At Wild Rose Cottage (13 page)

Shock slapped him in the face. “I don't feel sorry for myself.”

Alaina rolled her eyes. “Sure you do. But be bitter and pity yourself on your own time, not everyone else's.”

“I'm not bitter, either.”

“Really? You're doing a grand imitation. The way you've acted about me and New York has been downright nasty. Get over it. Coming back to Schuyler was my choice and I don't intend to defend it any longer.”

At least she'd had a choice. Alaina just didn't understand what it was like to go from being the toast of the baseball world to being “almost one of the greats.”

“I mean it,” she continued hotly. “Schuyler made sure that both professional and college scouts saw you play ball in high school and cheered you for years in the majors. Now you need to give something back to the community—something more active than simply writing out a check.”

“I've done the auction plenty of times,” he said defensively.

“And you can do it again. You've been a prickly sourpuss since moving back and you owe the town for putting up with you.”

“Fine.” Mike gritted out the word. “I'll be one of your bachelors.”

“Good.” She poured the now steaming soup into a bowl and set it on the kitchen table with a spoon. “Feel better soon,” she said sunnily and headed out the front door.

Despite himself, the scent of chicken and vegetables made Mike's stomach growl. Since his nausea was almost gone he felt safe eating; he slumped into a chair and started spooning it into his mouth, but even the rich flavor couldn't wash away the taste of regret.

He'd been goaded by Alaina's taunts. He should have held out. No one would want to pay to have dinner with a broken-down ballplayer, and recognizing it didn't mean he was guilty of self-pity.

But he couldn't back out now without feeling like a coward. And it was only a minor consolation to know that Alaina would see what a disaster his participation would be...because unfortunately, everyone else would see it, too.

* * *

T
RENT
WAS
PLEASED
when the truck repairs didn't take long and they quickly returned to the farmhouse to load everything up. By noon he was leading the way back to Schuyler, only to lift his foot from the accelerator when he saw the sign reading Livestock Auction Today. It was the same small auction yard where he'd found Speakeasy, and the memory of the stallion's poor condition was hard to forget. With a resigned sigh, he put on his signal and turned into the parking area.

Emily pulled in nearby. “What's up?” she asked, getting out.

“It's all right if you want to go on ahead. I just want to take a look.”

She glanced around. “That's okay. I've never been to a livestock auction. It might be interesting.”

“Not if it's the same as the last one I went to,” Trent muttered.

“Oh?”

“Sometimes you see animals being sold that haven't been treated properly. My cousins could tell you some horror stories—they've done a fair number of rescues.”

He deliberately made it sound as if Jackson and Josh were the only ones who took in abused animals, and not him.

They walked past the tired bleachers that overlooked the primary auction area, to the animal pens beyond. For the most part the livestock appeared healthy enough, though an Appaloosa mare in a rear paddock seemed underweight, minimally groomed and quite nervous.

“Trent Hawkins, isn't it?” called a gruff voice.

Trent saw Harold Burrows, a former rancher who now ran several auction yards in the region. He turned to introduce Emily, but she was trying to coax the Appaloosa forward with an apple.

“What's the mare's story?” he asked quietly.

“She's mine,” Harold murmured. “Couldn't figure out why she was so high-strung, then my barn caught fire and I found out my grandson had been sneaking in every Friday night with his friends, drinking, smoking and whooping it up.”

Trent nodded. Horses recovered fairly well from single traumatic events, but it was more difficult when the trauma occurred over an extended period. That was Speakeasy's problem—he'd been abused for most of his young life.

Harold's weathered face was troubled as he gazed at the mare. He was a decent guy and kept his operation as clean as possible, so it must have been tough revealing what had happened to the horse he'd raised. They'd both been appalled by Speakeasy's condition and had turned the owner into the authorities for cruelty.

“I've been tryin' to work with her,” Harold said, “but she won't let anyone... Say, will you look at that.”

The mare had sidled over to the paddock fence, but instead of taking the apple, had pushed her head into Emily's shoulder. Her trembling eased as Emily gently stroked her silvery-gray neck and whispered a long string of words...nonsense words, as far as Trent could tell, but that didn't matter. What mattered was how the tension had visibly drained from the animal.

“Is she one of them horse whisperers?” Harold asked, looking awed.

“I wouldn't know,” Trent replied. He was rather startled himself. Supposedly there were people with a rare, uncanny ability to communicate with animals, though he'd always believed the stories were exaggerations.

Harold stepped closer to Emily. “Ma'am, are you a horsewoman? Cuz you got a real way with Stella Luna. That's her name.”

She shook her head. “I've never even touched a horse. Is something wrong with her?”

Harold explained and tears began running down Emily's cheeks.

Hell. Trent had a dismal feeling that Stella Luna was about to become part of his life. Yet he didn't have to get involved, though there was something eerie about the way the mare had responded to Emily. But surely it was just a fluke.

“You can buy her if you got somebody to help with horse care,” Harold offered. “Maybe Trent will do it. He's workin' with a problem stallion right now. Real sad case.”

Trent tried not to glare. Stopping at the auction yard had been a lapse in judgment. Except...there was no doubt that Stella Luna had worried herself into an unhealthy condition, and his stubborn urge to jump to the rescue wasn't limited to the human race.

“I've got my hands full with Big Sky Construction,” he said, “but if you're interested, Emily, I'll call Jackson and see if he's willing to board her.” No way was he going to have Emily coming out to the Balderdash every day.

“That would be great,” she said eagerly. “I could go see her in the late afternoon or evenings.”

Daytime would be even better,
Trent thought, thinking about the privacy he needed to retrieve his father's gun.

He called Jackson, who was amenable to boarding the skittish mare on the Crazy Horse Ranch. Harold said he would deliver her in a few days when he was bringing another horse to a ranch near Schuyler.

