At Wild Rose Cottage (12 page)

“You...” Trent didn't know what to say and couldn't admit that concern for her safety had been the real motivation. Besides, he hadn't made coffee, or even eaten the protein bars he kept stashed in the glove compartment. He'd just climbed into the truck and left.

“It's okay,” she assured. “I've got a big thermos I brewed at the motel and picked up provisions at the supermarket.”

She led the way into the house. A rickety chair held a large stainless steel thermos and the cup she poured smelled ambrosial. Still, Trent hesitated to take it.

Her eyes twinkled. “Don't let pride stand in your way.”

With a sigh he accepted the cup and took a swallow. It was the same brew she made every day and his nerves began to settle.

“There's other stuff in the bag if you want it,” she advised.

Trent ate a slice of cheese and a handful of crackers as he glanced around the large living room. The oversize fireplace was ornately framed and crowned by an attractive mantelpiece, but it wasn't the right dimensions for Emily's house.

As they walked through the house, there were other good architectural features he immediately wanted to salvage. It
was
a shame the farmhouse was being torn down; the Victorian must have been a showplace in its day. But at least he could preserve pieces of it.

“Ooh,” Emily exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen. “I didn't see this before. Could I have the farm sink for my kitchen?”

Trent gazed at it with a practiced eye. “We'll have to do some redesigning, but it's possible.”

In a room that may have functioned as a formal parlor, Emily sighed ecstatically at the row of five stained-glass windows.

“How about those?”

“Uh, yeah, but keep in mind this is a big house. I'm not sure there's space for everything at Wild Rose Cottage.” He paused a moment and realized he'd used Emily's name for the place. He cocked his head, thinking back. The day they'd moved in had actually been very happy; his parents had danced in the living room and his mother had seen the wild roses afterward, instantly deciding what the house should be called. Gavin had enthusiastically agreed.

There had been so few good memories, but something about Emily's joy in exploring the farmhouse brought this one back. At the same time, sorrow went through him because Fiona's hopes when they had moved into the house had been quickly dashed. That had been part of the problem...she'd always thought things would change.

Emily shook her head. “I don't care if everything fits, I still want it...just in case of...oh, I don't know. I can't bear the thought of such a glorious old place going unappreciated. It's as if the house is saying, ‘Please save part of me.'”

“Maybe it is,” Trent said before doing another mental double take. He
didn't
believe houses talked.

Emily went to the parlor fireplace and ran her fingers over the framing before looking up with a hopeful expression. “I like this one. Will it fit?”

“I'll find out.”

Taking out his measuring tape, he checked the dimensions. “We can make it work.”

With a cry of delight, she gave him a quick hug. “I guess this is too big, isn't it?” she asked, leading him into the dining room and pointing to the enormous built-in china closet. It was a magnificent piece and had miraculously escaped being painted and repainted over the years.

Trent sucked in a breath, trying to banish the memory of Emily's body against his. “Sorry,” he managed to say, “it's too big for any room in your house.”

“I guess, but what a shame it's going to be demolished.”

Initially Trent had planned to just take a few things out of the house in addition to what Emily wanted, but now he decided to schedule a crew to do a thorough salvage job. While the house was in sad structural condition, many of its features were so beautifully made, it
did
seem wrong not to save them.

If he was building his own home, the china closet and several... He cut off his thoughts. He had no need of houses with china closets and mahogany door frames. Unless the ranch house on the Balderdash fell down, he was fine.

“There's obviously more than we can get in a day, so I'll send a crew back to get the items you want, and others for me,” he said, directing his thoughts in a less ridiculous direction.

“It seems silly not to make use of the trip here. Can't we get some of them today?” she asked. “After all, you brought a truck. Wasn't that the point, to take stuff back with you?”

“I can try,” he said. He had hoped to make it entirely a one-day trip, with no need to send anyone back, but that was when he'd anticipated the place being a bust, with nothing worth salvaging.

“Not just you. I'll help.”

He agreed reluctantly. In his experience inept help could be worse than none at all. While the renovation crew seemed to appreciate her assistance, they were also able to pick and choose which tasks to give her. Still, he could probably find something for Emily to do that wouldn't be too much of a problem.

* * *

A
LAINA
'
S
PHONE
BUZZED
midafternoon on Monday and she read the text message Trent had sent her.

Pull 3 for salvage crew to come to Helena.

