At Wild Rose Cottage. Callie Endicott

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СКАЧАТЬ let herself be too vulnerable and it was hard not being overprotective. Still, she had to make her own decisions, which Trent hoped would be better than those their mother had made. Why had she stayed with such a lousy husband?

      Trent’s mouth tightened. He’d wanted to protect his mom as well, and childhood conditioning was hard to escape. He still felt the old instinct, the urge to rush in and save people, but he’d discovered that some women were willing to use those instincts to their advantage. It hadn’t taken long before he’d got tired of the games.

      His sister looked at the clock and began gathering her belongings. “Much as I’d love to stay and convince you to get involved with a worthy cause, I have a meeting to attend. See you tomorrow.”

      “Be safe.”

      Dropping into his office chair, Trent pulled out the 320 Meadowlark Lane estimate. A lot of work was needed on the place and other things would undoubtedly crop up along the way. All of Big Sky’s estimates included a warning to that effect, and advised clients there was often a 20 percent, or higher, overage. His estimate consultant tried hard to check everything ahead of time—even doing a quick termite inspection—but something always got uncovered in such a large renovation.

      Uncovered.

      Damn.

      Emily wanted walls removed. Depending upon which walls and how curious people were about what they might find, a lot of questions could be asked.

      Trent rubbed his temples. It had been years since he’d taken the lead on a construction job. He checked on crews and sometimes lent a hand for a day or two, yet being the company’s owner gave him less and less time for work at a basic level. But he would take the lead on 320 Meadowlark Lane. That is, if Emily chose his company to do the renovation.

      A cold sensation went through Trent and he had a sudden impulse to reduce the estimate, anything to convince her to sign a contract with Big Sky Construction. But it would seem suspicious after his offer to buy the place, so he’d have to wait and hope.

CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER SLEEPING ON the subject and looking around the house in the early-morning light, Emily was almost ready to tell Trent Hawkins that he could have it after all. Then she saw an early rose blossom dangling over one of the living room windows and decided nothing had changed. Besides, with both of her businesses doing well, she could afford the indulgence.

      At 8:00 a.m. she phoned Big Sky and the office manager promised to have the contract ready by the end of the day.

      When Emily arrived at Big Sky Construction the following morning, she found the office building to the right of the gate. It didn’t surprise her to see that it was built to last, but the nicely maintained flowerbeds were unexpected—Trent Hawkins seemed a no-frills kind of guy.

      The door opened as she walked toward it.

      The woman holding it ajar smiled at her. “Hello.”

      “Hi, I’m Emily George. I’m here about the contract on my house.”

      “Nice to meet you. I’m Alaina Hawkins, Big Sky’s office manager.”

      Trent’s sister. He and Alaina shared the same dark hair and green eyes, except Alaina projected far more warmth than her brother.

      Alaina took a sealed envelope from her desk and handed it to Emily. “Go ahead and take this home to read and digest. There are two copies. When you’re ready, sign each of them and initial the pages. I’ll make copies of both for your records after Trent signs.” The office manager grinned. “We’re kind of redundant at Big Sky.”

      “I’ll read it here if you don’t mind,” Emily replied. “I’m really anxious to get this going. Until the house is done, I’m only camping out. A little of that is okay, but...”

      “It wears thin before long?” Alaina finished.

      “You bet.”

      “You’re welcome to read the paperwork here, but Trent has to approve any changes.”

      Sitting 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, СКАЧАТЬ