At Wild Rose Cottage

It was a long list.

Over the next few days she interviewed several contractors. Trent Hawkins’ representative from Big Sky brought a printed record of recent jobs they’d completed, phone numbers for each client recommendation and copies of letters from satisfied customers. It had seemed like overkill until she’d asked for references from a different company. He’d dragged his feet before finally giving her a few names. Another one promised to email a list, but after five days and two calls, she had stopped hoping it would come.

One bright note had come out of the meetings. The consensus of everyone who’d looked at the house was that it was structurally sound.

Six days after her interviews she had jumbled estimates from two of the contractors. Nothing from Big Sky, though the representative had said it might take up to ten days to ensure it was thorough. Plus, an estimate required final approval from his boss.

It was a good thing she was a patient woman. A fleeting thought of Dennis crossed her mind and she shrugged. Actually, she’d had too much patience in that regard, but at least she’d learned her lesson.

* * *

LATE THE FOLLOWING Wednesday morning Trent drove to the construction yard, tired but satisfied. One of his mares had foaled in the middle of the night and he’d stayed with her to be sure everything went well. He didn’t consider himself a rancher like the McGregor side of the family, but when the Balderdash Ranch had come up for sale, he’d decided to indulge himself. The Balderdash was small, more of a hobby ranch than anything, but it had enough land for horses and a few head of cattle.

Of course, the house wasn’t much, but “home” didn’t have much meaning for him. For years he’d lived in a back room at the construction yard. He could get by as long as he had basic bathroom facilities, a microwave and a mattress.

And since the Balderdash was adjacent to his cousin’s spread, he could ride for miles without having to stop and speak with anyone. Around Schuyler nobody objected if you rode on their land so long as you closed gates behind you, but he preferred solitude and Jackson’s hands knew to leave him alone.

“Alaina told us about the foal. Aren’t you handing out cigars?” the yard foreman called as Trent swung out of the truck and started for the office.

“I’ll bring two when the next one comes,” Trent promised. He walked toward the structure that had replaced the rickety building he’d used when starting the business. The older structure had served his purposes, but a well-built administrative center was good advertising.

When he’d called Alaina to tell her he would be late, she had told him there was a stack of estimates waiting on his desk for final approval, so he started working on them.

Now that Big Sky Contractors had grown to its current size, with five satellite construction yards, he had a full-time employee who met with potential clients throughout their service area and put the proposals together. Kenny was good at his job and it usually didn’t take long to approve the estimates. But two thirds of the way through the stack, Trent stopped and stared at one for 320 Meadowlark Lane.

When had old man Webber decided to fix up the place?

Checking the estimate, he saw the owner listed was Emily George rather than Bob Webber. How did that happen? He’d asked his real estate agent to let him know if the house ever came up for sale.

Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed Garth Real Estate and asked for Steve Sheldon.

The agent came on the line. “Steve here.”

“Steve, this is Trent Hawkins. When did 320 Meadowlark Lane come up for sale?”

“It did? Let me check and I’ll call you back.”

Trent drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. Ten minutes later his phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, Trent. Webber put the place on the market while I was on vacation and it was purchased less than forty-eight hours later by Emily George, the new owner of the Emporium. Who could have guessed with the state of the place?”

Trent recalled the young woman Aunt Sarah had maneuvered him into meeting.

“I’ve met her. While there was a mention of her having renovation needs, I didn’t realize it was the house on Meadowlark Lane until a few minutes ago.”

“I understand Ms. George hails from Los Angeles and is doing well with the old gift shop.”

“With a new business it’s hard to imagine she has time to deal with the renovations needed at that...uh, house.” Trent had almost called it a dump, which was accurate, but since he’d been trying to get the property for years, the description might raise questions.

Steve snorted. “It’s a terrible investment except for someone who can do the work personally—it’ll cost more than the house is worth. Maybe she’ll be willing to sell.”

“It’s a possibility,” Trent agreed. “I’ll see if we can work something out.”

That was the solution. He’d meet with Emily George and propose a business deal.

After finding her number on the estimate, he punched it into his phone.

“Hello?” Her voice was warm, with a pleasant timbre.

“Ms. George, this is Trent Hawkins of Big Sky Construction. We met at your gift shop a couple of weeks ago. There’s a matter having to do with your estimate that needs to be resolved. It would help if we could meet.”

“Sure. Anything to move things ahead will be great. It’s pretty grim living here under the circumstances.”

Her eagerness didn’t bode well for his cause. On the other hand, if she was already living in the house, it wasn’t surprising she wanted to get things going. But she couldn’t possibly realize how costly it would be to do everything listed on the estimate. Surely she’d sell once she saw the bottom line.

“I understand,” Trent said. “Where shall we get together?”

“Don’t you want to come to the house?”

320 Meadowlark Lane was the last place he wanted to go. But he couldn’t tell a stranger something he’d never told anyone else.

“That’s fine,” he agreed. “What time is good for you?”

“Later this afternoon, or whenever you like tomorrow.”

Trent didn’t want to wait another day. “How about today at four?”

“Terrific. I’ll see you then.”

It wasn’t terrific. As a rule he no longer met with customers; he’d discovered the business did better if other employees handled contacts that required diplomacy. But the situation was different with his childhood home, and he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

* * *

EMILY ENDED THE CALL, a little surprised by the conversation with Trent Hawkins. From what she’d seen and heard, he was an odd duck.

Oh, well, she wasn’t looking for a friend; she wanted to get her house fixed. But it was strange that the head of such a large company wanted to meet personally.

The representative from Big Sky had been extremely thorough and hadn’t anticipated any problems. Emily had contacted a number of their references and they were all quite satisfied. The conversations had taken a while, since a lot of them wanted to chat—something she’d learned was typical of people in Schuyler. Most said they’d never dealt directly with the owner of Big Sky. A few knew Trent Hawkins through community contacts or his family, but their vague comments gave her the impression of caution, as though they considered him a slightly dangerous enigma.

One retired schoolteacher had mentioned that she’d taught most of the Hawkins and McGregor kids in her classroom, but had never understood Trent.

“At first glance he reminded me of his father,” she’d said. “But Gavin was such a bright, charming man. Trent isn’t as...cheerful. Of course, losing his parents that way has to affect a child. It’s probably no surprise that he was socially awkward.”

Emily had found the comment irrelevant. Trent Hawkins’s charm, or lack of it, wasn’t important. It was his company’s skill and honesty that she cared about. Nonetheless, the opinions expressed by other Big Sky clients certainly jived with her own brief impressions of him.

The doorbell gasped out a disgruntled squawk at precisely four o’clock and Emily realized that was one repair that had failed to make her list of improvements.