At Wild Rose Cottage

by Callie Endicott

  “Wow,” Alaina exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. “The view up here is terrific.” They were in one of the rooms where the windows looked past the edge of town at the land and hills beyond.

  Schuyler sat on the margin of where rolling prairie gave way to the mountains, rising west to the continental divide. It made for glorious vistas, though Emily had yet to see a part of Montana that wasn’t beautiful. The whole state seemed designed for a photographer or artist, though she didn’t know how anyone could capture the breathless sensation of endless sky arching over vast reaches.

  “I love the view,” she said, “though I haven’t decided what to do with these rooms.”

  “This is the first time I’ve realized how fun it might be to remake a house.” Alaina gave Emily an embarrassed smile. “That probably sounds strange since I work at a construction company, but I haven’t been at Big Sky for long. Before that I was at an investment firm in New York.”

  “That’s a big switch.”

  “Yeah, I got homesick.” Alaina glanced around, a thoughtful frown creasing her face. “I’ll have to ask Trent which room used to be mine and what it looked like back then.”

  Emily wanted to ask if Alaina knew why Trent was acting so oddly about Wild Rose Cottage, but decided not to say anything. While the brother and sister appeared to have opposite personalities, they might both prefer keeping certain things private.

  * * *

  TRENT’S HEAD THROBBED and he lay in the dark, staring at the moonlight leaking through the broken blind on the window. For two days Emily had tenaciously stuck close to her house, but surely she couldn’t stay away from her new business much longer.

  He got up and turned on his bedside lamp. The mattress was high quality—he believed in a good night’s rest—but aside from a shabby dresser and the lamp sitting on an old wood chair, there wasn’t much else in the room.

  The floor creaked as he went into the living room where he kept his weight machine. The Balderdash ranch house was old, but it wasn’t an architectural treasure... It was barely habitable. He could renovate it or build a new one, but he didn’t care what sort of place he used for sleeping. Mostly he kept an eye on whether any part of it was in danger of collapsing.

  The family assumed he was just waiting until he found the right woman so he could build a home to suit them both. At least that’s how they’d talked since Jackson had married Kayla. Trent smiled grimly. It had been an unholy mess when his cousin-brother had discovered he had a teenaged son with his old high school girlfriend. Now that the truth was out they’d done the practical thing by getting married, and luckily, Kayla was a better sort than Jackson’s first wife.

  Mom—Aunt Sarah—practically melted whenever the subject of Jackson’s wife was raised. She adored Kayla and was more anxious than ever for all her children to find spouses and have kids. How could he tell her that the thought of marriage left him cold? All he wanted was occasional good sex, with a willing woman who had no fantasies about happily-ever-after. Love and family? He’d leave that to people who still had a few illusions.

  A lengthy session of weight lifting didn’t help and Trent sat in his easy chair staring at an inane television program. Anything was better than revisiting the memories evoked by working on 320 Meadowlark Lane. Actually...he needed to think of it as Emily’s house. Yet his gut clenched as he thought about her name for the place. Hell, his mom had called it Wild Rose Cottage. Wasn’t that a kick in the gut?

  Fiona Hawkins had optimistically hoped that things would change in her marriage, and it had killed her. How unrealistic could a woman be? She’d been afraid to go with her husband the night of the accident, knowing how drunk and angry he was, but more afraid to refuse. The only right thing she’d done was leave her son and daughter at home—otherwise they’d all be dead.

  Trent dropped his head back with a groan.

  He didn’t know if Emily had idealistic ideas about relationships, but she was obviously another optimist. A shudder went through him; he didn’t care if she meant well—the cliché was right, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t go near her.

  Trent clicked off the television and padded out to the barn. The animals stirred restlessly until they recognized him. Miranda, his mare that had recently foaled, peered over her stall door and nickered for attention.

  “Hello, girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck with one hand and feeding her an apple with the other.

  Trent liked horses because there were no pretenses with them—they dispensed service and affection in exchange for food and care. It was basically a barter system, and if he held up his end of the arrangement, they responded in kind. The only horse he’d ever had trouble with had been abused before coming to him.

  Thinking of which... He approached Speakeasy’s box stall, deliberately making his footsteps heavy so the stallion wouldn’t be startled. Speakeasy stood in the back, regarding him warily. Trent had bought him at an auction a few months before, furious at the sight of his thin body and half-healed wounds.

  “Come here, boy,” he said, holding out an apple.

  Speakeasy pawed the hay, clearly wanting the treat, but unwilling to come forward for it.

  With a sigh, Trent left the apple on a post and stepped away. He could work with the stallion, but it wasn’t easy. It would take time and patience before Speakeasy trusted humans again.

  After several hours Trent realized it was time to get moving. Perhaps today would go better and Emily would spend the morning or afternoon at her store. That way he could send the crew onto the roof, leaving him to tackle the wall between the living and dining rooms. She wanted it cut down into a low divider to open up the space. If things went well he might even be able to retrieve his father’s gun upstairs.

