At Wild Rose Cottage (15 page)

* * *

T
HE
WORST
OF
the stomach flu had passed by Friday evening, leaving Trent exasperated. Getting sick had forced him to miss one of his best opportunities to search for his father's handgun.

But maybe he could still make it work.

He dialed Emily's number and was glad when she answered instead of getting voice mail.

“It's Trent,” he said.

“Hey, are you doing better?”

“Much better, that's why I'm calling. I'm concerned we didn't make any progress this week. If it won't interfere with your schedule, I want to put in some time tomorrow.”

“It won't bother me, but surely you want the weekend to recuperate.”

As if he could relax with Wild Rose Cottage looming over his head like an ax hanging on a thread.

“If I'm not working there, I'll be doing other work at Big Sky, and I'd rather get something accomplished on your house.”

“In that case, I'll see you in the morning. The usual time?”

Trent agreed and at 7:00 a.m. sharp, he was at her door. He stepped into the living room and dropped his toolbox with a bang. The wall behind the door was gone. Emily must have knocked the damn thing out—she'd even removed the debris. It didn't matter since it postdated his childhood, but what if she'd dismantled the walls upstairs? He instinctively turned to go up and check, only to see Emily staring at him with a rebellious expression.

She stuck her chin in the air. “Yeah, I took it down.”

“You shouldn't have,” he said tightly. “It's our job and we know how to do it safely.”

“It was therapy. I got to thinking about the way my fiancé treated me and how we broke up. It made me angry so I took it out on the wall.”

Trent bit back an ironic laugh. He could have told her that he'd been trying to work off anger for years, without noticeable success.

“All the same,” he returned carefully, “I'll be more comfortable if you don't do this sort of thing again. You could have got hurt and no one would have been here to help.”

“I wore a hard hat and safety glasses.”

Frustrated, he spun and headed for the kitchen. It would make her suspicious if he lunged upstairs the way he wanted to. Anyway, she surely would have mentioned finding a gun. So now his problem was finagling a way to go after it himself before she did any more personal demolition.

Thinking furiously, he worked on the glass-and-stone-tile backsplash Emily had chosen, wondering if he could ask her to pick up supplies or something. Simply going upstairs wouldn't do any good; she'd just follow to help or watch.

Then in the midst of his turmoil, the specifics of what she'd said suddenly hit his consciousness...that she'd had a fiancé who had treated her badly. Generally there were two sides to any story, but curiously, Trent didn't question whether she was accurately remembering past events. As a rule he figured women were skewed in the way they saw things.

In the background he heard the old landline phone ring. A minute later Emily came into the kitchen.

“I need to go down to the Emporium,” she explained. “The flu has hit my staff, as well.”

Trent couldn't believe his luck. It was unfortunate someone was ill, but now he'd get the time alone that he needed.

“That's too bad,” he told her. “I'll take care of things here.”

She paused and he hoped she wouldn't suggest he leave as well, then shrugged and smiled. “See you later, then.”

As soon as Trent saw her car drive out of sight, he dropped everything and headed upstairs.

* * *

N
ORMALLY
E
MILY
WOULDN
'
T
have driven to the Emporium, but Trudy had been terribly upset about getting sick.

“I'm sorry,” the teenager wailed as she came through the door. “I felt great an hour ago.”

Emily smiled reassuringly. “Don't worry about it.”

Trudy gagged and ran for the stockroom where there was a small bathroom for the staff.

The bell on the door tinkled as a couple came inside.

“Hi,” Emily said. “Before you come any farther, let me warn you that one of my staff just came down with the flu. You might not want to get exposed.”

“Stomach?” the man asked. When Emily nodded, he and his wife exchanged glances. “We just got over it. Imagine having intestinal flu while camping in a tent and having to use a campground restroom.”

Emily groaned in sympathy. “That sounds terrible.”

“It was hideous,” the woman agreed. “As soon as we got better, we tossed everything in the SUV and went to a motel.

Is it okay if we look around? We heard about your store and want to salvage something from our vacation.”

“Be my guest.”

Back in the stockroom Trudy was sitting on a chair, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Jimmy will be here soon,” Emily told her. “He's thrilled to get extra work hours. Is your mom coming to pick you up?”

“She got sick last night. I'll walk.”

“Nonsense, I'll take you.”

