At Wild Rose Cottage. Callie Endicott
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in the comfortable chair next to a small table, probably used for customer consults, Emily started reading the contract. She took a pad from her purse and jotted notes for reference. A few minutes later Alaina set a tray on the table; it held a steaming cup, with cream and sugar on the side.
“I thought you could use some coffee,” she said.
“Decaf?” Emily asked.
“Sorry, no.”
“Good, because while reading the most boring literature in the world, I need my potions fully leaded.”
Alaina laughed and went back to her desk.
Emily stirred a generous amount of cream and sugar into her cup. The coffee surprised her with its quality—she’d halfway expected sludge.
With a sigh she continued reading the legal-sounding language, though it wasn’t as complicated as some of the contracts she’d signed in Southern California. It was straightforward, providing protection for Big Sky and some for her, as well. That impressed her. She’d fought for similar protections in the past and had been prepared to do the same in Schuyler. But it wasn’t necessary. Everything her lawyer had said she needed was set out clearly.
One other thing surprised her. Trent had already signed the paperwork.
After two hours and three cups of coffee, Emily put her signature on the final page of each contract and carefully initialed the others.
“You can make the copies now,” she said, handing the sheaf of paper across the desk, along with a deposit check. “Trent already signed.”
The office manager’s eyes opened in obvious surprise. “Wow, that’s a first, but I guess he knows you’re anxious to get started.”
Alaina made copies and put them into a manila envelope, along with one of the originals.
Emily’s toes tingled. Before long she was actually going to see Wild Rose Cottage turning back into a home.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
As Emily opened the door of her car outside, a voice startled her.
“Good morning, Ms. George.”
She wheeled and saw Trent Hawkins gazing at her with a sharp, inscrutable expression.
“It’s Emily,” she reminded him, no longer sure she favored informality. For the first time she was realizing that polite titles could maintain a desired distance. Come to think of it, perhaps the infuriating, self-anointed mavens of society she’d encountered at her boutique would have had more respect if they’d had to say “Ms. George.”
“Is something wrong?” Trent asked.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked a question, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”
Drat, her mind had gone merrily wandering again.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “My brain occasionally travels south when it’s supposed to be headed north. Of all things, I was considering the merit of polite society.”
“I see.”
“What were you were saying?” she asked, wondering if it was her imagination that he was so tense. He practically radiated the focus of a cat on the prowl.
“I asked when you expect to return the contracts.”
She waved the envelope Alaina had given her. “Actually, I stayed and read them, signed on the dotted line, got my copies and am heading home to assure Wild Rose Cottage that its neglected days are over.”
His eyebrows lifted a half inch, then his face smoothed. “In that case, the crew will begin work on Monday, Ms.— Emily.”
“That soon?” Her toes fairly danced in excitement.
“You seemed anxious. Is 7:00 a.m. too early?”
“Nope. The house and I will be ready and waiting for your guys to start.”
Emily slid into her car and he politely closed the door for her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she fastened her seat belt. Trent Hawkins may or may not have been suffering from tension, but her entire body had tightened as soon as she’d heard his voice. It would have given her second thoughts about having Big Sky do the renovations, but it was silly to regret the decision, especially so soon after making it. Anyway, it was probably the last time she’d see him.
With a business the size of Big Sky, Trent Hawkins would be too busy to think about a single house under contract, much less its not-so-memorable owner. Emily knew from experience that guys as gorgeous as Trent Hawkins automatically dismissed ordinary women. And if she’d ever cherished illusions about fairy-tale possibilities, her former fiancé had drummed the fantasy out of her.
Oh, well.
Emily shrugged as she drove toward the grocery store. She’d concentrate on the good feelings she had about her new house. It was as if Wild Rose Cottage had whispered in her ear and begged for a second chance. And its chance was coming even earlier than she’d expected.
That was something to celebrate.
* * *
TRENT WATCHED EMILY’S car disappear down the road and suppressed the adrenaline surging through his veins. He wouldn’t get to bulldoze 320 Meadowlark Lane into toothpicks, but at least had a chance to salvage the situation.
Turning, he strode toward the office.
“Hey, Trent,” Alaina greeted him as he came through the door. “Did you intend to sign that contract with Emily George before she saw it?”
“Er...yeah.”
“Okay. She didn’t ask for any changes, so it’ll save time. You never said somebody asked for an estimate on our old house.”
He hadn’t considered the chance Alaina would figure it out.
“You remember the address?” he asked.
“No, but Mom has mentioned Meadowlark Lane, so I checked and it’s the same one. I can’t recall anything about the place.” She bit her lip. “I wish I could remember something about our parents... I mean, our first mom and dad.”
“You were pretty small when they died. What...three and a half?”
Personally, Trent was relieved Alaina didn’t remember anything about them. He had few pleasant memories himself, though life with their biological father had taught him valuable lessons—mostly that people couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them get close enough to do it. Long before he turned ten, he’d known that he had to protect himself.
“You’ve got good memories from the rest of your childhood, right?” he asked.
“Sure, but sometimes I think I can remember the early stuff, though it’s hard to sort out what’s a real memory and what’s just something I’ve been told.” Her face was pensive. “Tell me a story from back then.”
Trent hated disappointing her, but he couldn’t manufacture a nostalgic tale when there weren’t any.
“There isn’t much to tell. I prefer the present. Who do you have on the crew schedule for next week so we can start on Emily George’s job?”
“You’re starting so soon?” she asked, clearly surprised. “I mean, there’s a four-week leeway in the contract and I thought some other jobs would go first.”
“The client is living under difficult circumstances until the work is completed, so I’ve decided to put her contract as a priority. And since the house is such a wreck, it gives us an extra month in case we run into complications.”
“That makes sense. I’ll have to see who’s available as foreman.”
“No