At Wild Rose Cottage

Surprise shot through Emily. “Do you do this often?” she asked. “I mean, try to buy a house instead of contracting to fix it up?”

“Generally, no.”

She leaned forward. “I don’t understand. If you were interested in Wild Rose Cottage, why didn’t you make an offer when it was for sale?”

“Wild Rose Cottage?” Trent repeated, staring at her as if she was batty.

It wasn’t a new experience to Emily, but this time it bothered her more than usual. Maybe it was the other, less defined emotions in his eyes that were getting to her. It was almost as if he’d been reminded of something both pleasant and deeply disturbing. On the other hand, he was hardly a touchy-feely sort of guy, so she might be projecting her own reactions onto him—she’d always had an active imagination.

“That’s my name for the house,” she said, lifting her chin. “There are wild roses growing everywhere. Someone must have loved them. There are even wild roses etched on the glass in the front door. Anyway, supposedly I was the only interested buyer.”

“I didn’t have time to learn it was for sale. The property was on the market for less than forty-eight hours,” he returned sharply, and this time his mood was unmistakable—pure annoyance.

Emily restrained a tart remark. She had no intention of letting Trent Hawkins guilt her into selling Wild Rose Cottage. It wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t known it was for sale, and considering the state of the place, she could hardly have expected someone else to be interested.

“So what do you want with it?” she asked.

“That’s my concern,” he answered in clipped tones.

Her eyebrows shot up at the bald response. Then all at once he took a deep breath and smiled, except his smile looked more like a dog lifting its lip to snarl.

“I beg your pardon,” he continued, “that was rude. It’s simply that my reasons are personal and I’d rather not discuss them.”

While his explanation had begun in a more genial voice, it ended in the same tight tone as before. Oddly, Emily didn’t think he realized how he sounded.

The intensity of his gaze bothered her, so she dropped her attention to the proposal and started going through it, page by page. It was thorough and organized. The prices were higher than the other estimates she’d received, though not ridiculously so. She’d had more costly work done on her home in California.

“Are you saying that you aren’t interested in renovating Wild Rose Cottage if it belongs to me?” she asked finally.

“You can see how expensive it will be.”

“I’m not an idiot. I expected it to run high.”

Trent shook his head gravely. “Housing values in Schuyler will never escalate enough to make it a feasible investment, not if you have to pay a contractor to do it.”

Plainly he was suggesting that fixing up the house made sense for him, and not for her, since he wouldn’t have to pay himself for the work. But she couldn’t shake the conviction that he had another agenda altogether.

“I’m not interested in selling,” Emily said, her obstinate nature kicking into high gear. “I like this house and want to fix it the way it should be fixed.”

His jaw went tight and hard. “It isn’t worth the investment,” he repeated.

“This isn’t an investment, it’s a home. For me. And I don’t want to live on the west end of town. I enjoy being able to walk to my store in a few minutes and still feel as if I’m living in a nice neighborhood.”

He seemed to be breathing very carefully, perhaps controlling a deeper reaction. Anger? Exasperation? Hope? What was it about this particular house that interested him?

Since moving to Schuyler she’d heard a fair amount of gossip about the McGregors. They had piles of old money, some coming from Texas and Oklahoma oil. On top of that, Trent Hawkins was the most successful contractor in the area. He’d been in business for over fifteen years and had gone from a small operation in Schuyler to having numerous branch offices. 320 Meadowlark Lane could only be a blip on his radar.

Emily squared her shoulders. “Are you interested in the job or not?”

He paused a long moment before answering. “Yes.”

“In that case, I’ll let you know tomorrow whether I’ve chosen your company to do the work,” she informed him coolly. “Is there anything else you need for your estimate?”

“No, that’s complete.”

She conducted him to the door and shut it behind him with relief. Trent Hawkins might be near perfection in the appearance department—the perfect image of a rugged Western male—but he was also rude and pushy. She wasn’t sure she liked him, and was definitely sure he made her nervous.