Jim Jenkins arrived a few minutes later, so Emily got the teenager home as quickly as possible before heading back to Meadowlark Lane. She'd hated leaving. There was something so odd about the way Trent had acted...or maybe it was the lingering weirdness in the house. The sense of waiting or anticipation was still present, no matter how hard she'd tried to dismiss it.

Parking in the driveway, she hurried inside, but Trent wasn't in the kitchen. Instead, loud bangs were coming from the second floor.

What?

She climbed the front staircase and peeked through the door of the room she'd decided to expand into a master bedroom. Trent was pounding on the wall with a ferocity that easily outstripped the energy she'd put into the one in the living room.

The air whooshed from her lungs.

It was the wall that had always given her an odd feeling. Honestly, if she'd known it wasn't load bearing, she would have already taken a sledgehammer to it. Why was he doing it in her absence? Weeks ago she'd told him she wanted to be there when it was removed.

He seemed angry and in a terrible hurry, pausing to grope through the debris after each crash brought chunks down. Finally a piece of wall came off in a large section. He seized something from the ground. For a moment he stared at the object before wrapping it in a cloth and shoving it into his pocket.

Shaken, Emily turned and tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house. Needing time to think, she drove to the county park on the edge of town.

She was certain the mysterious object had been a handgun, even though it had been wrapped in plastic. The shape was distinctive and she'd gotten a clear look. Moreover, Trent had been looking for it. There was no doubt about that.

What the hell was going on?

* * *

A
N
ENORMOUS
WEIGHT
had rolled from Trent when he'd tucked his father's gun out of sight. There were probably other troublesome items still hidden in the house, but the worst of his worries had been addressed.

Glancing at the rubble on the floor, he wasn't sure what he'd say if Emily asked about it. She had been clear about wanting to be there when the wall was demolished—something to do with her feelings about the place and how it “spoke to her.”

It was ridiculous, yet he couldn't deny that something
had
been different about this particular wall.

He went to one of the front windows and checked for Emily's car. It was unlikely she'd be back soon; she was probably covering the Emporium for her sick sales clerk. If she asked, he would have to say he'd forgotten that she wanted to be there. Lying was distasteful, but the truth was ugly, as well.

After locking the gun in his office safe, he went home for the first good night's sleep he'd had since the work on Meadowlark Lane had started.

* * *

O
N
M
ONDAY
MORNING
,
Trent waited for Emily to tackle him about the wall, but she seemed normal, offering him a cup of coffee and pointing at a box of pastries on the rickety card table in the living room. Maybe she hadn't been upstairs to see it. When the crew finished their coffee, Emily went to help Eduardo work on the pipes under the laundry room.

Caveman came to him an hour later. “Hey, boss,” he said. “I've been thinking about the hallway chandelier that broke apart when we took it down. It might be possible to find a vintage light online.”

“We already installed a new one.”

“I know, but Em is awful nice and she's helped out so much, it seems as if we could find something she'd like better.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Okay, boss, just a thought. She said something the other day and I know she's disappointed. We're willing to install it on our own time.”

As soon as he had an opportunity, Trent took Emily into the yard where they couldn't be overheard.

“I need to discuss something with you,” he said stiffly.

“Yeah?”

“If you want extra work or items that aren't in the contract, you need to check with me, not my crew.”

Her eyes opened wide. “What do mean?”

“Caveman told me you want a different chandelier in the hallway.”

Emily crossed her arms over her stomach in a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. “I mentioned the modern light fixture doesn't fit the vintage atmosphere, that's all. Exactly
what
are you accusing me of?”

Trent took a deep breath. “In my experience customers act nice, expecting a little extra to come out of it.”

Her eyes sparked angrily. “
That's
your problem? Being nice is suspicious?”

“You aren't that naive. People do it all the time.”

“Maybe some people do, but that doesn't mean it's what
I
was doing, or most other folks, either. You're an ass, Trent. By your reasoning, the only reason someone is nice is because they have ulterior motives.”

She raked him with a scornful expression, spun and marched away. Trent closed his eyes, trying not to think of how amazing she'd looked as she'd lectured him.

He couldn't make up his mind about Emily. Was she trying to work the situation for what she could get? Or was she as naive as his mother had been, needing rescue when the world had fallen apart around her? Maybe she was simply a flake who left havoc behind wherever she went.