“It was a pleasure, ma'am,” Harold answered her thanks. “I been worried about Stella Luna and never seen somethin' like the way she came to you.” Harold tipped his hat as they walked out to the parking area, then closed the sedan door for her with old-fashioned courtesy.

“Are you crazy?” Trent growled to the auctioneer before getting into his own truck. “Emily is a New Age city woman who thinks houses talk and have feelings. She doesn't ride, probably won't stay in Schuyler and doesn't have a clue how much work is involved in caring for a horse.”

Harold shrugged. “My gut says she can do more for Stella Luna than I ever could. Jackson will handle everything else and I don't mind if he ends up owning her.”

“Whatever.”

Trent drove out of the auction yard, Emily following. His cousin had been happy to provide a home for the traumatized animal, even offering to buy the Appaloosa, being particularly fond of the breed.

So there wasn't any real need to be concerned, either about Stella Luna or his solitude on the Balderdash.

* * *

W
HEN
E
MILY
PULLED
up in front of Wild Rose Cottage she saw part of the roof had been removed and the front yard was full of loose shingles. It was something to think about instead of the enormity of what she'd done at the auction yard.

Trent didn't realize it, but she'd heard part of what he'd said to Harold Burrows. She
was
crazy. What had happened to her normally sharp business brain that thought things through and made better decisions?

Of course, buying the Emporium had turned out all right. And things were looking pretty good for Wild Rose Cottage. But a horse, especially a horse with problems? Maybe her brain had gotten scrambled by kissing Trent, followed by trying to pretend it didn't matter. Well...it
didn't
. She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

She got out of her car and smiled bravely at Trent, who'd parked closest to the door.

“The shingles and other debris will be cleaned up, though it may take a few extra days,” he explained. “The guys I usually hire for cleanup jobs have been scarce because of that bug going around. By the way, Alaina texted that Mike and the rest of the crew have it, too, so I doubt they'll be back until next week.”

“They have my sympathy. I got it before the renovations started.”

“At least it's behind you. If I have any spare men I'll send them over tomorrow to get the shingles into the Dumpster.”

“Thanks.”

Smiling again with casual friendliness, Emily unlocked the door so they could carry everything inside. “This has been fun,” she said as they took the stained-glass windows into one of the side rooms for storage. “Any time you want clumsy help while salvaging a house, give me a call.”

“You weren't clumsy,” he shocked her by saying. “You catch on quickly.”

“Yeah, well, I'm the smart Geor—” She cut the words off. Repeating the things she'd heard all her life wouldn't help her overcome those blasted insecurities. “Thanks for the night under the stars. I wouldn't feel comfortable doing it by myself.”

He glanced around. “You're welcome, but if you don't mind, I'll do more work on the window frames before I leave.”

“You don't want to go home?”

“I'm used to a very full workday. Just go do whatever you need to do.”

What Emily wanted most was a shower—the downside to sleeping in the truck had been the primitive bathroom facilities. And why shouldn't she take a quick one? Trent would respect her privacy.

The hot running water felt wonderful. The bathrooms in Wild Rose Cottage had suffered from lack of attention over the years, but at least they provided more than a trickle of rusty water, which was all the faucet at the Helena farmhouse had emitted. However much she loved old houses, the twenty-first century was a vast improvement when it came to plumbing.

Waking up that morning, she'd decided to act as if nothing had happened. All that had occurred was a kiss...a really hot kiss, but just a kiss, and a brief one at that. So she'd said good morning and shared the coffee left in her thermos.

Before the tow truck arrived they'd organized everything they had removed from the house. She was delighted that Trent was sending a crew to do a full salvage job, and thought the farmhouse was happy, too, that its treasures wouldn't be completely lost.

As for Wild Rose Cottage...it felt as if it was waiting for something, and the sensation was even stronger now that she'd returned.

* * *

W
HILE
T
RENT
REGRETTED
his employees being ill, he relished the possibility of private work time on Emily's house. In fact... He pulled out his smartphone and texted Alaina, telling her that when Mike returned to work, he should be assigned to another crew for the rest of the week.

He tucked the cell back in his pocket and examined the window frame he was finishing. It had been a while since he'd done such detailed work. The economy was improving, but until it was strong again, few people wanted to spend the kind of money required for historic restoration.

In the rear of the house he heard the shower running and tried to ignore the sound. It was too tempting to envision what Emily looked like, sleek and bare under the stream of water.

Hell. What was it about her that was eroding his self-control? And he reminded himself of how flaky and unrealistic she was about everything. That kind of woman was pure trouble.

He began working and Emily soon came in to strip more wallpaper using the steamer he'd brought a few days ago.

“This gadget is great,” she enthused, “much better than brute force or trying to soak the stuff off. It's dumb, I should have realized there'd be something to make the job easier.”

The comment, along the one made earlier, reminded him of the way she'd once described herself...as the “smart George sister.” At the time he'd thought it was rather egotistical, but she didn't seem egotistical. Not that it was any of his business, and the less attention he paid to her quirks and idiosyncrasies, the better.

* * *

T
RENT
RELISHED
BEING
able to work on the house alone the next day and it would have been a perfect opportunity to retrieve everything if only Emily would stop trying to pitch in. It was partly his own fault since he had admitted that she'd provided genuine assistance at the old farmhouse. Her persistent helpfulness was inconvenient and he still wondered about her motives. But maybe she was just trying to make up for all the changes she wanted to the contract.

And she was damned cute with plaster powdering on her cheeks, as if she'd been sprinkled with pixie dust.

The fanciful image was enough to promote heartburn. Trent excused himself on the pretext of going outside to call the office. He wouldn't allow himself to savor Emily's charms. Mean polecats didn't need charming. Instead they climbed trees and spat at the world.