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“Hello,” he answered.
“Hey, it’s Alaina,” she said.
“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked with his usual lack of charm. No, not usual; it was only usual since the accident that had ended his major-league baseball career.
“Are you free to join a construction crew next week?”
“I suppose, but I might have to work a half day to clean out my classroom.”
“Did you have a good year?” she asked.
“Same as always, I guess. There’s nothing new or exciting about teaching.”
That annoyed her. Teaching was a wonderful career. Kids were important and a teacher could make a huge difference in their lives. So what if a teacher didn’t get cheered the way Mike “Lightning” Carlisle had been cheered by his fans?
“How did your students do this year?” she asked, trying to be tactful.
“They passed their finals, so presumably they did all right. Where do you need me next week?”
With a silent sigh, Alaina gave him the address and reminded him to pick up a time card.
Resisting the urge to slam the receiver down, she sat back in her chair and decided to sulk for an entire five minutes. She only allowed herself one sulk-fest a day, being a woman who preferred action over just sitting.
Drat Mike, anyway.
As if she cared that he had a limp and never became known as the fastest base runner in major-league history. She’d been wild about him ever since she was a flat-chested, awkward kid and he was the star player on the school baseball team. The future looked bright for Mike—first he’d scored an athletic scholarship, followed by a major team recruiting him when he graduated from college.
Mike had really been going places. He was traded to another team for his contract two years later and adoring fans had called him Lightning Carlisle, the same nickname he’d earned in Schuyler. Then came that awful day when he’d dived into the stands to catch a fly ball...and never played again. After three knee operations he still limped, but the worst part was seeing how much he’d changed in other ways—he rarely smiled any longer and was as much a loner as Trent.
Alaina tossed her pencil onto the desk. She might as well admit that Mike was acting like a grizzly bear with a mountain-size chip on its shoulder. But that hadn’t kept her from moving back to Montana, hoping he might finally notice her...and feeling utterly stupid for doing something so ridiculous.
And, so far, zilch.
Damn it.
Of course, she could always return to New York. She was still doing freelance work for her company and they kept saying they wanted her back full-time. But she wasn’t going to give up on Mike. There had to be a way to crack his shell.
She looked through the estimate again on Emily’s house and dialed her cell number.
“Hi, Emily, it’s Alaina Hawkins at Big Sky Construction.”
“Don’t tell me, you aren’t coming on Monday after all.” Emily’s dismay was apparent, even over the phone.
“Not at all, you’re still scheduled,” Alaina said hastily. “How did you know a crew was coming?”
“I ran into Trent on my way out.”
“Oh. Well, I’m still figuring out who will be assigned to work on your house, but in the meantime I wanted you to know a chemical toilet will be delivered for the crew.”
“Ick. There’s a small half bath off the kitchen that they could use instead.”
“Okay, but I’ll tell them to clean it every day and provide their own soap and stuff. Personally, I wouldn’t touch a toilet used by construction workers—their aim is terrible. I make the guys working in the construction yard use one in a separate building.”
Emily laughed. “I’ll let you know if it gets too bad. Anything else?”
Alaina checked the notes she’d made when writing up the contract. “I’m also ordering a large Dumpster. Is there space in the yard where it can go?”
“There’s room in the front or on the driveway. It’s wide and I can always park somewhere else if necessary.”
They finished their call and Alaina went back to thinking about ways to catch Mike’s attention. You’d think in such a small town they’d run into each other more. Nevertheless, she was determined to come up with a workable plan, which shouldn’t be impossible for a woman who’d earned an MBA.
But she had an idea. Mike would be a great addition to the annual auction for a “dinner with a bachelor or bachelorette.”
She planned on making sure she was the committee member who approached him...and still needed to figure out the right way to ask. Everyone knew where he lived and it shouldn’t be difficult to come up with excuses to visit the Meadowlark Lane job site, either. He couldn’t duck her that easily at work, and any contact with him would be better than nothing. Besides, she wanted to visit the house and see if it jogged any memories.
Pleased with her new plan, Alaina grabbed her pencil again and returned to the scheduling chart.
Okay, she’d put Mike on the crew, along with Eduardo, Vince and Caveman...she erased Caveman and wrote Chuck. Chuck was a caveman, but her brother didn’t think it looked professional to have nicknames on the official schedule. With those guys and Trent, they’d be able to handle the range of work required. Emily needed everything from a new roof to all-new plumbing, along with a restoration specialist to help preserve the historic character of the classic Arts and Crafts–style architecture.
