At Wild Rose Cottage (24 page)

Emily laughed. “Maybe you can be the one to figure out how it opens into the storm cellar.”

“It's possible the guys who did the repairs sealed the opening without realizing it was there.”

Trent was very aware of Emily's scent and shape as they moved along the passageway. Though old, it was strongly built and seemed sound, but the latch at the other end didn't work.

“It must have been blocked,” Emily said with obvious disappointment.

“We can fix that,” he promised.

As she turned to make her way back, she bumped into him. Trent broke into a cold sweat.

“Sorry. Tight quarters in here,” she murmured, slipping under his arm and moving swiftly back into the basement.

“Whew,” she said, climbing the stairs. “It's a cool discovery, but a little claustrophobic.”

So that was what it was, claustrophobic. He'd have sworn it was a torture chamber.

In the hallway she plucked cobwebs from her hair and shoulders.

“We'll fix the door,” he assured her again.

“I know. To tell the truth, I hoped we'd find whatever Bob Webber was looking for. Wouldn't that annoy the hell out of him?”

Trent smiled wryly. “And it would be even more evidence to convict.”

“I thought of that, too. But they have enough, don't they? I heard the judge denied bail, calling him a ‘flight risk and potential danger to the community.'”

“Carl thinks they're okay on evidence, though the district attorney's office is always glad to get more. With two credible witnesses, they obviously have Webber on unlawful entry and assault. At the very least, he'll also be charged as an accessory to murder.”

“Good.”

The next day Trent didn't plan to stay late, but decided he needed to reputty one of the windows upstairs. Once it was done, the crew could finish painting.

He trotted downstairs. “Good news,” he said, finding her in the kitchen. “They can finish painting the second floor tomorrow, and then we'll start on the attic.”

“That's great.”

She'd been to the Emporium that afternoon and was wearing the blue sundress with white piping. She looked incredibly good. Tired of resisting, he leaned forward to kiss her.

Emily laughed and backed away.

“Come on, Trent,” she chided him, “you must have better prospects for the evening. Someone much more exciting.”

More exciting?

Was she crazy?

“Emily, you leave any woman in Montana looking flat.”

She just laughed again. “Honestly, there isn't any need to say things like that. I know the situation is new territory for you, but men and women really
can
be friends. Two of my sister's best chums are guys and there's nothing physical between them.”

“That sounds very modern,” he commented, “but not something we see much in Schuyler.”

“I suppose. I'm just saying that you don't have to wonder if I expect sex now and then, or if I'm maneuvering for favors. We can be friends without that stuff getting in the way. In fact, I'd rather not be classed with the other women you've slept with. Okay?”

Bemused, Trent nodded and decided he'd better get out before his head exploded. Emily might claim to understand what was going on, but it definitely confused him.

* * *

L
OCKING
UP
BEHIND
T
RENT
, Emily leaned against the cool glass pane in the door and let tears wash her eyes clean. Maybe she was crazy. If she'd played her cards right, they could be making love right now. Instead, they'd had a nice rational discussion, and then she'd sent him out to find a hot date for the evening.

Finally she straightened and swallowed the rest of her tears. She wasn't geared for a relationship that included occasional sex, especially knowing it was only until the guy lost interest or fell in love with someone else.

Deciding to forego dinner, Emily crawled into bed and curled up tight, hugging her pillow for comfort and wishing she had already found the cat she'd envisioned.

At least she wasn't accepting a mediocre relationship, which is what she'd done with Dennis without even realizing her mistake.

In the growing dim, Emily ticked off the facts of life on her fingers. She wasn't the gorgeous George sister, but it was okay—she would have hated being a supermodel. She was reasonably smart, her current quandary notwithstanding. She had two businesses that provided a generous income. And she'd made a bunch of new friends in Schuyler, despite her quirks.

So she was doing fine.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
RENT
WENT
STRAIGHT
to the Balderdash and took a cold shower in the ancient bathroom.

How could Emily think he'd had better prospects for the evening?

He slapped his hand on the cracked tile wall, furious with how blind he'd been. The very first time Emily had made one of her self-deprecating comments he should have told her that she was beautiful and didn't need to compare herself to anyone. But
nooooo
, he'd figured it was a feminine game to fish for compliments.

He was a fool.

Emily didn't play games and her ego had taken a beating growing up. Then there was her asinine ex-fiancé, who obviously wouldn't recognize a gem if it was thrown in his face.

Trent was embarrassed at how long
he'd
taken to see what an amazing, sexy, fun, honest, caring person Emily was beneath her mix of whimsy and practicality. He might have recognized it sooner if it hadn't been for his general distrust for people, but that wasn't much of an excuse.

As he got out and rubbed a towel over his hair, a whinny blew in from the barn and Trent suddenly realized he hadn't gone riding in over a month. Speakeasy and the other horses were becoming more accustomed to the ranch hand he'd hired than they were to him.

