“My car is reliable and I want to make double use of the trip,” she insisted. “This way I can meet with my Helena-based suppliers for the Emporium and straighten out a few things.”
Another odd expression flashed across his face, but as usual, Emily couldn’t decipher it. The guy was a puzzle. Her sister could probably wrap Trent around her little finger, except Nicole was dating an Italian businessman and probably wouldn’t be caught dead in a town without a Neiman Marcus store.
The thought sent a flash of guilty gratitude through Emily. Nothing was going to happen between her and Trent, but it would have been miserable to see yet another guy she found attractive go loopy over her sister. That was one of the nice things about Schuyler—nobody had met Nicole, so there weren’t any comparisons, conscious or otherwise, between them.
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll contact the broker to find out when we can get inside the house.”
“Great. Let’s go eat.”
Relieved, Emily jumped up and headed for the patio, glad to get away from him. Trent was overwhelming, even when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass. The other day he’d practically exploded when she stopped the crew from tearing up the damaged floor in the old parlor. It was beautiful, with an intricate design created from ribbons of bent wood. Unfortunately, several sections had buckled from a water leak.
“It can’t be repaired,” he’d snarled after sending Eduardo and Caveman to do something else.
“I read about a similar floor being repaired at the Pittock Mansion in Portland,” Emily had insisted. “They soaked it again, then laid out planks and weighed them down with barrels of water to gradually ease them back in place.”
“This isn’t the Pittock Mansion.”
“I don’t care.”
“It isn’t in—”
“I know, it isn’t in the contract,” she’d interrupted. Loudly. “Or at least, I wasn’t specific enough about the repairs I wanted. Just give me a new estimate.”
They’d glared at each other a couple of minutes before he’d stomped out and told the others to leave the floor alone...for the time being.
Sometimes it was exhausting to deal with Trent, which was why she hadn’t wanted to drive with him to Helena.
“Emily, come have some pizza,” Caveman called, distracting her from the memory.
Emily fixed a smile on her face. The crew had asked her to join them for lunch and she didn’t want them to think anything was wrong.
On the days she provided lunch, Emily always invited Alaina, who still wasn’t making any headway with Mike. The guy was a stone wall. He continued making noises to Emily about taking her out and she’d needed to do some quick thinking to head him off. She didn’t want to say anything outright—not wanting to spoil the camaraderie that was making the construction project so enjoyable—but when was he going to get the message? He’d even hinted about them going out in front of Alaina.
Emily winced at the memory.
Afterward, to keep her friend from feeling worse, she’d privately revealed her conviction that Mike was only interested because he saw her as a sensible choice to date. She didn’t have any proof, but the little things he’d let drop made her sure it was the reason.
“Really? I can’t understand why I’m hung up on him,” Alaina had grumbled. “He can be such a jerk and he’s blind if he doesn’t see how terrific you are.”
Alaina’s staunch support had soothed Emily’s ego, bruised from confessing something so embarrassing. That was the great thing about a genuine friend—she could support you, even when her heart was breaking over some man.
“That’s nice of you to say, but I’m used to guys seeing me a certain way,” Emily had admitted. “My ex-fiancé wanted a practical kind of woman as a wife, yet expected to sleep around with women as glamorous as my sister. Unlike Dennis, however, I’m sure Mike doesn’t have visions of cheating with someone before he goes home to his nice, sensible choice.”
Alaina had stared at her in amazement. “If that’s what your ex-fiancé expected, you’re better off without him. I hope you drop-kicked him into the Pacific Ocean.”
“Almost.”
Right then Eduardo had come around the corner of the house to get a cup of coffee, so they’d changed the subject.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY Trent assigned the Meadowlark Lane crew to work on the roof and storm cellar while he and Emily were out of town. Eduardo endorsed the plan, saying, “It’s best to leave the interior work for when Emily is home. We have more fun when she’s here.”
Huh. It might be the first time one of his crews had thought a restoration job was this much fun. They were having a grand time working with Emily and treated her like a favorite kid sister. They happily asked her to help with tasks they considered safe and gave lessons in anything requiring specific knowledge, though she was so flighty, Trent couldn’t imagine her truly mastering any of the skills. It still amazed him that she managed two successful businesses—luck maybe?
The most vexing part about the situation was that he could have scheduled someone else to go to Helena in his place. With Emily out of town, it would have been a great opportunity to retrieve everything he’d hidden in the walls as a boy. She’d even suggested again that she could go on her own, but sending her to explore a deserted house in the country hadn’t seemed right.
So he was stuck. Really bad planning. He didn’t need to spend more time with Emily. At the thought, an image flashed through his head of what one of her lacy bras must look like while cupping her round curves.
He cursed.
Despite his best efforts he hadn’t been able to suppress the desire he felt around her. At first he’d refused to acknowledge his reaction. Now he was just doing his best to master it.
