At Wild Rose Cottage (5 page)

So he hadn't quit Big Sky or gotten into a shouting match. Anyway, it wasn't that easy talking back to Trent when he was wearing his customary steely expression; he'd not only perfected a persona that would unnerve an old-time umpire, they'd also been friends since they were kids. Well...at least as much as Trent Hawkins could be friends.

He'd never been the kind of buddy you'd catch a movie with, or hang out with at the Roundup Café, admiring girls. Mostly they'd gone riding on the McGregor ranch, though Trent had spent hours pitching baseballs so Mike could get more batting practice. That was when Alaina had hung around the most, dutifully chasing after the balls for Trent to throw again.

A noise caught Mike's attention and he saw their client picking up more debris from the floor.

Trent's mouth tightened. “As I've explained, Emily, it's best to leave that to us.”

“And I've decided that since it's my house, I can haul trash out of it if I want to,” she informed him.

Mike's lips twitched. Emily George had done what few of Trent's employees had ever dared to do—contradict him. Seizing a chunk of cabinetry, she headed toward the swinging door. Mike glanced at Trent.

“Don't say it,” Trent warned.

“Okay. By the way, I thought you preferred staying away from jobs for women...something about your personality being too abrasive?”

Trent's eyes were impassive. “We're really busy now and have crews out everywhere.”

“Whatever.” Mike quickly focused on his crowbar. It was obvious that Trent wasn't working the job because he liked Emily. Not that there was anything wrong with her. She seemed nice and pretty in a low-key way, nothing like the sexy redhead he'd been showboating for that day. Actually, Emily was the sort of woman a teacher should think about dating.

Maybe he'd ask her out to dinner when he got a chance. He particularly liked that she was a newcomer. This way she couldn't remember him as the local hero who'd come back a beat-up nobody.

* * *

T
RENT
BARELY
CONTAINED
his frustration as he watched Emily return and grab another load to take out to the Dumpster. At least she'd changed into roomy Levi's and was wearing sandals, though hard shoes covering her toes would be better.

Some customers planned ahead and it was included in the contract that they would do certain aspects of the work. But it made him suspicious when they tried to “pitch in” after the fact. It often led to protests that the bill should be cut because they'd done part of the labor, which was usually about fifteen dollars' worth of effort.

But his real concern had nothing to do with possible disputes over the final invoice; he just wanted Emily to leave everything alone.

He forced himself to relax. It was also common for clients to be so anxious to see progress that they tried to help, with no ulterior motives when it came to the final bill. Usually it didn't take long before they unwound and left things in more expert hands. Besides, he'd much rather have Emily puttering around in the kitchen than doing it somewhere else in the house.

He hadn't enjoyed hearing the enthusiasm in her voice when she'd talked about going through the junk in the attic. Would she be that curious about
everything
?

In the meantime he marched out to his truck and hunted for the smallest pair of leather gloves he could find. “Here,” he said roughly, thrusting them at Emily after she'd dropped another load in the Dumpster.

“No, thanks, I'm okay.”

“Wear them,” he snapped and returned to work, assuring himself that he wasn't trying to rescue her, he was just preventing a delay in case of injury. He stuck a crowbar in the side of another stubborn cabinet and together with Mike, they yanked it off the wall.

Even if he couldn't bulldoze the house into the dirt, it felt good to rip some of it apart.

“Hey, you can leave part of the work for me,” Mike chided.

“Huh?”

Emily had stepped back into the kitchen and was curiously looking their way.

“You're going after those things as if the devil was chasing you,” he said.

“It just feels good to get back into the physical part of the business. I've been pushing too many papers lately,” Trent told him, picking his words carefully.

“If you say so.” Mike sounded doubtful and Trent wondered how much his face had revealed earlier. He didn't like anyone to know what he was thinking.

Eduardo came through the door. “I've checked the plumbing, boss. It's pretty bad—mostly corroded zinc pipes. There've been a few repairs with PVC, but poorly done.” He looked at Emily. “I see you want copper piping. It's a good choice, though more expensive.”

“Thanks,” she told him. “Wild Rose Cottage was nice once and it keeps telling me it can be nice again.”

Trent swallowed a snort. She actually seemed to believe that nonsense. But he knew better, because if houses could talk, this one would surely explain that its day was over. Though...considering the things he'd hidden in the walls as a kid, the old place did have a few secrets it could still expose.