* * *

E
MILY
STOMPED
DOWNTOWN
, not wanting to go into the house and risk the crew seeing her anger. Trent's words made her feel soiled, even though she wasn't guilty of what he'd accused. What was wrong with him? Every time she'd asked for something differing from the contract, she'd told him to give her an estimate. Never
once
had she implied she wanted something free or for a reduced cost.

What sort of person was so suspicious of everybody? She might feel sorry for him if he wasn't so awful.

As Emily neared the Emporium, her steps faltered. She shouldn't go in there, either. In fact, she didn't want to see anyone she knew well until she'd had a chance to cool down.

Heading across the street, she went into the Schuyler clothing shop and asked to try on the dress displayed in the window.

As she tried on dress after dress, Emily fumed. There was something wrong with being nice? Trent did his best to create a good working environment, but she'd never accused him of manipulating his employees by treating them fairly. After all, that would be ridiculous.

Sighing, she finally made a selection and signed a credit card slip, walking out with a sundress that she probably wouldn't have considered if she'd been entirely rational. She'd heard that you should never drive angry. Maybe you shouldn't shop angry, either.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

O
N
THE
DAY
of the big firehouse fund-raiser, Emily nervously checked herself out in the mirror. It was the blue sundress she'd bought the day that she and Trent had argued about the hallway chandelier. It showed her figure more than the tailored business suits she'd once worn, or the loose flowing blouses and skirts she'd favored since moving to Montana.

Despite having been angry when she'd bought the outfit, it didn't look bad, and it wasn't as if they had fashion police in Schuyler.

She hurried into the kitchen to collect the cookies she'd baked the night before...and gave a sigh of pleasure over the way the room had turned out. Except for the bedroom she was using, the past few weeks had seen a transformation of the ground floor; Wild Rose Cottage was going to be as beautiful as she'd dreamed it could be. Even the wood floor that had buckled looked nice. Right after they'd “discussed” it, Emily had done some research and then tried one of the methods suggested. It had taken a while, but the hard work was worth every minute...including the chagrin on Trent's face when she'd unveiled her success.

Emily still didn't know what to do about Trent. She wasn't mad at him anymore—she wasn't good at holding a grudge—but that didn't mean she trusted him. Besides, he was just the construction foreman on her house, not someone whose accusations mattered.

But no longer being angry didn't tell her what to think about the handgun Trent had removed from the upstairs wall.

She'd had long conversations with Stella Luna about it when no one else was around. As it turned out, horses were excellent company—they didn't talk back and never offered annoying opinions.

It was her good fortune that the horse-loving McGregors were willing to board the mare, especially for the nominal fee she'd finally gotten them to accept. But the best part was seeing Stella Luna eating better and becoming less nervous. It was nice that Harold Burrow's faith in her was justified, and having a distraction each evening had been a godsend.

Emily frowned as her thoughts inevitably circled back to Trent and the gun.

He couldn't be a criminal. However grim and solitary, with edges galore, she was sure he was honest. It had even appeared as though he was wrapping the weapon to preserve fingerprints. Nevertheless, she'd endured more than her share of sleepless nights trying to sort it out.

Should she at least talk to him?

So far, she'd just...waited.

Trent certainly hadn't said anything about the wall, and as far as he knew, she hadn't gone upstairs to see it. But she was running out of time to make a decision since the crew was scheduled to start working on the second floor the next week.

Criminy. There was no point in fussing, and she didn't want to miss a minute of the barbecue and auction.

Amazingly, the fund-raiser was taking place on a Friday afternoon and evening. The town actually declared its own holiday for the event and most of the businesses would be closed. Alaina had laughed, claiming it was because everyone needed the weekend to recuperate. Emily didn't mind closing the Emporium or having work halt on Wild Rose Cottage for the day.

Of course, in her case the crew was planning to come in on Saturday because so much time had been lost due to the flu. She'd felt bad about it, but the guys had assured her no one was being required to work. Trent had an odd expression on his face when the men had talked about it, and she'd been frustrated. How could a guy leave so much distrust in his wake?

Shaking her head, she walked briskly toward the downtown park.

