West couldn’t believe he’d gotten trapped in his own home like this, but when that family suddenly burst in on him, he had just ducked into the kitchen to gather some food and drinks to take with him on his drive back to Denver. He’d already rescued his music, but realizing that snow was forecasted, which could mean a highway delay, he knew provisions were advisable. Even if he made it to Denver with no problem, he could be stuck there all night if he didn’t secure that standby seat. Airport food had its limitations, so taking his own just made sense. What didn’t make sense was that he’d allowed this unappreciative Arizona family to take over his home. Already, he didn’t like them.
Hiding out in the walk-in pantry, he’d overheard enough of their conversation to realize that one woman in particular—she sounded like the mom—was not the least bit happy to be here. She’d complained about everything from the location of the master suite to the Christmas decorations. What kind of woman complains about Christmas decorations? He stuffed a handful of energy bars into his backpack then, not hearing more voices, he peeked out to see if the coast was clear.
Convinced they were all settling into their rooms, West slipped out the back unnoticed. But when he got to the driveway, he realized his Jeep was blocked in by an oversized SUV. Looking up, he saw the sky was getting dark, and not just with dusky twilight. The clouds were heavy and gray. That snowstorm was coming earlier than predicted. He would be a fool to try to make it back to Denver in a blizzard. Besides that, his Jeep was blocked in.
He pulled out his phone. By now his family should have made it to Arizona. “Hey, Mom,” he said lightly after getting redirected to her voice mail. “Looks like I’ll be waylaid here for the night.” He explained the weather, promising to get out on the next available flight tomorrow, then hung up.
For a moment, he felt relieved at the thought of sleeping in his own bed tonight—and then he remembered his house had been taken over by aliens. Aliens from Arizona. Maybe he could write a humorous song about that. In the meantime, he’d have to sleep in his studio tonight. Fortunately, it was separate from the house and had a fairly comfortable Murphy bed—and it was not included in this stupid house swap. He did agree with Mrs. I-Hate-Everything on one thing—trading homes at Christmastime was completely ridiculous. Never again!
As he unlocked his studio, he considered unloading his Jeep, but then he’d just have to reload it again in the morning. Besides, he had a few necessities in the studio to get him by. He hadn’t felt the need for a studio when he’d purchased this house several years ago, but the property had been priced right and his manager had suggested West use it for a caretaker’s cottage. Instead, West had used it for himself and his music. And if he had company—like his family who always came for holidays—it was a great getaway. Because as much as he loved his three energetic nephews, he didn’t appreciate that they treated his musical instruments like toys. Still, he’d have been much happier if it were his family settling into the house—instead of those aliens from Arizona.
Although one of the aliens had sounded okay. Based on what he’d overheard, she wasn’t a member of the family, which might explain why she sounded nicer. Her name was Emma . . . and she seemed to like his house. In fact, he’d felt relieved to hear she was the one who’d occupy his bedroom. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind the dead bolt on his walk-in closet door. He’d had it installed after his mother announced the house-swapping plan. Then he’d stashed all his personal items in there and locked it. There were empty drawers in the bureau that this Emma person could use. He wondered what she looked like. He’d liked the sound of her voice, but for all he knew, she could be fifty years old and built like a linebacker. Still, he didn’t think so.
Not liking the idea of leaving his music in the Jeep all night, West decided to slip out there and retrieve it. Maybe he’d even work on the desert springs song tonight. Gunner had been nagging him to finish that one. West was just opening the back of his Jeep when the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow came from behind him. Startled, he turned to see a blonde woman approaching.
“What are you doing with that Jeep?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
He blinked, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t give away his identity. For some reason, he didn’t want to reveal—to any of the Arizona aliens—that he was the owner of the house they were using. He didn’t want to experience their judgment or listen to their complaints or be expected to provide anything other than what they were getting. He just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible without any actual interaction.
“I’m just getting something.” He slammed the back of the Jeep closed before she could see his luggage inside then tucked the leather case beneath his arm, studying her with curiosity. Was this how Arizona people dressed? She wore a fur-trimmed pale blue jacket that looked brand new and not much good for skiing.
“Getting something or stealing something?” she demanded.
“I’m getting something.” He held up the leather case. “This happens to belong to me—thank you very much.”
“And does that Jeep belong to you too? Because I understand it belongs with the house.”
“Well, yes, it does belong with the house.” He tried to think of a way out of this. “But as it turns out, I’m the caretaker of the house. So I have use of the Jeep.” There, that should put an end to this inquisition.
“Really? How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be a thief.” She nodded to the fancy SUV. “Maybe you were going to break into that next. Looks like I came out just in time to rescue my purse.” She unlocked a door, reached inside, then slamming the door, she locked it again.
“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.