Alaina continued, “Now I’m wondering how I really feel about him.” Alaina gazed across the park, her eyes troubled.
Whoa. They’d both had significant revelations over the past twenty-four hours.
“Mike mentioned going by the Big Sky office this morning. Was it to continue the argument?” asked Emily.
“Actually, he apologized and asked me to dinner, but not because of the auction. Supposedly it’s to get to know me better. I’m thinking about it.”
Emily grinned. “Tell him it has to be a whole lot of dates, because that’s the only way to really know each other.”
“He may not want to do that.” Alaina tossed a crust from her sandwich to a blue jay perched on the end of the table. “Everything came easily for Mike before the accident. Maybe he thinks relationships should be the same.”
“You can’t make a go of it if he isn’t willing to do the work needed to be a couple.”
“Yeah, except now I’m wondering if I gambled everything on a childhood fantasy.”
“At least this way you’ll know for sure.” Emily had never found anything she wanted badly enough that she’d gamble everything to get it, but she admired people willing to take those chances.
Alaina sighed. “Maybe. I’m going to tell him to meet me tonight—not as a date, just to talk. Tomorrow is out because there’s always a big family meal at the ranch on Sundays.”
“Then why don’t we eat at the Roundup Café on Monday so I can hear the grisly details?” Emily suggested.
“Sounds good. I’ll come over after work.”
On her walk home Emily pondered how strangely things had turned out. She’d never expected to know so much about Trent—between his reputation and stony face she would have said it would take a ball and crane to get anything out of the guy. In a way, it had been a wrecking ball that had done it—an emotional one.
Everyone had childhood wounds. Heck, she had her own scars, though Trent’s were far uglier than a few lacerations to the ego.
Emily glanced down at the trim pair of shorts she was wearing, another recent clothing purchase. For most of her life she’d hidden behind stiff suits, or clothes that were loose and comfortable, and neither were becoming on her. After all, why bother trying to look attractive when she couldn’t possibly compete with women like Nicole?
Nonetheless, Trent had seemed eager to take her to bed. Really eager. And while the old movie line she’d once heard might be true—men don’t need a reason for sex, just a place—she was sure that he’d genuinely wanted her in that moment, and no one else.
The insecure part of Emily’s brain whispered that he’d been thrown off balance by having to confront his childhood memories. And to a certain extent it must have played a role—she just didn’t know how much of one.
Tiredly, she told herself to stop borrowing trouble. She wasn’t great at figuring men out, anyway. Dennis was the only other guy she’d slept with, and they hadn’t gotten together very often. At the time she’d assumed the demands of his business travel were keeping them apart, but in all honesty, she hadn’t regretted it. Of course, now that she knew how good it could be between the sheets, she was going to miss sex a whole lot more.
* * *
EMILY GREW INCREASINGLY nervous as she waited for Trent that evening.
Would he come?
That morning when she’d said they would talk later, she hadn’t meant another tumble into bed. It wasn’t that she’d mind, but she didn’t want to come off as a desperate woman grabbing whatever she could. Besides, men being men, she would never assume that a night together constituted the start of a relationship.
After the crew had left for the day she’d hurried out to the Crazy Horse Ranch to visit Stella Luna, not wanting to disappoint her. Jackson McGregor had claimed the mare pricked her ears at the sound of every car engine and would watch eagerly to see if it was Emily arriving. He’d offered to buy Stella Luna, but the horse was so firmly fixed in Emily’s heart, giving her up would be impossible.
Back at the house Emily was determined not to act as if she was expecting a social evening, so she made a chef salad and set out a single plate on the card table she’d brought in from the patio. The table didn’t do justice to the new breakfast nook, but it would have to do until she’d moved her furniture from Los Angeles, or bought new items. She was just sitting down when a knock sounded on the front door.
Trent?
Generally he knocked rather than ringing. Still, she checked to be sure it was him before answering.
“I was just going to eat, but there’s extra if you’re hungry,” she offered. “Fair warning though, it’s girlie food.”
“That would be nice,” he said, obviously distracted. She wanted to believe it wasn’t because he regretted their night together. After all, he had his father’s handgun to think about, which was considerably more important than having broken a rule about keeping one’s work and personal life separate.
* * *
TRENT FOLLOWED EMILY to the kitchen, noticing she hadn’t dressed up or worn anything date-like or provocative. Not that she needed it, particularly now that he’d seen the beauty beneath her casual clothing. With any other woman he would have wondered why she hadn’t put on something special, but the feminine motivations behind Emily’s elfin face were still a mystery.
He hadn’t expected to be fed, but he sat down with the plate of salad she’d made up for him. It was tasty and hearty, despite her calling it a girlie offering.
“I wanted to ask something about the break-in,” he said, unwilling to abruptly leap back into the stressful discussion from that morning. “Carl mentioned he had a lead to follow up, checking out someone from California?”
Emily shook her head. “He’s just being careful, but my ex-fiancé can’t be responsible. Dennis wasn’t very upset about the breakup.”
