She cocked her head. “Football?”
It pleased him that she didn’t immediately know who he was...and dented his ego, as well.
“Baseball,” Mike explained.
“That might be why you look familiar.”
“You’re a baseball fan?”
“Once in a while.”
He didn’t know what she meant by that and didn’t ask, not wanting to discuss his years in the majors. At least he’d gotten his college degree before all of that, which had left more options open after the accident.
“Why did you stop—” Emily broke off the query and it wasn’t hard to guess why. She’d been about to ask why he wasn’t playing any longer, only to guess it had something to do with his bum leg.
“Anyway,” he said, “I’m just a teacher now, nothing unusual.”
“Good teachers are worth their weight in gold.”
“I’m glad you think so. But I need a break from it over the summer, so I work for Trent instead of teaching summer school. I hate being inactive.”
“Yeah, I’m like that, too. I always want to stay busy.”
By the time he’d brought Emily back to Meadowlark Lane, he’d decided there was potential for a future relationship. He wanted to get married someday and have children, and Emily was the kind of sweet, down-to-earth woman who fit his life now. Granted, she was a little unconventional, but not in a way that would concern parents or the school board. He’d already learned that people in Schuyler enjoyed prying into a teacher’s private life...and some were more persistent than the paparazzi from his baseball days.
“Thanks for a great evening,” Emily said.
He didn’t try to kiss her. She had tried to pay for her own dinner, but seemed the old-fashioned type in other ways.
“Would you like to go out again next week?” he asked.
“I’m pretty crazy right now with the work going on in the house. Let’s talk about it in a few days,” she suggested.
It wasn’t an eager reply, but he could hardly expect the kind of feminine response he’d received while playing ball. Hell, women had often suggested going straight back to his hotel room following dinner. And it was another reminder that he wasn’t a star any longer, just a guy who taught school.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed.
Emily let herself into the house and he returned to his condo. It was a small complex, the first condominiums in Schuyler, and had been built by Big Sky Construction. Trent was a terrific contractor, so Mike had known it was a sound investment to buy one of the units. It wasn’t big enough to accommodate a family, but he’d cross that bridge if he came to it.
He got a can of beer from the fridge, but had barely popped the tab when there was a knock at the door.
It was Alaina Hawkins.
“Hey, Mike,” she said, her gaze flicking to the beer he held then back to his face. “I was driving past and saw your Porsche outside, so I decided to drop by instead of phoning.”
“Is there a change in next week’s work schedule?”
“Nope, you’re assigned to Emily’s house. If everything goes as planned, we won’t break up the crew until the renovations are finished.”
“That’s good.” He wondered if he should offer Alaina a drink, but had a feeling she didn’t care for beer and it was the only beverage readily available. “I prefer seeing a project through to the finish.”
“Trent knows the guys feel that way.”
Mike wondered for the hundredth time why a woman with a high-powered career in New York would leave to juggle work schedules for a construction company. While a skilled office manager was invaluable to Big Sky, office manager was as far as she could go in Montana. In New York she might have risen to become the head of a billion-dollar company, but she’d given it up to return to Schuyler. Nothing except blowing out his knee could have dragged him away from baseball.
“Actually, I have something nonwork-related to ask,” Alaina said.
“Uh, okay,” he said cautiously.
“I’m on the planning committee for the annual Volunteer Firefighters Auxiliary Barbecue, which is being combined this year with the bachelor and bachelorette auction. It works the same way it always has—people get to have dinner out with the person they ‘win’ in the auction. Anyway, we want you as one of our bachelors.”
She had to be kidding.
“Sorry, I can’t,” Mike refused shortly. “I’ll make a donation.”
“But it’s for a terrific cause. We’re raising money for a new ladder truck.”
“Forget it. I’m not Lightning Carlisle any longer.”
Alaina planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t like taking no for an answer. So the way I choose to see this is that you need time to think about it.”
Mike ground his teeth. “Alaina, you must be out of your mind if you think—” he began saying, only to stop. He was talking to the back of her head as she walked toward the visitor parking area, her smooth dark hair swaying with each step.
Hell.
He couldn’t believe she’d asked him to participate in the bachelor auction. Years ago he used to do it and his “sales” had brought in record bids, despite the proviso that the winner would have to wait until the end of baseball season before getting taken out to dinner. Most of the time he hadn’t even been able to make it to the auction, so they’d bid on a picture of him. But there was no way he’d embarrass himself by doing it now.
Jeez, they must be desperate if they were asking him to volunteer. He could just hear the auctioneer: Our next bachelor is former pro baseball player Michael Carlisle. Too bad his career tanked a few years ago.
Well, maybe they wouldn’t be that blunt, but he’d hate it, no matter what they said.
Mike dropped to the couch and put a heating pad on his knee.