Before he’d come, she had made up her mind that if the estimate was reasonable, she’d go with Big Sky because of their reputation. They really were the best. But now she needed to think it through again. It gave her a peculiar sensation to know Trent wanted the house for reasons he refused to explain.

But surely he would do a good job, regardless. Or rather, his employees would. It was just as well, because she’d rather not deal with the owner of the company in person again.

* * *

TRENT’S JAW ACHED with retraining his frustration as he drove back to Big Sky. He’d been certain Emily would sell the house to him. What kind of idiot hung on to a wreck when offered a profit after only six weeks of ownership?

It didn’t make sense.

By all accounts she was a successful businesswoman, and he’d offered her a sweetheart deal. She should have snapped it up, no questions asked.

Trent let out an impatient breath and tried to sort out his impressions of Emily George. Medium brown hair, and he thought her eyes were brown, as well. She was around thirty and attractive, albeit somewhat nondescript, with loose clothes that concealed her figure. A huge point in her favor was that she hadn’t come off as a single woman on the prowl.

She was stubborn, though. It was obvious from the way she’d reacted when urged to sell the house to him. He should have just told her that he’d lived there as a kid. She probably would have assumed he had a sentimental reason for wanting the place; she seemed the type to sympathize with that sort of thing.

On the other hand, she might have raised unholy Cain later, when she saw what he really wanted to do with the property. Besides, he wasn’t good at subterfuge.

His thoughts continuing to churn, Trent walked into the office and saw his sister.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” he asked, trying to sound normal.

“I’m taking care of some things for the Firefighters Auxiliary. You said it was all right to use the photocopier and office supplies.”

Trent shrugged. “Sure, just don’t ask me to get involved with that silly bachelor auction they hold every year.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“No, thanks. I’ll make my usual donation and leave it at that.”

Alaina looked wistful. “You’d make such a wonderful bachelor for the fund-raiser.”

For some reason Trent thought of their new client and how poorly he’d handled his meeting with her. Granted, by a purely business standard she ought to have accepted his offer, but he hadn’t been at his best. The loud screech of the doorbell alone had evoked a flood of sensations, none of them positive. And it had been worse after he’d walked into the living room. Strange, how clearly the memories had come back. And he hadn’t been there since he was ten.

“You’re forgetting my terrible social skills,” Trent told his sister.

“Then it’s a good thing you have me to run your office,” Alaina told him brightly. “I’m great with people.”

“True.”

Alaina was another puzzle Trent hadn’t figured out. Why had she come back to Montana? After graduating with honors from Stanford with an MBA, she’d been recruited by a large New York firm and had risen rapidly in its ranks. Then a year ago, when his old office manager had announced she was retiring soon, Alaina had begged Trent for the job, saying she was homesick. He wasn’t sure he’d gotten the whole story.

Nevertheless, she was terrific with people. She had all the social skills he lacked, though he worried that she let herself be too vulnerable and it was hard not being overprotective. Still, she had to make her own decisions, which Trent hoped would be better than those their mother had made. Why had she stayed with such a lousy husband?

Trent’s mouth tightened. He’d wanted to protect his mom as well, and childhood conditioning was hard to escape. He still felt the old instinct, the urge to rush in and save people, but he’d discovered that some women were willing to use those instincts to their advantage. It hadn’t taken long before he’d got tired of the games.

His sister looked at the clock and began gathering her belongings. “Much as I’d love to stay and convince you to get involved with a worthy cause, I have a meeting to attend. See you tomorrow.”

“Be safe.”

Dropping into his office chair, Trent pulled out the 320 Meadowlark Lane estimate. A lot of work was needed on the place and other things would undoubtedly crop up along the way. All of Big Sky’s estimates included a warning to that effect, and advised clients there was often a 20 percent, or higher, overage. His estimate consultant tried hard to check everything ahead of time—even doing a quick termite inspection—but something always got uncovered in such a large renovation.

Uncovered.

Damn.

