At Wild Rose Cottage (22 page)

But not Trent.

“Got a message from the boss,” Eduardo told her. “He may be late, but when he comes, he'll fix that broken window.”

She nodded, hardly surprised. Wild Rose Cottage was receding in importance for Trent. It was healthy for him, if hard on her.

Vince sniffed. “Something smells terrific.”

“Come into the kitchen and have some,” she invited.

The guys loved the maple-pecan coffee cake with bacon crumbles and she told herself everything was working out for the best. She could still be buddies with them, even if Trent never showed his face again at Wild Rose Cottage.

“This is the bomb,” Vince enthused as he took a second piece.

“I've never had anything like it,” Eduardo added. “My wife would love the recipe. Where did you get it?”

“I developed it myself,” Emily replied, “and I'll be glad to share.”

“Pure genius.”

As Eduardo, Caveman and Vince headed to the second floor, Mike lingered for a last sip of coffee.

“Emily, I've been talk... That is, uh...never mind,” he stuttered into silence before limping upstairs, as well.

She couldn't guess what it was about, though surely it wasn't another attempt to get a date.

The day seemed longer than usual. In the early afternoon Emily ran down to the Emporium, knowing the hours were passing slowly because she kept listening for Trent's distinctive knock on the door.

The crew left at four and she handed a copy of the coffee cake recipe to Eduardo on his way out to his truck.

Trent still hadn't come.

That was okay. The window could wait. She could have gone through her home insurance to deal with it, but with the deductible, it seemed better to pay the crew to do the repairs since they were already working on the house.

The doorbell rang a half hour later. Emily couldn't help a slight roll of her stomach, but shrugged it off and went to the door. Alaina was coming so they could go to dinner together; she'd probably left work early.

Instead it was Trent and she blinked, startled that he hadn't knocked as usual.

“Hi,” she said with casual friendliness. “How did it go last night?”

“Fine.”

He leaned forward as if for a kiss and she stepped backward, pretending she hadn't noticed. Anyway, a kiss might not have been what he'd intended.

“Eduardo told me you were coming to fix the window, but there isn't any hurry if you have something else to do,” she explained.

“I spoke to him earlier. He mentioned you served a killer pastry for breakfast. I'd love a taste if there's any left.”

“Sure, come on in.”

Trent sat at the card table in the breakfast nook and Emily served him a square of the coffee cake.

“I have decaf in the pot,” she said. “Caffeine late in the day makes me jumpy.”

“Sounds good.”

She poured him a cup. The polite trivialities were
also
making her jumpy.

* * *

T
RENT
WAS
CONFUSED
as he ate the tasty coffee cake. Emily's behavior at the front door didn't make sense.

Granted, his brain wasn't in top working order. He'd had a soul-searing evening, followed by a short night. While his intention had been to work the day as usual, between the phone calls and other stuff cropping up, he'd only just gotten free. Was she angry that he hadn't come sooner?

Finally, he put down his coffee mug and looked at her.

“Emily, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? You glazed most of the windows without Vince.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “I'm talking about what happened between us.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“The thing is, I usually don't sleep with women who live in Schuyler. Basically, no one I'm likely to see that often. But in your case, I'm going to see you quite a bit. And the other women...well, I haven't liked them the way I like you.”

Though Emily had seemed edgy, she flashed one of her gorgeous smiles.

“It's nice that I wasn't simply convenient,” she said. “But don't worry, I'm not expecting anything.”

“I know that...
now
,” Trent said, on more solid ground. “I've actually met a few women who wanted to be my girlfriend just to get a free kitchen or bathroom.”

“Wouldn't that make them high-priced call girls?” Emily asked wryly.

Trent laughed. “My question exactly, though I only asked it once.” He pointed to a small scar on his forehead. “See that? When I was younger and even less diplomatic than I am now, I asked a date about her ambitions in prostitution. She threw a plate at me.”

Emily's eyes twinkled. “Sometimes the truth hurts.”

“In more ways than one. Anyway, what I'm trying to say—somewhat clumsily—is that I've realized you aren't devious or grasping.”

