The Artist (Colorado Billionaires #5)

Chapter 1

The weather app lied.

All the weather forecasters were wrong. Two inches! How about two feet?

Peter Kincaid gripped the steering wheel of his rented Ford Bronco. In front of him was pure white. The windshield wipers could barely keep up. The heat from the heater seemed to get weaker as he drove, as though it was fighting with the snow as well.

He was so sure the cabin he’d rented would only be about fifteen minutes from Aspen’s airport, but he’d been driving for more than an hour. He should have turned around a half hour ago, but he thought sure it would be around the next curve.

His phone had no signal, or he would have asked for directions from Siri. Peter had to face facts…he was lost.

Suddenly, the Bronco started sliding. He turned the wheel to straighten it and instead he over corrected, plunging into a ditch full of snow. The engine sputtered.

Died.

One more try.

He turned the key. The engine flared to life. The car was four-wheel drive but Peter knew, having grown up in Colorado, that not even four-wheel drive could get him out of some situations. Especially like this one. But he had to try.

After shifting into Drive, he pressed gently on the gas pedal, but the tires just spun.

He shifted into Reverse and tried to go backward but the tires still just spun.

Trying to rock it loose, he shifted from Drive to Reverse, quickly, again and again.

Nothing worked and then the engine died.

He slammed a fist into the steering wheel, then slumped back in the seat and huffed out a breath.

Peter shifted into Park and turned the key. The engine turned over but wouldn’t start. His tailpipe was probably full of snow, which meant there was no way for him to keep warm.

He had a dilemma. Stay in the car and possibly freeze or head back to where he’d seen a mailbox sticking out of the snow and hope he could find the associated cabin.

Of course, he could get out of the car, get even further lost and freeze to death, anyway.

But it was already four o’clock and soon the sun would be going down. He needed to do something.

Never one to just sit still, he tugged his stocking cap lower over his ears, pulled up the hood of his parka, and tied it so only his eyes and nose were exposed.

He pocketed his keys, grabbed his flashlight, his satchel containing his paint, brushes, and canvas, and stepped out of the Bronco and locked it.

If someone made it to his car before he did, he didn’t want them to have an easy time stealing the car.

Not that they could, or would for that matter, but old habits die hard. .

The snow whipped wildly past him. He had on his night driving glasses, which allowed him to see better in the storm.

Snow was up to his knees, making it hard to move, but he worked his way over to the tracks his Bronco left. Walking in the tracks, even though they were rutted, was easier than wading through the huge drifts. Even in the last few minutes, the snow had started filling in the twin tire tracks.

He must have gone about half a mile when he found the mailbox sitting next to what could have been a road. He also realized he might have only walked one-hundred yards. He looked to the right, behind the mailbox, and thought he saw a light. The soft yellow glow called to him.

As he approached, he saw a chimney and smelled smoke. Or it could have been only in his head because the snow was coming down too hard for him to smell anything.

Peter trudged through the snow, which was now over his knees until he finally reached the porch of a small cabin. Climbing the three steps to the deck of the porch was almost harder than the walk had been. He was exhausted and almost done for.

He stood in front of the door, trying to catch his breath, but the cold air made it almost impossible. Peter raised his fist to the door and pounded on it three times before resting his arm against his right side.

The door opened, and a woman stood there, her face was backlit by the light from inside and he couldn’t make it out. He did identify that she was holding a fireplace poker. The woman’s red hair looked like it had a halo around it from the glow of the fire behind her.

“What do you—”

“Help.”

“Come in.” She rolled her eyes and placed her right shoulder under his left arm and steered him into the small log cabin.

“Thank you,” Peter whispered the words just before he blacked out.

Alexis Armstrong tried to keep the stranger from falling to the floor, but he was too big and heavy. She pulled him inside enough to close the door.

Unable to see his face because of his parka hood, she untied the string and pulled back the hood and the knit cap.

She sucked in a breath. “Oh, my God. What are you doing here?” She’d been dreaming of a moment like this for months but never believed it would really happen.