Emily wanted walls removed. Depending upon which walls and how curious people were about what they might find, a lot of questions could be asked.

Trent rubbed his temples. It had been years since he’d taken the lead on a construction job. He checked on crews and sometimes lent a hand for a day or two, yet being the company’s owner gave him less and less time for work at a basic level. But he would take the lead on 320 Meadowlark Lane. That is, if Emily chose his company to do the renovation.

A cold sensation went through Trent and he had a sudden impulse to reduce the estimate, anything to convince her to sign a contract with Big Sky Construction. But it would seem suspicious after his offer to buy the place, so he’d have to wait and hope.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER SLEEPING ON the subject and looking around the house in the early-morning light, Emily was almost ready to tell Trent Hawkins that he could have it after all. Then she saw an early rose blossom dangling over one of the living room windows and decided nothing had changed. Besides, with both of her businesses doing well, she could afford the indulgence.

At 8:00 a.m. she phoned Big Sky and the office manager promised to have the contract ready by the end of the day.

When Emily arrived at Big Sky Construction the following morning, she found the office building to the right of the gate. It didn’t surprise her to see that it was built to last, but the nicely maintained flowerbeds were unexpected—Trent Hawkins seemed a no-frills kind of guy.

The door opened as she walked toward it.

The woman holding it ajar smiled at her. “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Emily George. I’m here about the contract on my house.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Alaina Hawkins, Big Sky’s office manager.”

Trent’s sister. He and Alaina shared the same dark hair and green eyes, except Alaina projected far more warmth than her brother.

Alaina took a sealed envelope from her desk and handed it to Emily. “Go ahead and take this home to read and digest. There are two copies. When you’re ready, sign each of them and initial the pages. I’ll make copies of both for your records after Trent signs.” The office manager grinned. “We’re kind of redundant at Big Sky.”

“I’ll read it here if you don’t mind,” Emily replied. “I’m really anxious to get this going. Until the house is done, I’m only camping out. A little of that is okay, but...”

“It wears thin before long?” Alaina finished.

“You bet.”

“You’re welcome to read the paperwork here, but Trent has to approve any changes.”

Sitting in the comfortable chair next to a small table, probably used for customer consults, Emily started reading the contract. She took a pad from her purse and jotted notes for reference. A few minutes later Alaina set a tray on the table; it held a steaming cup, with cream and sugar on the side.

“I thought you could use some coffee,” she said.

“Decaf?” Emily asked.

“Sorry, no.”

“Good, because while reading the most boring literature in the world, I need my potions fully leaded.”

Alaina laughed and went back to her desk.

Emily stirred a generous amount of cream and sugar into her cup. The coffee surprised her with its quality—she’d halfway expected sludge.

With a sigh she continued reading the legal-sounding language, though it wasn’t as complicated as some of the contracts she’d signed in Southern California. It was straightforward, providing protection for Big Sky and some for her, as well. That impressed her. She’d fought for similar protections in the past and had been prepared to do the same in Schuyler. But it wasn’t necessary. Everything her lawyer had said she needed was set out clearly.

One other thing surprised her. Trent had already signed the paperwork.

After two hours and three cups of coffee, Emily put her signature on the final page of each contract and carefully initialed the others.

“You can make the copies now,” she said, handing the sheaf of paper across the desk, along with a deposit check. “Trent already signed.”

The office manager’s eyes opened in obvious surprise. “Wow, that’s a first, but I guess he knows you’re anxious to get started.”

Alaina made copies and put them into a manila envelope, along with one of the originals.

Emily’s toes tingled. Before long she was actually going to see Wild Rose Cottage turning back into a home.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

As Emily opened the door of her car outside, a voice startled her.

“Good morning, Ms. George.”

She wheeled and saw Trent Hawkins gazing at her with a sharp, inscrutable expression.

“It’s Emily,” she reminded him, no longer sure she favored informality. For the first time she was realizing that polite titles could maintain a desired distance. Come to think of it, perhaps the infuriating, self-anointed mavens of society she’d encountered at her boutique would have had more respect if they’d had to say “Ms. George.”