“Will it be possible to keep the laundry and the bathroom in the downstairs bedroom running?” she asked. “That's the one I'm using right now. Also, I told Alaina that you guys could use the half bath off the mud porch.”

Eduardo nodded. “There will be periodic water interruptions, but we'll try to ensure you have it at night.”

“Great.”

The bell sounded and Emily headed for the front door. Several minutes later she reappeared, Caveman following close at her heels like a faithful hound dog. A stack of four giant pizza boxes was in her arms.

“I hope you guys don't mind,” she said, “but I was hoping you'd help me celebrate the renovations getting started.”

Caveman sniffed appreciatively. “We never mind pizza.”

“Then I'll put them on the card table in the living room and you can grab some whenever you want.”

“Now sounds good. Time for lunch, isn't it, boss?” asked Eduardo.

Trent checked his watch and was surprised to see it was almost 11:30. Because construction crews generally started early in the day, they ate lunch earlier, too. Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled everyone going for a coffee break, but he'd been too distracted to pay attention.

“Sure,” he agreed. Having a client provide lunch on the first day of the job wasn't unheard of, but usually they were in financial shock after shelling out the deposit required by the contract.

“Sorry there aren't enough chairs,” Emily said as she went back through the hallway into the living room, the scent of pepperoni, onions and peppers wafting behind her.

Trent hurried out the front door to his truck, muttering that he had phone calls to make. It was true enough, but he mostly wanted privacy to regroup. If Mike was picking up on his mood, it meant something was getting exposed that he hadn't intended.

Great. Trent's grip tightened on his phone. He knew he had a reputation for being as hard and tough as a polecat. Most people avoided him and that was the way he wanted it. An ornery polecat knew how to survive, and so did he.

CHAPTER FOUR

E
MILY
TOOK
A
slice of pizza and sank down on one of the wood boxes she'd found in the backyard. “I didn't know which pizza joint was good,” she said. “Hope this works for everybody.”

“They're all decent,” Mike replied. “But this one averages out the best.”

“Yeah, they put the most meat on,” added Caveman.

The corners of Emily's mouth twitched. She bit into her slice of Hawaiian and chewed happily.

It had been nearly impossible to treat her employees at the boutique to meals or snacks. The time she'd brought in a selection of fresh bagels they'd practically fainted in horror. Black coffee or tea had been okay, but even lettuce wraps had been regarded with mistrust in case they contained hidden calories. Ironically, she'd never required her sales staff to be skinny, but that seemed to be the only sort who applied.

“This is real nice of you,” said Eduardo. Caveman nodded, his mouth stuffed with pepperoni and sausage.

“I'm just thrilled you're here,” Emily told them. “I'm sure you'll do a great job. It might sound strange to say, but I think the house likes you.”

None of them rolled their eyes; in fact, they seemed pleased by her comment, and they settled into serious munching. Emily wondered why Trent hadn't joined them and supposed he didn't like to socialize with his employees, even on a lunch break. But that would be pretty snotty and the construction crew seemed to be on comfortable terms with their boss. Maybe Trent avoided his customers...or just the one who hadn't given in and let him buy the house he wanted.

Aside from not particularly liking Trent, Emily couldn't get any real sense of him. He was too hard, too humorless, too fierce, and he had too many secrets in his eyes—the biggest one being why he was strangely attached to Wild Rose Cottage. Could that be why she had such strong feelings about the place?

Surely not.

She didn't have good instincts about people, or she wouldn't have been engaged for five years to a cheater. Even now she couldn't believe she hadn't recognized the truth. All those business trips Dennis had taken, always with an excuse not to take her with him? And how about the way he'd dragged his feet on planning the wedding? There must have been a hundred little signs she hadn't seen...or hadn't wanted to see. It was lowering to think she'd put up with so much for so long.

What kind of man decided to marry a nice “girl next door” type of woman for home and family, with the plan of having sex and fun on the side? She just hoped Dennis wouldn't break anyone else's heart in the future.

“Hello?” a voice called through the front door.

Emily popped up and found Alaina Hawkins on the porch.

“Hi.”

“Hope you don't mind me dropping by, but I'm on my lunch hour and was curious to see this place.”

“The more the merrier. Welcome to the construction zone,” Emily said cheerfully. “Come in and have some pizza.”

Alaina readily followed her into the living room. “Hey, guys.” She glanced into the closest pizza box and took a slice of pepperoni. “I didn't expect to be fed.”

