At Wild Rose Cottage

by Callie Endicott

  “That’s what I think, and he wants me to be his assistant with the Little League team.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “He says it’s to keep him balanced. I’m supposed to make sure he lets the kids have fun, and that they only enjoy winning because they’ve done their best and played fair, not because they’re miniature Mike Carlisles in training.”

  Emily looked impressed. “He’s come a long way in a short time.”

  “Yeah. But I still want to take it slow. It’s easy to do and say the right things for a little while, and I’m interested in the long haul.”

  “You don’t completely trust him yet, do you?”

  Alaina frowned. It was a fair question. After years of waiting and hoping and being continually disappointed, she wasn’t sure she trusted Mike or herself.

  “I guess I don’t,” she admitted.

  “The road to love has plenty of cotton bales in the way,” Emily said in a credible Southern drawl. “At least that’s what my great-grandmother Adele always said. She died when I was sixteen, but I adored her. She had an interesting edge to her personality that may have increased her romantic challenges.” Emily laughed. “When she finally fell in love with someone who accepted her, she said the price was changing her name to Adele Philpott, which she didn’t appreciate at first. But she later became proud of it.”

  They turned back to the tiles. To be sure her friend was seeing everything available, Alaina pulled out several catalogs with color pictures of bathrooms and the tiles used in them.

  Her cell phone rang and Alaina glanced at the caller ID. It was Mike, so she went outside to answer.

  “I just called to hear your voice,” he said.

  She melted inside. “I’m glad, because I wanted to hear yours, too.”

  While she wasn’t sure if she was in love with the guy, this was a whole lot more fun than just sitting on the sidelines, wishing for something to happen.

  * * *

  TRENT QUICKLY SIGNED off on the estimates, wondering if it was really necessary. Maybe he should let Kenny make the final decision on jobs under a certain amount. Why hold up work just because he couldn’t get to the paperwork?

  He headed back to the warehouse. His sister was standing out in the yard, talking on her cell phone. Inside he found Emily thumbing through a catalog.

  She glanced up.

  “See anything you like?” he asked, hoping she would choose something they had in stock.

  She pointed to a tile on the sample rack with a dark and pale gray variation. “This one, I guess. Eduardo was going to intersperse random glass tiles of different colors, so this would work.”

  “We’ve got enough of those on hand to do the job, so he can start right away.”

  “That’s nice.” She didn’t say it with her customary enthusiasm and he frowned.

  “Emily, if this isn’t the tile you want, don’t go with it,” he surprised himself by saying. “We still have the attic to renovate, along with the remaining bedroom and bath downstairs. We could do those while waiting for a shipment to arrive.”

  Her smile flashed.

  “It’s nice of you to offer,” she said more cheerfully. “But this one will be like clouds on a stormy day and the small glass tiles will create a rainbow effect. Pretty, don’t you think?”

  “Sure. Not vintage, but attractive.”

  Her nose wrinkled and he realized she’d gotten a light tan from working in the yard the previous day. “I love vintage, but it isn’t great for the business end of living—let’s face it, early kitchens and bathrooms left a lot to be desired.”

  “There’s something else to consider, though,” he said carefully. “If you ever want to sell the house, having something too taste-specific could be a problem.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps, but I doubt I’ll ever want to leave Schuyler. It’s too nice and I have Stella Luna to think about—I don’t think she’d be happy anywhere else.”

  “Then I’ll get the tiles loaded on my truck.”

  Trent frowned as he headed out to speak with the yard foreman. It hadn’t occurred to him that Emily might leave Schuyler, only that she could decide to live somewhere else in town. Yet leaving was the first thing she’d thought about when he’d mentioned salability.

  In actuality, there wasn’t much holding Emily in Montana—just her business and an affectionate mare, and Stella Luna could move with her.

  He needed to think about it, because the possibility of Emily leaving Schuyler was seriously disturbing.

  * * *

  EMILY TRIED TO read Trent’s face out of the corner of her eye as they pulled out of the Big Sky Construction yard. He’d gone moody while the tiles had been loaded into the truck.

  Of course, moody was Trent’s usual disposition, though he probably wouldn’t appreciate the label.

  She’d been on and off all day herself. It bothered her that she wasn’t as excited as she had been about the renovations. She still felt Wild Rose Cottage was happy to have a new future, but she had the craziest idea it was saying that its future didn’t include her. How was that for gratitude? She’d saved it from being bulldozed and was spending stacks of money to make the house splendid again, but now it was saying she might not belong there?

  She was truly becoming an airhead. Before long she’d start having conversations with houseplants.

  “Emily?” prodded Trent’s voice. She had a feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d called her name.

  Criminy, she’d wandered off in her head again.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you mind if I stop to pick up lunch for everyone?”

  “Not at all.”