Oh.
Alaina blinked. Perhaps that was why Trent had decided to be the foreman...he was an expert at restoration. But it was still strange that he was moving so fast on the job. As for taking the lead? He’d made it sound as if he did nothing except push paper. Hardly. Maybe he didn’t wield tools all day, every day, but did go out and work alongside everyone else when needed.
With any other guy, Alaina might have thought he wanted to impress the client, but Emily wasn’t Trent’s type—he went for flashy women who were okay with short-term affairs, the same as her brother Josh. Her other brother, Jackson, had been the same...until he’d met an old flame from high school and got knocked on his ass. Kayla had been good for Jackson, but Alaina didn’t expect Josh or Trent to change—lightning didn’t strike that often.
Perhaps Trent was handing the job this way simply because it was their childhood home and he wanted to be there to fix it up. Well...it would be nice to think so, but that didn’t sound like him, either.
* * *
EMILY BOUGHT GROCERIES, then couldn’t resist stopping at the hardware store to look at paint samples. She had always loved the paint department at home improvement centers...the rows and rows of swatches ranging from light to dark. You could practically get drunk on all the color. And she could pick anything she wanted. One of the hard parts of selecting stock for her boutique was restricting her choices to the “fashionable” colors for that season.
“Shopping for paint again?” asked a pleasant voice.
Turning, Emily saw the woman who’d helped her on several prior occasions. The clerk had been knowledgeable and patient...the way someone was patient with an impulsive child. Emily was used to that. Most people thought she was quirky and “New Age-ish,” though she wasn’t sure that Schuyler was in tune to New Age culture. That was fine; she disliked labels.
“Is there something I can do for you?” the clerk prompted.
Emily jumped. Cripes, she’d let her mind wander into never-never land again.
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m really excited today.”
“Let me guess...you decided to paint the Emporium a different color than the one you finally selected.”
Emily made a face. Picking the right color for the interior of the gift shop had taken a while. She’d gotten the paint tinted, only to change her mind. So she’d bought more paint. But her final choice had turned out great, so it was worth it, and she’d donated her original purchase to a local church, so that had worked out equally as well.
“Nope,” she said, “but I’m starting all over again, this time for my new house.”
“Congratulations.”
Beaming, Emily turned back to the paint samples. “It’s like being at Disneyland,” she said. “All the colors and possibilities are spread out in front of me. The renovations haven’t even started, so it’s a long way from getting painted, but I thought I’d get sample strips.”
After picking out a huge selection of color samples, Emily headed home to start thumbtacking them to the walls.
“Don’t worry,” she assured the house, “better days are coming.”
* * *
ON MONDAY MORNING Emily couldn’t believe that she’d overslept when she woke up at 6:30 a.m. Of course, she’d been working at her computer until after 3:00 a.m., so that probably explained it. The Big Sky crew was arriving soon, so she bounced out of bed and dressed fast. The doorbell squawked and she ran barefoot to open the door.
Trent Hawkins stood on the porch.
“Uh, hi,” she said. “Is something wrong? Oh, don’t tell me your crew can’t start today. I mean, I know you have four extra weeks, but...well, if you can’t, you can’t. When—”
He held a hand up and Emily stopped talking. She knew she was babbling, but it had been a huge shock to see him.
“We’re still starting today and the rest of the crew will be here shortly,” Trent told her.
“The rest of the crew?” she repeated, foggy from her short night of sleep.
“I can’t do it all myself.”
“But I didn’t think you’d be working here.” Emily stopped, realizing how dismayed she’d sounded. “I mean, you own the company and must have other things to do.”
If Trent had recognized how she felt, nothing showed on his face. “This is the busy season for construction companies, so I’m taking the lead on this job. But don’t be concerned. I’m fully qualified.”
“It isn’t that.”
Emily didn’t doubt his qualifications—she just didn’t want him around. So far he’d acted rude and pushy. Of course, she shouldn’t assume rude and pushy was his true personality...he might be chauvinistic, bad-tempered and obstinate, as well. While Schuyler obviously respected Trent as a contractor, nobody seemed comfortable with him.
Still, the renovations might get done faster if he was the foreman, and his employees would be on their toes under the boss’s gaze, so it could work out for the best.
With that conclusion, she stood aside to let him come in.
“Which area do you want tackled first?” he asked.