  But as the morning began, Emily showed no sign of leaving. Instead, she now wore sturdy new running shoes, an unfortunate sign she might be planning to stick close to home for yet another day. Vince noticed them immediately and grinned.

  “They won’t stop a determined nail, Em,” he informed her in a familiar tone.

  “They’re safer than bare skin,” she returned.

  “Boots would be best.”

  “Gotta get more Southern California out of this girl before I’ll be ready for boots. My toes like to breathe.”

  Eduardo chuckled. “You’re too late for the flower child generation, kiddo.”

  “Better late than never.”

  They all smiled, even Mike, whose sense of humor had suffered since his accident.

  It was disgusting. His crew was rapidly becoming fond of Emily, helped along by boxes of doughnuts and the coffeemaker she now kept filled on the card table in the living room.

  The prior morning the crew had quickly served themselves and left. Today they’d arrived earlier than usual, apparently so they could stand around chatting with her. Without coming off as a surly badger, he couldn’t refuse joining them for a cup, though he ignored the pastry. And...damn, it was really good coffee.

  Of course, Trent encouraged his crews to get mentally together before launching into the day’s task. It also fostered friendly relations, which reduced slowdowns from personality clashes. So it was annoying that the coffee klatch bothered him, when it wouldn’t bother him anywhere else. The problem had to be because he wasn’t sure of Emily’s motives in being so accommodating.

  “Thanks, that’s mighty tasty,” Vince said, leaving his cup on the table. “Em, do you want to help me remove that light fixture in the dining room?”

  “I’d love to,” Emily agreed enthusiastically. “Do you think it can be salvaged?”

  “Converted, maybe. They never removed the old gaslight fixture, just cut off the gas.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wait,” Trent interrupted, then turned to Eduardo. “When you
were inspecting the water pipes did you get a chance to evaluate the gas lines?”

  Eduardo nodded. “Yep, but I want to double-check everything.”

  “Good. We can’t take anything for granted about this house.”

  “Absolutely, boss.”

  The men departed to their various areas and Trent closed his eyes, drawing several deep, calming breaths. When his temper had flared as a teenager, he’d been tempted to hit walls, the way his father had done so often. Trent had also engaged in a number of monumental fights—generally with bullies, figuring they deserved it anyway. It wasn’t comforting to remember that he’d deliberately sought them out, wanting to punch and be punched.

  Over time he’d learned to control the urge, knowing a man who couldn’t manage himself couldn’t be trusted to boss anyone else. But he also hadn’t wanted to be the least bit like Gavin Hawkins. Spending so much time on Meadowlark Lane—Emily’s house—was going to test the man he’d tried to become.

  Opening his eyes again, he found Emily watching him, her head cocked, as if trying to guess what he was thinking and feeling.

  Fat chance.

  No one in thirty-six years had managed it, and he was confident this flaky woman didn’t have a prayer.

  * * *

  ONCE EDUARDO GAVE the all clear on the gas lines, Emily went into the dining room to assist with removing the old chandelier. She couldn’t provide any serious help, but she handed tools up to Vince and took any small parts that came off, placing them carefully in a box. And when the entire unit came down, she helped lower it.

  “I heard about someone who bought a house that had one of these that still worked,” she said.

  “It happens,” Trent contributed. He’d been working nearby on the door frame, which had made Emily feel uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure why. “Last year a man inherited his grandmother’s house and she’d been using her gaslights on a regular basis.”

  Emily shivered. “It doesn’t sound safe.” She patted a wall. “Don’t worry, baby. We’re going to make sure you have safe wiring.” She glanced at Vince. “I guess it sounds silly, but I believe houses have personalities.”

  Vince laughed in a kindly way, but Trent seemed less sympathetic.

  Well, too bad.

  She was tired of arrogant men who passed judgment on her—men such as her ex-fiancé, who also happened to be Lauren’s brother. Poor Lauren was the one who’d figured things out and spilled the truth about him cheating. Not that Dennis had been terribly upset when Emily confronted him. He’d seemed to think his sleeping with other women wasn’t a big deal... She shook the thought away. She was in Montana now, with a whole new life.

  Midmorning she remembered the crystal she’d brought home from the Emporium, so she went and hung it in the window that pulled the most sunshine.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Eduardo called, and came into the living room, with Trent following. “All of a sudden there are rainbows everywhere.”

  Emily laughed. “I hoped that would happen. I love crystals, and some people say they have healing power and create positive vibes.”

  Trent’s eyebrows rose.

  She smiled blandly at him. “You never know.”

  Eduardo nodded sagely. “I don’t know about the mystical stuff, but something that pretty must send something good into a place.”

  Emily decided he’d just won her grateful-forever award.

  The morning passed pleasantly, then during a coffee break she got a surprise from Mike.

  “Emily, would you consider going out to dinner with me sometime?” he asked when they were sitting on the porch steps, enjoying the fresh air. The others had already gone back inside.

  She blinked. Dating wasn’t something she’d expected to do in Schuyler. After breaking off her engagement she had decided romance wasn’t her thing. But Mike seemed nice and having dinner together didn’t necessarily mean romance. More than anything, he probably felt sorry for someone whose kitchen he’d just knocked into oblivion.

