her sister, Nicole. “But when I was fourteen I rebelled and ran off to check out the Tower of London and see where Anne Boleyn was beheaded.”
“What happened after that?” Alaina asked with a laugh.
“I nearly got beheaded myself, but they finally gave in and let me explore.”
Alaina seemed puzzled, but didn’t say anything.
As they continued looking around the house, Emily hoped that she might be making a new friend. The hardest part about leaving Southern California had been moving away from Lauren, her best pal for over two decades. They talked on the phone often, but it wasn’t the same.
Alaina Hawkins was almost as pretty as Nicole, but she didn’t seem bigheaded or overly focused on her appearance. Not that Nicole was snotty, but despite them being sisters, Emily had little in common with her.
From an early age Nicole had spent most of her time on the modeling circuit. Emily, on the other hand, had developed a thriving business advising kids how to dress like her sister...and selling Nicole’s clothes when she moved on to the next size or style. Opening a boutique had seemed a logical step after graduating with a business degree.
“Wow,” Alaina exclaimed, interrupting her thoughts. “The view up here is terrific.” They were in one of the rooms where the windows looked past the edge of town at the land and hills beyond.
Schuyler sat on the margin of where rolling prairie gave way to the mountains, rising west to the continental divide. It made for glorious vistas, though Emily had yet to see a part of Montana that wasn’t beautiful. The whole state seemed designed for a photographer or artist, though she didn’t know how anyone could capture the breathless sensation of endless sky arching over vast reaches.
“I love the view,” she said, “though I haven’t decided what to do with these rooms.”
“This is the first time I’ve realized how fun it might be to remake a house.” Alaina gave Emily an embarrassed smile. “That probably sounds strange since I work at a construction company, but I haven’t been at Big Sky for long. Before that I was at an investment firm in New York.”
“That’s a big switch.”
“Yeah, I got homesick.” Alaina glanced around, a thoughtful frown creasing her face. “I’ll have to ask Trent which room used to be mine and what it looked like back then.”
Emily wanted to ask if Alaina knew why Trent was acting so oddly about Wild Rose Cottage, but decided not to say anything. While the brother and sister appeared to have opposite personalities, they might both prefer keeping certain things private.
* * *
TRENT’S HEAD THROBBED and he lay in the dark, staring at the moonlight leaking through the broken blind on the window. For two days Emily had tenaciously stuck close to her house, but surely she couldn’t stay away from her new business much longer.
He got up and turned on his bedside lamp. The mattress was high quality—he believed in a good night’s rest—but aside from a shabby dresser and the lamp sitting on an old wood chair, there wasn’t much else in the room.
The floor creaked as he went into the living room where he kept his weight machine. The Balderdash ranch house was old, but it wasn’t an architectural treasure... It was barely habitable. He could renovate it or build a new one, but he didn’t care what sort of place he used for sleeping. Mostly he kept an eye on whether any part of it was in danger of collapsing.
The family assumed he was just waiting until he found the right woman so he could build a home to suit them both. At least that’s how they’d talked since Jackson had married Kayla. Trent smiled grimly. It had been an unholy mess when his cousin-brother had discovered he had a teenaged son with his old high school girlfriend. Now that the truth was out they’d done the practical thing by getting married, and luckily, Kayla was a better sort than Jackson’s first wife.
Mom—Aunt Sarah—practically melted whenever the subject of Jackson’s wife was raised. She adored Kayla and was more anxious than ever for all her children to find spouses and have kids. How could he tell her that the thought of marriage left him cold? All he wanted was occasional good sex, with a willing woman who had no fantasies about happily-ever-after. Love and family? He’d leave that to people who still had a few illusions.
A lengthy session of weight lifting didn’t help and Trent sat in his easy chair staring at an inane television program. Anything was better than revisiting the memories evoked by working on 320 Meadowlark Lane. Actually...he needed to think of it as Emily’s house. Yet his gut clenched as he thought about her name for the place. Hell, his mom had called it Wild Rose Cottage. Wasn’t that a kick in the gut?
Fiona Hawkins had optimistically hoped that things would change in her marriage, and it had killed her. How unrealistic could a woman be? She’d been afraid to go with her husband the night of the accident, knowing how drunk and angry he was, but more afraid to refuse. The only right thing she’d done was leave her son and daughter at home—otherwise they’d all be dead.
Trent dropped his head back with a groan.
He didn’t know if Emily had idealistic ideas about relationships, but she was obviously another optimist. A shudder went through him; he didn’t care if she meant well—the cliché was right, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t go near her.
Trent clicked off the television and padded out to the barn. The animals stirred restlessly until they recognized him. Miranda, his mare that had recently foaled, peered over her stall door and nickered for attention.
“Hello, girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck with one hand and feeding her an apple with the other.
Trent liked horses because there were no pretenses with them—they dispensed service and affection in exchange for food and care. It was basically a barter system, and if he held up his end of the arrangement, they responded in kind. The only horse he’d ever had trouble with had been abused before coming to him.
Thinking of which... He approached Speakeasy’s box stall, deliberately making his footsteps heavy so the stallion wouldn’t be startled. Speakeasy stood in the back, regarding him warily. Trent had bought him at an auction a few months before, furious at the sight of his thin body and half-healed wounds.
“Come here, boy,” he said, holding out an apple.
Speakeasy pawed the hay, clearly wanting the treat, but unwilling to come forward for it.
With a sigh, Trent left the apple on a post and stepped away. He could work with the stallion, but it wasn’t easy. It would take time and patience before Speakeasy trusted humans again.
After several hours Trent realized it was time to get moving. Perhaps today would go better and Emily would spend the morning or afternoon at her store. That way he could send the crew onto the roof, leaving him to tackle the wall between the living and dining rooms. She wanted it cut down into a low divider to open up the space. If things went well he might even be able to retrieve his father’s gun upstairs.
But as the morning began, Emily showed no sign of leaving. Instead, she now wore sturdy new running shoes, an unfortunate sign she might be planning to stick close to home for yet another day. Vince noticed them immediately and grinned.
“They won’t stop a determined nail, Em,” he
