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Out of the Cold
Billionaire Christmas Story
Book One
Violet Walker
Billionaire Christmas Story: Out of the Cold
Chapter 1: The Farmhouse
They left New York City behind in a thin rain, Henry Reid’s tricked out Jeep Cherokee powering along as if the highway was dry as a bone, easing through the aggressive Upstate traffic with the grace of a vehicle too big and heavy to risk hitting. Henry sat at the wheel, his fine, well-manicured hands gripping it steadily and his green eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was generous-featured and handsome, nose just a touch overlarge and smile lines starting at the corners of his eyes--maybe forty, Anna guessed. Whenever they were together she had the habit of watching his face like she wanted to memorize every detail.
Anna McCallister, twenty-three and his secretary, loved him with the kind of desperate adoration that was usually limited to schoolgirl crushes, and though it embarrassed her, it stayed in her head no matter what she did. She fell asleep to thoughts of running her fingers through his floppy coffee-colored hair, and woke up to thoughts of turning to see his sleeping face on the pillow beside her. As they drove, competing with late holiday-makers headed for dinner somewhere out in the Catskills, she kept stealing looks at him. Henry probably thought that she had agreed to spend her Christmas Eve with him because she was dedicated to their work, but Anna did it for the reason she did everything he ever asked of her: because, despite the complete impossibility of this real estate billionaire wanting to date “the help,” she lived to see him smile.
“I can’t wait until you see this thing,” Henry said excitedly. “Two hundred years old, stone, now with all the modern comforts. Solar array on the south roof, windmill, network cable in place. All we need is to order Internet and phone service, load cord wood into the shed and fill the oil tanks, and she’s completely ready to go. Bet she’ll sell in a month or two, even in winter.” Henry glanced at her, the excitement in his voice coloring his cheeks and making his eyes dance in a way that made her stomach do a little flip.
“It sounds great,” she replied with a little squeak in her voice that she couldn’t conceal. She was a small, voluptuous woman, her own hair a shade lighter than his, falling in waves to her mid-back when she let it loose. Not that he would know that--she kept it carefully tucked up in a bun for work. Her eyes were light gray-green, in contrast with his pine-colored irises, and she tended to line them with kohl to bring out their unusual pale color. She wore an wool aubergine suit today, one of her best thrift-store finds and warm enough, paired with fleece-lined tights, warm boots, gloves and a puffer vest, to take on the Catskills in late December. She hoped. In reality, she had only been Upstate a few times since moving to New York City from Delaware, and she still wondered if she was ready for what the locals termed “a real winter”.
“I hope so. James told me today that she’s ready for a tour, and I wanted to get it done before the holiday. I really hope you don’t mind spending Christmas Eve dinner with your boss.” He knew she had no family to speak of, but he didn’t know how much trouble she’d had making friends since she had come to the City. Shyness wasn’t an asset anywhere in the world, but in New York City it was a serious handicap, and she was struggling.
“I didn’t have any plans,” she admitted, but left it at that. The whole holiday thing depressed her; it drove home her loneliness and made her feel pathetic. Besides, the truth was that she couldn’t think of anyone in the world she’d rather spend a holiday with than him.
“It’s too bad I couldn’t swing by and pick up Monty,” he mused. “He just adores you. Of course, it will be nice to have a Christmas Eve dinner without his nose constantly poking out from under the table in search of scraps.”
She giggled a little, and his eyes twinkled in response. Her assistant's duties didn’t normally involve looking after overly-friendly Rhodesian Ridgebacks, but she spent so much time volunteering at the SPCA that handling rambunctious dogs was second nature to her. Now and again when Henry left out of town, he asked her to look after the big doofus, who was actually fairly well-behaved except for his begging habit. “I never really mind doggie begging. He’s a happy guy. We’ll just have to remember to bring him next time you take me out here to show off one of your houses.” She prayed that would be often, and soon. Just taking a quiet drive out to the country with him made her happier.
He nodded, flashing a brief grin. Restoring both the old houses and the local economy of this part of the Catskills was one of his personal missions. She had never met anyone who loved crumbling stone farmhouses as much as Henry and could only hope that the steady stream of holiday homebuyers he counted on materialized. He wasn’t hurting for money if the risks he took didn’t pan out, but she could imagine his disappointment if they didn’t. The whole area up here was economically depressed and filled with ancient, decrepit bits of American history begging for restoration. His dream was to bring jobs and money to the area by restoring those houses, and she had worked hard to help him in every way she could.
It was a three hour drive from the city into the west end of Ulster County, where his project restored houses in cooperation with the local housing initiative. His foreman on the project, a local named James Thompson, was scheduled to meet them there in a few hours. Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but sit next to the man whose company she coveted most and struggle to find something interesting to say.