She'd gotten stacks of donations for the silent auction and was proud of the results. At the same time she was nervous, in case it didn't turn out well. But it
should
be all right. Despite the short lead time, the committee had done a fair amount of advertising. The committee had even shifted some of the donated goods to the live auction, so more people could get in on the fun.

At the park, Emily left her cookies with the dessert coordinator and started exploring. Despite the carnival rides operating a hundred feet away, crowds were milling in and out of the large tent dedicated to the silent auction. She peeked inside. The bidding lists were already filling with names and there were friendly scuffles as people raced back and forth to outdo each other.

“Emily.”
Janet Goodwell rushed over and gave her a hug. “This is great. I knew it would be a success, but I didn't realize how many people would participate.”

“I'm glad it's working out.”

Emily wandered over to where the barbecue was being held and presented her ticket. She sat down with Alaina, a daunting amount of food heaped on her plate.

“Wow,” she said, looking at the pile of sliced tri-tip. “I won't be hungry for a week.”

Alaina nodded. “I always have to go on a diet after the barbecue—or at least I
should
go on a diet.”

The meat was savory, the potato salad had been made by the premiere potato-salad maker in town and there were baskets of French bread on every table. Emily was stuffed by the time she was finished.

“I'd better walk around awhile,” she said, pressing a hand to her tummy and hoping she didn't look pregnant after eating so much. It would have been a neat trick since she hadn't had sex in ages.

“I'd go with you, but I need to do some final checks for the live auction,” Alaina explained. “See you later.”

Emily wandered around. A band was playing in one area and there were activity booths for the kids along with the carnival rides. A happy-faced clown insisted she sit down while he painted a sunflower on her cheek.

She also saw Trent. He was carrying supplies, his muscles flexing as he delivered ice and other heavy goods to the kitchen area. Suddenly the day seemed a whole lot warmer.

“Afternoon,” he said as he passed near the booth where she was trying to knock metal bowling pins over for a prize. His gaze barely flicked over her and she restrained a sigh. After all, despite everything, she was merely a client. And that was a good thing. Who wanted a man suspicious of everyone?

* * *

M
IKE
TRIED
NOT
to limp as he carried his plate from the serving area to the closest table—it was possible if he concentrated and ignored the pain. The doctors had said he would slowly improve and his knee
was
better; they just couldn't give him back his career.

“Hi, Mike,” Candy McCoy said, sitting across the table. “I understand you're one of our bachelors at the auction.”

“That's right.” He decided not to mention that he'd rather slam his hand in a car door.

She smiled coyly. “I wasn't going to bid on anyone, but now I've changed my mind.”

“That's nice,” he returned, unsure of what else to say. How had he gotten so lame around women? He couldn't even manufacture the right moment to ask Emily out a second time. “The firefighters will appreciate your support.”

“I won't be doing it for them. I've been trying to get your attention again for years.”

“Don't make me blush.”

She let out a high-pitched giggle and Mike worked to keep his face neutral.

Great. Candy McCoy. The town nympho. He'd made the mistake of spending a night with her years ago. He was fine with women being assertive, but Candy was just tacky.

Mike wanted to remind her that the auction was for dinner and nothing more, but a family was sitting next to them, so he kept his mouth shut.

One thing was for sure though, if Candy won the auction, he'd wring Alaina's neck.

* * *

T
RENT
WAS
ABOUT
to leave the barbecue when he heard Emily's voice over the loudspeaker calling everyone to attention.

He found himself heading toward the bandstand.

“Hi, everyone,” she said into the microphone. “The regular auctioneer had to go home. The flu strikes again. He wasn't able to eat, so tell the guys at the barbecue pit to stick a plate in the fridge. By the way, that's my way of saying that if you haven't eaten yet, you're missing out on a good thing.”

Trent moved closer. Emily stood smiling on the platform. Earlier he'd tried not to look too closely at her. Now he stared hungrily at her slender figure hugged by sky blue fabric. The sundress was a surprising switch from her usual clothes.

He sucked in a breath.

Emily had very nice curves, belying the sunflower painted on her left cheek that made her look like a kid. He didn't know how she could be so cute and alluring at the same time.

Hell, he ought to leave before anyone guessed how aroused he was at the sight of her, but he couldn't make his feet move.