They must have found some good stuff in the farmhouse.

He'd left it up to her to choose who would go, which was good. The intestinal flu going around had hit the company and it was hard keeping crews adequately filled. Still, they could send a team to Helena between jobs.

Alaina looked at the schedule. Honestly, Mike didn't have a clue how much work it required to juggle everything for six construction yards.

Irritation hit her at the thought.

Would she spend the rest of her life with his voice in her head? Leaving New York City had been her decision, and she didn't regret it...other than him proving to be a stubborn jackass.

She drummed her fingers on the desk. Mike was one of their employees out with the flu. It usually lasted the better part of a week and he'd only come down with it over the weekend. Perhaps she should bring him some chicken soup tomorrow, a nice, friendly half gallon in one of her good pots, a pot he'd have to return when he got better. And if he didn't return the pot, she'd go to his condo to get it.

The question was whether she should tackle him again about the bachelor auction. He'd probably be in a foul temper, but that was nothing new. Folks in Schuyler tried to be understanding about Mike's moods—actually, they bent over backward to be understanding—but maybe that was part of the problem. He just kept getting away with bad manners.

It could be time to practice tough love and be completely frank with him.

* * *

E
MILY
CHEWED
HER
lip as Trent used a crowbar on the wall around the edge of the fireplace setting. She knew it was necessary, but it seemed such an indignity to the house.

He ripped out a chunk of the more modern drywall, applied long after the place was built, exposing a darker surface beneath.

“Holy cow,” Trent murmured. “That's cherrywood.”

“Who would cover cherry paneling?” she asked.

“Someone who didn't appreciate what they had. You'd be amazed at the stuff people cover up with drywall or paint.”

She liked the way he crouched and examined the wood more closely.

“It must have been brought in from a distance,” she said. “The people who built this place couldn't have been like a lot of the small farmers I've read about. I mean, they make a living, but I understand it can be a marginal business for the average family farm. And Helena doesn't seem to be a major agrarian capital, either.”

Trent nodded. “Farming is a lot like ranching, at least since the beef market has become more unstable. It's a way of life that nobody wants to give up. The McGregors and Nelsons love it.”

“But you didn't want to be a rancher?”

“I always preferred the idea of building and construction. Did you always want to own a store?”

“Not really. A boutique fit since I know something about fashion, even if I'm not the best representative for it.”

As he loosened the mantel, Emily helped lift it down. She wanted to start carrying it to the truck, but he stopped and brought in a dolly to help.

“You're right, we should let Archimedes give us some help,” she said. “Isn't a dolly based on the principle of a lever and fulcrum?”

“Yes, and we don't need to move the world, just a mantel.”

“When I was a kid, I used to imagine him trying to do it, then just as he lifted it, the whole planet rolled away on him and all the people got dizzy.”

Trent chuckled. “Believe it or not, I pictured the same thing, except I kept seeing multistoried buildings tipping over like dominoes.”

They deposited the parlor mantel next to the truck and then brought out the side pieces.

“What do we do next?” Emily asked. “Load them first, or wait to see how everything we're getting today can be jigsawed into the truck bed?”

“Let's do jigsaw.”

The muscles in Trent's arms flexed as he carried the dolly up the steps. Emily gulped, feeling an involuntary flash of warmth, though it was rather like being attracted to a mountain lion—exciting, dangerous and impossible, all at the same moment.

* * *

A
S
THE
HOURS
passed Trent was reluctantly impressed by Emily's willingness to keep working through dirty tasks in the mice-infested house, and her ability to be of genuine assistance. She'd clearly paid attention to what the crew had been teaching her and swiftly caught on to anything new.

Beyond that, she was a lively conversationalist. From ancient Egypt to Picasso, she had an opinion on everything and they had several good-natured debates.

He did notice a faint hint of self-deprecation whenever she referenced anything personal. In his experience some women used that as a tactic to elicit compliments, so he'd learned to say nothing.

Regardless, her enthusiasm was infectious. After asking what pieces he was interested in for his own inventory, she insisted on helping to remove the smaller ones that could be transported that day.

“I suppose Archimedes isn't the only one we should thank,” he said as they stacked the cherrywood paneling they'd recovered so far from the parlor. His instructions to the salvage crew would include checking under every shred of drywall to be sure other treasures weren't missed.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The guy who invented the wheel was pretty important.”