Good things didn’t happen to someone like her.

His dark hair was plastered to the side of his head, and she knew from everything she’d read and pictures she’d seen that he had the most beautiful, deep blue eyes.

She shook her head and worked to get him out of his coat.

Alexis finally removed his stocking hat and parka before dragging him in front of the fireplace.

His dark brown hair stuck out in different directions from pulling off his hat.

He’d warm up quicker there than on the floor by the door.

Then she covered him with a warm woolen blanket, folded a towel for a pillow, and went into the kitchen to start a kettle of water.

She would try to wake him in a few minutes after he’d had a chance to warm up some.

She sat in her overstuffed chair and contemplated her luck.

In all her thirty years she’d never been this lucky .

The artist she’d been trying to get on the phone for the last six months was lying on her floor.

All she needed was one painting. One painting of his to exhibit in her gallery, and she would be saved from bankruptcy.

Everyone would come in to see a new Peter Kincaid painting.

And they would probably buy other paintings and prints of his new painting.

Could she do that? Would he do that for her?

He groaned. He must be warming up.

When he awoke, she’d have to get him out of his clothes so they could dry.

Thinking about what he could put on, she realized when Ed left her, he left one of his sweatsuits behind.

It had been in the laundry, and she’d never given it back.

That was two years ago. Why she’d kept the set, she didn’t have any idea since they were too big for her.

But now she was glad she did. She also had a large sleep t-shirt he could wear under the hoodie.

She went into the bedroom and laid them out on the bed along with a pair of warm wool socks.

That taken care of, she poured a cup of hot water and placed a tea bag in it. While it steeped, she’d try to wake him up. Lowering to her knees, she patted his face. “Peter. Peter, wake up. You’re safe now. Wake up.”

He groaned, then opened his deep blue eyes and looked at her. “Where am I?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Seeing an angel with red hair.”

Alexis chuckled, amused that anyone would put her and angel in the same sentence. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but an angel was never one of them.” She sobered. “You need to get up. We have to get you out of your wet clothes or you’ll catch your death of pneumonia.”

He nodded.

At least, he seemed to understand her.

Peter threw the blanket to the side, rolled over, got to his knees, and then stood.

He was a good six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than her, most of which was muscle, but she stayed right beside him in case he became light-headed. They would probably both go down if she tried to catch him, but she’d try anyway.

“Okay, good. Can you walk to the bedroom?” She pointed toward the door near the fireplace.

“Yes, I think so.” He walked into the bedroom. His steps were stilted, like maybe he’d frozen his feet, but otherwise he seemed to be pretty steady.

She followed him. Once in the room, she pointed at the clothes she’d laid on the bed for him.

“Those should fit you and there are warm wool socks for you to put on, too. The sooner you get out of those clothes, the warmer you’ll be.

” She pointed at the door to the left of the bedroom. “That’s the bathroom if you need it.”

He nodded. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“The tea I made should be ready by then.”

She’d get to know him more after he’d donned the clothes on the bed.

Chuckling, she thought how silly her bed must look.

The king-sized bed took up practically the entire room, but she’d insisted on keeping it when she moved in here.

The cabin was all she could afford to buy, while still being this close to Aspen and her gallery.

And she liked being here. The cabin was cozy and comfortable. The cabin fit her personality to a T.

Peter returned wearing the sweatpants, t-shirt, hoodie, socks, and a smile.

She was pleased to see he was steadier on his feet, and his color was better.

“You must really love that bed.” He sat on one end of the sofa while she sat on the other.

Alexis threw her head back and laughed. “I do. It was the only thing I insisted on when Ed, my ex-lover, left. I let him have everything else, including all the credit card debt. Since he made most of it, he should have to pay it. Despite that, he actually was a good guy. We just didn’t have enough in common.

” She gazed over at the bedroom. “I’ve had that bed for more than ten years now.

It was the bed Jim and I bought. It has traveled around with me.

Ed liked it too and wanted it when we broke up but I wasn’t about to let him have it.

In the end, he realized he was being a dick. ”