It had never occurred to him to make a life, and not just a successful business. Succeeding had been his way of proving that he was nothing like Gavin Hawkins, but at the end of each long day, he returned to an empty, ramshackle house. Hell, he didn't even have a dog; he had horses he didn't ride.

Coming home to Emily...that would mean something.
She
was home. The place didn't matter.

He had shared his dark secrets with Emily and she'd remained generous and caring. Now he wanted to share everything else with her. Love had crept in day by day and he'd been an ass not to see it sooner. She'd even opened his eyes to other kinds of love—the parents who'd raised him, his siblings...the possibility of children that he and Emily could have together.

You just have one tiny problem,
chided a voice inside Trent's head. Right, a tiny problem. He'd realized the truth rather late, a dumbass move that left him with the most important question of all: Would Emily ever believe him after all his accusations and declarations of mistrust?

Trent went out to the barn to bed down the animals, mapping out his next steps. He'd stop pushing the men to hurry—it was working against him—and he'd spend as much time with Emily as possible.

He needed her to start trusting him.

* * *

E
MILY
WAS
PROUD
of the way she'd handled things with Trent. Despite the temptation, she hadn't leaped at him like a lovesick rabbit. Instead, she'd kept her dignity...and spent the night aching with need.

When Trent arrived alert and energetic the next morning, she didn't know what to think, except that he'd plainly gotten more rest than she had.
The louse
. If there was any justice in the world, he'd look as tired as she felt. Of course, then she'd be left wondering if he was tired because he'd enjoyed an active night with a sexy bombshell.

“I'm intrigued with the basement,” he announced immediately. “It isn't on your list of renovations, but do you really want to leave it as is?”

She blinked. “I guess not.”

“Good. It could be an interesting challenge to see how nice the space could be made. And who knows? We might find more evidence for the DA to use against Webber.”

Emily's confusion subsided. It made sense that he wanted to be thorough.

“Good idea.”

“This one is on the house,” he said with a grin, “unless you want solid-gold knobs and eighteenth-century mahogany paneling.”

“Don't be silly. Just give me an estimate.”

“We can debate it later. Let's go down and see what might work.”

In the gloomy space he measured the size and then turned to her. “Do you want a hobby room, an extra bedroom or a well-designed storage area?”

Emily looked around. The basement was large, though support beams broke up the area. She almost said to forget it, but the house seemed to whisper
finish me
.

“If I was planning for a family,” she murmured, “I might say to put in one of those man-caves they talk about in house-hunting programs.”

“It should be what you want.”

“Then let's do it mostly as storage and still put in the man-cave thing,” she said, wanting to get upstairs. For some reason the low light seemed too intimate for comfort. “You're right that I should consider future salability, and I can always use it as a woman-cave.”

Trent's smile suddenly seemed pained for some reason.

“Storage and a woman-cave it is,” he said. “Now, do you want to help install the hardwood flooring in the attic? That's one skill you haven't mastered yet.”

“Okay.” Puzzled, Emily headed up the stairs. Trent had consistently discouraged her helping on projects, though he hadn't ordered his crew to do the same. Now he was inviting her to work with him?

He first showed her how the tongue and groove boards fit together, even handing her the mallet to tap the next piece firmly into its place.

Running a finger over the smooth fit, Emily grinned. “This is neat.”

“Sure is.” He leaned close while he pulled the next length out and she swallowed, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles as he brushed against her.

“Hey, Em, boss, are you up there?” Eduardo called from the second floor, interrupting them. “We knocked, but nobody answered.”

“We're both here.” Trent straightened. He glanced at Emily. “Shall we take a break and have coffee with the guys?”

“Uh, sure.”

The entire day was like that. The rest of the crew worked on the second floor, but Trent urged her to stay close, helping install the new flooring. When the lengths he'd already cut had been used, he plugged in the small table saw he'd brought up and measured the next board.

“Want to give it a shot?” he asked.

“Oh. Okay.”

She stood in front of the saw and reached out, trying to emulate the moves she'd seen Trent make a thousand times over the past weeks. But then he put his arms around her and laid his hand over hers.

“I don't want to take a chance that there'll be an accident,” he said softly. “Is this okay?”

She nodded mutely and he turned on the saw. They cut an entire stack that way, leaving Emily pulsing with more than the saw's powerful vibrations. He was aroused as well, and didn't try to hide it from her, but she didn't think it meant anything other than a guy being a guy.

When the crew left for the day, Trent stayed behind as usual, but didn't go off to work on his own. Instead, he sat at the card table in the breakfast nook.

“Shall we go over ideas for the basement?” he asked.

His smile was friendly and the warm glint in his eyes had to be her imagination.

* * *

M
IKE
SHOWERED
FAST
and dressed for an early dinner with Alaina. They were driving to a nearby town where there'd be fewer people they knew to come over and visit...curiosity burning in their faces.

When she opened her door, he let out a wolf whistle.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “You'd make a burlap sack look good, but that black number is ruthless on a man's blood pressure.”

