At Wild Rose Cottage (9 page)

Well, it mostly seemed strange because of Trent.

There was no denying she was attracted to him. Trent Hawkins was the kind of intense, driven guy that women often went nutty over, but she couldn't afford to join their ranks. With his looks he could have his choice of feminine companionship, and he certainly wasn't going to choose her.

Given their discussion the evening before, Emily wasn't surprised to see Alaina show up at lunchtime. Unfortunately Mike had left to meet with the principal at the high school and his departure had changed the rhythm of the day. Eduardo, Caveman and Vince had decided to go out for their meal, and Trent was running an errand of his own.

“Sorry, I should have called to let you know he wouldn't be here,” Emily apologized.

“That's okay.”

They scrounged leftovers from the refrigerator and sat on the patio to eat.

“This is nice,” Alaina said when they were munching grapes for dessert.

“Yeah, just Mike-less.”

“Another day. He is going to notice me,” Alaina added darkly. Then she straightened. “We've got to find a nice guy for you, too.”

Emily made a face. “I'm not interested in a romantic relationship—I just got out of a bad one. I should have realized he wasn't really in love with someone so ordinary.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Emily scolded herself. She was trying to avoid unfavorable comparisons to women such as Nicole, but sometimes it was hard not to feel inadequate.

“Don't put yourself down,” Alaina ordered. “You're very attractive.”

“It's just that I grew up with a gorgeous sister who became a supermodel and sometimes struggle with a small inferiority complex,” Emily admitted. “On the other hand, I've always said that every well-adjusted woman needs at least one complex to keep her balanced. So this is mine.”

Most people didn't get her sense of humor, but Alaina chuckled as she leaned back in her chair.

Alaina left and Emily went into the living room to eye the front windows. A bay window would look fantastic there.

When Trent came in, she wheeled enthusiastically toward him. “I have a terrific idea,” she exclaimed. “A bay window in the living room would add so much.”

* * *

A
BAY
WINDOW
?

Trent stared at Emily, seriously annoyed.
Now
she wanted something like that? And she was making noises about other things she wanted, as well.

“That's a big job,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

“Yeah, but it would be great to have at Christmastime. I can see a huge decorated tree standing there. Can't we add it to the estimate?”

“I could work up some figures, but—”

“Great. I'll sketch out my idea for it. The room is just asking for that addition.”

Trent regarded her narrowly. Emily knew perfectly well he'd been trying to head her off. “Rooms don't have minds of their own.”

“How do you know?”

“Everyone knows it,” he growled, regretting having said anything. She was a client, albeit one of the more irritating ones. Plenty of people added things midstream and a bay window was more doable than adding turrets or something.

On the other hand, with so much fanciful nonsense skidding through her brain, Emily was also less likely to listen to reason than other clients.

* * *

T
RENT
WENT
INTO
the Big Sky office on Tuesday morning before daybreak to sign off on a stack of paperwork. Acting as foreman five days a week was playing havoc with his responsibilities as owner of the company. Now he had to figure out how much a bay window in the living room would cost, and he had a doomed conviction this wasn't the last time she'd make such a request. Didn't the woman have any sense?

He wasn't obligated to tack anything onto the current contract, but he wanted the job finished so he'd never have to think about the blasted place again, which made her request for new work all the more annoying.

It was 6:00 a.m. when Trent signed the last document. He passed Alaina on the way in from her car as he headed for his truck.

“Morning,” she said, seeming subdued, and he wondered if she wasn't feeling well.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He wasn't convinced, but who was he to guess at a woman's moods?

After picking up doughnuts—the crew had announced they wanted to take turns because it wasn't fair to let Emily always provide morning treats—he headed for Meadowlark Lane. He knocked to avoid the jarring sound of the doorbell. Quick, light steps sounded and Emily peeked through the curtain on the glass side panel before opening the door.

She was wearing an oversize brown bathrobe and had her hair up in a towel.

“You're early,” she announced, then grimaced. “Sorry, I didn't mean that was a problem. It's just that I was at the Emporium late and overslept, so I'm not quite put together this morning. But the coffee should be done brewing.”

“You're not obligated to make us coffee every day,” he pointed out. “It isn't part of the contract.”

“Does it have to be?” she quipped, and Trent groaned to himself. Did that mean she wanted more things that weren't in the contract...side benefits she didn't have to pay to get?

“I'm making coffee for myself,” she added, “so why not make enough for everyone? Go get a cup.”

He started for the patio through the kitchen and the combination mud porch and utility room. Emily must have been taking laundry from the front-load washing machine when he arrived, because the appliance's door stood open and the clothes were halfway between it and a basket, a red lace bra dangling over the side.

A sharp “oh” came from behind him and Emily rushed forward with a flushed face, hurriedly stuffing the damp clothing into the basket and hustling it away.

Trent shrugged. He hadn't seen anything he hadn't seen before. Emily's New Age-ish tendencies seemed out of step with something so provocative, but he'd heard that women who weren't geared for glamour often wished for it. And why shouldn't she dress the way she wanted? Still, he would have expected... Well, he wasn't sure what he would have expected. Nor was it any of his business.

While Emily had appeared embarrassed to have her lingerie on display, it could be because he was a man. Privacy was an issue that rose periodically on construction jobs when his crews worked on homes whose owners couldn't vacate during their renovations.

He put the doughnuts beside the coffeepot and poured a cup. The bold flavor rolled across his tongue and he savored it before selecting an apple fritter from the pastry box and sitting on the rickety patio bench. It was a pain to admit, but Emily made the best java in town—even better than his sister's.

Emily appeared around the corner of the house, her long wet hair pulled into a loose French braid.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “I meant to get everything put away before you arrived.”

“No need to apologize.”

