At Wild Rose Cottage (6 page)

It was disgusting. His crew was rapidly becoming fond of Emily, helped along by boxes of doughnuts and the coffeemaker she now kept filled on the card table in the living room.

The prior morning the crew had quickly served themselves and left. Today they'd arrived earlier than usual, apparently so they could stand around chatting with her. Without coming off as a surly badger, he couldn't refuse joining them for a cup, though he ignored the pastry. And...damn, it was really good coffee.

Of course, Trent encouraged his crews to get mentally together before launching into the day's task. It also fostered friendly relations, which reduced slowdowns from personality clashes. So it was annoying that the coffee klatch bothered him, when it wouldn't bother him anywhere else. The problem had to be because he wasn't sure of Emily's motives in being so accommodating.

“Thanks, that's mighty tasty,” Vince said, leaving his cup on the table. “Em, do you want to help me remove that light fixture in the dining room?”

“I'd love to,” Emily agreed enthusiastically. “Do you think it can be salvaged?”

“Converted, maybe. They never removed the old gaslight fixture, just cut off the gas.”

“Wow.”

“Wait,” Trent interrupted, then turned to Eduardo. “When you were inspecting the water pipes did you get a chance to evaluate the gas lines?”

Eduardo nodded. “Yep, but I want to double-check everything.”

“Good. We can't take anything for granted about this house.”

“Absolutely, boss.”

The men departed to their various areas and Trent closed his eyes, drawing several deep, calming breaths. When his temper had flared as a teenager, he'd been tempted to hit walls, the way his father had done so often. Trent had also engaged in a number of monumental fights—generally with bullies, figuring they deserved it anyway. It wasn't comforting to remember that he'd deliberately sought them out, wanting to punch and be punched.

Over time he'd learned to control the urge, knowing a man who couldn't manage himself couldn't be trusted to boss anyone else. But he also hadn't wanted to be the least bit like Gavin Hawkins. Spending so much time on Meadowlark Lane—
Emily's house
—was going to test the man he'd tried to become.

Opening his eyes again, he found Emily watching him, her head cocked, as if trying to guess what he was thinking and feeling.

Fat chance.

No one in thirty-six years had managed it, and he was confident this flaky woman didn't have a prayer.

* * *

O
NCE
E
DUARDO
GAVE
the all clear on the gas lines, Emily went into the dining room to assist with removing the old chandelier. She couldn't provide any serious help, but she handed tools up to Vince and took any small parts that came off, placing them carefully in a box. And when the entire unit came down, she helped lower it.

“I heard about someone who bought a house that had one of these that still worked,” she said.

“It happens,” Trent contributed. He'd been working nearby on the door frame, which had made Emily feel uncomfortable, though she wasn't sure why. “Last year a man inherited his grandmother's house and she'd been using her gaslights on a regular basis.”

Emily shivered. “It doesn't sound safe.” She patted a wall. “Don't worry, baby. We're going to make sure you have safe wiring.” She glanced at Vince. “I guess it sounds silly, but I believe houses have personalities.”

Vince laughed in a kindly way, but Trent seemed less sympathetic.

Well, too bad.

She was tired of arrogant men who passed judgment on her—men such as her ex-fiancé, who also happened to be Lauren's brother. Poor Lauren was the one who'd figured things out and spilled the truth about him cheating. Not that Dennis had been terribly upset when Emily confronted him. He'd seemed to think his sleeping with other women wasn't a big deal... She shook the thought away. She was in Montana now, with a whole new life.

Midmorning she remembered the crystal she'd brought home from the Emporium, so she went and hung it in the window that pulled the most sunshine.

“Hey, what's that?” Eduardo called, and came into the living room, with Trent following. “All of a sudden there are rainbows everywhere.”

Emily laughed. “I hoped that would happen. I love crystals, and some people say they have healing power and create positive vibes.”

Trent's eyebrows rose.

She smiled blandly at him. “You never know.”

Eduardo nodded sagely. “I don't know about the mystical stuff, but something that pretty must send something good into a place.”

Emily decided he'd just won her grateful-forever award.

The morning passed pleasantly, then during a coffee break she got a surprise from Mike.