He closed his eyes, trying to push Alaina’s image from his head. She’d looked beautiful tonight, not to mention confident and thoroughly sexy. He knew she’d had a crush on him as a kid. Back then she was big-eyed string bean and it had been cute the way she tagged along when he was doing something with Trent. Then Alaina had grown up into a leggy beauty.
It was unlikely she remained interested, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to avoid messy relationships, and getting involved with the sister of a longtime buddy would be unbelievably messy. He liked Trent, but the guy was impossible to figure out, and had always been protective of his sister.
It was much better to pursue a pleasant, sensible woman like Emily, instead of a gorgeous idiot who’d voluntarily given up the success she could have had in the city.
* * *
ALAINA SAT IN her Audi sedan, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she regrouped.
She hadn’t genuinely expected Mike to volunteer for the charity auction. He’d done it in the past, but only after becoming a well-known baseball player. It was guys like Billy Halloran who loved strutting and teasing women into outbidding each other for him.
Anyway, having Mike turn her down gave her an excuse to see him again about it, though she sometimes wondered why she bothered. At least tonight he hadn’t made a snide comment about her quitting a lucrative job to work for peanuts, or sniped that she couldn’t cut it in the city.
Alaina thought about the beer that Mike had been holding when he answered the door and a peculiar sensation went through her stomach.
It was probably guilt.
She shouldn’t have stopped to see him, but she’d known about his date with Emily and had been elated to see he was home before 9:00 p.m. Then, when he’d answered the door, she’d been struck by a sudden fear that he wasn’t alone. Of course, it was remotely possible Emily had been in the condo, only she didn’t seem the type to hide in the bathroom to avoid being seen.
Alaina shuddered and started t
he car. The embarrassment of such an encounter could seriously damage a new friendship.
She drove past the Big Sky Construction yard and was surprised to see the office lights on and Trent’s truck out front. Using the remote control to go through the gate, she parked and went inside.
“It’s me,” she called.
Trent was going through a pile of papers on his desk. “Why are you here so late?” he asked.
“Visiting my brother.”
He glanced up and smiled.
Alaina blinked. A few days before Emily had commented that Trent’s smile always seemed controlled, as if he had to think about doing it. She was right. Once in a while he would half grin if he found something amusing, but it rarely came naturally.
“Why the urge to visit your brother tonight?” he asked.
“I, uh, just dropped by after I... Never mind.”
His eyes narrowed questioningly, but she ignored it and went to the coffeemaker. “How about a fresh pot?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She put a handful of beans into the grinder, spun it a few times and tipped the contents into the filter. Soon the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the air.
Before she’d begun working at Big Sky, Trent had bought ground coffee from the local grocer without paying attention to quality. Maybe he’d figured flavor didn’t matter since he made the stuff so strong it threatened to eat holes in stomach linings, but Alaina did care about flavor, so she was now ordering her favorite blend over the internet.
When the pot had brewed she poured a cup for Trent and got one for herself. They drank silently; her brother wasn’t one for light conversation, even with family.
She wanted to ask him for ideas on convincing Mike to volunteer for the auction, except he’d likely say it was none of his business. After all, Trent had also refused to volunteer himself...before she’d even asked. Huh. As far as she was concerned, it would be good for both of them to get involved in something outside of work.
Trent might be popular at the auction, particularly since a lot of women got off on that dark, silent thing he had going.
As for Mike?
He acted as if nobody would bid to have dinner out with him because he wasn’t Lightning Carlisle any longer, but she disagreed. Besides, if a woman only cared whether he was a big-shot ballplayer, then she wasn’t worth anything in the first place. And if the bids weren’t as high as they’d been when he was in the major leagues, what difference did it make? Even the starting bid of fifty dollars would help the firehouse.
Perhaps it was stupid, but Alaina couldn’t help thinking that if Mike got blasted out of his stubborn cocoon, he might start seeing other possibilities to life in Schuyler.
CHAPTER SIX
TRENT WALKED UP the creaky steps of Emily’s house on Monday morning, hearing odd sounds drift through the open door. He listened and realized it was a weird combination of music and sounds from nature.
He might have known. She was a major flake and had really strange ideas. It was her success as a businesswoman that surprised him. She hadn’t shown good sense about the house, but until a few months ago everyone had figured the Emporium was on its last legs, and now she’d completely turned it around.
“Hi, Trent,” Emily said, stepping outside. “I saw you through the window. You’re early.”
“I hope it isn’t inconvenient.”
She wrinkled her nose, a gesture that seemed characteristic. “Only if you need to turn off the water before my clothes finish washing.”
“I think we can refrain.”
“In that case, it’s fine. The coffee is on if you want a cup. I didn’t know where you’d have everyone working today, so the pot is out on the patio.”
“Well, if it isn’t Trent Hawkins,” an oily voice intruded.
Trent wheeled to see Bob Webber. Webber had been the landlord when the Hawkins family had moved into the house. There was an affable expression plastered on his round face, belying the snake underneath.
“You need something, Bob?” Trent asked.
“Not really. I’m just curious what’s happening with this old place. I did own it for a long time.”
