a shriek of nails twisting out of the wall, the unit came toppling down.
Mike ground his teeth. When he’d started to work for Big Sky the previous summer, he had mouthed off whenever someone offered a hand. He didn’t need anyone’s help or pity. Then Trent had overheard and gotten pissed, saying he expected his employees to back each other up and Mike had better just deal with it.
He’d nearly yelled back and quit. After all, he didn’t need to work. He had his teacher’s salary and a large chunk of the money from his pro-ball days was still in the bank, but he’d go bonkers without having something hard and physical to do over the summer months...something real that wasn’t just make-work. Teaching summer school was out; it was tough enough being around hopeful youngsters nine months of the year.
So he hadn’t quit Big Sky or gotten into a shouting match. Anyway, it wasn’t that easy talking back to Trent when he was wearing his customary steely expression; he’d not only perfected a persona that would unnerve an old-time umpire, they’d also been friends since they were kids. Well...at least as much as Trent Hawkins could be friends.
He’d never been the kind of buddy you’d catch a movie with, or hang out with at the Roundup Café, admiring girls. Mostly they’d gone riding on the McGregor ranch, though Trent had spent hours pitching baseballs so Mike could get more batting practice. That was when Alaina had hung around the most, dutifully chasing after the balls for Trent to throw again.
A noise caught Mike’s attention and he saw their client picking up more debris from the floor.
Trent’s mouth tightened. “As I’ve explained, Emily, it’s best to leave that to us.”
“And I’ve decided that since it’s my house, I can haul trash out of it if I want to,” she informed him.
Mike’s lips twitched. Emily George had done what few of Trent’s employees had ever dared to do—contradict him. Seizing a chunk of cabinetry, she headed toward the swinging door. Mike glanced at Trent.
“Don’t say it,” Trent warned.
“Okay. By the way, I thought you preferred staying away from jobs for women...something about your personality being too abrasive?”
Trent’s eyes were impassive. “We’re really busy now and have crews out everywhere.”
“Whatever.” Mike quickly focused on his crowbar. It was obvious that Trent wasn’t working the job because he liked Emily. Not that there was anything wrong with her. She seemed nice and pretty in a low-key way, nothing like the sexy redhead he’d been showboating for that day. Actually, Emily was the sort of woman a teacher should think about dating.
Maybe he’d ask her out to dinner when he got a chance. He particularly liked that she was a newcomer. This way she couldn’t remember him as the local hero who’d come back a beat-up nobody.
* * *
TRENT BARELY CONTAINED his frustration as he watched Emily return and grab another load to take out to the Dumpster. At least she’d changed into roomy Levi’s and was wearing sandals, though hard shoes covering her toes would be better.
Some customers planned ahead and it was included in the contract that they would do certain aspects of the work. But it made him suspicious when they tried to “pitch in” after the fact. It often led to protests that the bill should be cut because they’d done part of the labor, which was usually about fifteen dollars’ worth of effort.
But his real concern had nothing to do with possible disputes over the final invoice; he just wanted Emily to leave everything alone.
He forced himself to relax. It was also common for clients to be so anxious to see progress that they tried to help, with no ulterior motives when it came to the final bill. Usually it didn’t take long before they unwound and left things in more expert hands. Besides, he’d much rather have Emily puttering around in the kitchen than doing it somewhere else in the house.
He hadn’t enjoyed hearing the enthusiasm in her voice when she’d talked about going through the junk in the attic. Would she be that curious about everything?
In the meantime he marched out to his truck and hunted for the smallest pair of leather gloves he could find. “Here,” he said roughly, thrusting them at Emily after she’d dropped another load in the Dumpster.
“No, thanks, I’m okay.”
“Wear them,” he snapped and returned to work, assuring himself that he wasn’t trying to rescue her, he was just preventing a delay in case of injury. He stuck a crowbar in the side of another stubborn cabinet and together with Mike, they yanked it off the wall.
Even if he couldn’t bulldoze the house into the dirt, it felt good to rip some of it apart.
“Hey, you can leave part of the work for me,” Mike chided.
“Huh?”
Emily had stepped back into the kitchen and was curiously looking their way.
“You’re going after those things as if the devil was chasing you,” he said.
“It just feels good to get back into the physical part of the business. I’ve been pushing too many papers lately,” Trent told him, picking his words carefully.
“If you say so.” Mike sounded doubtful and Trent wondered how much his face had revealed earlier. He didn’t like anyone to know what he was thinking.
Eduardo came through the door. “I’ve checked the plumbing, boss. It’s pretty bad—mostly corroded zinc pipes. There’ve been a few repairs with PVC, but poorly done.” He looked at Emily. “I see you want copper piping. It’s a good choice, though more expensive.”
“Thanks,” she told him. “Wild Rose Cottage was nice once and it keeps telling me it can be nice again.”
Trent swallowed a snort. She actually seemed to believe that nonsense. But he knew better, because if houses could talk, this one would surely explain that its day was over. Though...considering the things he’d hidden in the walls as a kid, the old place did have a few secrets it could still expose.
“Will it be possible to keep the laundry and the bathroom in the downstairs bedroom running?” she asked. “That’s the one I’m using right now. Also, I told Alaina that you guys could use the half bath off the mud porch.”
Eduardo nodded. “There will be periodic water interruptions, but we’ll try to ensure you have it at night.”
“Great.”
The bell sounded and Emily headed for the front door. Several minutes later she reappeared, Caveman following close at her heels like a faithful hound dog. A stack of four giant pizza boxes was in her arms.
“I hope you guys don’t mind,” she said, “but I was hoping you’d help me celebrate the renovations getting started.”
Caveman sniffed appreciatively. “We never mind pizza.”
“Then I’ll put them on the card table in the living room and you can grab some whenever you want.”
“Now sounds good. Time for lunch, isn’t it, boss?” asked Eduardo.