“Emily, would you consider going out to dinner with me sometime?” he asked when they were sitting on the porch steps, enjoying the fresh air. The others had already gone back inside.

She blinked. Dating wasn't something she'd expected to do in Schuyler. After breaking off her engagement she had decided romance wasn't her thing. But Mike seemed nice and having dinner together didn't necessarily mean romance. More than anything, he probably felt sorry for someone whose kitchen he'd just knocked into oblivion.

“That would be nice,” she replied.

“Would Saturday evening be good for you?”

“Sure.”

He smiled, drained his coffee cup and headed indoors.

Emily pursed her lips, unsure what to think. While she wasn't the best judge, she hadn't sensed that Mike was especially attracted to her. He certainly hadn't acted the way guys did around her sister.

Oh, well. The evening out would be pleasant. Mike taught history to high school students during the school year. She enjoyed history, so they'd have plenty to talk about.

Inside the house, she glanced at Trent, who was pulling up the ancient carpet from the dining room floor. Dust was flying in a thick cloud, though she'd vacuumed the thing within an inch of its questionable life.

“Put on a dust mask if you're staying,” he advised when she started coughing. “Though I won't be offended if you head downtown or something.”

Once again she had the feeling he wanted her gone, but she only had his words to go by since his face was concealed by both a heavy dust mask and a pair of safety glasses. Anyhow, she probably should make an appearance at the shop.

“In that case, I'll see you in a couple of hours,” she said.

He nodded and turned back to the carpet.

Emily walked down to the Emporium where she spoke to her manager, who reported everything was going well.

After going through the sales receipts to see if new stock needed to be ordered and chatting with a few customers, she strolled back to Meadowlark Lane. Inside the house she stared in amazement. The wall between the living and dining rooms had been knocked down to floor level, with only the weight-bearing four-by-four posts left standing. Caveman, Vince, Mike and Eduardo were on the roof, so Trent must have abandoned the dining room carpet to take the thing apart.

“Wow,” she said.

He must have worked like a man possessed to have gotten the wall demolished; most of the debris was even cleared away.

“We'll put in the low divider wall you want,” he explained. “But the way it was built, it's cleaner to pull everything down and rebuild. The support beams will need to be faced, and we'll frame them at the top to echo the molding in both rooms. You've come up with a good plan. The change will create a more contemporary, open feeling without erasing the vintage appeal.”

The long statement seemed uncharacteristic, especially since his face remained hard and stony, and his admission about it being a “good plan” held a grudging tone. But there was nothing actually wrong in what he'd said, so she nodded and collected a broom to sweep up the remaining bits of plaster and dust.

* * *

“I'
VE
GOT
THE
list you emailed,” Alaina said into the phone on Thursday. “I'll take A through H, okay?”

“That's terrific,” Janet Goodwell told her. “Most people hate recruiting bachelors and bachelorettes for the auction and I have to do most of it myself. Of course, my arm-twisting skills will probably deteriorate because of your willingness.”

“If you prefer, I could just make cookies for Saturday's bake sale,” Alaina suggested. It wasn't what
she
preferred, but she didn't want anyone to guess that she'd deliberately volunteered in order to be the one to recruit Mike.

“Don't you dare,” Janet nearly screamed. “I've got cookies running out of my ears. I need recruiters.”

Alaina put down the phone with a satisfied smile. Joining the Volunteer Firefighters Auxiliary was the least she could do, considering the work they accomplished all over town. And when they'd announced it was time to prep for the annual barbecue and auction, she'd broken a speed record volunteering for the planning committee.

The others had laughed and assumed she'd done it to avoid being tagged as a potential bachelorette—members were barred from participating that way. But she'd had something far more devious in mind, including taking the first part of the alphabetical list of potential auction volunteers...the section with Mike Carlisle's name.

Alaina glanced at the clock and picked up the receiver again to dial Emily.

“Hello, Alaina,” Emily greeted her cheerily. “How are you today?”

“I'm good. I just wondered if you wanted to get lunch. The Roundup Café makes a mean fire-grilled burger.”

“That would be great, except I ordered sandwiches for the guys. They're going to be delivered by 11:30.”

“Oh.”

“Why don't you come over and join the party? We'll have plenty of food.”

