“Alaina is joining us for lunch,” Emily’s voice said in the next room, where she’d gone to answer her cell.
His gaze raced around the area to double-check, but there was nothing that might prove suspicious. Imagine if Alaina saw one of his painfully written notes proclaiming exactly what he thought of Gavin Hawkins? And hidden in one of the still-standing walls was the paper he’d tried to make sound very legal, stating that Trent Hawkins no longer had a father because Gavin Hawkins was a son of a bitch. The language on some of the other messages was even worse, learned courtesy of Gavin’s foul mouth.
The doorbell squawked and his stomach tightened. Emily hadn’t asked them to replace it, but surely she didn’t want to keep the atrocious-sounding bell. To never hear it again, he’d throw in a deluxe model and install it personally.
Emily stuck her head around one of the plastic curtains they’d hung to control dust from traveling as far. “Hey, the sandwiches are here. Are you hungry?”
Her smile was engaging and Trent was struck by surprise that she’d abandoned her previous life to move to Schuyler. Didn’t she have a boyfriend or family who’d objected? The McGregors had hated it when Alaina had been working in New York.
“Sure,” he answered truthfully. He’d skipped breakfast, something he couldn’t admit since he encouraged his crews to show up at work with good meals in their stomachs.
“I moved the card table and chairs to the patio since it’s so dusty in here,” she explained. “Come and get it.”
Come and get it.
A faint nostalgia went through him at hearing the expression his aunt Sarah...his mother often used. Mother or aunt... Even now he still mentally qualified his relationship with her, as he did with the whole family. Not that she’d ever insisted he call her Mom. Alaina said “Mom,” but she couldn’t remember any parents except Parker and Sarah McGregor.
Trent waited until Emily had disappeared then did another visual search of the space. As he walked toward the back of the house, Alaina popped through the front door.
“Hey, big brother. Don’t tell my boss, but I’m taking a long lunch today.”
His lips twitched, and he was surprised to discover his sense of humor wasn’t entirely absent, despite his self-imposed tenure on Meadowlark Lane.
“I won’t mention it to him,” he answered. “Emily says we’re eating on the patio.”
“Great. That’s one of the places I didn’t think about seeing the other day.”
He led her through the dining room and kitchen into the long mud porch that served also as a utility room along the side of the house. Curiously, the original design had the door to the backyard on the opposite end of the porch, so getting there was basically a zigzag.
“This is interesting,” Alaina murmured as they traversed the length of the porch away from the patio. “Isn’t there a door that opens directly into the backyard?”
“Not right now, but one of Emily’s renovations is to put a hallway along the dining room to a casual sitting room, with French doors onto the patio. She also wants us to cut another door on the mud porch and close off the existing one. That way food can be easily brought outside—she’s got a thing about creating outdoor living space.”
Reluctant as Trent was to admit it, Emily’s plans for the house weren’t bad. Montana wasn’t Los Angeles, so there were fewer months where outdoor living was feasible, but everyone in Schuyler flocked outside when the weather was mild enough. And her plan for a well-equipped outdoor kitchen would be the envy of cooks all over town.
“Oooh,” Alaina breathed as they followed the path around the side of the house. “This is lovely.”
The rough brick patio was scented by a trellis covered by honeysuckle. The large yard was overgrown, but multicolored wildflowers provided a kaleidoscope background of hues.
“Hi,” Emily greeted Alaina. “I should have warned you the seating is makeshift in this restaurant.”
“The atmosphere makes up for it. I just wish I remembered living here,” Alaina said, wistfully.
“You used to live here?” Eduardo asked.
“Before our folks were gone.”
“Sure, sure, I remember now. It was before you moved out with the McGregors. So this is where Gavin and Fiona lived.” Eduardo looked around. “I was real sorry about what happened to them. I remember Gavin saying he had the best kids and wanted to have a dozen before he and Fiona were through.”
“Really?” Alaina asked, her face alight. “I never knew that.”
“Your dad and me went to school together and I used to see him around town. We weren’t exactly friends. He just made everyone feel like his best buddy. What a great guy.”
Trent’s jaw ached with renewed tension. Yeah, Gavin Hawkins had been popular and charming with everyone except his immediate family. Part of him wanted to shout the truth, to stop the pretty image Eduardo was painting for Alaina. But what good would it do? Gavin was dead and buried, and the past was best left that way.
Alaina would be crushed if she learned what her father had really been like. She might not even believe it. After all, it was essentially her brother’s word against everyone else’s.
Suddenly he felt a strange energy. He glanced around to see Emily staring at him with a puzzled expression.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” she answered in a low tone. “I was just wondering if something is bothering you.”
“What do you mean?” Trent asked, though he should have kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want Emily speculating about anything to his workers, or asking about his emotional state. But Alaina and Eduardo were chatting so they shouldn’t overhear, and the others were still in the house.
Emily shrugged. “You seem uptight.”
He managed a smile. “There’s no mystery. I’m just hungry.”
“In that case, relax. We ordered plenty.”