  “That would be nice,” she replied.

  “Would Saturday evening be good for you?”

  “Sure.”

  He smiled, drained his coffee cup and headed indoors.

  Emily pursed her lips, unsure what to think. While she wasn’t the best judge, she hadn’t sensed that Mike was especially attracted to her. He certainly hadn’t acted the way guys did around her sister.

  Oh, well. The evening out would be pleasant. Mike taught history to high school students during the school year. She enjoyed history, so they’d have plenty to talk about.

  Inside the house, she glanced at Trent, who was pulling up the ancient carpet from the dining room floor. Dust was flying in a thick cloud, though she’d vacuumed the thing within an inch of its questionable life.

  “Put on a dust mask if you’re staying,” he advised when she started coughing. “Though I won’t be offended if you head downtown or something.”

  Once again she had the feeling he wanted her gone, but she only had his words to go by since his face was concealed by both a heavy dust mask and a pair of safety glasses. Anyhow, she probably should make an appearance at the shop.

  “In that case, I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” she said.

  He nodded and turned back to the carpet.

  Emily walked down to the Emporium where she spoke to her manager, who reported everything was going well.

  After going through the sales receipts to see if new stock needed to be ordered and chatting with a few customers, she strolled back to Meadowlark Lane. Inside the house she stared in amazement. The wall between the living and dining rooms had been knocked down to floor level, with only the weight-bearing four-by-four posts left standing. Caveman, Vince, Mike and Eduardo were on the roof, so Trent must have abandoned the dining room carpet to take the thing apart.

  “Wow,” she said.

  He must have worked like a man possessed to have gotten the wall demolished; most of the debris was even cleared away.

  “We’ll put in the low divider wall you want,” he explained. “But the way it was built, it’s cleaner to pull everything down and rebuild. The support beams will need to be faced, and we’ll frame them at the top to echo the molding in both rooms. You’ve come up with a good plan. The change will create a more contemporary, open feeling without erasing the vintage appeal.”

  The long statement seemed uncharacteristic, especially since his face remained hard and stony, and his admission about it being a “good plan” held a grudging tone. But there was nothing actually wrong in what he’d said, so she nodded and collected a broom to sweep up the remaining bits of plaster and dust.

  * * *

  “I’VE GOT THE list you emailed,” Alaina said into the phone on Thursday. “I’ll take A through H, okay?”

  “That’s terrific,” Janet Goodwell told her. “Most people hate recruiting bachelors and bachelorettes for the auction and I have to do most of it myself. Of course, my arm-twisting skills will probably deteriorate because of your willingness.”

  “If you prefer, I could just make cookies for Saturday’s bake sale,” Alaina suggested. It wasn’t what she preferred, but she didn’t want anyone to guess that she’d deliberately volunteered in order to be the one to recruit Mike.

  “Don’t you dare,” Janet nearly screamed. “I’ve got cookies running out of my ears. I need recruiters.”

  Alaina put down the phone with a satisfied smile. Joining the Volunteer Firefighters Auxiliary was the least she could do, considering the work they accomplished all over town. And when they’d announced it was time to prep for the annual barbecue and auction, she’d broken a speed record volunteering for the planning committee.

  The others had laughed and assumed she’d done it to avoid being tagged as a potential bachelorette—members we
re barred from participating that way. But she’d had something far more devious in mind, including taking the first part of the alphabetical list of potential auction volunteers...the section with Mike Carlisle’s name.

  Alaina glanced at the clock and picked up the receiver again to dial Emily.

  “Hello, Alaina,” Emily greeted her cheerily. “How are you today?”

  “I’m good. I just wondered if you wanted to get lunch. The Roundup Café makes a mean fire-grilled burger.”

  “That would be great, except I ordered sandwiches for the guys. They’re going to be delivered by 11:30.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why don’t you come over and join the party? We’ll have plenty of food.”

  Alaina’s heart started rat-a-tat-tatting. She genuinely wanted to get acquainted with Emily, but she also wanted to run into Mike. Now she could end up eating lunch twice in one week with him. It wasn’t a date, but more contact than she usually managed.

  “It sounds like fun,” she agreed. “But I want to bring something. What do you need?”

  “How about chips? We have doughnuts left and I got a humongous container of fresh-made potato salad from the grocery deli.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Hanging up the phone, Alaina jumped to her feet. When she’d decided to come back to Montana, she had been sure she’d see Mike often. After all, he was friends with her brothers and several cousins, and as Trent’s office manager it had seemed a certainty Mike would cross her path frequently, at least during the summer. But he’d proven remarkably adept at treading a solitary path. She didn’t think he was avoiding her in particular; it was more a serious case of lone wolf syndrome.

  Well, it was time to change all of that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SOME OF THE tension eased from Trent as the crew broke for lunch. Emily’s absence had left him free to take down one of the problem walls and dispose of the debris, and he’d done it in record time. His pockets were stuffed with the bits and pieces he’d recovered, while the rest had been thrown into the far end of the Dumpster.