“It's a celebration for the work getting started,” Emily explained, noticing that Vince, Caveman and Eduardo appeared comfortable with Alaina. Mike seemed less so, but she'd already noticed that he was more reserved than the other guys.

The group ate an astonishing amount of pizza, but there was still part of a pie left to put in the wheezy old refrigerator, which had been moved to the mud porch.

The men went outside for the remainder of their lunch break and Emily turned to Alaina. “How about looking around? You can see how the house looks now, and then again after everything gets fixed. Whenever you like.”

“I'd love to. We lived here when I was a little girl. That was before...well, our folks were killed in a car accident, so I haven't been inside since I was three and a half. I don't remember it, though. I even had to ask Mom if it was the right place.”

Emily was surprised. Was that the big secret? This being his childhood home would certainly explain why Trent appeared so familiar with Wild Rose Cottage, even knowing how to open the funky latch on the attic door.

“It's too bad that the kitchen is already partly demolished,” Emily said as they went down the hallway and Alaina peered through the door.

“That's my fault for not coming earlier.”

Letting Alaina wander where she pleased, Emily followed as her guest went from room to room, cocking her head and half closing her eyes, as if trying to evoke long-ago memories.

“Gosh,” Alaina said as they climbed the stairs. “I was pretty young when my parents died, but you'd think I'd have
some
memories. Do you remember anything from that age?”

Emily winced. Brother, did she ever. And this particular early memory wasn't something nice like a picnic or a trip to Disneyland. No...what she remembered was dashing across the runway and tripping a model as she glided out, wearing the finale of the fashion show.

She relayed the tale to Alaina. “It was horrible and the model was screaming bloody murder because her eye was turning black. I should have felt worse about it, but I kept expecting her to cackle, ‘I'll get you, my pretty,' the same as the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Alaina giggled. “Did your parents beat her off?”

“No. They were just as furious and the paparazzi were taking pictures right and left. Anytime I was in danger of forgetting, my mother would haul out those photos and remind me of what a mess I'd caused.”

“Why would your mother bring you to a high-end fashion show?” Alaina asked.

“Mom and Dad were clothing buyers. I visited fashion capitals like Paris and Milan every year until I went to college.”

“It must have been nice seeing such wonderful places.”

“Usually I just saw fitting rooms and expensively clad models.” Emily didn't explain that one of those models was her sister, Nicole. “But when I was fourteen I rebelled and ran off to check out the Tower of London and see where Anne Boleyn was beheaded.”

“What happened after that?” Alaina asked with a laugh.

“I nearly got beheaded myself, but they finally gave in and let me explore.”

Alaina seemed puzzled, but didn't say anything.

As they continued looking around the house, Emily hoped that she might be making a new friend. The hardest part about leaving Southern California had been moving away from Lauren, her best pal for over two decades. They talked on the phone often, but it wasn't the same.

Alaina Hawkins was almost as pretty as Nicole, but she didn't seem bigheaded or overly focused on her appearance. Not that Nicole was snotty, but despite them being sisters, Emily had little in common with her.

From an early age Nicole had spent most of her time on the modeling circuit. Emily, on the other hand, had developed a thriving business advising kids how to dress like her sister...and selling Nicole's clothes when she moved on to the next size or style. Opening a boutique had seemed a logical step after graduating with a business degree.

“Wow,” Alaina exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. “The view up here is terrific.” They were in one of the rooms where the windows looked past the edge of town at the land and hills beyond.

Schuyler sat on the margin of where rolling prairie gave way to the mountains, rising west to the continental divide. It made for glorious vistas, though Emily had yet to see a part of Montana that wasn't beautiful. The whole state seemed designed for a photographer or artist, though she didn't know how anyone could capture the breathless sensation of endless sky arching over vast reaches.

“I love the view,” she said, “though I haven't decided what to do with these rooms.”

“This is the first time I've realized how fun it might be to remake a house.” Alaina gave Emily an embarrassed smile. “That probably sounds strange since I work at a construction company, but I haven't been at Big Sky for long. Before that I was at an investment firm in New York.”

“That's a big switch.”

“Yeah, I got homesick.” Alaina glanced around, a thoughtful frown creasing her face. “I'll have to ask Trent which room used to be mine and what it looked like back then.”

