At Wild Rose Cottage

by Callie Endicott

  “They liked it. Pete Grasse is a great guy, but he’s awfully serious when he does the auction.”

  “I’ll bet we made more this year than ever,” Janet ran over to say ecstatically. “With the funds we’ve already raised, I’m sure we’ll have enough for the new ladder truck.”

  Alaina smiled at the woman, who was a powerhouse at the Firefighters Auxiliary. Janet’s husband and brothers were all volunteer firefighters, so ensuring the department had the best equipment was very personal to her.

  When things quieted down, she and Emily collected a piece of pie from the bakery tent and found a place on the grass to sit and eat in the late-afternoon sunshine.

  “I didn’t know you were going to bid for Mike,” Emily commented.

  “I wasn’t,” Alaina said darkly. “But I couldn’t stand the thought of Candy McCoy winning.”

  Emily wiped her fingers with a napkin and leaned against a tree. “Candy McCoy? I don’t think I’ve met her.”

  “Believe me, it’s an experience you’ll never forget. We were in the same grade all through school and she never could keep her hands off other people’s stuff, whether it was their lunch money or their guys.”

  “She sounds horrid.” Straightening abruptly, Emily leaned forward and whispered, “Your bachelor is headed this way.”

  Alaina twisted and saw Mike.

  “Could I have a word with you?” he asked.

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Privately. Emily doesn’t need to hear this.”

  Emily jumped to her feet. “I should head home in any case.”

  * * *

  MIKE FELT BAD as Emily hurried away. It wasn’t her fault that Alaina had pulled a fast one.

  “That was rude,” Alaina told him, getting up and dumping her dessert plate in the trash.

  “Ruder than setting me up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about getting a bunch of women to bid on me by promising to top the final price. Was it so important to prove you were right that I’d be a success in the auction? It must have been a shock when they pushed the price so high.”

  Mike knew he was probably being unreasonable. Plenty of men wouldn’t have minded, but this was a special circumstance.

  Unreasonable or not, he was startled by the fury Alaina turned on him. “I never asked anyone to bid on you, and if you think I’d collude with that slut Candy McCoy, then you’re off your rocker.”

  That brought Mike up short, but he soon recovered. “One of the other women could have told her about it.”

  “I know every single woman who bid for you, Mr. Lightning Carlisle, and not one of them would give Candy the time of day.”

  Ouch. He should have remembered the general feminine distrust for Candy McCoy before accusing Alaina of anything. In fact, he should have considered the possibility that she’d been rescuing him and thanked her instead of going on the attack.

  “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “That’s how it looked to me.”

  Alaina planted her hands on her hips and leaned toward him with a glare that could have melted steel. He was distracted by the way her breasts heaved against her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra and all memory of her being a skinny little tagalong was erased by a surge of pure lust.

  Damn it.

  “Silly me, I’ve thought you were special my entire life,” she said slowly and distinctly. “I never gave a hang whether you were a ballplayer or not. In fact, that was the part I liked the least.”

  “Don’t bad-mouth something I loved doing,” he snapped back. “Something I’d still be doing if I could.”

  “I’m not bad-mouthing baseball. I have my own reasons for how I feel. Right now I’m just hoping that you’re a better teacher than a ballplayer, because teachers are important and kids deserve the best. But until you get rid of that poor-me syndrome, you won’t be able to help anybody, much less yourself.”

  His jaw clenched. “That’s the second time you’ve accused me of self-pity and it isn’t true.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is what I can see from the cheap seats. This is the last straw. For that matter, I’m beginning to wonder why I ever bothered with you in the first place.”

  The scorn in her voice was clear before she wheeled and marched away.

  Mike frowned, a prickling sensation going through him. His instincts had once been outstanding. He’d always seemed to know where a long ball was headed or whether he had time to steal a base. Or exactly where a floating fly ball might drop.

  And right now he was getting the distinct feeling that he’d just lost something...something he was going to regret.

  * * *

  EMILY WISHED SHE could be a ladybug on a blade of grass, listening to Alaina and Mike. Would they manage to get past the awkward stage they were in? She sure hoped so—the strain was beginning to wear on everyone.

  She hadn’t gone far before she encountered Sarah and Parker McGregor.

  “Emily, what a wonderful day,” Sarah exclaimed. “I understand you had a big part in it, even beyond filling in for Pete Grasse.”

  “I just made a few calls,” she said. “It was other people who pitched in so generously.”

  “You’re too modest. Schuyler is fortunate to have you.”

  Parker smiled his agreement. “I heard they’ve got enough to order that new ladder truck. The town has been raising money to buy one for over two years—they’re very expensive and we wanted the best.”

  “That’s great.”

  “So, how is the house renovation going?” Sarah asked.

  “Terrific. You were right, Big Sky Construction does a fabulous job.” Emily smiled brightly, though she wondered how the McGregors would react if she told them about the handgun. Would they know what it was all about? But she dismissed the thought. Obviously Trent hadn’t wanted anyone to learn about the weapon.

  She sighed, wishing she was able to forget about it for the day. Tomorrow was Saturday and she could have contemplated it then, instead of while she was having so much fun.