“You're assuming it was a guy? Maybe it was a woman who got tired of lugging rocks from the field while her husband plowed.”

“Uh...yeah,” Trent muttered.

He'd lost track of his place in the conversation. A trickle of perspiration was rolling down Emily's neck, into the deep V of her shirt. It was a warm day and she'd opened the top buttons, revealing the taut upper swell of her breasts. He'd tried to ignore the sight of her in a swimsuit at the family barbecue, but it was getting harder to pretend he didn't see her peekaboo curves.

A short time later Trent noticed the rays of sunlight coming through the window were growing long.

“Damn.” He pulled out his smartphone to check the time. “I should have paid more attention. It's after seven. We don't have enough time to load everything and get back before dark. We'd better stay at a motel in town and finish in the morning.”

“Can't we drive back after sunset?” Emily asked. “If we load fast we might still catch some light—it's amazing how much longer the summer days are in Montana.”

“I'd rather travel in full daylight,” he returned, casting a dubious look at Emily's old car. “Schuyler is off the beaten track and if we have mechanical trouble, it could be a problem.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You mean if my car has trouble.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Right.”

“Any vehicle can have a breakdown,” he said firmly. “How about taking the truck into Helena and leaving yours here?”

“I can't leave my baby alone in the country.”

“Fine. Whatever. You mentioned liking the motel where you stayed last night, so lead the way.”

Trent waited until Emily was behind the wheel of her car before climbing into his truck and turning the key in the ignition.

The engine made a strangled sound and died.

CHAPTER NINE

E
MILY
WONDERED
WHAT
was wrong. Trent's truck had squealed and suddenly quit. She jumped from her own car and hurried over as he got out and slammed the door.

The look on his face as he started cursing at his late-model pickup was hilarious.

“You stupid fuel-sucking jerk of a truck,” he snarled. “Your company has some nerve putting their logo on your hood.” He started to kick one of the tires, then apparently thought better of it.

Emily laughed and he swung around, looking chagrinned.

“Do you think there's a garage still open in town?” she asked politely.

“Unlikely.” He glanced at her car. “I'll have to accept a ride to the motel from you.”

“Sure. On the other hand...” What she was considering seemed ridiculous and he'd probably think she was nuts, but she decided to throw caution to the winds. “Why don't we clear the tools from your truck and sleep under the stars? I suppose we could also sleep in the house, but it's pretty stuffy and the mouse population will be even more active after dark.”

Trent stared, eyes narrowed in an expression she couldn't quite interpret. “I'm not sure staying is a good idea.”

“It isn't a good idea to leave a late-model truck sitting here, either,” Emily retorted. “It's a target.”

“Unlikely. Especially since the damn thing isn't running.”

“Hey, you're the one who claimed it wasn't safe for me to be in the house alone. Besides, you brought a bunch of those padded moving blankets. They look clean.”

“They're a long way from a mattress and pillows.”

“I haven't slept under the stars for years, and then it was only once, when I was a kid and my folks let my friend and me sleep in the backyard.”

“Your folks didn't go camping?”

She laughed. “My parents aren't the roughing-it type. And they'd have worried that sleeping on the ground would give my sister bad posture. She's been a model practically since she was born. Come on, it might be fun, and even if it isn't, it's an adventure.”

* * *

T
RENT
HESITATED
. S
LEEPING
IN
the truck struck him as entirely screwball and probably a mistake, considering his attraction to Emily. Still, there was a childlike appeal to the idea and it did have the air of an adventure.

“All right,” he agreed. “But don't complain in the morning if
you
have bad posture.”

“It's a deal.”

Together they made up bedrolls. Emily had a couple of cloth bags in her car and stuffed them to form rough pillows, while he called and arranged for his hired hand to bed down the animals at the Balderdash.

“See?” she said when he got off the phone. “All the comforts of home.”

“Except a kitchen.” The appliances inside the house had been removed, though a half bath in the back was still minimally functional.

“True, but I've got provisions from my trip to the grocery store this morning.”

They spread their meal out on the tailgate and there was more than enough fruit, cheese, crackers, protein bars and nuts to eat. Trent found it an enjoyable dinner as they watched a spectacular sunset, though he was more accustomed to eating a steak or burger. From what he'd seen of Emily's choice of cuisine, she leaned heavily toward fruit and veggies, which seemed appropriate for someone coming from the land of alfalfa sprouts and surfboards.