“Is something wrong?” Trent asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked a question, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Drat, her mind had gone merrily wandering again.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My brain occasionally travels south when it’s supposed to be headed north. Of all things, I was considering the merit of polite society.”

“I see.”

“What were you were saying?” she asked, wondering if it was her imagination that he was so tense. He practically radiated the focus of a cat on the prowl.

“I asked when you expect to return the contracts.”

She waved the envelope Alaina had given her. “Actually, I stayed and read them, signed on the dotted line, got my copies and am heading home to assure Wild Rose Cottage that its neglected days are over.”

His eyebrows lifted a half inch, then his face smoothed. “In that case, the crew will begin work on Monday, Ms.— Emily.”

“That soon?” Her toes fairly danced in excitement.

“You seemed anxious. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?”

“Nope. The house and I will be ready and waiting for your guys to start.”

Emily slid into her car and he politely closed the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she fastened her seat belt. Trent Hawkins may or may not have been suffering from tension, but her entire body had tightened as soon as she’d heard his voice. It would have given her second thoughts about having Big Sky do the renovations, but it was silly to regret the decision, especially so soon after making it. Anyway, it was probably the last time she’d see him.

With a business the size of Big Sky, Trent Hawkins would be too busy to think about a single house under contract, much less its not-so-memorable owner. Emily knew from experience that guys as gorgeous as Trent Hawkins automatically dismissed ordinary women. And if she’d ever cherished illusions about fairy-tale possibilities, her former fiancé had drummed the fantasy out of her.

Oh, well.

Emily shrugged as she drove toward the grocery store. She’d concentrate on the good feelings she had about her new house. It was as if Wild Rose Cottage had whispered in her ear and begged for a second chance. And its chance was coming even earlier than she’d expected.

That was something to celebrate.

* * *

TRENT WATCHED EMILY’S car disappear down the road and suppressed the adrenaline surging through his veins. He wouldn’t get to bulldoze 320 Meadowlark Lane into toothpicks, but at least had a chance to salvage the situation.

Turning, he strode toward the office.

“Hey, Trent,” Alaina greeted him as he came through the door. “Did you intend to sign that contract with Emily George before she saw it?”

“Er...yeah.”

“Okay. She didn’t ask for any changes, so it’ll save time. You never said somebody asked for an estimate on our old house.”

He hadn’t considered the chance Alaina would figure it out.

“You remember the address?” he asked.

“No, but Mom has mentioned Meadowlark Lane, so I checked and it’s the same one. I can’t recall anything about the place.” She bit her lip. “I wish I could remember something about our parents... I mean, our first mom and dad.”

“You were pretty small when they died. What...three and a half?”

Personally, Trent was relieved Alaina didn’t remember anything about them. He had few pleasant memories himself, though life with their biological father had taught him valuable lessons—mostly that people couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them get close enough to do it. Long before he turned ten, he’d known that he had to protect himself.

“You’ve got good memories from the rest of your childhood, right?” he asked.

“Sure, but sometimes I think I can remember the early stuff, though it’s hard to sort out what’s a real memory and what’s just something I’ve been told.” Her face was pensive. “Tell me a story from back then.”

Trent hated disappointing her, but he couldn’t manufacture a nostalgic tale when there weren’t any.

“There isn’t much to tell. I prefer the present. Who do you have on the crew schedule for next week so we can start on Emily George’s job?”

“You’re starting so soon?” she asked, clearly surprised. “I mean, there’s a four-week leeway in the contract and I thought some other jobs would go first.”

“The client is living under difficult circumstances until the work is completed, so I’ve decided to put her contract as a priority. And since the house is such a wreck, it gives us an extra month in case we run into complications.”

“That makes sense. I’ll have to see who’s available as foreman.”

“No need,” Trent cut in swiftly. “We’re unusually tight right now, so I’m taking the lead.”