“And it’s finally getting fixed up, instead of being left to molder into a pile of splinters,” Trent returned bluntly. The irony couldn’t be escaped, because if he’d had his choice, he would have bulldozed the place.
Bob waved his right forefinger in a chiding gesture. “Surely you know I couldn’t afford this kind of restoration and keep it affordable for folks to live here.”
“As I recall, there were times you couldn’t afford to fix a leaky pipe or broken furnace, either.”
The genial smile on Webber’s face flickered. “I tried to keep the rent down for tenants, even when it hurt me financially. But that’s all water under the bridge. Perhaps I’ll come back in a few days and check your progress.”
“It isn’t my call. The house belongs to Ms. George.”
“Naturally.” Webber tipped his hat to Emily and rolled down the front walk.
The renovation job was getting more and more bizarre. Trent didn’t like Bob Webber any better now than when he was a kid, and the squint-eyed man undoubtedly wasn’t fond of him in return. Life as his tenant hadn’t been pleasant for the Hawkins family, particularly when the rent had fallen behind. There had been loud threats of eviction, followed by smarmy advances to Trent’s mother, with the suggestion she could buy time by being extra “nice” to him.
“That coffee sounds good,” Trent said tightly, turning back to Emily.
“Uh, sure.”
The rest of the crew was arriving, so they waited for the men to come up the walk.
“Hi, Emily,” Mike said with a smile.
Eduardo tweaked her hair, Vince winked and she and Caveman shoulder-bumped like old friends.
“Good grief,” Vince exclaimed as they came into the entryway. “What is that?” At the moment the music was barely discernible over an especially loud clap of thunder and accompanying rainfall. He looked out at the early-morning sunshine, and back at Emily.
“Classical music with nature sounds,” she explained. “Most of my collection is in storage, but I have CDs that are just ocean waves or mountain streams and some terrific New Age stuff from artists like Steven Halpern. Should I put something else on?”
“Naw. Guess we can stand it.”
She laughed and told them to get coffee and Danish on the patio.
Trent knew about New Age music, but it was part of the counterculture garbage that few people in Schuyler cared about. Country and western was the music of choice, followed by gospel and bluegrass. Personally, he preferred silence.
As the others trooped out to the patio to get their morning pick-me-up, he glanced at the crystal hanging in the window and remembered Emily saying the house spoke to her. How soon would it be before she started talking about past-life regression and telepathic communication with animals and ghosts, or something equally ridiculous?
The idea sent a strange sensation down his back. He wasn’t superstitious, but with what was hidden in the walls of the house, he was sure a few ghosts could speak volumes if they were able.
* * *
EMILY NIBBLED AN apricot Danish, trying to concentrate on something Vince was telling her, but the thought of Trent’s terse exchange with Bob Webber kept intruding. What did it mean? Of course, it might not mean anything; Trent seemed to have a strained relationship with most people.
He certainly had a habit of annoying her.
She’d wanted to smack the disdainful expression from his face when she was explaining to Vince about the CDs she liked. She knew the other guys were amused by her ways, but that was okay; it was Trent’s snooty attitude that got on her nerves.
Hell. She was just in a
bad mood because of her evening with Mike. It had been pleasant at first, but slowly she’d gotten the impression he saw her as a “sensible” choice for a date, a woman too ordinary for high romantic aspirations.
So on Sunday she’d decided to research him on the internet. Before his career-ending injury, Michael “Lightning” Carlisle had been expected to eventually land a spot in the Baseball Hall of Fame. He was also described as a fan favorite, with an irresistible smile and a habit of winning on and off the field...especially with female fans.
Emily had seen his smile, but it was hardly irresistible, and he was undeniably moody. She didn’t blame him for being disappointed about the way his baseball career had ended, but he acted as if he’d lowered his expectations about everything...and had asked her out because she met those lower expectations.
Jackass.
She might not be a supermodel like Nicole, but if she ever got involved with another guy, she wanted him to consider himself lucky to have her in his life. She would rather be alone than feel she was second-best ever again.
And on top of everything else, she’d figured out that Alaina had a yen for Mike. Unfortunately the realization had come after receiving his invitation to dinner, or she never would have accepted.
Following the morning “huddle” as Eduardo called the initial gathering around the coffeepot and pastry box, the crew went to work and Emily began beating back the overgrowth in the yard. But every twenty to thirty minutes she ran inside to see what was happening and take pictures to document the progress. Eduardo laughed when she even followed him into the basement and took photos of the tangled network of pipes.
Trent was the only one who seemed unhappy when she came into the room where he was removing some hideous fake paneling. She snapped a couple pictures and grabbed an armload of debris, musing on the fact that he often worked solo. It fit his general personality, but wasn’t he lonely? Of course...maybe his crew preferred it that way.
“You’re paying us to do this,” he reminded her in a voice that was a little too patient for her taste.
“So?”
At Wild Rose Cottage Page 8