At Wild Rose Cottage (3 page)

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

A
FTER
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.

* * *

T
RENT
WATCHED
E
MILY
'
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.

* * *

A
LAINA
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.