Fortunately, Henry was a talker, always going on about his projects or his ambitions or his dog. Never girlfriends, she noticed, and he didn't wear a ring. That just added fuel to her inappropriate fantasies. Right now, she watched his lips move, that Cupid’s bow curve to them and the way a little smile kept coming through as he talked. “...Forgot to ask if you eat beef. Sorry about that. I figured I’d cook for us.”
Oh wow. “Beef’s fine,” she mumbled, her heart rate jumping. He was going to cook for them. He might be crap at it for all she knew, but the thought was there. It was very hard not to misinterpret that as something romantic. She struggled with her feelings, and couldn’t stop smiling. “If I had known you were going all out I would have brought dessert.”
“Oh no, no problem, got it covered. I bake for a hobby, when Monty lets me anyway. He’s a damn muffin thief. That’s why he’s got a goddamn muffin butt. But anyway, don’t worry, I've got a Dutch apple pie in the trunk.”
God, could you be any more perfect? She squirmed and clenched her knees together under her skirt, doing her best to fend off even more unrealistic but delightful daydreams.
Outside the window, bare trees flashed past, the ground carpeted in fallen leaves slowly graying as the season’s icy rain worked them down into the soil. It had snowed a few times so far, little more than frost, which melted away as soon as the sun touched it. Out here, though, winter was sinking its fangs into the land faster. She saw glimmers of snow on the peaks as they drove down the state route, and when she took off her glove and
touched the window, the glass felt like ice.
“Did James say something about the weather?” he asked distractedly as he kept an eye on a tailgater in his rear-view mirror. People Upstate drove like they all had to pee. The beater Chevy behind them honked its horn, and she glanced at the speedometer. They were already five miles above the speed limit and it still wasn’t enough for this impatient ass. Henry let his foot off the gas gradually, slowing down incrementally until the Chevy driver was practically on their bumper. More honking. The idiot finally swerved over and passed them, flashing an obscene gesture out his window.
Anna let out her breath in relief. “God, if they’re in that much of a hurry they should just pass and be done with it,” she mumbled.
He grunted in agreement. “Yeah, well, that would take an actual effort besides stepping on the gas and laying on the horn. Folks should just disappear out of the way instead. Pull off the road, speed up to match them, otherwise just let ‘em through so they can keep being lead-footed assholes.”
“How do these people get through winter without ending up in a ditch?” she wondered aloud.
“Oh, well, trust me, a bunch of them do end up getting pulled out of ditches every damn year. James tells me stories. All we need is a little snow and ice and it turns into bumper-cars out here.” He laughed a little and then laughed louder as a rust-eaten Subaru took the place of the Chevy in his rear-view.
It was around five by the time they pulled off the state route onto the gravel drive that led up to the new project. Anna looked around eagerly as the trees flashed past, seeing a fox trot past a cluster of maples near the drive. A quarter mile up the hill, the drive opened out into a broad oval of gravel surrounding the detached garage --once an old carriage house, now sturdily rebuilt and with a steel shingle roof on top.
“And here we are!” Henry sounded proud as he pulled up to the garage and cut the engine. “What do you think?”
Anna looked up the hill above the garage and saw the farmhouse looming over them. It was large—she guessed at least three bedrooms--and of the same steel-roofed stone, but the south face of its roof was covered with solar panels. New double-paned windows gleamed in its walls, and stone planter boxes waited below, empty until spring. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly, her mind still mostly on his smile. “I can’t wait to see the inside.”
Chapter 2: Storm Warning
A door slammed, and a tallish, broad-shouldered man walked out from behind the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. James Thompson, the project foreman, was one of those Dutch-descended mountain men whose families had occupied the Catskills since the 1600s. He looked the part, too: sharp features, white blond hair, eyes like chips of lake ice. His usual uniform of work boots and jeans was supplemented with a battered fleece-lined bomber jacket. He always looked a little grim, but when he saw Anna in the passenger seat, he offered her a small smile.
“Hey, Boss,” he greeted Henry in his low, growly voice as they stepped out of the Cherokee. He paused and took a deep breath, his expression going a shade grimmer. “We got some delays. Oil guy won’t be here until after the holiday, half his staff is on vacation. Same with the propane guy for the stove. I went out and got you a twenty-pound tank and hooked it up to the stove so you can cook your meal. But that’s gonna be it until after the crew gets back on the 27th. Sorry.”
“Damn. Well, nothing more you could do about it anyway.” Henry shook James’ hand, noting that, although Henry was six inches taller than James, the foreman seemed to have just as much presence. It was probably the fact that James was built like he could bench-press a truck.
James glanced past him at Anna, and gave her a small nod. “Miss McCallister.” His eyes lingered on hers, and she blushed slightly and lowered them.
“Mr. Thompson.”