  “I’m glad,” Sarah was saying, “but not surprised. I’m totally biased when it comes to my boys and I’m sure your folks are the same way about you.”

  “No doubt,” Emily agreed, though it wasn’t true. Her sister had practically walked on water for the Georges, while they’d struggled to understand their older daughter.

  “How much longer before the renovations are done?” Parker wanted to know.

  “Uh...”´ Emily’s train of thought went sideways when she caught sight of Trent leaning against the flagpole, looking in their direction. “It’ll be a while, but at least I’ve got a kitchen now.”

  “I suppose you’ve heard that my sister and brother-in-law used to live there.”

  “Alaina mentioned it.”

  Once again Emily was bursting with a question...whether Trent might hate Wild Rose Cottage because it reminded him of his parents’ fatal accident. But she kept silent. After all, it was Parker McGregor’s sister who’d died in that accident, and they’d adopted Trent and Alaina. Their own emotions about the place were bound to be complicated. Besides, it didn’t seem fair to ask them about Trent.

  Emily said goodbye to the McGregors and continued through the park. Her progress was slow because everyone kept stopping her to chat. With so many people who seemed to like her, seemed to be glad she was in Schuyler, she forgot everything else and floated home on a wave of pleasure.

  Outside Wild Rose Cottage, she stood and gazed at the house. She had a clear vision of how it would look when finished. A wide porch would stretch around the front and side, where comfortable chairs and tables could be scattered. On warm evenings she’d sit and wave at the neighbors, or invite them over for iced tea and cookies. There’d be flower
s in the yard, lace curtains at the windows, and...

  The windows?

  An odd feeling abruptly shot through Emily and alarm replaced everything else. A window at the side of the house didn’t look right. She ran to the side of the house opposite the driveway, pushed the undergrowth away and found one of Trent’s newly restored windows had been smashed. Muddy footprints led across the living room, empty except for Big Sky’s equipment.

  Why did someone have to be so stinking on such a great day? Not that she wanted to be robbed at any time, but it seemed worse having it done during the fund-raiser. And now she’d have to drag someone away from the fun.

  She called the sheriff’s office.

  “Sheriff Stanfield.” In the background she heard the music from the barbecue and realized she must have entered the cell number off Carl’s business card.

  “Carl, this is Emily,” she said, proud her voice wasn’t trembling. “Someone has broken a window at my house and I can tell they went inside.”

  “You didn’t go in, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good, stay out. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  Not wanting to sit on the rickety front steps, Emily perched on the trunk of her car, thinking darkly about anyone who could hurt Wild Rose Cottage. She was certain the house was offended. A good home wanted to be a place of peace and safety for the people who lived there. Violating that was a revolting thing to do.

  A few minutes later the sheriff’s cruiser pulled up with a jerk and Carl jumped out, followed by a deputy.

  “Stay there,” he ordered again.

  After what seemed forever, Carl came to the door and waved her inside.

  “No one is here now,” he said. “I want you to check for anything missing.”

  “There’s hardly anything in the house. You can tell by looking through the window he broke. The curtain was open and shows the house is practically empty except for Big Sky’s tools.”

  “Perhaps he thought you had something valuable in another room,” Carl suggested. “But I...uh, also have to ask if there’s anyone who might have something personal against you, from either Schuyler or California?”

  The inquiry sent a jolt through Emily. “I ended an engagement before moving here, but Dennis wasn’t that upset about it.”

  The sheriff’s eyebrows shot up. “Dennis?”

  “Dennis Spencer. He’s a roving consultant with Trifab Chemical Engineering International, which is based in Los Angeles. But he couldn’t have anything to do with this. He isn’t the type.”

  Nevertheless, Carl wrote down the information.

  The deputy was busily dusting for fingerprints around the window and Emily waited, unhappy thoughts going through her head. According to Alaina, property crimes were practically nonexistent in Schuyler—most people didn’t even lock their doors at night. The authorities largely dealt with traffic violations and rowdy cowboys, along with a few domestic disputes. Since this was the second time she’d called about a break-in, they’d probably decide she was the Typhoid Mary of criminal activity.

  When the deputy finished working, he consulted with Carl, pointing to a couple of spots on the windowsill.

  “We’ll cross-check the latent prints against the Big Sky Construction crew,” Carl told her, “but I’m not hopeful we’ll find any that don’t match. We’ve found overlying smudges that are likely from a glove.”

  Frustrated, Emily did her own walk-through of the house, but with the renovations in progress, she couldn’t tell if anything had been disturbed.

  “Nothing seems to be missing,” she told Carl. “I can’t tell you about Big Sky’s equipment. The crew will be here tomorrow and I’ll have them check.”

  Just then heavy footsteps sounded on the porch and the door opened. It was Trent carrying a large sheet of plywood. “I brought this to secure the window.”

  Emily felt worse than ever. “I don’t want to spoil everyone’s evening. I can nail something over it myself.”

  “It’s no problem,” Trent said in a neutral tone, his face equally neutral.