Emily had said she could meet him whenever he suggested; she was spending the night in Helena after a late-afternoon meeting with her suppliers. He’d told her to arrive at the farmhouse midmorning, figuring that if he left Schuyler early enough, he would have time to check the building first. That way he could determine if any of the fireplace mantels were suitable before she saw them and got her hopes raised...another action he didn’t care to examine too closely. Not that it meant anything. He was just getting sucked into his crew’s devotion to their client, which irritated him all over again.
Shortly before 8:00 a.m. he pulled into the farmhouse drive and found Emily’s ancient sedan already parked nearby. She wasn’t anywhere in sight and alarm shot through him.
Deserted houses could attract vagrants; it wasn’t safe for a woman to head into the place by herself, particularly since the broker had planned to unlock it the night before. Trent hadn’t thought to warn Emily since he’d expected to be there a couple of hours in advance. He slid from the truck and sprinted to the front porch.
“Emily,” he called, taking the front steps two at a time.
The door opened and she stepped outside, a paper cup in her right hand. “Wow, you’re early, too. I’ve been exploring. It’s a shame they’re tearing this place down. I wish I had a billion bucks to fix up old houses that no one cares about any longer.”
Trent’s alarm vanished, leaving him annoyed.
“You shouldn’t go into deserted buildings by yourself,” he told her sharply. “It isn’t safe.”
Considering her previous anger at him for trying to be protective, he half expected a royal scolding. Once again she surprised him as she cocked her head and studied him for a moment.
“You haven’t had your morning coffee, have you?” she asked. “And you probably skipped breakfast. That’s why you’re such a grump. Not that you’re a spoonful of sunshine any day, but it’s more pronounced this morning.”
“You...” Trent didn’t know what to say and couldn’t admit that concern for her safety had been the real motivation. Beside
s, he hadn’t made coffee, or even eaten the protein bars he kept stashed in the glove compartment. He’d just climbed into the truck and left.
“It’s okay,” she assured. “I’ve got a big thermos I brewed at the motel and picked up provisions at the supermarket.”
She led the way into the house. A rickety chair held a large stainless steel thermos and the cup she poured smelled ambrosial. Still, Trent hesitated to take it.
Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t let pride stand in your way.”
With a sigh he accepted the cup and took a swallow. It was the same brew she made every day and his nerves began to settle.
“There’s other stuff in the bag if you want it,” she advised.
Trent ate a slice of cheese and a handful of crackers as he glanced around the large living room. The oversize fireplace was ornately framed and crowned by an attractive mantelpiece, but it wasn’t the right dimensions for Emily’s house.
As they walked through the house, there were other good architectural features he immediately wanted to salvage. It was a shame the farmhouse was being torn down; the Victorian must have been a showplace in its day. But at least he could preserve pieces of it.
“Ooh,” Emily exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t see this before. Could I have the farm sink for my kitchen?”
Trent gazed at it with a practiced eye. “We’ll have to do some redesigning, but it’s possible.”
In a room that may have functioned as a formal parlor, Emily sighed ecstatically at the row of five stained-glass windows.
“How about those?”
“Uh, yeah, but keep in mind this is a big house. I’m not sure there’s space for everything at Wild Rose Cottage.” He paused a moment and realized he’d used Emily’s name for the place. He cocked his head, thinking back. The day they’d moved in had actually been very happy; his parents had danced in the living room and his mother had seen the wild roses afterward, instantly deciding what the house should be called. Gavin had enthusiastically agreed.
There had been so few good memories, but something about Emily’s joy in exploring the farmhouse brought this one back. At the same time, sorrow went through him because Fiona’s hopes when they had moved into the house had been quickly dashed. That had been part of the problem...she’d always thought things would change.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t care if everything fits, I still want it...just in case of...oh, I don’t know. I can’t bear the thought of such a glorious old place going unappreciated. It’s as if the house is saying, ‘Please save part of me.’”
“Maybe it is,” Trent said before doing another mental double take. He didn’t believe houses talked.
Emily went to the parlor fireplace and ran her fingers over the framing before looking up with a hopeful expression. “I like this one. Will it fit?”
“I’ll find out.”
Taking out his measuring tape, he checked the dimensions. “We can make it work.”
With a cry of delight, she gave him a quick hug. “I guess this is too big, isn’t it?” she asked, leading him into the dining room and pointing to the enormous built-in china closet. It was a magnificent piece and had miraculously escaped being painted and repainted over the years.
Trent sucked in a breath, trying to banish the memory of Emily’s body against his. “Sorry,” he managed to say, “it’s too big for any room in your house.”
“I guess, but what a shame it’s going to be demolished.”
Initially Trent had planned to just take a few things out of the house in addition to what Emily wanted, but now he decided to schedule a crew to do a thorough salvage job. While the house was in sad structural condition, many of its features were so beautifully made, it did seem wrong not to save them.
If he was building his own home, the china closet and several... He cut off his thoughts. He had no need of houses with china closets and mahogany door frames. Unless the ranch house on the Balderdash fell down, he was fine.
