She rubbed a dusty hand across her face, then cursed herself when her fingers came away glittering with moisture. She could handle this without tears, she thought firmly, reaching for her vacuum cleaner. She was tougher than she looked. Trent, himself, had said so.
THERE WAS NO real reason for Trent to drive into town Monday afternoon. No reason at all for him to turn on the street that led to the McBride Law Firm. He knew that neither his father nor his brother would be there. Only Annie.
He wouldn’t stop and talk to her, he assured himself. There was nothing left to say, anyway. He would just drive past and make sure everything looked all right.
The dark green car sitting in the law firm parking lot made him change his mind. There was a man behind the wheel, just sitting there watching the building. The guy probably believed he would find Annie alone and defenseless. He was wrong.
Slamming his foot down on the accelerator, Trent made a two-wheel turn into the parking lot and squealed to a stop directly in front of the dark car, blocking its path. He had the truck in Park and the door open before the other man had a chance to react.
The other driver climbed out of his car as Trent approached. He was tall, lean and broad-shouldered. Latino, perhaps, with black hair and polished-onyx eyes. Powerful build—the sleek, wiry strength of a jungle cat—but Trent gave only a passing thought to the possibility that the guy could pound him into the pavement. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “And why have you been following Annie?”
The dark man crossed his arms and leaned back against his car, one eyebrow lifted in a curious expression. “I haven’t been following anyone,” he drawled in an accent that was as Southern as Trent’s own. “Actually, I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
The answer took him by surprise. “Trent McBride.” Studying the man with a skeptical frown, Trent said, “You’ve found him. What do you want?”
“You’re Trent McBride?” Without waiting for confirmation, the stranger continued. “I’m Mac Cordero. I’m a contractor and I specialize in restoring architecturally significant old buildings. I’ve recently purchased a house in Honoria that I intend to restore and sell. You probably know it as the old Garrett place.”
Growing more puzzled by the minute, adrenaline still pumping through him, Trent planted his fists on his hips and scowled. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“Several people in town have given me your name as someone I should talk to about the cabinet work in the house. I’ve heard you’re good, and that you take pride in your work. That you do things the old-fashioned way—not like the cheap, mass-produced junk you find in most new houses these days. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Trent raised a hand to the back of his neck, still not entirely convinced. “Why were you looking for me here? This is where my father and brother work. And they’ve left for the day.”
“I was just passing by and I saw the lights on and the car in the parking lot. I figured whoever was still here would be able to tell me how to reach you.”
The guy had an answer for everything—but something about it just didn’t ring true. There was nothing to be read in Cordero’s expression—Trent would have had better luck trying to read a statue. “If I find out you’re not being honest with me—that you have been following Annie around, I’ll—”
“I don’t even know who Annie is,” Cordero cut in to say.
“I’m Annie Stewart. Who are you?”
Until she spoke, Trent hadn’t realized that Annie had stepped out of the law offices. She moved to his side, her attention focused on the other man.
Cordero introduced himself again, adding an abbreviated version of his reason for wanting to find Trent. “I assure you, Ms. Stewart, I haven’t been following you.”
She glanced at the dark green car behind him. “This isn’t the same car I saw outside your house, Trent. That one was black.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, reasonably sure. And I would be willing to swear it wasn’t as big as this one.”
A very faint smile curved Cordero’s hard mouth. “Satisfied?” he asked Trent.
“Not entirely,” Trent answered coolly. “I’ll want some proof of who you are be
fore I consider taking on a job for you.”
“I have references. Photos of other houses I’ve restored. A couple of magazine articles featuring my work. And I’ll want to see samples of your work, of course, before I consider offering you the job.”
“Once you see his work, you’ll offer him the job,” Annie predicted confidently. “Trent does the most beautiful woodwork I’ve ever seen.”
Even after he’d treated her so badly yesterday, she was still praising him. Trent scowled. “If you’ve been asking about me, you’ve probably heard that I’m just getting started in this business. I did the cabinet work in my parents’ house, in my brother’s house and in my own, and I’ll be remodelling here at the law offices, but that’s the extent of my résumé.”
“I’m not looking for business longevity. I’m looking for quality. I’d like to see your work, if arrangements can be made. I have to leave for a job site in Alabama early in the morning, but I’ll be back sometime during the first week of June. Perhaps I can call you then?”
Trent nodded. “It won’t hurt to talk about it, I guess.”