Trent frowned. “He may have changed his mind.”
“Dennis is an ass, but he isn’t the type to smash windows.”
“There’s nobody else who might have a grudge against you, even for a stupid reason?”
“Nobody except Santa Claus—I stopped believing in him a long time before I figured out the tooth fairy was really our housekeeper.”
The temptation to laugh caught Trent by surprise. “Your housekeeper played tooth fairy?”
“Well, yeah. My parents didn’t have time for that stuff, and they sure wouldn’t have given me chocolate the way she did. I doubt they even knew what Zelda was doing.”
The matter-of-fact statement made Trent think about the way Aunt Sarah and Uncle Parker had always found time for their children, including the niece and nephew they’d adopted. They were wonderful parents, even if he hadn’t properly appreciated them.
“Zelda sounds interesting,” he said.
“She was great. On top of everything else, she was the only one who didn’t call me the smart George sister. I loved it.”
“Didn’t you enjoy being called smart?”
Emily gave him an incredulous look. “It was a pitying comment, not a compliment. My sister is a gorgeous bombshell that everyone adores. She’s been a top model since before she could walk and I just didn’t measure up.”
Whoa. He’d gotten that one wrong. Here he’d thought Emily was patting herself on the back for being intelligent—instead, it was a negative label stuck on her as a kid.
“Then the people you grew up with were focused on appearance.”
“It isn’t that unusual,” Emily said wryly. “After all, you don’t hear anyone saying, ‘What a smart little girl you have in that stroller.’ They tell you how pretty she is, or they don’t say anything.”
“I suppose.”
“Basically, my parents’ livelihood is based on how people look. They’re clothing buyers for a high-end department st
ore and most of their friends are in the fashion industry. That’s why opening a boutique seemed a natural choice for me. I grew up learning what the beautiful people want.”
She pushed her plate away. “It’s wonderful living in a place where nobody knows my family. It gets old when people can’t believe we’re from the same gene pool. I’ve even been asked if I was adopted.”
Trent was lousy at empathy, but he suspected Emily had revealed a lot about herself. “Not everyone thinks beauty has to come in a single shape.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but while I don’t frighten children, I grew up with a stiff standard. Even my ex-fiancé finally admitted I was just plain bread and butter, so he wanted cake on the side.”
Emily shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Trent knew she was pretending. Then he did a double take. Her fiancé had actually built infidelity into his marriage plan? While Trent didn’t want to get married himself, that sort of behavior was repulsive.
“I don’t think you’re plain anything,” he told her awkwardly, giving compliments being a talent he’d refused to cultivate.
“That’s nice of you to say,” she said, clearly disbelieving him. “Would you like more salad?”
“No, thanks. It was delicious.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I also brought some to the neighbor across the street, though it probably isn’t the meat-and-potatoes type of dish she usually eats.”
For most of his life, Trent had tried to send the message “stay away from me,” thinking little about the wounds suffered by others. Now he looked at Emily loading the dishwasher and wondered how self-centered he’d become. She wasn’t a saint, but perhaps she genuinely cared about people.
“I’m sure your neighbor appreciated it,” he said.
“She’s a shut-in, which means there’s absolutely nothing she can do for me, so you’ll have to look for another ulterior motive.”
“Give me a break,” he muttered.
Emily confused him. When it came to most people outside his family he could figure out where they were coming from; you either gave or denied them what they wanted and that was it. But Emily defied his attempt to understand her. He’d always looked for underlying motives in women, either conscious or subconscious. It was the unwitting pleas for rescue that he tried hardest to avoid. That kind of woman could suck you under.
He didn’t want to get lost with Emily. Something about her seemed dangerous. She reminded him of the time he’d been on the highway, watching a tornado, not knowing in which direction he’d find safety.
* * *
EMILY OPENED THE freezer and took out the ice cream she’d bought to celebrate the kitchen being finished.
“How about a sundae?” she asked.
“Sounds good. I hope you have peanuts to put on top.”
“Um...sure.” She’d almost said, You’re a man after my own heart. She wouldn’t have meant anything by it, only that she also liked peanuts on her sundaes, but he might have misunderstood.
She served two bowls of vanilla and set out a selection of toppings.
“Sorry, no fruit sauce,” she apologized.
“I prefer it this way.”
Emily noticed that Trent selected caramel, chocolate and peanuts, her favorite combo, but she didn’t say anything about that, either.
“Mmm,” she murmured as the chocolate rolled over her tongue. “I once read that the taste of chocolate makes you feel the same way falling in love does.” She laughed. “Sorry, that’s the sort of thing women say at a chick-fest.”
His smile seemed strained. “No problem. Do you agree about chocolate?”
“I’m not sure. It isn’t how I felt with Dennis, so either the researchers are wrong or I wasn’t really in love. And in the end, maybe it was my fault he couldn’t commit. Would a guy feel different with a woman who truly loved him?”
“It wasn’t your fault that he’s a jerk,” Trent surprised her by saying. “But tell me more about growing up in LA.”