“Um...the kitchen is hideous. I barely go in there because the floor is sagging so badly. But I don’t know if I’ll be doing much cooking anyway, not with dust and stuff flying around. So start wherever you think works best.”
He nodded briskly. “We’ll hang plastic sheeting to help contain dust, but it will still be a problem. You might want to find another place to live while the work is being completed—or at least during the initial stages while we’re tearing stuff out.”
Emily shook her head. “Not a chance. The room I’m using as a bedroom is at the back and has a bath connected, so if I keep the door closed, it shouldn’t be too bad in there. After everything else is finished, I’ll move, and leave that room and bath free for the work it needs.”
“If you say so.”
She had a strange feeling he was disappointed and she told herself not to take it personally; he was just thinking about making things easier for his crew. Anyway, it was her fish to fry if she wanted to stay.
The doorbell squawked again and soon four more men stood inside her living room.
“This is Eduardo, Vince, Mike and Cav... Chuck,” Trent told her.
“Great to meet you.”
She watched as Trent efficiently assigned tasks.
Eduardo was a silver-haired man with a jolly expression. Trent sent him to examine plumbing issues. Vince was tall and skinny, with long fingers that carefully began removing the older light fixtures she hoped to preserve. Mike looked vaguely familiar, so she might have already seen him around town. He walked with a limp, but seemed quite strong as he went through the kitchen’s swinging door to start removing the ancient painted plywood cabinets.
The last one, Chuck, had a round, solid build. Before he went to check the basement—a dismal space that had never been finished—he nodded to her and said, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Everybody calls me Caveman.”
Caveman?
Emily tried not to laugh. He looked like a caveman with his bushy hair and beard, but she suspected he’d earned the moniker for reasons that went beyond his appearance.
Trent consulted a diagram on his clipboard and began tapping on the downstairs wall that Emily wanted removed. “There’s no need for you to be here,” he told her over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go out to breakfast or head to your store?”
She hesitated. “Maybe later.”
Despite the early hour, she could always find something to keep her busy at the Emporium. Breakfast also sounded appealing and there was a café near her shop. The dust and noise would be unpleasant while the construction crew was working, so it really didn’t make sense to stay. But Trent’s presence made her uncomfortable. While she knew construction companies were busiest in summer, she didn’t think that was the sole explanation for him being at Wild Rose Cottage.
Trent Hawkins had another motive.
* * *
AS TRENT CHECKED the wall, his gaze flicked over the spots he had patched as a kid. The house had been a war zone when he’d lived there. His dad would walk in the front door, drunk, and before long he’d start punching—furniture, walls, his family, it hadn’t made much difference to Gavin Hawkins. He’d been known for his charm all over Schuyler, but he’d never brought it home with him.
His mother had been afraid that people would guess, and that the landlord would throw fits at the damage, so Trent had learned to repair whatever got broken.
It turned out that holes could disappear faster than bruises. His first patching jobs had been rough, but he’d quickly become skilled at covering up the evidence of his family’s rotten little secret.
Now it was years later and a number of walls were scheduled to come down, along with all the crap he’d stuffed inside of them. But he wasn’t going to start while Emily was watching, so he went into the kitchen to help remove cabinets. They couldn’t be salvaged, having being poorly made and abused for decades.
Normally Trent deplored not being able to recycle, yet there would be a curious satisfaction in ripping them down and sledgehammering them into pieces.
He just wished his memories could be disposed of so efficiently.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_db19cc9a-22b2-530c-a390-92a36d4ca735)
MIDMORNING THE SQUEAL of brakes signaled a large truck had stopped outside the house. Trent went to look through the front windows and nodded with approval. Alaina had arranged for a large Dumpster to be delivered and it had arrived on schedule. He stepped out and gestured to the spot in front of the house where he wanted the container.
Emily had dashed outside as well and stood watching as the large metal box was put in place. She winced as a lilac bush was crushed.
“Sorry about that, ma’am,” the truck driver said when he came around to check the container’s placement.
She sighed. “I guess there wasn’t any other good place for it.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Let’s shift it out a little and the bush might come back,” urged the second employee, who gave Emily a broad, appraising smile. Trent had seen Billy come on to women often enough to recognize his typical moves.
Annoyed both by the delay and Billy’s propensity to waste time flirting, Trent waited while the two city employees shifted the container. It seemed unlikely the mangled bush would survive, but Emily appeared to appreciate the gesture. Then he opened the end of the Dumpster and lowered the wall, hinged at the base, to the ground. This way, much of the debris could be walked in and stacked.
