At Wild Rose Cottage

She wheeled and saw Trent Hawkins gazing at her with a sharp, inscrutable expression.

“It’s Emily,” she reminded him, no longer sure she favored informality. For the first time she was realizing that polite titles could maintain a desired distance. Come to think of it, perhaps the infuriating, self-anointed mavens of society she’d encountered at her boutique would have had more respect if they’d had to say “Ms. George.”

“Is something wrong?” Trent asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked a question, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Drat, her mind had gone merrily wandering again.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My brain occasionally travels south when it’s supposed to be headed north. Of all things, I was considering the merit of polite society.”

“I see.”

“What were you were saying?” she asked, wondering if it was her imagination that he was so tense. He practically radiated the focus of a cat on the prowl.

“I asked when you expect to return the contracts.”

She waved the envelope Alaina had given her. “Actually, I stayed and read them, signed on the dotted line, got my copies and am heading home to assure Wild Rose Cottage that its neglected days are over.”

His eyebrows lifted a half inch, then his face smoothed. “In that case, the crew will begin work on Monday, Ms.— Emily.”

“That soon?” Her toes fairly danced in excitement.

“You seemed anxious. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?”

“Nope. The house and I will be ready and waiting for your guys to start.”

Emily slid into her car and he politely closed the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she fastened her seat belt. Trent Hawkins may or may not have been suffering from tension, but her entire body had tightened as soon as she’d heard his voice. It would have given her second thoughts about having Big Sky do the renovations, but it was silly to regret the decision, especially so soon after making it. Anyway, it was probably the last time she’d see him.

With a business the size of Big Sky, Trent Hawkins would be too busy to think about a single house under contract, much less its not-so-memorable owner. Emily knew from experience that guys as gorgeous as Trent Hawkins automatically dismissed ordinary women. And if she’d ever cherished illusions about fairy-tale possibilities, her former fiancé had drummed the fantasy out of her.

Oh, well.

Emily shrugged as she drove toward the grocery store. She’d concentrate on the good feelings she had about her new house. It was as if Wild Rose Cottage had whispered in her ear and begged for a second chance. And its chance was coming even earlier than she’d expected.

That was something to celebrate.

* * *

TRENT WATCHED EMILY’S car disappear down the road and suppressed the adrenaline surging through his veins. He wouldn’t get to bulldoze 320 Meadowlark Lane into toothpicks, but at least had a chance to salvage the situation.

Turning, he strode toward the office.

“Hey, Trent,” Alaina greeted him as he came through the door. “Did you intend to sign that contract with Emily George before she saw it?”

“Er...yeah.”

“Okay. She didn’t ask for any changes, so it’ll save time. You never said somebody asked for an estimate on our old house.”

He hadn’t considered the chance Alaina would figure it out.

“You remember the address?” he asked.

“No, but Mom has mentioned Meadowlark Lane, so I checked and it’s the same one. I can’t recall anything about the place.” She bit her lip. “I wish I could remember something about our parents... I mean, our first mom and dad.”

“You were pretty small when they died. What...three and a half?”

Personally, Trent was relieved Alaina didn’t remember anything about them. He had few pleasant memories himself, though life with their biological father had taught him valuable lessons—mostly that people couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them get close enough to do it. Long before he turned ten, he’d known that he had to protect himself.

“You’ve got good memories from the rest of your childhood, right?” he asked.

“Sure, but sometimes I think I can remember the early stuff, though it’s hard to sort out what’s a real memory and what’s just something I’ve been told.” Her face was pensive. “Tell me a story from back then.”

Trent hated disappointing her, but he couldn’t manufacture a nostalgic tale when there weren’t any.

“There isn’t much to tell. I prefer the present. Who do you have on the crew schedule for next week so we can start on Emily George’s job?”

“You’re starting so soon?” she asked, clearly surprised. “I mean, there’s a four-week leeway in the contract and I thought some other jobs would go first.”

“The client is living under difficult circumstances until the work is completed, so I’ve decided to put her contract as a priority. And since the house is such a wreck, it gives us an extra month in case we run into complications.”

“That makes sense. I’ll have to see who’s available as foreman.”

“No need,” Trent cut in swiftly. “We’re unusually tight right now, so I’m taking the lead.”

Her head cocked in puzzlement. “You haven’t done that in years.”

Trent managed to chuckle. “I never planned to be more of a businessman than a contractor. To be honest, I’m itching to get my hands on a hammer again—I don’t want my skills to get rusty.”

“Okay. It will make scheduling easier. I’ll get a crew together. And I’m sure Emily will be thrilled you’re starting quickly. She seemed nice.”

“I suppose,” Trent muttered, sorting through a stack of letters Alaina had laid out for him. He made notes on several and gave them back to her before heading out again. Generally he tried to visit the various sites his company worked on at least once, so he had plenty to do before he could concentrate on Meadowlark Lane.

* * *

ALAINA WATCHED HER brother leave, both puzzled and sad. It always seemed as if there was an invisible barrier between them, and she knew the rest of the family felt the same way. She couldn’t blame them for being concerned—he was even more reserved with the rest of the McGregors than he was with her. And despite her hopes, working together hadn’t changed anything.

She filed the contract on 320 Meadowlark Lane, along with a pile of other papers. Until a week ago she’d had a secretarial assistant, but Tamara had come down with the intestinal bug going around...or at least that’s what Tam had thought. It turned out that after giving up hope of ever getting pregnant, Tamara and her husband were finally going to have a baby. But it was a high-risk pregnancy and the doctor had put her on bed rest.

Alaina was happy for Tamara, but couldn’t keep a thread of melancholy from going through her. When would she have her own happy ending?

She pressed her lips together and determinedly focused on the filing. The stomach flu making the rounds was nasty. It could take close to a week to stop feeling washed-out and rubbery—she knew from experience. They would have a challenging couple of months if it spread among the construction workers.

Studying her charting schedule and Emily George’s estimate, she began making notes. It was best to keep the same guys on a job, because it saved time and made the finished product more consistent. Fortunately, their usual summer employees were starting to become available.

A smile curved Alain’s lips. The school year had ended on Friday, which meant Mike Carlisle might be interested in a job. Picking up the phone, she dialed his number.