At Wild Rose Cottage (2 page)

“It did? Let me check and I'll call you back.”

Trent drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. Ten minutes later his phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, Trent. Webber put the place on the market while I was on vacation and it was purchased less than forty-eight hours later by Emily George, the new owner of the Emporium. Who could have guessed with the state of the place?”

Trent recalled the young woman Aunt Sarah had maneuvered him into meeting.

“I've met her. While there was a mention of her having renovation needs, I didn't realize it was the house on Meadowlark Lane until a few minutes ago.”

“I understand Ms. George hails from Los Angeles and is doing well with the old gift shop.”

“With a new business it's hard to imagine she has time to deal with the renovations needed at that...uh, house.” Trent had almost called it a dump, which was accurate, but since he'd been trying to get the property for years, the description might raise questions.

Steve snorted. “It's a terrible investment except for someone who can do the work personally—it'll cost more than the house is worth. Maybe she'll be willing to sell.”

“It's a possibility,” Trent agreed. “I'll see if we can work something out.”

That was the solution. He'd meet with Emily George and propose a business deal.

After finding her number on the estimate, he punched it into his phone.

“Hello?” Her voice was warm, with a pleasant timbre.

“Ms. George, this is Trent Hawkins of Big Sky Construction. We met at your gift shop a couple of weeks ago. There's a matter having to do with your estimate that needs to be resolved. It would help if we could meet.”

“Sure. Anything to move things ahead will be great. It's pretty grim living here under the circumstances.”

Her eagerness didn't bode well for his cause. On the other hand, if she was already living in the house, it wasn't surprising she wanted to get things going. But she couldn't possibly realize how costly it would be to do everything listed on the estimate. Surely she'd sell once she saw the bottom line.

“I understand,” Trent said. “Where shall we get together?”

“Don't you want to come to the house?”

320 Meadowlark Lane was the last place he wanted to go. But he couldn't tell a stranger something he'd never told anyone else.

“That's fine,” he agreed. “What time is good for you?”

“Later this afternoon, or whenever you like tomorrow.”

Trent didn't want to wait another day. “How about today at four?”

“Terrific. I'll see you then.”

It wasn't terrific. As a rule he no longer met with customers; he'd discovered the business did better if other employees handled contacts that required diplomacy. But the situation was different with his childhood home, and he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

* * *

E
MILY
ENDED
THE
CALL
, a little surprised by the conversation with Trent Hawkins. From what she'd seen and heard, he was an odd duck.

Oh, well, she wasn't looking for a friend; she wanted to get her house fixed. But it was strange that the head of such a large company wanted to meet personally.

The representative from Big Sky had been extremely thorough and hadn't anticipated any problems. Emily had contacted a number of their references and they were all quite satisfied. The conversations had taken a while, since a lot of them wanted to chat—something she'd learned was typical of people in Schuyler. Most said they'd never dealt directly with the owner of Big Sky. A few knew Trent Hawkins through community contacts or his family, but their vague comments gave her the impression of caution, as though they considered him a slightly dangerous enigma.

One retired schoolteacher had mentioned that she'd taught most of the Hawkins and McGregor kids in her classroom, but had never understood Trent.

“At first glance he reminded me of his father,” she'd said. “But Gavin was such a bright, charming man. Trent isn't as...cheerful. Of course, losing his parents that way has to affect a child. It's probably no surprise that he was socially awkward.”

Emily had found the comment irrelevant. Trent Hawkins's charm, or lack of it, wasn't important. It was his company's skill and honesty that she cared about. Nonetheless, the opinions expressed by other Big Sky clients certainly jived with her own brief impressions of him.

The doorbell gasped out a disgruntled squawk at precisely four o'clock and Emily realized that was one repair that had failed to make her list of improvements.

She opened the door and though she'd already met Trent Hawkins, almost gasped herself. While she wasn't short, he seemed to tower over her in the doorway.

“Hello, Ms. George,” he said politely.

“Uh, call me Emily,” she returned, taking an involuntary step backward. “I'm from Southern California. We're informal there.”

He hesitated a moment before nodding. “Emily, then. Call me Trent.”

She led him into the living room where she'd set up a card table and folding chairs. That, along with the air mattress in the back ground-floor bedroom, made up her current furniture. She'd bought them in Schuyler since most of her belongings were staying in California until she was completely settled.

Trent barely glanced at anything.

“Is there a part of the house you need to look at?” she asked, his silence making her nervous.

“No.” He seated himself and she sat across from him. Pulling a sheaf of papers from a folder he pushed it toward her. “You can see from the estimate that any renovations will be extremely expensive. Some might even say prohibitively expensive. So I have a proposal. I'd like to buy the house. I'll pay ten percent over your sales price and reimburse your moving and closing costs on a new property. There are some nice homes on the west end of town you should consider purchasing.”

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.

* * *

T
RENT
'
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.