“I've been drafted to fill in for Pete,” she announced. “As some of you already know, my name is Emily George and I'm pretty new in town. The only explanation for me agreeing to do this is temporary insanity, which confirms the suspicions you had when you saw my taste in real estate. Don't think I didn't hear the whispered suggestions of a straitjacket.”

A general chuckle rippled through the crowd. The house on Meadowlark Lane had long been a sore spot for the town. No one would have cared if he'd bulldozed it.

“Listen carefully, folks,” Emily continued. “Among the items up for your interest are bachelors, bachelorettes, a riding lawn mower and deep-dish apple pie. They're all terrific, but not interchangeable, so think before you bid. And remember, this supports those dedicated folks at the Schuyler Fire Station. I hear that if they don't finish earning enough for a new ladder truck, they're threatening to do one of those stud calendars, and I don't mean Appaloosa stallions.”

“Are you crazy?” a feminine voice sang out from the crowd. “If we bid too much, we'll miss out on the calendar.”

“You're right,” Emily agreed, “so put your wallets away. Oh, wait a minute.” She whipped out her cell phone and acted as if she was listening before sticking it back in her pocket. “Okay, folks,” she announced, “I'm from California and it seems I got studs and steers mixed up. If we don't earn enough on the auction, it's going to be photos of longhorn bulls...from Texas.”

A smile twitched on Trent's lips as a mix of laughter and groans went through the crowd.

“We're starting with some of the generous contributions from local businesses,” Emily told the crowd. “After that we'll get to Schuyler's traditional bachelor and bachelorette auction.”

Bidding was brisk, with items going for generous prices.

“Hey, Trent,” Alaina murmured, coming up beside him. “Isn't Em doing a fantastic job?”

“Uh...yeah,” he said.

He was reluctantly impressed. Emily had thrown herself into the moment, gently hamming it up, but not getting too corny as she encouraged everyone to have fun.

“She also got the local merchants to donate all this stuff,” Alaina murmured.

“I know.”

Pique traveled through Trent. Emily hadn't asked Big Sky Construction to donate anything. Not that he should be surprised, given how many times they'd argued. Still, she'd apparently contacted just about every other business in town. He'd finally given Alaina a gift certificate for a low-flow toilet, including installation.

Though Trent didn't usually care for public events, it was entertaining to watch Emily, and when the certificates for the pie-a-month came up, he offered an opening bid of a hundred dollars.

“Anyone else? These pies are really delicious,” Emily urged.

“One fifty,” called Uncle Parker. The mayor raised him ten dollars.

“Two hundred,” Trent offered, only to be promptly outbid by someone he couldn't see at the back of the crowd.

The closing bid was for two seventy-five.

“Congratulations,” Emily sang out to the lanky rancher.

Twenty minutes later a painting by a local artist was brought out on the platform. Emily started taking bids and showed no hint that she'd hoped to win it herself. The only reason Trent knew was because he'd overheard her talking to Alaina about it.

“Fourteen hundred,” he called, outbidding the last offer by three hundred dollars.

No one else raised him.

“Great taste, Trent,” Emily called out. “This is something you can hang on your wall with pride.”

Making his way to the cashier's booth he paid for the painting. It was a beautiful piece depicting a vista of hills and prairie land near Schuyler. The artist was becoming well-known in Montana and Trent already had one of his paintings displayed at Big Sky Construction. It made sense to buy it as an investment...except he wasn't sure that was his real reason, and he had to remember his determination not to do any rescuing.

Trent had planned to take the painting and leave, except it was too enjoyable listening as Emily charmed the crowd. She was breathtaking with her face lit up and he fought another surge of desire. He had never taken a client to bed and he couldn't believe how close he'd come that night in the truck. Worse, she was the one who'd pulled back.

He didn't think it was a lack of desire, yet she'd ended their brief, searing kiss with a kind, almost philosophical air. Beyond complimenting him on being a good kisser, she hadn't shown any sign it was difficult to stop.

Trent had never imagined that women found him irresistible. A few had claimed he was good in bed, and he'd run across others who would have happily shared his financial success, but most women said he was too hard and insensitive. So he could be wrong about Emily's response to him.

* * *

A
LAINA
TENSED
AS
number thirty-six on the auction list approached. Some members of the committee had wanted to assign Mike to the same number he'd had on his uniform when he still played baseball, and she'd quickly squashed the idea, arguing that it might remind him of the day his career had ended.