us once more, though the January sun was bright now, highlighting how badly the porch sagged. Cass halted near the front steps, pressing his boot against a suspicious board. “Definitely some rot here. We might want to secure this porch first so nobody goes tumbling off.”
I tucked my scarf tighter around my chin, my breath escaping in a shaky cloud. “Put it at the top of the list.”
We walked together toward my SUV, crunching over the snow. Around us, pines swayed in a light breeze, and icicles glinted like crystal daggers. The hush was broken only by the squeak of our boots. When we reached my vehicle, I realized I felt oddly reluctant to see him go. He was the first person I’d met in Winterhaven. Would we end up being friends? Or…? I shivered involuntarily. I was being ridiculous, letting my imagination run away with me on the basis of a simple attraction that was probably nothing.
He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, shoulders tensing against the chill. “All right. Next steps: I’ll write up an itemized estimate, email it to you tonight. You can look it over, see what we can handle immediately versus later.”
I nodded, noticing the solid lines of his chiseled jaw. “Thank you, Cass. Really. It helps to know I’m not alone in this.”
A flicker of something passed over his face—understanding, maybe. “Hey, this is my job, but it’s also my passion, shining new light on the beauty of the past.” His eyes met mine, and a gentle smile curved his lips. “I’m on your team.”
My heart thumped. Before I could respond, he took a small step closer, like he was about to add something more. Then, seeming to rethink it, he simply gave a short nod.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “Stay warm, Rory.”
“Y-you too,” I managed.
He turned, crossing the driveway to his blue pickup. I stood there, the wind rustling the fringe of my scarf as I watched him climb in and start the engine. My mind felt scrambled, a thousand thoughts competing: the cost of the renovation, the beauty of the old house, and the startling presence of my new contractor.
The moment Cass’s truck disappeared down the lane, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, realizing my heart was still racing. Part of me felt a flicker of guilt—like I was betraying the vow I made to never trust a man again after Julian. But another part, perhaps the braver part, whispered that not everyone would hurt me.
Eventually, I climbed into my SUV, heater blasting to chase away the cold. I grabbed my phone to check messages, half-tempted to call Bailey right away. Instead, I started the engine, glancing back at the looming mansion. Even battered bytime and half-buried in snow, it stood with a certain haunted dignity, as if waiting for someone to see its potential.
“I see it,” I whispered under my breath. “I hope you’re ready for us, because we’re going to try like hell to make you shine.”
Tossing the vehicle into gear, I drove away, heading back toward Wintervale’s quaint main street to find a bite to eat—and, if I could, a decent place to sleep that wasn’t a freezing Victorian with precarious floorboards. My mind churned through a hundred tasks: scheduling utility inspections, ordering space heaters, perhaps renting a suite at the local ski resort until the house was marginally livable.
But despite all the worry, a tiny thread of excitement wove through me. In the hush of the Montana winter, with snow swirling around and sunlight painting everything in dreamy sparkles, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time…Hope.
Chapter Two
Cass
I left Barrington Manor feeling an odd swirl of excitement and old ghosts tugging at my chest. The road back into Wintervale seemed shorter than usual, maybe because I couldn’t stop replaying the sight of Rory Lancaster tiptoeing around broken boards, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her bright purple beanie framing a face equal parts anxious and determined. I’d shown her the property’s worst flaws—moldy plaster, sagging porch, missing shingles—and she hadn’t run. In fact, she looked ready to roll up her sleeves and fight for that creaking Victorian.
That stirred something inside me, making me grip the steering wheel tighter. Of course, it was my job to fix houses, to draw up estimates and guide owners through renovations, but I usually kept things strictly professional. Clients rarely turnedmy head. Yet the moment our eyes met in that dusty foyer, I felt a subtle spark. One I shouldn’t entertain, considering the secret that haunted my connection to the place that neither Rory nor anyone else in town knew about. And I was determined to keep it that way. After all, the mansion had belonged to Cyrus Barrington—my biological father. I’d spent months trying to bury the guilt and confusion about not claiming my inheritance, letting the old estate fall to foreclosure. Now, Rory had bought it, unaware of my link. It felt like fate was confirming the decision I’d made to keep quiet.
Focus, Cass. I pressed the gas, guiding my old pickup through Wintervale’s main street. The glints of sun breaking through the cloud cover glinted off the snow, and flakes swirled around the tires of cars ahead of me. The quaint shops, leftover holiday decor, and a handful of shoppers gave the town square a cozy charm. If I weren’t so preoccupied, I might’ve enjoyed it. But my mind churned with memories and the image of the beautiful new woman in town with her soft lips and uncertain smile.
I turned onto a quiet side lane that led to my workshop. Even though it was only midmorning, a pale winter light already slanted across the snowdrifts, elongating shadows of the tall elms that clustered around the property. My adoptive father, Mr. Whitlock, bought this building years ago, using it to store his carpentry tools. He passed it on to me when he and my mom died. Though they’d never had much money, they had hearts big enough to adopt me as a baby and had been the most wonderful parents anyone could have asked for. A pang of grief shot through my heart. They’d both been ill for a long time before their passing within a few months of each other, and even though it had been several years, I still missed them.