Her head cocked in puzzlement. “You haven’t done that in years.”

Trent managed to chuckle. “I never planned to be more of a businessman than a contractor. To be honest, I’m itching to get my hands on a hammer again—I don’t want my skills to get rusty.”

“Okay. It will make scheduling easier. I’ll get a crew together. And I’m sure Emily will be thrilled you’re starting quickly. She seemed nice.”

“I suppose,” Trent muttered, sorting through a stack of letters Alaina had laid out for him. He made notes on several and gave them back to her before heading out again. Generally he tried to visit the various sites his company worked on at least once, so he had plenty to do before he could concentrate on Meadowlark Lane.

* * *

ALAINA WATCHED HER brother leave, both puzzled and sad. It always seemed as if there was an invisible barrier between them, and she knew the rest of the family felt the same way. She couldn’t blame them for being concerned—he was even more reserved with the rest of the McGregors than he was with her. And despite her hopes, working together hadn’t changed anything.

She filed the contract on 320 Meadowlark Lane, along with a pile of other papers. Until a week ago she’d had a secretarial assistant, but Tamara had come down with the intestinal bug going around...or at least that’s what Tam had thought. It turned out that after giving up hope of ever getting pregnant, Tamara and her husband were finally going to have a baby. But it was a high-risk pregnancy and the doctor had put her on bed rest.

Alaina was happy for Tamara, but couldn’t keep a thread of melancholy from going through her. When would she have her own happy ending?

She pressed her lips together and determinedly focused on the filing. The stomach flu making the rounds was nasty. It could take close to a week to stop feeling washed-out and rubbery—she knew from experience. They would have a challenging couple of months if it spread among the construction workers.

Studying her charting schedule and Emily George’s estimate, she began making notes. It was best to keep the same guys on a job, because it saved time and made the finished product more consistent. Fortunately, their usual summer employees were starting to become available.

A smile curved Alain’s lips. The school year had ended on Friday, which meant Mike Carlisle might be interested in a job. Picking up the phone, she dialed his number.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hey, it’s Alaina,” she said.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked with his usual lack of charm. No, not usual; it was only usual since the accident that had ended his major-league baseball career.

“Are you free to join a construction crew next week?”

“I suppose, but I might have to work a half day to clean out my classroom.”

“Did you have a good year?” she asked.

“Same as always, I guess. There’s nothing new or exciting about teaching.”

That annoyed her. Teaching was a wonderful career. Kids were important and a teacher could make a huge difference in their lives. So what if a teacher didn’t get cheered the way Mike “Lightning” Carlisle had been cheered by his fans?

“How did your students do this year?” she asked, trying to be tactful.

“They passed their finals, so presumably they did all right. Where do you need me next week?”

With a silent sigh, Alaina gave him the address and reminded him to pick up a time card.

Resisting the urge to slam the receiver down, she sat back in her chair and decided to sulk for an entire five minutes. She only allowed herself one sulk-fest a day, being a woman who preferred action over just sitting.

Drat Mike, anyway.

As if she cared that he had a limp and never became known as the fastest base runner in major-league history. She’d been wild about him ever since she was a flat-chested, awkward kid and he was the star player on the school baseball team. The future looked bright for Mike—first he’d scored an athletic scholarship, followed by a major team recruiting him when he graduated from college.

Mike had really been going places. He was traded to another team for his contract two years later and adoring fans had called him Lightning Carlisle, the same nickname he’d earned in Schuyler. Then came that awful day when he’d dived into the stands to catch a fly ball...and never played again. After three knee operations he still limped, but the worst part was seeing how much he’d changed in other ways—he rarely smiled any longer and was as much a loner as Trent.

Alaina tossed her pencil onto the desk. She might as well admit that Mike was acting like a grizzly bear with a mountain-size chip on its shoulder. But that hadn’t kept her from moving back to Montana, hoping he might finally notice her...and feeling utterly stupid for doing something so ridiculous.