Page 31 of Snowed in with the Rancher

“Where's your rental?” he asked when he learned about their plans.

“It's a two bedroom not too far off Main Street on Wyatt Avenue.”

“Is it one of Mrs. Anderson's bungalows?” he asked.

“Yes! It is.” She seemed surprised.

“There aren't a lot of rentals downtown. Would you mind if I went with you to check it out?” he asked. Norene Anderson was a notoriously terrible landlord. He cringed at the idea that Olivia's new bungalow might be a lot less appealing than she'd thought when she rented it online.

“Sure,” she said with a smile. “You're welcome to join us.”

Good,he thought. No telling what Norene might try to pass off as acceptable housing.

An hour later, after getting all of Olivia and the girls' stuff packed into the Honda, Tate drove everyone to his cabin to pick up his truck and an overly anxious Lobster, and then they followed him down the mountain to downtown. Tate watched Olivia and the girls in his rearview mirror all the way down and let out a sigh of relief when they finally reached the bottom and the clearer roads near town.

As he pulled up in front of the address Olivia had given him, he slowed to a stop, staring out through the windshield with foreboding. Mrs. Anderson, who had arranged to meet them there with the keys to the property, was standing outside on the unshoveled driveway talking to Jake Pickelner. The same Jake Pickelner who owned Pickelner Home Restoration Services. As the side of his truck parked next to them advertised—Fire, Flood, Hail, and Crime, We Fix It All on Insurance's Dime.

Tate climbed out of the truck, deciding not to wait for Olivia to park behind him and get the kids out of the car. He made his way straight to Norene and Jake, Lobster tagging along beside him.

“Howdy, Tate,” Jake said extending his hand. “What brings you by?”

Tate shook his hand and nodded at Norene, who narrowed her eyes at him, obviously wondering why he was there. “I came to help Norene's new tenant get moved in.”

“I didn't realize you knew Ms. Wickham,” Norene said primly.

“I do in fact,” he said, not bothering to explain. Gossip would spread the word fast enough, and he didn't owe Norene a damn thing—not even an explanation. “Something wrong with the house?” He gestured toward the little house with the front porch that was approximately the size of a postage stamp.

Jake looked to Norene, who put on her bestdon't mess with the mean old womanface. “Some pipes burst during the storm, so there's some water damage.”

Tate wanted to curse. He'd known something like this was going to happen the minute he'd heard Olivia had rented one of Norene's dumpy properties.

“How much damage we talking about?” He addressed the question to Jake, who looked uncomfortable but went ahead and answered.

“The wood floors will have to be replaced or refinished, depending. They've cupped in some areas and are stained everywhere, even the bedrooms.” He kicked at a chunk of snow next to the truck tire. “Drywall in the kitchen and living room needs to be torn out and replaced. We'll have to replumb the kitchen and bath where the pipes burst, and I was telling Norene that it would be a good time to have new wiring put in, even though that part would be out of pocket—insurance only covers fixing the water damage. It's mostly the original knob-and-tube from the 1930s.”

Norene's expression grew more obstinate by the second. “We're going to wait until you've dried the place out first. If the wiring works, no reason to replace it.”

Unless it meant putting his kids at risk from a house fire, Tate thought, scowling back at the old slumlord.

“Hi,” Olivia said as she finally reached the group. “Are you Mrs. Anderson? I'm Olivia Wickham.” She held out her hand politely, and Norene shook it reluctantly, dropping it as soon as possible.

After introductions were made, Olivia looked at Tate. “I'm sensing something's wrong here.”

Jake explained the situation, and Olivia listened carefully.

“Well, I guess we should go in and look?” she asked. “Or at least go in to talk. No offense, but it's freezing out here.”

Tate had forgotten that Olivia was from a milder climate, at least by Montana standards.

“Great idea,” Jake said. Norene mumbled something that sounded likewon't last long, andprissy city girls. Tate glared at her, and she snapped her mouth shut but returned the glare.

Olivia called to the girls, and everybody marched inside.

Once the door closed behind them, Tate stood in shock in the front room of the little house. It was far worse than he'd imagined. The water had run from under the kitchen sink into the living room as well as the hallway that led to the bedrooms. The yellow oak floors were blackened with water stains and curling up at the edges wherever low points had allowed the water to collect. He began to walk around to take a closer look, lifting his feet gingerly as he stepped into a lingering puddle in one corner of the room.

“Mommy?” Jackie said, a whine in her voice. “I don't think I like this house. Let's go back to our old one.”

Olivia shot Tate a look that begged for help.

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