Secretly Yours - GINA WILKINS

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“Did you say your husband worked on my roof?” It was the first she’d heard of it.

      “You didn’t know?”

      “No.” She bit her lower lip.

      Now it was Jamie’s turn to look surprised. “Does that bother you?”

      “A bit.”

      “Why?”

      “I haven’t paid him anything. The arrangement I have with his brother is that I clean his house in exchange for the repair work.”

      “Trevor doesn’t want to be paid to help out a friend. And besides, you clean his offices and you’re giving Sam piano lessons.”

      “But he’s paying me for both of those. I still come out in his debt.”

      “So you can do him a favor sometime,” Jamie said with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, Annie. It isn’t charity.”

      Jamie had zeroed in on the reason for Annie’s discomfort, of course. She’d been so adamant about making her own way, about not needing assistance from anyone, that even the suggestion of charity made her uncomfortable. It was the reason she’d been so anxious to repay Trent for his work and for the rocker he’d given her. She never again wanted to feel as though she was living off someone else.

      Jamie didn’t let the conversation lag. “How’s your arrangement with Trent working out? He’s been helpful to you?”

      “Extremely,” Annie said fervently. “You wouldn’t believe how much he’s accomplished during the past six weeks.”

      “He did the cabinets in here, did you know? Trevor and I remodeled a few months ago, and Trent helped us out. He wasn’t quite as far along in his recovery then as he is now, but he still managed to do most of it by himself, with Trevor helping only a little. It took a lot of nagging on Trevor’s part to get him to do it, though. Trent seemed to be afraid he’d mess it up, though I don’t know why since he built all the cabinets in his parents’ house when he was home from the Air Force Academy one summer holiday. Working at your place has been good for him, I think,” Jamie mused without pausing for breath. “It’s getting him out of his house, making him think about someone other than himself. He needed that. He’s gotten very self-centered lately.”

      Annie couldn’t help frowning. “He’s hardly self-centered. He’s worked so hard on my house—much harder than I have at his. I’m sure he’s practically exhausted himself, but he just keeps going back. I’ve never asked him to do anything except fix my front step, but he’s done so much more—all on his own.”

      Jamie’s eyebrows rose in response to Annie’s spirited defense of Trent. “I wasn’t really criticizing him. Just making a comment.”

      Annie cleared her throat. “It’s just that I’m very grateful to him. I couldn’t have afforded to pay anyone for all the work he’s done for me.”

      A quick, sharp rap on the back door interrupted the conversation, to Annie’s relief. Her relief turned to self-consciousness when Jamie opened the door and the man they had just been discussing walked in.

      3

      ANNIE WAS AWARE that Trent didn’t spot her immediately. Focusing on Jamie, he motioned toward the miniature wooden rocker he had carried in. “I finished Abbie’s chair. I made it as tiltproof as possible, but teach her not to stand up in it.”

      “I will. Oh, Trent, it’s perfect. She’ll love rocking in it while she watches cartoons.” She reached up to kiss his cheek, a gesture he accepted with a resignation that indicated he’d expected a reaction of that sort.

      Just the thought of kissing Trent so casually made Annie’s mouth go dry. She told herself to quit being an idiot, but that seemed to be an impossible task when Trent McBride was around.

      Jamie motioned for him to set the chair on the floor and turned to her little stepdaughter. “Abbie, come look at the chair Uncle Trent made for you. Isn’t it beautiful?”

      Abbie promptly climbed onto the chair, plopping her bottom on the child-size seat. “Mine,” she said, beginning to rock with enthusiasm.

      “She loves it.” Still smiling, Jamie motioned toward the table. “Annie and I are having coffee, Trent. Would you like to join us?”

      Annie saw Trent’s startled reaction before he quickly masked it. She was surprised that he hadn’t already noticed her sitting there, but apparently he’d been concentrating on his niece. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he turned to face her, his characteristically somber eyes searching her face in the way that always made her toes curl. You really are an idiot, Annie.

      He greeted her curtly. “Hello.”

      It was only further proof of the strange hold he had on her that the sound of his voice affected her so strongly every time she heard it. She couldn’t understand it. It was just a voice, after all—a deep, slightly rough-edged growl of a voice, but nothing special. Right?

      She offered him an exaggeratedly airy smile. “Hello, Mr. McBride.”

      Jamie rolled her eyes. “You call him ‘Mr. McBride’? Why? You two are the same age, for Pete’s sake, and you’ve known each other for—what?—six weeks? What’s with the formality?”

      “I never asked her to call me ‘mister.”’ Trent sounded defensive.

      He had never corrected her, either. Annie assumed he liked the professional distance the formality kept between them.

      Still sitting in her chair, Abbie held up her cup, offering her uncle a drink. “Juice?”

      He looked down at his niece, and his smile softened his stern face in a way that made Annie’s silly heart flutter. “I’ll have coffee, instead, but thanks, Abbie.”

      Annie noticed that his voice was several degrees warmer when he talked to the child. There was genuine affection in his expression. As she had suspected all along, Trent wasn’t nearly as gruff and curmudgeonly as he liked to pretend.

      Looking quite at home, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. Rather than joining Annie at the table, he leaned back against the counter to sip his drink. He made no effort to initiate conversation, but seemed to be waiting for Annie or Jamie to speak to him. Annie couldn’t think of a thing to say. Having Trent’s somber eyes on her completely cleared her mind.

      Fortunately Sam chose that moment to join them. Carrying his music book, he moved to stand beside Annie, showing no surprise at seeing his uncle. “Hi, Uncle Trent. Ms. Stewart, is it okay if I try to play the next song in the book? This one called ‘Sleepy Lion’?”

      Since that piece was clearly numbered and very similar to the ones he’d already played, Annie nodded, encouraging his enthusiasm and relieved to have something to distract her from the awkwardness of the situation. “Of course, Sam. Just remember that here and here, you play with your left hand—second finger—and the rest is with your right hand, fingers two, three and four. Okay?”

      “Okay. Ms. Stewart gave me a piano lesson, Uncle Trent,” Sam said, eager to share his accomplishment. “I already learned two songs. Do you want to hear me play them?”

      “Yeah, sure. I’d like to hear them sometime.”

      “I’ll go practice.” Sam ran eagerly from the room.

      “I hope he’ll always be that excited about practicing,” Jamie murmured.

      Annie chuckled. “I can almost guarantee you that there will come a time when he’ll need a bit of prodding—but that’s true of nearly every child. I went through a stage when my father had to nag me almost every day to practice, but I’m glad now that he didn’t let me quit.”

      Trent was studying her even more closely now, making it difficult for her not to squirm in her

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