“The restaurant may lack waiters, table service and hot food,” Emily said, “but the view is first-rate. No wonder they call Montana Big Sky Country. A person could get dizzy trying to take it in.”

The scarlet-and-gold glow above slowly faded into inky blue and a faint star finally glimmered into sight.

“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight,” Emily chanted.

The softly spoken words made Trent ache. Life had been a little happier before his father's drinking had gotten worse. They'd traveled occasionally and his mother had seemed more cheerful. Wherever they might have been, she'd gazed into the sky each evening, chanting the same old rhyme with a soft smile. Then as her husband began staying out later, drinking and carousing and refusing to leave Schuyler, her wishing had grown desperate.

“Wishes are for victims,” he couldn't keep from saying.

Emily cocked her head. “You sound as bad as Cleveland Amory. From what I've read, he wanted to send Virginia a note saying to forget about Santa Claus and get on with her life...or something of the sort.”

Trent recalled reading the piece and heartily agreeing with the philosophy behind it. “You'd rather wish for things than work for them?” he asked.

“Nope. When I was a kid, I wished for lots of stuff I was pretty sure couldn't come true. So I worked for other things. I just don't think anyone should give up having dreams.”

Trent's gut tightened. Emily had made a drastic change in her life so maybe she wasn't totally like his mother, but she still seemed to have a fairy-tale view of the world. Some might be able to survive in a mental fantasy, but the people around them generally took a beating.

“You don't believe in dreams, do you?” she asked.

“I built a company from scratch to what Big Sky Construction is today.”

“That was an ambition, not a dream.”

“Is there a difference?”

She shrugged.

Trent didn't know what to say; he was getting distracted by more primal needs. The faint light remaining in the western sky fell on the curves of Emily's face. The top buttons on her shirt remained unfastened in the warm evening air, the breeze caressing her collarbone and the top swell of her breasts.

It was making Trent wish he was a normal guy who didn't have so many hang-ups about life and relationships.

Wish?

Crap. Being around Emily was corrupting him, and an old nursery rhyme popped into his head. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. That was his philosophy, action over wishing, and it worked for the moment, as well as any other. Besides, he'd given into the whimsy of spending the night under the stars; Why not this, as well?

So, surrendering to temptation, he tugged her close.

* * *

T
HE
UNEXPECTED
EMBRACE
startled Emily, but her pulse surged for another reason as Trent's lips moved over hers. Heavens, he was good at kissing.

Breathing faster, she opened her mouth and he pressed harder, his tongue gently exploring. His fingers gripped her rib cage and she shivered with pleasure. More than anything she wanted him to delve under her silk bra and...

Sitting up, she eased away.

Trent stared at her with raised eyebrows. She hoped he didn't realize how hard her heart was pounding, or recognize how reluctantly she'd put a stop to the moment. Right now she'd love to get naked and crazy with him, but she wasn't eager to deal with the inevitable morning-after awkwardness.

She reached up and patted his cheek. “You're an excellent kisser, but you'll be sorry if we go any further.”

With a determined smile, Emily crawled to where their “pillows” lay and slid under the light blanket she'd planned for a coverlet. She didn't need it yet, but by morning it would be cooler and dew might fall.

Lying on her back, she watched the rest of the stars come out. Since the electricity in the farmhouse was off and there were no earthbound lights for over a quarter mile, the stars burned in a massive display she could hardly believe was real.

Still, it was difficult to enjoy the view as thoroughly as she'd planned when Trent had agreed to spend the night in the truck. Their kiss had complicated everything, making her ache with need. Damn it. He probably would have had sex with her if she'd shown any willingness—after all, despite his antisocial tendencies, he was a virile guy.

But she didn't want to just be a convenient woman; she wanted to be chosen. It might be different if she shared some of the stunning beauty possessed by her Los Angeles boutique clients. If she looked at all like them she could believe Trent had some genuine interest in her. Not that she was into casual sex, but tonight she might have succumbed. If only...

Emily closed her eyes, fighting the insecurities she'd tried to defeat. Some of her earliest memories were of people's surprise when they saw her and Nicole together.