She glanced back up and saw another faint smile. James had this way of flirting with her without flirting with her: subtle, as if he almost didn’t know he was doing it. She had thought more than once of giving up on this stupid crush on Henry and giving the tough, working-class hunk with the obvious interest a try, but...her heart just wasn’t on board with that. It annoyed the hell out of her that James, who was a genuinely decent guy, hard working and actually interested, was right there, but she couldn’t get awat from her fantasies of Henry enough to do something about it. She could only imagine that it must frustrate James too.
Henry was frowning for some reason as he went around to the back to pop the hatch and start pulling out bags of groceries. She went to help him, and found James beside her piling bags into his tree-trunk arms. “Let me get that,” he said quietly, and she stepped back with just the pie plate balanced in her hands. Well, okay.
He led them inside, elbowing the unlocked door open and pushing through. The foyer was tiny, as in all these houses: basically just enough room to hang one’s coat. A narrow hallway led back to the kitchen area, an archway to the right led to the large wood-floored living room, and a set of ancient wooden stairs, their treads worn down by the passage of centuries of feet, led upstairs. Anna looked up at it quietly, noticing how it had been rebuilt while keeping the tread wear and the old, carved-wood banister. In the middle of the shining, modern floor, it looked like a showcased piece of history.
She went into the white tile kitchen after them, and found a place for the pie on the wraparound counter. “Oh wow, good job,” Henry was saying, rubbing his hands together as he looked around. The whole thing was a mix of ancient and modern, tiles older than her grandmother on the walls and floor, and a new copper hood looming over the state of the art propane stove. The kitchen windows overlooked a large pond in the backyard that was already covered by a thin layer of ice. In spring it would be beautiful; amazing. Probably stocked with game fish as well, if she knew Henry and his eye for detail.
The smile James gave Henry was a bit less genuine, but obvious anyway, and a little proud. “Yeah, we worked right up to the wire. If the delivery guys hadn’t messed things up, you could have had tenants in this weekend.”
“Oh well. Next time. Anything I should know about the rest of the place?”
James rubbed his chin. “Nothing I didn’t put in the report yesterday. Except the one thing. How late are you two planning to stay on the property?” He shot another glance at Anna, and this one confused her: he looked a little...concerned.
“Seven, maybe eight, then we should head back. Why do you ask?”
James walked to the window, brushing past Anna lightly, and pointed at the sky. Those fat, wet-looking storm clouds had trailed them in from the coast, but Anna had been too wrapped up in Henry to think much of them. “Those,” he said gravely. “Snow in the Catskills starts early and we’re used to getting a few feet here and there. But the last few nights the temperature’s dropped twenty degrees in an hour or two. And now we have a big storm comin’ in. That’s a bad recipe, Boss. You two should think about getting out of here before dark, even if you have to cut dinner short.”
Henry peered out the window, and then for some reason looked between Anna and the man standing next to her and frowned again. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said dismissively.
James scowled, his eyes flashing annoyance, and he looked at Anna as if thinking that Henry’s decision could endanger her. “Boss, all due respect, but you’ve never wintered in the Catskills. We watch the weather careful around here. Especially since the hurricane.”
Henry blinked a few times, then turned and locked eyes with James. “Okay, look, I’ll take that under advisement. But I want to finish our checklist before we take off. Do the pipes have that heat tape stuff on them?”
“Every bit that needs it.” James sighed, looking down, his eyes still holding a faint, fierce light. “I need to get down to the new project off of Highway 28 and make sure that they have their taps open before the temperature drops, so I’ll be taking off soon unless you need something.”
“No, that should about do it.” He held out his hand, and James gave him the
keys. “Good job, James. I’ll push that bonus through for you as soon as we’re back in cell phone range. Have a merry Christmas.”
James nodded. “You too.” He gave Anna another look, his brows drawing together in what she swore was worry, and then headed out through the back door. A minute later, she heard his Jeep engine start up and drive away. And something in her head went Wait, don’t leave. A little seed of worry had been planted inside of her, and she looked up at the sky, wondering.
“Damn, James makes me feel like I’m not the one who should be taking credit on this one.” Henry rubbed his face as he went to unload some of the bags onto the counter. “He’s the one that directed the build, and his boys are the ones who did it all. I just paid for it.”
“And if you hadn’t been there with the money, James and his guys would be unemployed and this place would still be standing up here a roofless ruin without an access road.” She gave him a pointed look as she helped him unpack. Then their hands brushed reaching for the same Tupperware full of gravy, and she got so flustered that she nearly dropped it.
“I guess you’re right.” He caught the container before it could fall and set it aside. Then he looked at her curiously. “So, James. Is there something going on there between you two?”
She stopped dead and blinked up at him. Oh damn it, don’t ask me that. Why would you even care anyway? “I...have only ever seen him when I’m with you,” she managed to stammer out, not meeting his eyes.
“Oh. I was curious. He seems interested.” The hard tone that crept suddenly into his voice confused her, and she shook her head.
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