Her brow furrowed as if she was thinking hard about something, then she nodded. “I'm grateful for your high opinion.”

High opinion?

It was an odd response, but before he could figure it out, the doorbell squawked. He winced.

Emily stood. “You don't like that bell, do you?”

“I can't believe it's still torturing this house.”

“In that case, give me an estimate for replacing it.”

She left before he could say that he'd throw the doorbell in as a gift. It was just as well. Considering their earlier discussion, it might have come off wrong. But he was relieved that they'd settled things between them. Friendship with a woman was an odd category, but it wasn't a tornado that could rip him apart.

* * *

E
MILY
OPENED
THE
DOOR
; this time it was Alaina.

“Hi, come on in.”

“Hey, sis,” Trent said.

He must have followed her from the kitchen and Emily hoped Alaina wouldn't get the wrong idea about her brother's presence after regular work hours.

“I didn't know you had plans,” he said. “I can do the window tomorrow if you prefer.”

“We're just going to Roundup Café,” Emily told him. “It isn't a problem if you want to stay, but as I said before, there's no hurry.”

“Nah, having a board over a window is gloomy.” He looked at his sister. “It's the one Bob Webber smashed.”

“Oh,” she said. “Emily, you're a saint to try to let Trent off the hook. I would have had a glazier replacing the glass ten minutes after I found it was broken.”

Emily carefully avoided looking in Trent's direction. In other circumstances she might have called a glass repairman. Instead they'd ended up in bed. Sex was life affirming, or something, and a natural reaction to intense emotions.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it
.

Grim humor went through her. It might be the story she'd tell herself, but she wasn't eager for anyone to know she'd slept with Trent, no matter what the trigger. Certainly his casual explanation to Alaina about being there to do the repair had been a relief.

Of course, he wanted the whole event put behind him, even more than she did, so sorting everything out between them was probably the primary reason he'd come. What she should focus on was the fact he'd said he liked her. That had brightened her day considerably...until she'd considered the possibility he was being polite, brushing her off gently. Thinking about it gave her a headache.

At least he'd stop believing she was out to get something from him...well, for the moment. His general distrust would probably return.

* * *

“I
DIDN
'
T
EXPECT
to see my brother tonight,” Alaina said to Emily as they walked downtown.

Trent had told her to take the day off and she had come in late to the office, but mostly because she'd needed to go home from Mike's place to shower and get fresh clothes.

Emily shrugged. “The guys said he'd be over to fix the window, but when they went home and he hadn't arrived, I figured he'd do it another day.”

“Trent didn't work with the crew today?” Alaina asked, surprised. “Where was he?”

“He didn't say.”

Alaina shot a sideways glance at her friend. “I guess you know what hit the fan last night at the McGregor ranch, seeing as it hit your place first. Webber didn't hurt you, did he?”

“My war wounds are minor. You know those old wood folding chairs I've been using? I got a splinter in my palm when I whacked him in the ribs with one of them.”

The image made Alaina laugh. If anyone else had bought Wild Rose Cottage, it could have been a disaster.

At the Roundup Café she hesitated, suddenly remembering the town's rumor mill. Her sister-in-law was right, it worked overtime, and the patrons had likely already heard about Gavin Hawkins's secret life as a larcenous murderer. She squared her shoulders; the people who counted would handle it the right way. The others weren't important.

As they sat down, Alaina smiled determinedly at the waiter, who was a former classmate.

“Hi, Tom. How's Barbara?”

“Morning sickness.”

The usual pang went through Alaina. She was thirty now and her biological clock was ticking louder all the time. “Still? She's almost through her second trimester.”

“Yeah. I can't even bring burgers home.”

“That's bad. Say hi for me, okay?”

“Sure.”

After they both ordered a buffalo chicken salad, Emily leaned forward with a concerned look in her eyes. “You seem uptight.”

Alaina let out a breath. “Until we walked in here, I didn't truly understand what Trent tried to protect us from all these years.”

“Sorry.”