  She went in with him at the deli, which was a mistake because it felt as if they were shopping the way a couple would shop together. He consulted her on what sort of sandwiches to buy and how much soda she thought everyone would drink. Not that it was so strange—she’d fed the crew a number of times from Simpson’s Deli and also could tell him that Alaina was coming over at lunchtime. She was good at the practical stuff. Her dad had always claimed the family needed someone grounded in real life. The rest of us need a lesson from Emily, our wise owl, he used to say.

  She’d recognized it had been an awkward attempt to bolster her self-esteem, but it had only made her feel more left out.

  Darn it.

  Why was she going over that old territory again? No parents were perfect, and compared with Gavin Hawkins, her mom and dad were saints complete with halos. Her dad would howl with laughter if she ever described that image to him—because even if they had nothing else in common, they shared the same quirky sense of humor.

  Actually, it was nice remembering the times they’d laughed together. Perhaps she needed to take another peek at the past and remember more of the good things. When it came down to it, how many people could claim the Mona Lisa as a close, personal friend?

  * * *

  A WEEK LATER, Trent did a thorough inspection of the newly completed master bedroom and bath. Everything was in order. The bathroom with its gray tiles and splashes of color was attractive; the unorthodox design a reflection of Emily’s personality. It wouldn’t be long before she could move in so they could complete the last two rooms on the ground floor.

  He checked his watch. It was almost seven. He’d continued staying late most evenings, getting extra licks of work finished after the others had gone.

  Emily’s behavior kept puzzling him, especially when they were alone together. She was bright and friendly, yet had erected an invisible barrier between them.

  Was it regret from sleeping with him?

  The whole thing could be his imagination, of course. Aside from his sister, he didn’t spend much time with women.

  He went down to say good-night, but couldn’t fi
nd Emily. She wasn’t in the basement and when he checked the yard, she wasn’t there, either. Concerned, he searched the house again from attic to basement before returning to the backyard. Finally he peered into the new hot tub, fearful she might have hit her head and be floating in the water.

  “Hey, Trent,” Emily said from behind him. “Considering a warm plunge to ease those muscles?”

  He jerked and swung around. There were smudges of dirt on her face and her clothing had bits of cobwebs all over.

  “I was looking for you,” he said, realizing he’d overreacted. “You usually say when you’re leaving.”

  “Sorry, I was exploring the secret passageway. You never mentioned it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know. It runs out from the house toward the storm cellar. I got curious when I was down there looking at the old shelves. It’s seriously cool.”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Not at all. I came out to see if I could borrow your flashlight. Mine isn’t bright enough.”

  He collected the flashlight and a high-powered headlamp from the truck and followed her into the basement.

  “See?” she said, running her fingers along an old wooden shelf. “There’s a catch here. You pull it forward and the shelf swings open.”

  Trent examined the shelf. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t secret since the catch wasn’t hidden, though in the low basement light, it also wasn’t obvious and could be mistaken for something else. He certainly hadn’t realized it was there as a kid, or else he might have used it as an escape route. A few times he’d taken Alaina and hidden in the storm cellar when Gavin had been in a drunken rage, but had constantly worried about getting trapped.

  “It isn’t a secret,” Trent said, pushing the unpleasant memory away. “Nothing like the ones back East where they hid slaves in the Underground Railroad.”

  “Spoilsport,” she shot back with a grin.

  “I’m just sulking because you found it and I didn’t.”

  Emily laughed. “Maybe you can be the one to figure out how it opens into the storm cellar.”

  “It’s possible the guys who did the repairs sealed the opening without realizing it was there.”

  Trent was very aware of Emily’s scent and shape as they moved along the passageway. Though old, it was strongly built and seemed sound, but the latch at the other end didn’t work.

  “It must have been blocked,” Emily said with obvious disappointment.

  “We can fix that,” he promised.

  As she turned to make her way back, she bumped into him. Trent broke into a cold sweat.

  “Sorry. Tight quarters in here,” she murmured, slipping under his arm and moving swiftly back into the basement.

  “Whew,” she said, climbing the stairs. “It’s a cool discovery, but a little claustrophobic.”

  So that was what it was, claustrophobic. He’d have sworn it was a torture chamber.

  In the hallway she plucked cobwebs from her hair and shoulders.

  “We’ll fix the door,” he assured her again.

  “I know. To tell the truth, I hoped we’d find whatever Bob Webber was looking for. Wouldn’t that annoy the hell out of him?”

  Trent smiled wryly. “And it would be even more evidence to convict.”

  “I thought of that, too. But they have enough, don’t they? I heard the judge denied bail, calling him a ‘flight risk and potential danger to the community.’”

  “Carl thinks they’re okay on evidence, though the district attorney’s office is always glad to get more. With two credible witnesses, they obviously have Webber on unlawful entry and assault. At the very least, he’ll also be charged as an accessory to murder.”

  “Good.”

  The next day Trent didn’t plan to stay late, but decided he needed to reputty one of the windows upstairs. Once it was done, the crew could finish painting.

  He trotted downstairs. “Good news,” he said, finding her in the kitchen. “They can finish painting the second floor tomorrow, and then we’ll start on the attic.”

  “That’s great.”