She smiled mischievously and he knew he was in deep trouble. There was no longer any question that he wanted to spend his life with Alaina Hawkins. But any thought he might have had about a calm family life while teaching school was getting shot to hell. Alaina would keep him on his toes.

The meal was delicious, but Mike barely noticed as they talked, and he discovered an entrancing streak of whimsy in Alaina that he'd never encountered before. She claimed it was Emily's influence.

“Say, is something up with Trent?” he asked as they lingered over coffee and dessert.

Her eyebrows shot upward. “Other than our family skeletons getting rattled? Not that I've noticed. Have you seen something?”

“It isn't a big deal, but for one thing, he asked Emily to help him install the hardwood floor in the attic. They worked all day together. Emily has pitched in all along, just not with Trent. So now I'm wondering if he's interested in her, and I'm not the only one. The rest of the crew is wondering, too.”

Alaina grinned. “That would be amazing. She's good for him and he
has
seemed different lately. Give me details.”

He described everything he'd noticed, including how Trent had stopped pushing every minute to get finished and had mentioned adding the basement as another project.

Alaina finally shook her head. “It would be a weird courtship for most people, but who knows with Trent? We'll just have to wait and see.”

Mike nodded.

It would make Alaina happy to see her brother fall in love, and her happiness was what mattered most to Mike.

* * *

E
MILY
DIDN
'
T
KNOW
what to make of Trent's behavior. They talked about the basement and he sketched several designs without pressuring her to accept any of them, seeming quite happy to keep suggesting new ones. She was getting hungry when Trent took out his phone and ordered a large pepperoni, mushroom and onion pizza. Her mouth watered.

“We might as well eat while we work,” he explained after getting off the line.

Except they didn't actually work—they talked about house designs in general. Then he invited himself out to Jackson's ranch with her to meet Stella Luna “properly.”

“My God, she's a different animal,” Trent murmured, staring at the calm, playful mare.

It would be easy to feel smug about it, but Emily knew the transformation had been a joint effort, with both Jackson's family and his ranch hands playing a big part.

She expected everything to return to normal the next day, but when Trent arrived in the morning, he told her the crew wouldn't be there until early afternoon.

“I hope you don't mind, but we had an emergency job at the retirement home. Do you want to help paint the corner bedroom upstairs?”

“I could do that.”

A while later she was on a ladder, painting around the window frame, when her elbow caught the edge of the pan and paint sloshed onto Trent's shoulder.

“Oops,” she said. “Sorry.”

“It's artistic,” he said glancing at the way the paint was making long slow drips down his sleeve. “If I don't smudge it up, it might look deliberate.”

“I can throw it into the washing machine if you want.”

“Nope, I'd rather have it this way. More of a fashion statement,” he said with a grin.

She didn't understand. She didn't understand at all.

That evening Trent ordered her favorite dishes from the Chinese restaurant to eat as they talked, followed by another trip out to the Crazy Horse Ranch. It was the same story, day after day. There were only a couple of afternoons he left when the crew did, saying he needed to do a favor for his brother.

Inside Emily was trying to prepare herself for the time when the work would be done and she wouldn't see him so much. His current behavior was making that a challenge.

On Wednesday a couple of weeks later, the crew left early because the plaster work in the basement needed to dry before the next step could be completed.

“It's looking good,” Trent told her, sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of iced tea. Though it was autumn now, the weather had remained warm.

“Yes. But I wish we'd found more evidence for the DA.” Fun as the secret passageway had been, it really
had
just opened into the storm cellar and everything else in the basement had been anticlimactic.

He shrugged. “It was a long shot, but it didn't hurt to try.”

“I guess not.”

Trent drained his glass. “Come on,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Let's take a ride.”

Emily figured they were going to the Crazy Horse as usual, but he drove past his brother's spread and turned after another half mile.

“Don't worry, we aren't trespassing,” Trent said. “The Balderdash belongs to me.”

“I didn't think you'd do anything illegal.”

“And certainly not in the broad daylight with a witness.” He smiled and winked.

Considering everything, being able to relax and joke about something like that showed he'd begun healing.

They drove past a collection of ranch buildings and over a rise that looked across a stunning view. The wide sweep of rolling, tree-studded grass with the arching sky above called to her, whispering a welcome.

Trent pointed. “That's part of the McGregor ranch, and to the south is Jackson's place. I wanted the Balderdash when it came up for sale, partly because it was adjacent to their spreads.”

“So you're into ranching, too.”

“Not really. The Balderdash is what Schuyler calls a hobby ranch,” he explained. “It's enough for me. I'm a builder, but it's satisfying to run a few cattle and have horses. The existing house and barn aren't great, so I'm trying to decide where to build a new place. This is my top choice.”

“I can't imagine anything better,” Emily agreed. A few clouds floated lazily overhead, casting shadows on the ground. It was so vast and beautiful that she sighed with pleasure.

“What sort of house do you think would be good here?” he asked.

“Something that fits into the landscape,” she said, “with lots of windows so you can see in every direction.”

“How about facing the living room that way?”

He pointed toward the McGregor ranch.