  The day was not ending the way it was supposed to. Somebody was going to pay for this, or her name wasn’t Emily George.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DESPITE HIS INTENTION to leave the fund-raiser as soon as possible, Trent had still been there when Carl called about the break-in at Emily’s house.

  Soon after the auction ended he had seen Alaina angrily roaming the site, grabbing bits of trash and hurling them into a trash can. When asked what was wrong, she’d grumbled something about boneheaded men and wasting too much time on a jerk.

  “Who are you talking about?” he’d demanded.

  “None of your business,” she had muttered, adding, “Men,” in a disgusted tone.

  That was when his phone had rung. Alaina had immediately stalked away to help in the kitchen.

  Trent rigged a covering for the broken window, thinking that if he hadn’t given in to the temptation of watching Emily at the auction, he wouldn’t be wondering now what she’d said to his folks or about what had upset his sister.

  Emily was still talking to Carl, so Trent decided to check the house himself.

  It was puzzling. The culprit must have been searching for something, and it was even more obvious on the second floor than on the first. Loose floorboards had been lifted and fitted back in place—he could tell by the dust that had been disturbed. Heat vents had received the same treatment. He instantly recalled Bob Webber’s curiosity about the renovations, but Webber had owned the house for over thirty years. There wasn’t any reason for him to search it now...however much Trent remained thoroughly in favor of the asshole going to jail for any reason, including being butt-ugly and offensive.

  He went down and explained to Carl what he’d found.

  The sheriff made a couple of notes. “Thanks. Let me know if you spot anything else. I have a lead from Ms. George I’m going to look into—someone from California—though she seems quite certain the individual isn’t involved.”

  Carl drove away with his deputy and Trent stood on the curb, debating. He should have told Alaina what had happened. She could have come with him—the other volunteers would have filled in for her at the park—and Emily might appreciate having a friend there. Yet even as the thought formed, he heard a muffled shriek and hurried inside the house.

  Emily was stalking back and forth across the floor and she cast him a single searing glance.

  “That no-good sniveling creep,” she hissed, shaking a fist at the plywood clamped over the window. “How dare he break into Wild Rose Cottage? The universe has a suitable punishment waiting and I hope it includes a garbage truck filled with rotted fish.”

  Trent watched in bemused awe as she paced the length of the living room.

  “Who does he think I am?” she fumed. “A patsy who’ll roll over and play an extinct T. rex while he sneaks into my house and does God knows what?” She threw a fulminating glare at Trent. “You think I’m faking being nice, while he thinks I’m a patsy. I don’t know what’s worse, but just let him come back while I’m here. He’ll learn his lesson from the woman who got top marks in every self-defense class she’s ever taken. I’ll tie his legs to his ears and make a pretzel out of him. He’ll wish he’d gone to Tibet and become a hermit.”

  Not once did she curse or swear.

  “I know what I’ll do,” Emily declared. “One of those tricks the kid used in the Home Alone movies. He’ll wish he was Daniel Stern or Joe Pesci when I get finished. And I’m not the only one. Wild Rose Cottage won’t put up with it, either. The guy will think a gang of Klingons got hold of him and swept him off his feet and severed his manhood with a silver bullet.”

  Trent watched the show with increasing enjoyment. Her choice of Klingon weapons was a little off—
he didn’t think they used silver bullets—but she continued verbally dissecting the intruder’s innards with an excellent understanding of human anatomy. He was grateful that her anger was no longer directed at him, at least for the moment.

  “You believe I can do it, don’t you?” she demanded, coming up to Trent and shaking her fist once more.

  “Absolutely,” he breathed.

  Unable to resist, he snatched her into his arms for a long, scorching kiss.

  * * *

  EMILY’S BLOOD WAS boiling and now her temperature surged even higher. Trent’s embrace was so tight that it should have been uncomfortable, but instead felt more erotic than anything she could remember.

  She strained closer, running her hands over the taut muscles of his back.

  The kiss deepened and they shared breaths as his tongue delved between her teeth. A minute later he nibbled a string of kisses down her throat and she felt his lips exploring the skin left bare by her sundress.

  His hands had been busy unfastening the buttons on her shoulder straps and now he pulled back, his eyes fastened on her bustline as he eased the fabric downward.

  She hadn’t found the nerve to go natural and was wearing a strapless bra. Trent grinned when he saw it, and teasingly eased a finger beneath the lacy fabric, slowly pulling it forward until stopped by her nipple, already puckered in excitement.

  “I wonder what’s obstructing traffic,” he whispered, brushing his finger back and forth against the sensitive nub.

  With her knees buckling and afraid she’d move too much and end the delicious torture, Emily grasped his shoulders and held on for dear life. Breathing harder, Trent slipped his other hand in on the other side and Emily thought she’d die of pleasure as both her breasts received the same treatment.

  Then he pulled the fabric down, leaving her bare to his gaze.

  “That’s a beautiful sight,” he said hoarsely.

  Her bra dropped to the ground while she unbuckled his belt. At the back of her mind she knew this was a bad idea, but decided to ignore the annoying voice of caution. After tugging the belt free, she quickly dealt with his jeans.