“It's okay. I'm tough—not as tough as Trent—but tough enough to take it. Besides, I need to take more charge of my life. I headed back to Schuyler hoping for the best, only to sit around for an entire year, waiting for Mike to notice me. It wasn't until I began harassing him to be a bachelor in the auction that I actually
did
something.”

“How did your talk go the other night?”

“Good. We're going to work on properly getting to know each other. No more romantic hazes—if we head toward marriage, I want to be sure Mike can hang in for the hard stuff.”

Deep down Alaina was starting to hope that she and Mike could work everything out, particularly after the previous night. He'd been supportive and honest, but they still had a long way to go. Ironically, her own heart was now one of the biggest question marks.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

E
MILY
LOVED
FAIRY
-
TALE
ENDINGS
, but Alaina's caution was wise...and so much better than how she'd handled her own situation with Trent.

Impatiently she shook her head. It was tempting to pour out her heart, but Alaina had enough to deal with already.

The salads came, and by unspoken consent they changed the subject to something lighter, chatting about books and movies. After the meal they walked back to the house, enjoying the lazy summer evening.

Trent's truck was gone so Emily was able to relax. “You want dessert?” she asked.

“I was up late last night, so I'd better go home and crawl into bed.”

“In that case, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite.”

Alaina laughed. “I haven't heard that one in years.”

“Sue me. I'm a kid at heart.”

Waving goodbye, Emily went inside and walked through the silent rooms. Suddenly it felt lonely, but that wasn't Wild Rose Cottage's fault.

“I know, you want a family living here,” she announced to the house. “A happy family, with a husband, wife and kids, and grandparents stopping by, maybe a cat and dog...”

Hmm. Much as she loved Stella Luna, a horse couldn't cuddle up at night. Perhaps she should get a second pet, one that didn't live in a barn. Dogs were nice, but they required lots of time and attention to be really happy, so a cat would be best. Nothing purebred. A long-haired, mixed-up-parentage cat, maybe white and gray with a long tail. The image was so strong Emily peeked out on the porch, just in case it was sitting there, ready to come in and make itself at home.

No cat.

She showered, her brain replaying the brief minutes with Trent in the kitchen, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He'd assumed she'd been assuring him that she didn't expect free work on the house just because they'd slept together.

Plainly the possibility of an emotional commitment hadn't even
occurred
to Trent. Hope was hard to kill, but the humiliation of that realization should do it. The only consolation was that he'd completely misunderstood what she'd been trying to say.

Emily shivered, despite the warm water running down her body. Women who
weren't
supermodels fell in love every day, got married and had kids...so what was wrong with her?

* * *

T
RENT
ARRIVED
AT
Wild Rose Cottage at 6:20 the next morning, more energized than he'd felt in a long time.

“You're bright and early,” Emily observed when she answered his knock on the door. She was wearing one of the flowing skirts she'd abandoned while helping with the renovations. The blouse was different, though, and the outfit was more provocative than before.

“I wanted to get a jump start,” he said, controlling his thoughts, remembering that friendship was the right category to keep her in. “We're still behind schedule between the flu and the fire department barbecue,” he explained. “I hope it isn't a problem.”

“Of course not,” she said. “And since you're here, I'll be able to go down to the Emporium. Tourists have been cleaning us out, so I need to order new stock and do other stuff.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Just a few hours, though I may go out to the Crazy Horse this afternoon. Jackson's daughter, Morgan, is teaching me to ride and she mentioned being available. I don't want to be a total novice when I get on Stella Luna for the first time. Anyway, the coffee is ready in the kitchen and the leftover coffee cake is on the counter.”

With that, she grabbed her purse and trotted out the front door, leaving Trent rather nonplussed.

A few hours...?

The irony
wasn't
amusing. A month ago he'd fervently hoped Emily would leave for an extended period; now he was disappointed by her absence. The men clearly felt the same way when they arrived.

Caveman trudged upstairs without even getting a cup of coffee.

“I guess she has to keep her business going,” Eduardo said with a huge sigh.