She poured herself a cup of coffee, adding plenty of cream and sugar.

“What's the point?” he surprised himself by asking. “I mean, if you're going to cover up the coffee taste, why bother?”

“Are you a purist?”

“No, but it's great the way it is.”

“Glad I could do something right.”

“I never said—”

She grinned. “Jeez, you have an easy chain to yank.”

He settled back on the bench. “I'm out of practice knowing when I'm being targeted.”

Trent pulled his face into emotionless lines as Emily cocked her head and studied him. Her perusal was unusually intent and she appeared ready to say something, then her mouth twitched and she concentrated on her coffee. He felt strangely disappointed, which was ridiculous; for years he'd worked to keep people from trying to get close to him. Light jokes and casual conversation were fine, but nothing else.

“What made you come to Montana?” he asked.

“I was here on vacation and fell in love with Schuyler,” she enthused. “As soon as I saw the Emporium was up for sale I made an offer. It's weird because I don't make impulsive decisions.”

Oh, really?

Trent gulped his coffee to keep from making a smart remark; she'd also purchased the house on Meadowlark Lane with impetuous speed.

Apparently Emily had read his mind, because she laughed. “It's true. I'm usually careful and businesslike, on the big stuff. People call me the smart George sister, so everyone back in Los Angeles thinks I've gone nuts.”

The “smart” George sister? Seeing herself that way was vaguely arrogant, and Trent wondered if Emily's sister resented being considered less intelligent.

“Do you think you'll stay?” he asked. “We've had big-city folks who move to Montana for the fresh air, but it isn't long until they're desperate for their idea of civilization.”

“They can have it.” Emily's voice was definite. “Commuting for an hour on a smoggy freeway isn't civilized. Here it takes me just ten minutes to walk to my store, and that's at a strolling pace.”

“There are other things that people enjoy about the city.”

“Sure, but they don't mean much to me.” She studied him again. “Don't you like it here? I mean, would you rather move somewhere larger?”

Trent frowned. “I never considered living any other place than Schuyler,” he said.

“Is that because this is where your family is?”

Emily's questions bothered him. Why had he chosen to stay? Living in Montana made sense—the wide-open spaces appealed to him—but Schuyler held memories he'd rather forget. And in another town he wouldn't have to confront the ghost of his father on every corner, or deal with the comparisons between Gavin and himself.

“Actually, I didn't stay for any particular reason,” Trent admitted. “I began working for a construction company while in high school, and started my business a few years later.”

She still seemed puzzled, but the doorbell jangled, so she jumped up and went inside the house.

Trent was grateful for the reprieve. There was nothing unusual about Emily's inquiries—it was the kind of thing people discussed while chatting—but she was the first person who'd ever asked him how he felt about Schuyler, Montana.

* * *

M
IKE
'
S
NERVES
TIGHTENED
when Alaina appeared carrying bags from the deli.

It was annoying to see her so often. He couldn't get over her choosing to abandon a high-power career—perhaps because it reminded him of how his own career had ended.

The whole thing might be easier if he could blame someone else for what had happened that day, but he couldn't. After the accident, sportscasters and sports writers had lauded him for his dedication to the game, saying he always put out a thousand percent. But Mike knew the truth—showing off for a woman was a lousy way to play baseball.

“Hi, guys,” Alaina said, barely flicking a look at him. “I've mooched meals here several times now, so it's my turn to provide the food.”

“Hear that, Trent?” Vince called. “I like this gig more and more. We get Emily as a helper, and lunch shows up on our doorstep when we least expect it.”

Trent walked into the bare kitchen. “Don't give me the credit,” he replied, “and don't brag to the other crews, or they might go on strike.”

“I heard that,” Emily said. “If you've got labor problems, handle them yourself.”

“I thought I just did.”

Though the exchange sounded light, there was an underlying edge to the way they talked to each other and Mike figured it was his friend's fault. Emily had a friendly nature.

But why was he having trouble getting a second date with her? He thought they'd had a good time, but while she was friendly and appeared to like him, the subject always seemed to shift when he started to ask her out again. It was difficult to believe she was brushing him off, so it must be something else—maybe the craziness of having her house pulled apart.

“Is the patio still the dining hall?” Alaina asked Emily.

“Yep,” Emily replied.

“Here.” Alaina handed Mike the bags. “Take these out to the patio. I need to get the rest of our dinner from the car.”

The way she'd said
dinner
instead of lunch made him think of the bachelor auction, and from the look in her eyes, he was pretty sure it had been deliberate. She hadn't given up, but neither had he. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he'd become a bachelor for sale.

* * *

E
MILY
FINISHED
HER
sandwich and watched Alaina and Mike trade sharp retorts. Whether he realized it or not, Mike was as attracted to Alaina as she was to him. But they'd have to get past a boatload of hostility before anything could happen.

As for Trent... Emily was trying to ignore him. He was handsome, but she didn't actually like the guy, and it was depressing to be reminded that sexual attraction obviously had little to do with the meeting of like minds.

It didn't help that she'd seen him eyeing her bra in the laundry basket and had been hit by a sense of vulnerability...except
vulnerable
wasn't the right word. No guy had ever seen her lingerie except Dennis, and he'd claimed Victoria's Secret–style bras and panties didn't really suit her, which should have made her know he wasn't overly hot for his fiancée.

Alaina had left and the crew had settled back to work when the doorbell rang. Emily recognized Bob Webber, the previous owner...and the landlord when Trent had lived in Wild Rose Cottage.

“Howdy, Ms. George,” Webber said. “How are the renovations going?”

“They're still deconstructing,” she said, at the same time wondering about the “howdy.” Was that something people actually said outside of a 1940s Western, or did it simply sound phony coming from him?