  She’d been to the Emporium that afternoon and was wearing the blue sundress with white piping. She looked incredibly good. Tired of resisting, he leaned forward to kiss her.

  Emily laughed and backed away.

  “Come on, Trent,” she chided him, “you must have better prospects for the evening. Someone much more exciting.”

  More exciting?

  Was she crazy?

  “Emily, you leave any woman in Montana looking flat.”

  She just laughed again. “Honestly, there isn’t any need to say things like that. I know the situation is new territory for you, but men and women really can be friends. Two of my sister’s best chums are guys and there’s nothing physical between them.”

  “That sounds very modern,” he commented, “but not something we see much in Schuyler.”

  “I suppose. I’m just saying that you don’t have to wonder if I expect sex now and then, or if I’m maneuvering for favors. We can be friends without that stuff getting in the way. In fact, I’d rather not be classed with the other women you’ve slept with. Okay?”

  Bemused, Trent nodded and decided he’d better get out before his head exploded. Emily might claim to understand what was going on, but it definitely confused him.

  * * *

  LOCKING UP BEHIND TRENT, Emily leaned against the cool glass pane in the door and let tears wash her eyes clean. Maybe she was crazy. If she’d played her cards right, they could be making love right now. Instead, they’d had a nice rational discussion, and then she’d sent him out to find a hot date for the evening.

  Finally she straightened and swallowed the rest of her tears. She wasn’t geared for a relationship that included occasional sex, especially knowing it was only until the guy lost interest or fell in love with someone else.

  Deciding to forego dinner, Emily crawled into bed and curled up tight, hugging her pillow for comfort and wishing she had already found the cat she’d envisioned.

  At least she wasn’t accepting a mediocre relationship, which is what she’d done with Dennis without even realizing her mistake.

  In the growing dim, Emily ticked off the facts of life on her fingers. She wasn’t the gorgeous George sister, but it was okay—she would have hated being a supermodel. She was reasonably smart, her current quandary notwithstanding. She had two businesses that provided a generous income. And she’d made a bunch of new friends in Schuyler, despite her quirks.

  So she was doing fine.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TRENT WENT STRAIGHT to the Balderdash and took a cold shower in the ancient bathroom.

  How could Emily think he’d had better prospects for the evening?

  He slapped his hand on the cracked tile wall, furious with how blind he’d been. The very first time Emily had made one of her self-deprecating comments he should have told her that she was beautiful and didn’t need to compare herself to anyone. But nooooo, he’d figured it was a feminine game to fish for compliments.

  He was a fool.

  Emily didn’t play games and her ego had taken a beating growing up. Then there was her asinine ex-fiancé, who obviously wouldn’t recognize a gem if it was thrown in his face.

  Trent was embarrassed at how long he’d taken to see what an amazing, sexy, fun, honest, caring person Emily was beneath her mix of whimsy and practicality. He might have recognized it sooner if it hadn’t been for his general distrust for people, but that wasn’t much of an excuse.

  As he got out and rubbed a towel over his hair, a whinny blew in from the barn and Trent suddenly realized he hadn’t gone riding in over a month. Speakeasy and the other horses were becoming more accustomed to the ranch hand he
’d hired than they were to him.

  It had never occurred to him to make a life, and not just a successful business. Succeeding had been his way of proving that he was nothing like Gavin Hawkins, but at the end of each long day, he returned to an empty, ramshackle house. Hell, he didn’t even have a dog; he had horses he didn’t ride.

  Coming home to Emily...that would mean something. She was home. The place didn’t matter.

  He had shared his dark secrets with Emily and she’d remained generous and caring. Now he wanted to share everything else with her. Love had crept in day by day and he’d been an ass not to see it sooner. She’d even opened his eyes to other kinds of love—the parents who’d raised him, his siblings...the possibility of children that he and Emily could have together.

  You just have one tiny problem, chided a voice inside Trent’s head. Right, a tiny problem. He’d realized the truth rather late, a dumbass move that left him with the most important question of all: Would Emily ever believe him after all his accusations and declarations of mistrust?

  Trent went out to the barn to bed down the animals, mapping out his next steps. He’d stop pushing the men to hurry—it was working against him—and he’d spend as much time with Emily as possible.

  He needed her to start trusting him.

  * * *

  EMILY WAS PROUD of the way she’d handled things with Trent. Despite the temptation, she hadn’t leaped at him like a lovesick rabbit. Instead, she’d kept her dignity...and spent the night aching with need.

  When Trent arrived alert and energetic the next morning, she didn’t know what to think, except that he’d plainly gotten more rest than she had. The louse. If there was any justice in the world, he’d look as tired as she felt. Of course, then she’d be left wondering if he was tired because he’d enjoyed an active night with a sexy bombshell.

  “I’m intrigued with the basement,” he announced immediately. “It isn’t on your list of renovations, but do you really want to leave it as is?”

  She blinked. “I guess not.”

  “Good. It could be an interesting challenge to see how nice the space could be made. And who knows? We might find more evidence for the DA to use against Webber.”