Emily ate a bite of ice cream. She didn’t like talking about her childhood, and considering how terrible things had been for Trent, her issues seemed trivial.
“We traveled a lot,” she said slowly. “I loved it more than Nicole did, which is ironic because she’s still on the road all the time.”
She debated for a moment, then retrieved a photo of her sister on her phone. Nicole gazed seductively at the camera, wearing a sarong and a hibiscus blossom in her hair. Once Trent saw it, he’d understand why the contrast between them had struck people so strongly.
“This is my sister at a photo shoot in Bali,” she explained, handing him the phone.
He gazed at the picture with no reaction. It was a first; men generally came close to drooling.
Trent handed the phone back. “She’s pretty, but only by a single standard of evaluation.”
“By every standard,” Emily protested, instantly springing to Nicole’s defense—her sister wasn’t just beautiful, she was a darned nice person.
“I disagree.”
Emily waited for the usual consoling comment—beauty isn’t all on the outside—but he didn’t say it.
“What did you do when she was modeling?” Trent asked.
“Mostly I did my own thing. I loved to explore when we were traveling, at least when I got old enough to go on my own. For a while I knew the Louvre inside and out—the Mona Lisa became one of my closest friends.”
“You may have gotten the best of the deal.”
“True.” In a way, she even felt sorry for her sister. “Nicole was stuck with fittings and makeup sessions, along with practicing poses and getting critiqued on walking the right way, while I got to see all sorts of amazing things.”
“What about school during all that travel?”
“We had a tutor.” She cocked her head at his oddly quizzical expression. “What is it?”
“I was wondering how you turned out so flaky and avant-garde.”
Sourness twisted her stomach. She knew people considered her flaky, but Trent didn’t make it sound like an acceptable eccentricity. At least the men she’d known in the past had enjoyed her personality. Depression nibbled and she wondered if that was why Trent hadn’t talked about beauty being on the inside...because he didn’t especially like her inside.
“That’s enough about me,” Emily declared firmly, resisting the temptation of self-pity. “We got interrupted this morning when you were telling me about Wild Rose Cottage.”
Trent turned to stare out the window. His face had the hard, stern expression he often wore and she wondered how much he’d been hiding over the years. The problem with barricades to keep something from escaping was that no one could get in, either.
“Haven’t you been lonely,” she asked, “keeping it shut inside yourself?”
* * *
TRENT FLINCHED AT Emily’s question; it hit too close to the bone. He had been lonely. With a loving family surrounding him, he’d still been alone.
“It wasn’t so bad,” he asserted. “I wanted people to stay away.”
“I kind of understand. You needed to keep a secret and it’s easier to keep secrets if no one gets close. But why didn’t you want them to know?”
“How could I tell Uncle Parker that his sister’s husband knocked her around?” Trent growled. “Would you want to know?”
“Yes, so I could talk her into leaving him.”
“And if she was gone and you couldn’t help her any longer, wouldn’t you rather think she’d been happy?”
Emily was silent for a long minute, her brow creased in thought. “I wouldn’t want my nephew dealing with it alone,” she said slowly, “but I can’t guess how your uncle would feel.”
“I don’t know, either. That’s why I didn’t tell anybody.”
&nbs
p; “Wasn’t it more than that? Your mother was determined to keep the abuse a secret. Revealing the truth probably would have seemed like a betrayal, even after she was gone. The same with calling anyone else Mom.”
Trent thought about the confused mix of anger and love and protectiveness he’d felt for Fiona Hawkins. Emily was right—the habit had been so engrained by the time of the accident, it would have broken him to have revealed the things his mother had wanted kept private.
“When did you hide your father’s handgun?” Emily asked.
“He tried to keep it a secret, but I knew he had one,” Trent said slowly. “The morning of my tenth birthday he was in one of his jovial moods, claiming we’d go out that evening to celebrate. I was sporting the black eye and split lip he’d given me and didn’t care about doing anything, but Mom was thrilled that he was being so nice.”
“The honeymoon,” Emily murmured.
“Honeymoon?”
She looked embarrassed. “I’ve heard abusers may be affectionate for a while after doing something dreadful. And how it builds false hope.”
“Well, the honeymoon never lasted long with Gavin. He returned late that afternoon and slugged Mom when she asked where we were going for dinner. It terrified Alaina, but he just laughed and sprayed beer all over her. When she started screaming, he said to keep her quiet or else.”
Trent stared through the windows into the backyard, thinking how it had looked that long-ago day.
“Then what happened?” Emily prompted.
“Gavin stumbled out to the yard and drank a six-pack before leaving again. I was picking up the empty beer cans when I found the gun. He must have been too drunk to realize it had fallen out of his pocket.”
Emily nodded, her eyes wide and attentive.
“Seeing it scared the hell out of me. Sooner or later he’d forget my threat and start hitting Alaina as well, and if he did...?” Trent shuddered. “I could actually see me pointing that gun at my own father and pulling the trigger.”
At Wild Rose Cottage Page 19