“But she still made coffee for us. What a peach,” Vince declared. “Er...she's okay, right, Trent? That is, I hear they took Bob Webber out of the house in handcuffs.”

Trent nodded. “She hit him with a chair.”

“That's our Em.” Eduardo chortled.

Mike agreed and seemed quieter than usual as they were working together on the new master bedroom.

“Something on your mind?” Trent asked.

“I was just thinking. Stuff about Alaina.”

“I hear that you've started seeing each other.”

Mike's face turned belligerent. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, not that it would make any difference. Alaina will have my head if I interfere with her life.”

“Yeah, I've gotten a glimpse of her determination lately.”

Trent decided not to ask if his sister had discussed the revelations about their father. It obviously wasn't a secret any longer, though some of the details might take longer to circulate than others.

As Parker had predicted, that morning the radio station had done a news report about Bob Webber's arrest and the alleged charges against him. The gossip train had probably moved even faster than WCBY Schuyler, so if anyone didn't know the story already, they'd probably had their heads in a horse trough.

* * *

T
HE
MORNING
CRAWLED
by at a snail's pace and Trent finally admitted to himself that it was because he kept listening for Emily's return. Finally he heard the front door open.

“Hey, Em,” Eduardo's voice called down the staircase. “We missed you.”

“That's nice. I bought sandwiches.”

“Boss, it's time for lunch!” Caveman yelled instantly.

The atmosphere returned to normal while they ate. Emily tossed off questions about Bob Webber, making a joke out of the whole thing. While it was possible she avoided looking his direction, Trent couldn't be sure.

He ought to be grateful she wasn't behaving differently toward him. The men regarded her the way they would a kid sister and didn't need the complication of thinking she was involved with their employer.

After the meal, Emily changed into jeans and joined the crew upstairs. “I'm going out to the Crazy Horse later, but I can help until then. I'll work the garbage detail,” she offered.

“Terrific,” Mike told her. “We need you on the payroll—you volunteer for the jobs we hate.”

“Nah. You couldn't pay me enough to do some of this stuff, but I enjoy helping in my own house.” She grabbed a chunk of debris and tossed it into the wheelbarrow they'd been using. It filled quickly and she rolled it into the hallway, headed for the window chute that led to the Dumpster below.

Trent and Mike continued knocking out the rest of the wall. Almost with indifference, Trent saw a piece of paper float out and down.

Vince reached for it. “Wonder what that is?”

“Most likely something I stuck in there as a kid,” Trent said.

Emily had returned with the wheelbarrow. She glanced at him with concern and he lifted his shoulders a fraction of an inch.

Vince whistled as he read the paper. “This was written when you were a kid? I didn't know some of these words until I was twenty. You had an impressive vocabulary, boss.”

“I still do.”

Vince chuckled and tossed the scrap into the wheelbarrow.

This time when Trent caught Emily's gaze, he detected a faint smile in her eyes.

* * *

A
S
THE
DAYS
PASSED
, Trent pushed the renovations forward as quickly as possible. The crew griped, good-naturedly, about the hurried pace, saying that the sooner they finished on Meadowlark Lane, the sooner they lost their sixth team member.

Curiously, everything was now progressing with uncanny speed; it was almost as if Wild Rose Cottage was cooperating with the renovations. But he didn't agree with Emily's fanciful notions, did he?

“It won't be that long before we release you from construction-zone hell,” Trent assured Emily the following Tuesday. The crew was gone for the afternoon, but he'd been staying late to get additional work done.

“Things are much easier now that I have a kitchen,” she assured him, “but I know you're anxious to put it behind you.”

Considering they'd slept together, some women might have been insulted by his rush. Yet once again, Emily had gone straight to the core of what was going on in his head.

“Hey, are you a psychic?” he asked with a joking air.

“Heavens, no. I get feelings about places, not people. But it makes sense. You've been dragging this house around on your shoulders for most of your life, and it would be a relief to finally drop it and forget everything connected to the memory.”