Alaina's heart started rat-a-tat-tatting. She genuinely wanted to get acquainted with Emily, but she also wanted to run into Mike. Now she could end up eating lunch twice in one week with him. It wasn't a date, but more contact than she usually managed.

“It sounds like fun,” she agreed. “But I want to bring something. What do you need?”

“How about chips? We have doughnuts left and I got a humongous container of fresh-made potato salad from the grocery deli.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, Alaina jumped to her feet. When she'd decided to come back to Montana, she had been sure she'd see Mike often. After all, he was friends with her brothers and several cousins, and as Trent's office manager it had seemed a certainty Mike would cross her path frequently, at least during the summer. But he'd proven remarkably adept at treading a solitary path. She didn't think he was avoiding her in particular; it was more a serious case of lone wolf syndrome.

Well, it was time to change all of that.

CHAPTER FIVE

S
OME
OF
THE
tension eased from Trent as the crew broke for lunch. Emily's absence had left him free to take down one of the problem walls and dispose of the debris, and he'd done it in record time. His pockets were stuffed with the bits and pieces he'd recovered, while the rest had been thrown into the far end of the Dumpster.

“Alaina is joining us for lunch,” Emily's voice said in the next room, where she'd gone to answer her cell.

His gaze raced around the area to double-check, but there was nothing that might prove suspicious. Imagine if Alaina saw one of his painfully written notes proclaiming
exactly
what he thought of Gavin Hawkins? And hidden in one of the still-standing walls was the paper he'd tried to make sound very legal, stating that Trent Hawkins no longer had a father because Gavin Hawkins was a son of a bitch. The language on some of the other messages was even worse, learned courtesy of Gavin's foul mouth.

The doorbell squawked and his stomach tightened. Emily hadn't asked them to replace it, but surely she didn't want to keep the atrocious-sounding bell. To never hear it again, he'd throw in a deluxe model and install it personally.

Emily stuck her head around one of the plastic curtains they'd hung to control dust from traveling as far. “Hey, the sandwiches are here. Are you hungry?”

Her smile was engaging and Trent was struck by surprise that she'd abandoned her previous life to move to Schuyler. Didn't she have a boyfriend or family who'd objected? The McGregors had hated it when Alaina had been working in New York.

“Sure,” he answered truthfully. He'd skipped breakfast, something he couldn't admit since he encouraged his crews to show up at work with good meals in their stomachs.

“I moved the card table and chairs to the patio since it's so dusty in here,” she explained. “Come and get it.”

Come and get it
.

A faint nostalgia went through him at hearing the expression his aunt Sarah...his mother often used. Mother or aunt... Even now he still mentally qualified his relationship with her, as he did with the whole family. Not that she'd ever insisted he call her Mom. Alaina said “Mom,” but she couldn't remember any parents except Parker and Sarah McGregor.

Trent waited until Emily had disappeared then did another visual search of the space. As he walked toward the back of the house, Alaina popped through the front door.

“Hey, big brother. Don't tell my boss, but I'm taking a long lunch today.”

His lips twitched, and he was surprised to discover his sense of humor wasn't entirely absent, despite his self-imposed tenure on Meadowlark Lane.

“I won't mention it to him,” he answered. “Emily says we're eating on the patio.”

“Great. That's one of the places I didn't think about seeing the other day.”

He led her through the dining room and kitchen into the long mud porch that served also as a utility room along the side of the house. Curiously, the original design had the door to the backyard on the opposite end of the porch, so getting there was basically a zigzag.

“This is interesting,” Alaina murmured as they traversed the length of the porch away from the patio. “Isn't there a door that opens directly into the backyard?”

“Not right now, but one of Emily's renovations is to put a hallway along the dining room to a casual sitting room, with French doors onto the patio. She also wants us to cut another door on the mud porch and close off the existing one. That way food can be easily brought outside—she's got a thing about creating outdoor living space.”

Reluctant as Trent was to admit it, Emily's plans for the house weren't bad. Montana wasn't Los Angeles, so there were fewer months where outdoor living was feasible, but everyone in Schuyler flocked outside when the weather was mild enough. And her plan for a well-equipped outdoor kitchen would be the envy of cooks all over town.