Mike, Caveman and Vince came out a moment later.
“Hi, guys.” Alaina handed a bag to Mike. “I got stuff to add to lunch.”
“Nice of you.”
“It’s nice of Emily to have me. I called to see if she wanted to sample the Roundup Café and got invited here instead. Hope nobody minds.”
“Hell, no,” Vince said, grabbing the bag to check its contents. “You got tortilla chips and some of Sally’s guacamole. I thought I smelled it.”
“Yes, she’d just made a fresh batch and I couldn’t resist.”
In a few minutes, everyone was chowing down.
As he ate his sandwich, Trent watched Emily as unobtrusively as possible. She was discussing plumbing with Eduardo, giving the appearance of being fascinated by the subject. Clearly, it was making the middle-aged man feel important and knowledgeable.
Trent tried not to roll his eyes. Nobody was that fascinated by U-bends and closet augers.
Something about Emily raised a red flag. There was nothing outright that was questionable, but he was reluctant to trust her. Aside from anything else, she was a businesswoman from Southern California. It didn’t mean she’d do anything underhanded, but he’d met some sharp operators from that part of the country. And her eager involvement was keeping up longer than it normally did with other clients. Along with her providing food and coffee for the crew...it made him wonder.
Still, Emily might actually be just a flaky oddball with an unfortunate streak of cheery optimism. Regardless, in fifteen years as a contractor he’d dealt with all sorts of people, including femme fatales using sex as a weapon, women using helplessness as a ploy, and other greedy, crafty or manipulative customers. So he could deal with Emily George, whatever sort she turned out to be.
* * *
EMILY SNIFFED THE lovely scent of honeysuckle and hoped they’d be able to keep some of it alive when the patio was redone. She knew th
e vine could be invasive and needed to be kept tamed, but as long as she kept it on a trellis, surely it would be all right.
“This is such a huge yard,” Alaina said. “Are you a gardener, Emily?”
“Sort of. I designed the garden for my house in Los Angeles and loved the way it turned out. But it was tiny, so now I’ve got plenty of space to go hog wild.”
“A swimming pool might be nice.”
“I’ve thought about that.”
Every once in a while, Trent glanced at her and she had a feeling it wasn’t just casual, more as if he was studying a bug under a magnifying glass. Good grief, the man was like a pressure cooker ready to blow.
The big mystery was why Trent hadn’t explained that he and Alaina had lived in the house with his parents before their deaths. She would have understood if he’d wanted Wild Rose Cottage out of sentimentality, but it was too late to backtrack and sell to him now. In any case, he didn’t seem to be the sentimental type. As a matter of fact, it was almost as if he hated the place.
A sudden thought struck her. What if the house symbolized losing his mother and father? Childhood traumas could influence people in odd ways. If that was the problem, wouldn’t remaking it make him feel better? She hoped so, even if it wasn’t any of her business.
It was so pleasant on the patio that no one seemed anxious to go back to work. But the guys from Big Sky were professionals, so after a suitable time, they thanked her for lunch and headed back inside...all except Trent, who went around the opposite side of the house.
She glanced at Alaina, whose expression seemed wistful.
“Something wrong?”
“What? Oh, no. Just thinking.”
Emily grinned. “Be careful. I do that and lose track of what’s going on around me.”
“Doesn’t everyone space out occasionally?”
“Yeah, but I’ve raised it to an art form.”
“It’s just that I was trying to remember this patio. I’ve always loved being outdoors. On the ranch I spent every possible minute in the garden or riding my horse, so it seems as if I ought to remember the yard at least.”
“It might have changed a lot.”
“True.” Alaina was reflective. “I asked Trent to tell me stories about when we lived here, but he won’t say much.”
“Yeah, he probably just got that formal smile on his face.”
“Formal?” Alaina repeated.
“You know, controlled. As if he has to think about doing it.” Emily scooped more guacamole onto her plate, wishing she hadn’t said anything. “This stuff is yummy,” she said brightly.
“The grocery deli is tops, but this is the second lunch you’ve fed me this week. It’s time I treated you to a meal. How about a girls’ night out tomorrow?”
“Great, as long we go Dutch. After all, you brought half our lunch and I ordered too many sandwiches, anyway. It’s a treat getting real food for people, instead of rabbit munchies, so I went overboard.”
“Rabbit munchies?”
“Yeah. The sales associates in my Los Angeles boutique don’t approve of eating anything except lettuce, celery and carrots with the occasional stalk of broccoli.”
Alaina laughed. “Let me guess, size zero working on skeletal proportions?”
“Yup. They thought it was absurd when I introduced larger sizes, only to discover that normal-size women have credit cards the same as anyone else. Their commissions doubled.”
Alaina laughed again.
“Emily?” Trent had come back onto the patio. “You haven’t said what you want done with the storm cellar.”
Emily’s jaw dropped. “You mean for tornadoes and stuff? Ohmigod, Montana doesn’t have tornadoes, does it?”
“Montana isn’t in tornado alley, but some folks still have storm cellars in case one goes through.”