“There’s obviously more than we can get in a day, so I’ll send a crew back to get the items you want, and others for me,” he said, directing his thoughts in a less ridiculous direction.
“It seems silly not to make use of the trip here. Can’t we get some of them today?” she asked. “After all, you brought a truck. Wasn’t that the point, to take stuff back with you?”
“I can try,” he said. He had hoped to make it entirely a one-day trip, with no need to send anyone back, but that was when he’d anticipated the place being a bust, with nothing worth salvaging.
“Not just you. I’ll help.”
He agreed reluctantly. In his experience inept help could be worse than none at all. While the renovation crew seemed to appreciate her assistance, they were also able to pick and choose which tasks to give her. Still, he could probably find something for Emily to do that wouldn’t be too much of a problem.
* * *
ALAINA’S PHONE BUZZED midafternoon on Monday and she read the text message Trent had sent her.
Pull 3 for salvage crew to come to Helena.
They must have found some good stuff in the farmhouse.
He’d left it up to her to choose who would go, which was good. The intestinal flu going around had hit the company and it was hard keeping crews adequately filled. Still, they could send a team to Helena between jobs.
Alaina looked at the schedule. Honestly, Mike didn’t have a clue how much work it required to juggle everything for six construction yards.
Irritation hit her at the thought.
Would she spend the rest of her life with his voice in her head? Leaving New York City had been her decision, and she didn’t regret it...other than him proving to be a stubborn jackass.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. Mike was one of their employees out with the flu. It usually lasted the better part of a week and he’d only come down with it over the weekend. Perhaps she should bring him some chicken soup tomorrow, a nice, friendly half gallon in one of her good pots, a pot he’d have to return when he got better. And if he didn’t return the pot, she’d go to his condo to get it.
The question was whether she should tackle him again about the bachelor auction. He’d probably be in a foul temper, but that was nothing new. Folks in Schuyler tried to be understanding about Mike’s moods—actually, they bent over backward to be understanding—but maybe that was part of the problem. He just kept getting away with bad manners.
It could be time to practice tough love and be completely frank with him.
* * *
EMILY CHEWED HER lip as Trent used a crowbar on the wall around the edge of the fireplace setting. She knew it was necessary, but it seemed such an indignity to the house.
He ripped out a chunk of the more modern drywall, applied long after the place was built, exposing a darker surface beneath.
“Holy cow,” Trent murmured. “That’s cherrywood.”
“Who would cover cherry paneling?” she asked.
“Someone who didn’t appreciate what they had. You’d be amazed at the stuff people cover up with drywall or paint.”
She liked the way he crouched and examined the wood more closely.
“It must have been brought in from a distance,” she said. “The people who built this place couldn’t have been like a lot of the small farmers I’ve read about. I mean, they make a living, but I understand it can be a marginal business for the average family farm. And Helena doesn’t seem to be a major agrarian capital, either.”
Trent nodded. “Farming is a lot like ranching, at least since the beef market has become more unstable. It’s a way of life that nobody wants to give up. The McGregors and Nelsons love it.”
“But you didn’t want to be a rancher?”
“I always preferred the idea of building and construction. Did yo
u always want to own a store?”
“Not really. A boutique fit since I know something about fashion, even if I’m not the best representative for it.”
As he loosened the mantel, Emily helped lift it down. She wanted to start carrying it to the truck, but he stopped and brought in a dolly to help.
“You’re right, we should let Archimedes give us some help,” she said. “Isn’t a dolly based on the principle of a lever and fulcrum?”
“Yes, and we don’t need to move the world, just a mantel.”
“When I was a kid, I used to imagine him trying to do it, then just as he lifted it, the whole planet rolled away on him and all the people got dizzy.”
Trent chuckled. “Believe it or not, I pictured the same thing, except I kept seeing multistoried buildings tipping over like dominoes.”
They deposited the parlor mantel next to the truck and then brought out the side pieces.
“What do we do next?” Emily asked. “Load them first, or wait to see how everything we’re getting today can be jigsawed into the truck bed?”
“Let’s do jigsaw.”
The muscles in Trent’s arms flexed as he carried the dolly up the steps. Emily gulped, feeling an involuntary flash of warmth, though it was rather like being attracted to a mountain lion—exciting, dangerous and impossible, all at the same moment.
* * *
AS THE HOURS passed Trent was reluctantly impressed by Emily’s willingness to keep working through dirty tasks in the mice-infested house, and her ability to be of genuine assistance. She’d clearly paid attention to what the crew had been teaching her and swiftly caught on to anything new.
Beyond that, she was a lively conversationalist. From ancient Egypt to Picasso, she had an opinion on everything and they had several good-natured debates.
He did notice a faint hint of self-deprecation whenever she referenced anything personal. In his experience some women used that as a tactic to elicit compliments, so he’d learned to say nothing.
Regardless, her enthusiasm was infectious. After asking what pieces he was interested in for his own inventory, she insisted on helping to remove the smaller ones that could be transported that day.
At Wild Rose Cottage Page 12