“Oooh,” Alaina breathed as they followed the path around the side of the house. “This is lovely.”

The rough brick patio was scented by a trellis covered by honeysuckle. The large yard was overgrown, but multicolored wildflowers provided a kaleidoscope background of hues.

“Hi,” Emily greeted Alaina. “I should have warned you the seating is makeshift in this restaurant.”

“The atmosphere makes up for it. I just wish I remembered living here,” Alaina said, wistfully.

“You used to live here?” Eduardo asked.

“Before our folks were gone.”

“Sure, sure, I remember now. It was before you moved out with the McGregors. So this is where Gavin and Fiona lived.” Eduardo looked around. “I was real sorry about what happened to them. I remember Gavin saying he had the best kids and wanted to have a dozen before he and Fiona were through.”

“Really?” Alaina asked, her face alight. “I never knew that.”

“Your dad and me went to school together and I used to see him around town. We weren't exactly friends. He just made everyone feel like his best buddy. What a great guy.”

Trent's jaw ached with renewed tension. Yeah, Gavin Hawkins had been popular and charming with everyone except his immediate family. Part of him wanted to shout the truth, to stop the pretty image Eduardo was painting for Alaina. But what good would it do? Gavin was dead and buried, and the past was best left that way.

Alaina would be crushed if she learned what her father had really been like. She might not even believe it. After all, it was essentially her brother's word against everyone else's.

Suddenly he felt a strange energy. He glanced around to see Emily staring at him with a puzzled expression.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” she answered in a low tone. “I was just wondering if something is bothering you.”

“What do you mean?” Trent asked, though he should have kept his mouth shut. He didn't want Emily speculating about anything to his workers, or asking about his emotional state. But Alaina and Eduardo were chatting so they shouldn't overhear, and the others were still in the house.

Emily shrugged. “You seem uptight.”

He managed a smile. “There's no mystery. I'm just hungry.”

“In that case, relax. We ordered plenty.”

Mike, Caveman and Vince came out a moment later.

“Hi, guys.” Alaina handed a bag to Mike. “I got stuff to add to lunch.”

“Nice of you.”

“It's nice of Emily to have me. I called to see if she wanted to sample the Roundup Café and got invited here instead. Hope nobody minds.”

“Hell, no,” Vince said, grabbing the bag to check its contents. “You got tortilla chips and some of Sally's guacamole. I thought I smelled it.”

“Yes, she'd just made a fresh batch and I couldn't resist.”

In a few minutes, everyone was chowing down.

As he ate his sandwich, Trent watched Emily as unobtrusively as possible. She was discussing plumbing with Eduardo, giving the appearance of being fascinated by the subject. Clearly, it was making the middle-aged man feel important and knowledgeable.

Trent tried not to roll his eyes. Nobody was that fascinated by U-bends and closet augers.

Something about Emily raised a red flag. There was nothing outright that was questionable, but he was reluctant to trust her. Aside from anything else, she was a businesswoman from Southern California. It didn't mean she'd do anything underhanded, but he'd met some sharp operators from that part of the country. And her eager involvement was keeping up longer than it normally did with other clients. Along with her providing food and coffee for the crew...it made him wonder.

Still, Emily might actually
be
just a flaky oddball with an unfortunate streak of cheery optimism. Regardless, in fifteen years as a contractor he'd dealt with all sorts of people, including femme fatales using sex as a weapon, women using helplessness as a ploy, and other greedy, crafty or manipulative customers. So he could deal with Emily George, whatever sort she turned out to be.

* * *

E
MILY
SNIFFED
THE
lovely scent of honeysuckle and hoped they'd be able to keep some of it alive when the patio was redone. She knew the vine could be invasive and needed to be kept tamed, but as long as she kept it on a trellis, surely it would be all right.

“This is such a huge yard,” Alaina said. “Are you a gardener, Emily?”

“Sort of. I designed the garden for my house in Los Angeles and loved the way it turned out. But it was tiny, so now I've got plenty of space to go hog wild.”

“A swimming pool might be nice.”

“I've thought about that.”

Every once in a while, Trent glanced at her and she had a feeling it wasn't just casual, more as if he was studying a bug under a magnifying glass. Good grief, the man was like a pressure cooker ready to blow.