Emily rolled onto her side, away from Trent. She ought to be glad that they'd had an enjoyable day gathering treasures from the old house. He'd proved capable of having a normal discussion on a variety of subjects. Maybe it was hard for him to relax when his employees were around. When they got back to Schuyler, he'd likely turn back into the gruff man of few words she was accustomed to having around.

But not if they'd ended up in the sack together. She shivered, envisioning the embarrassment and stiffness that would have followed.

The way things had turned out was for the best. It had nothing to do with her being the not-so-gorgeous George sister. She'd simply exercised good sense.

* * *

T
RENT
WOKE
SLOWLY
to the lilting song of a meadowlark. It was one of the most beautiful sounds in nature and a far better alarm clock than the one he usually employed. He'd slept soundly, something he hadn't expected given the hard bed and strange surroundings...not to mention how he'd needed a cold shower after kissing Emily.

Coming more fully aware, he realized that she was curled close in the chill of the morning. Trent craned his head to look down at her.

How had he missed how sexy she was?

Carefully restraining his response, he eased away, edging down and off the tailgate to find a spot out of earshot. His insurance provided emergency road service and they promised to have a tow truck out within the hour. With any luck, he'd be mobile again before long.

The sooner he and Emily returned to a proper client-contractor relationship, the better. After all, the only reason he was so deeply involved in renovating her house was to make sure there weren't any revelations about Gavin Hawkins that would embarrass his family.

It was an odd reality to know that he might be the only person alive who knew that his father had been an abusive louse. Trent was convinced his father would have ended up in prison if he'd lived. Then Gavin had died and life had seemed relatively safe again.

* * *

A
FTER
ONLY
TWO
days of the flu, Mike felt considerably better than most other folks who'd gotten it. His immune system had served him well while he'd worn a major-league uniform.

Nonetheless, in terms of getting back on the job, feeling pretty good didn't carry any weight. Trent was one of those rare employers who actually gave sick time and expected employees to use it, both to prevent the spread of germs and to minimize work-related accidents.

Sitting in his recliner, Mike dozed and only woke when the doorbell rang.

He went to the door.

It was Alaina.

“Aren't you going to invite me in?” she asked.

“Better not,” he told her. “You don't want to catch the flu.”

“I had it weeks ago.”

“This could be a different strain.”

“I'll take my chances,” she returned calmly. “I brought some of my aunt's chicken soup—she swears by the recipe. She says it cures everything from the common cold to a lack of common sense.”

“Take it to someone who's really sick.”

“Everyone else in the company has a wife, girlfriend or family to take care of them. You're the only one who lives alone.”

“My parents live in Schuyler,” he reminded her. “Mom would bring me anything if I needed it, but I don't. If it wasn't for Trent's rules, I could be back on the job.”

“Yeah, the Iron Man of Schuyler, Montana,” Alaina said in a mocking tone.

Mike flinched. The Iron Man had been Cal Ripken's nickname—the Orioles' ballplayer had even broken legendary Lou Gehrig's record for consecutive games, and once upon a time Mike had envisioned beating both records in turn.

“I'm not an Iron Man,” he snapped back.

“No, just trying to be. Let me in, Mike. This pot is getting heavier by the second.”

Reluctantly he stepped back and she marched past him toward the kitchen and set her pan on the stove.

She seemed to hesitate at the sight of a carton of pale ale he'd left on the counter, then shoved it away. “I'll heat some up,” she said, opening cupboards until she found a small pan, “and put the rest in the fridge for later.”

“I'm not hungry.”

She ignored him.

Who could have guessed that Alaina Hawkins could be as stubborn as her brother?

She ladled soup into the pan, put the remainder into the refrigerator and turned with a smile. “Where are your bowls?”

“Upper cabinet, left of the stove,” he admitted grudgingly. Maybe she'd leave him alone once she'd served him.

“Since you don't feel that bad,” she said, “we can talk about that other matter... You know, the bachelor auction. We're getting close to the deadline for putting out names to promote the event, so I need an answer.”

“I gave you an answer, you just didn't like it.”

Alaina's eyes narrowed. “You're right, and I'm sick of you acting this way. Think of other people for once. The firehouse helps everyone.”

“I know that,” Mike muttered.

“Do you? Those volunteers run toward fires when everyone else is running away. So get off your duff and give them a hand. It isn't as if you have to do that much. Just be there for the auction and then take some lady out to dinner. We're all sorry about your knee, but stop feeling sorry for yourself.”