Emily wanted to ask if Alaina knew why Trent was acting so oddly about Wild Rose Cottage, but decided not to say anything. While the brother and sister appeared to have opposite personalities, they might both prefer keeping certain things private.

* * *

T
RENT
'
S
HEAD
THROBBED
and he lay in the dark, staring at the moonlight leaking through the broken blind on the window. For two days Emily had tenaciously stuck close to her house, but surely she couldn't stay away from her new business much longer.

He got up and turned on his bedside lamp. The mattress was high quality—he believed in a good night's rest—but aside from a shabby dresser and the lamp sitting on an old wood chair, there wasn't much else in the room.

The floor creaked as he went into the living room where he kept his weight machine. The Balderdash ranch house was old, but it wasn't an architectural treasure... It was barely habitable. He could renovate it or build a new one, but he didn't care what sort of place he used for sleeping. Mostly he kept an eye on whether any part of it was in danger of collapsing.

The family assumed he was just waiting until he found the right woman so he could build a home to suit them both. At least that's how they'd talked since Jackson had married Kayla. Trent smiled grimly. It had been an unholy mess when his cousin-brother had discovered he had a teenaged son with his old high school girlfriend. Now that the truth was out they'd done the practical thing by getting married, and luckily, Kayla was a better sort than Jackson's first wife.

Mom—Aunt Sarah—practically melted whenever the subject of Jackson's wife was raised. She adored Kayla and was more anxious than ever for all her children to find spouses and have kids. How could he tell her that the thought of marriage left him cold? All he wanted was occasional good sex, with a willing woman who had no fantasies about happily-ever-after. Love and family? He'd leave that to people who still had a few illusions.

A lengthy session of weight lifting didn't help and Trent sat in his easy chair staring at an inane television program. Anything was better than revisiting the memories evoked by working on 320 Meadowlark Lane. Actually...he needed to think of it as Emily's house. Yet his gut clenched as he thought about her name for the place. Hell, his
mom
had called it Wild Rose Cottage. Wasn't that a kick in the gut?

Fiona Hawkins had optimistically hoped that things would change in her marriage, and it had killed her. How unrealistic could a woman be? She'd been afraid to go with her husband the night of the accident, knowing how drunk and angry he was, but more afraid to refuse. The only right thing she'd done was leave her son and daughter at home—otherwise they'd all be dead.

Trent dropped his head back with a groan.

He didn't know if Emily had idealistic ideas about relationships, but she was obviously another optimist. A shudder went through him; he didn't
care
if she meant well—the cliché was right, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't go near her.

Trent clicked off the television and padded out to the barn. The animals stirred restlessly until they recognized him. Miranda, his mare that had recently foaled, peered over her stall door and nickered for attention.

“Hello, girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck with one hand and feeding her an apple with the other.

Trent liked horses because there were no pretenses with them—they dispensed service and affection in exchange for food and care. It was basically a barter system, and if he held up his end of the arrangement, they responded in kind. The only horse he'd ever had trouble with had been abused before coming to him.

Thinking of which... He approached Speakeasy's box stall, deliberately making his footsteps heavy so the stallion wouldn't be startled. Speakeasy stood in the back, regarding him warily. Trent had bought him at an auction a few months before, furious at the sight of his thin body and half-healed wounds.

“Come here, boy,” he said, holding out an apple.

Speakeasy pawed the hay, clearly wanting the treat, but unwilling to come forward for it.

With a sigh, Trent left the apple on a post and stepped away. He could work with the stallion, but it wasn't easy. It would take time and patience before Speakeasy trusted humans again.

After several hours Trent realized it was time to get moving. Perhaps today would go better and Emily would spend the morning or afternoon at her store. That way he could send the crew onto the roof, leaving him to tackle the wall between the living and dining rooms. She wanted it cut down into a low divider to open up the space. If things went well he might even be able to retrieve his father's gun upstairs.

But as the morning began, Emily showed no sign of leaving. Instead, she now wore sturdy new running shoes, an unfortunate sign she might be planning to stick close to home for yet another day. Vince noticed them immediately and grinned.

“They won't stop a determined nail, Em,” he informed her in a familiar tone.

“They're safer than bare skin,” she returned.

“Boots would be best.”

“Gotta get more Southern California out of this girl before I'll be ready for boots. My toes like to breathe.”

Eduardo chuckled. “You're too late for the flower child generation, kiddo.”

“Better late than never.”

They all smiled, even Mike, whose sense of humor had suffered since his accident.