The big mystery was why Trent hadn't explained that he and Alaina had lived in the house with his parents before their deaths. She would have understood if he'd wanted Wild Rose Cottage out of sentimentality, but it was too late to backtrack and sell to him now. In any case, he didn't seem to be the sentimental type. As a matter of fact, it was almost as if he hated the place.

A sudden thought struck her. What if the house symbolized losing his mother and father? Childhood traumas could influence people in odd ways. If that was the problem, wouldn't remaking it make him feel better? She hoped so, even if it wasn't any of her business.

It was so pleasant on the patio that no one seemed anxious to go back to work. But the guys from Big Sky were professionals, so after a suitable time, they thanked her for lunch and headed back inside...all except Trent, who went around the opposite side of the house.

She glanced at Alaina, whose expression seemed wistful.

“Something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no. Just thinking.”

Emily grinned. “Be careful. I do that and lose track of what's going on around me.”

“Doesn't everyone space out occasionally?”

“Yeah, but I've raised it to an art form.”

“It's just that I was trying to remember this patio. I've always loved being outdoors. On the ranch I spent every possible minute in the garden or riding my horse, so it seems as if I ought to remember the yard at least.”

“It might have changed a lot.”

“True.” Alaina was reflective. “I asked Trent to tell me stories about when we lived here, but he won't say much.”

“Yeah, he probably just got that formal smile on his face.”

“Formal?” Alaina repeated.

“You know, controlled. As if he has to think about doing it.” Emily scooped more guacamole onto her plate, wishing she hadn't said anything. “This stuff is yummy,” she said brightly.

“The grocery deli is tops, but this is the second lunch you've fed me this week. It's time I treated you to a meal. How about a girls' night out tomorrow?”

“Great, as long we go Dutch. After all, you brought half our lunch and I ordered too many sandwiches, anyway. It's a treat getting real food for people, instead of rabbit munchies, so I went overboard.”

“Rabbit munchies?”

“Yeah. The sales associates in my Los Angeles boutique don't approve of eating anything except lettuce, celery and carrots with the occasional stalk of broccoli.”

Alaina laughed. “Let me guess, size zero working on skeletal proportions?”

“Yup. They thought it was absurd when I introduced larger sizes, only to discover that normal-size women have credit cards the same as anyone else. Their commissions doubled.”

Alaina laughed again.

“Emily?” Trent had come back onto the patio. “You haven't said what you want done with the storm cellar.”

Emily's jaw dropped. “You mean for tornadoes and stuff? Ohmigod, Montana doesn't have tornadoes, does it?”

“Montana isn't in tornado alley, but some folks still have storm cellars in case one goes through.”

She jumped to her feet. “Show me.”

“Me, too,” Alaina added.

All at once Trent seemed uncomfortable, but he nodded and led the way to a badly overgrown area in the wide space between the house and the side fence. He had pushed enough of the overgrowth away to reveal rotted wood planks.

“I thought it would be under the house,” Emily said.

“The idea was probably to have a spot away from the structure, in case it collapses on top of the exit.”

Alaina leaned forward with a puzzled look on her face. “Did we use to play down there, Trent?”

His face seemed to close down, then eased as his sister glanced back at him.

“We might have. It's been a long time and I don't remember everything.”

“It seems familiar.”

“You're probably thinking of that movie,
Twister
, or
The Wizard of Oz
.”

“Yeah,” Alaina agreed. “Well, I'd better get back to work or my slave driver boss will have my hide.”

“Count on it.”

She said goodbye and left as Trent pulled more vines from the storm cellar's entrance.

“Can I go down there?” Emily asked.

“Better not, the steps are rotted.”

“What's the best thing to do with it? I mean...shouldn't I have a storm cellar?”

His eyebrow lifted. “Seriously? You come from a state famous for earthquakes, but you're afraid of tornados?”

Emily shivered. “You don't need to be sarcastic. Earthquakes don't worry me that much. I grew up with them. But tornadoes scare the heck out of me.”

“I wasn't being sarcastic.”

“Seriously?” she returned in the mocking tone he'd used.

He had the grace to appear embarrassed. “Whatever. We can repair the cellar if that's what you prefer.”