She jumped to her feet. “Show me.”
“Me, too,” Alaina added.
All at once Trent seemed uncomfortable, but he nodded and led the way to a badly overgrown area in the wide space between the house and the side fence. He had pushed enough of the overgrowth away to reveal rotted wood planks.
“I thought it would be under the house,” Emily said.
“The idea was probably to have a spot away from the structure, in case it collapses on top of the exit.”
Alaina leaned forward with a puzzled look on her face. “Did we use to play down there, Trent?”
His face seemed to close down, then eased as his sister glanced back at him.
“We might have. It’s been a long time and I don’t remember everything.”
“It seems familiar.”
“You’re probably thinking of that movie, Twister, or The Wizard of Oz.”
“Yeah,” Alaina agreed. “Well, I’d better get back to work or my slave driver boss will have my hide.”
“Count on it.”
She said goodbye and left as Trent pulled more vines from the storm cellar’s entrance.
“Can I go down there?” Emily asked.
“Better not, the steps are rotted.”
“What’s the best thing to do with it? I mean...shouldn’t I have a storm cellar?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Seriously? You come from a state famous for earthquakes, but you’re afraid of tornados?”
Emily shivered. “You don’t need to be sarcastic. Earthquakes don’t worry me that much. I grew up with them. But tornadoes scare the heck out of me.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
“Seriously?” she returned in the mocking tone he’d used.
He had the grace to appear embarrassed. “Whatever. We can repair the cellar if that’s what you prefer.”
“Give me an estimate and we’ll go from there.”
His eyebrow shifted again, but she didn’t know why and didn’t think he’d explain.
“I’m glad you knew about this,” she said, determined to show there weren’t any hard feelings. “I could have fallen in here, never to be seen again. Then they might have done a TV mystery movie about what happened to Emily George and I’d be famous. Not that I’d know anything about it.”
She’d hoped Trent would crack a smile, but he simply nodded. “You mentioned wanting to work on the garden, so I thought I’d better check it out.”
Jeez, the guy was impossible. She knew he didn’t like her New Age ideas, but they weren’t doing any harm to him, so what was the big deal?
Emily stuck out her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me this was your house when you were a kid?”
His face froze into stiff lines. “As I mentioned before, it’s personal.”
Considering the way he’d acted the first time they’d met, she should have known better than to ask.
* * *
MIKE HAD DECIDED to clear out his classroom on Saturday and spent the afternoon at the school, ignoring broad hints from the principal about the coach’s job still needing to be filled.
He’d tried coaching.
When it became apparent the final surgery on his knee had failed, he had gone to work for a Triple A ball team. He’d hated every minute, and his wounds were poked whenever one of the guys got called up to play in the majors. Just as bad, what did you say to a kid who wasn’t good enough to ever be called up? Be honest, or let them keep hoping until they figured it out themselves? Either option stunk.
At his condo Mike showered and spent an hour on the internet, looking up Arts and Crafts architecture in case Emily wanted to discuss the renovations. Her house must have been one of the earliest Arts and Crafts homes built in Schuyler, and the design suggested a lingering Victorian influence. The place had plenty of potential, but it must be costing a fortune to fix up.
It was curious that Trent and Alaina had once lived there. He
remembered when their parents had died, but Trent had never talked about it, and their teacher had warned everyone not to bring it up unless he did first.
Mike rang Emily’s doorbell promptly at seven. She answered with a friendly smile and he was glad to see she hadn’t dressed formally. It had belatedly occurred to him that he hadn’t mentioned where they might be going. The choices were limited; taking her to a fine restaurant would have been nice, but Schuyler didn’t have any.
Still, maybe he should switch gears from his original plan—Ryan’s Roadhouse served decent food, but it wasn’t ideal for a first date.
“I should have asked what kind of food you like,” he said when they were in his Porsche, a leftover from his pro-ball days.
“Everything,” she replied. “We traveled often when I was a kid, so I learned to eat different cuisines.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much variety in Schuyler. How about the Lazy Y Surf and Turf? The seafood is average, but you can’t beat their steaks and prime rib.”
“That sounds fine.”
Dinner was awkward at first—he was out of practice with casual social conversation. They chatted about a number of subjects, mostly feeling each other out for common interests.
She did have strong opinions about the way historical accounts were skewed depending on point of view. Apparently she was an avid reader of authors like David McCullough, along with anything relating to the American Civil War. As they lingered over coffee, they wrangled cordially over male versus female perspectives of the past.
“What do you most miss about California?” he asked as the waiter refilled their cups a third time.
“My family, though we don’t have anything in common. We love each other, but they’re all about fashion and appearance.”
“I probably wouldn’t have much in common with them, either, especially now that I’m back here teaching. Being in style is easy in Schuyler. You just wear jeans and a shirt, topped by a cowboy hat and boots.”
“Back? You left?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, knowing he had to admit the truth, and hating it at the same time. “I played pro ball for a while.”
At Wild Rose Cottage Page 7