“I suppose,” Trent acknowledged. “By the way, Carl called. They found Webber's and Gavin's fingerprints on the gun, though the bullets inside only contained partial prints from my father—which of course sounds as if it's out of a
CSI
episode. Preliminary ballistic tests indicate it was the weapon used in the shooting.”

“Where did they get your father's prints to compare against?”

“From his service record. It turns out he was in the army briefly, only to be dishonorably discharged for striking a commanding officer.”

“Ouch. Sorry. I mean, before you just wondered if he was involved, and now you know for sure, and it's even worse because someone died. Of course, since you already knew what kind of guy he was, I guess it... That is...” Emily stuttered to a stop and her nose wrinkled. “I'm not saying this very well.”

“That's okay.”

She looked cute with a streak of paint on her cheek and he had an urge to kiss her. Controlling himself, he said good-night and hurried out to his truck. That's what happened when he broke his rules and got personally involved with a customer—the dividing lines blurred.

Trent gripped the steering wheel. It was well and good to talk about friendship, only what did he do with the desire that still gripped him?

* * *

M
IKE
PULLED
OUT
the lesson plans he usually ignored until shortly before the start of fall term.

Curiosity pricked at him—there had to be better ways to teach this stuff to blasé teenagers.

When the timer buzzed on the stove he tucked the lesson plans away so Alaina wouldn't think he was trying to impress her with a renewed dedication to teaching.

They were having dinner at his condo. At first he'd been uncomfortable revealing that he knew his way around a kitchen. While lots of athletes cooked, Schuyler's expectations were traditional when it came to men. He'd considered getting takeout, but what was the point? If he and Alaina wanted to make it together, they had to be honest. Besides, it would be a relief to stop putting on an act.

Everything was ready by the time she arrived.

“Hi,” he said, kissing her cheek.

She half smiled; it would probably take a while before they were comfortable as a couple.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“They're pretty sure my father's gun was used to kill that poor man. I...wrote a note to tell his family how sorry I am. It doesn't seem fair to make them meet with me, though Carl says there's just his granddaughter left.”

Mike squeezed her hand. “I'd want to apologize, too, but don't forget that Gavin Hawkins, not his children, chose to hold up that store.”

“I know. Maybe I'm just wishing that Mr. Barker had more people who remembered him.”

Cold reality hit Mike in the stomach. He was an only child and his parents didn't have relatives in the area. The guy who'd died could have been him, leaving only a footnote in the baseball records.

He wanted to kick himself for the opportunities he'd wasted at the high school. Alaina was right. Kids deserved the best teachers. A number of them had helped him along the way—two had even called in favors to get college scouts to Schuyler, helping him to score a scholarship. Teachers might not go in record books or have screaming fans, but he was increasingly intrigued by the possibilities.

“Dinner is ready,” he said. “I'm not a gourmet chef, but I can put together a mean chicken enchilada casserole.”

“Spicy, I hope.”

“Naturally. I saw the hot sauce you used the other night, so I figured your mouth could take it.”

She grinned and he loved the way her eyes crinkled in the corners.

They ate out on his small private patio.

“Mmm,” Alaina said after a minute. “This is first-rate.”

Mike ate another forkful. “Not bad. Maybe instead of working construction next summer, I should teach cooking class.”

“You have other options, too. Big Sky sponsors a Little League team that will need a coach next year. Jack Embry is retiring.”

She stopped and looked down at her plate, possibly afraid she shouldn't have mentioned baseball. But he didn't want her to censor what she said—nobody talked baseball around him.

“I'll consider it,” he told her easily. “I didn't enjoy coaching Triple-A ball, but it would be different working with younger kids. Truthfully, I got so caught up in being a star before I came back to Schuyler that I forgot why I started playing in the first place—because I love the game.”

She relaxed and continued eating.

“By the way,” he said, “thanks for jumping on my ego and beating the crap out of my delusions.”

Her eyes widened. “Uh...yeah?”

“Yeah. I was acting badly and deserved to be called on it,” Mike continued. “Don't get me wrong, I miss playing, but I'm more than a former major leaguer or a guy who got hurt showboating for a woman.”