Blue Ridge Reunion
Blue Ridge Reunion
Mia Ross
Building A New StartChelsea Barnes never expected to see her high school rival, golden boy Paul Barrett, again. But when Paul applies for a loan to renovate his family's historic mill, it's Chelsea who the bank sends to her tiny hometown to assess the property–and Paul. It's her chance to prove herself to her boss, and Chelsea won't let Paul stand in her way. Paul would do anything to restore the mill for his ailing grandfather. Even allow the lovely Chelsea to help. Together, they just might build something beautiful…a happily-ever-after.Barrett's Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love.
Building A New Start
Chelsea Barnes never expected to see her high school rival, golden boy Paul Barrett, again. But when Paul applies for a loan to renovate his family’s historic mill, it’s Chelsea who the bank sends to her tiny hometown to assess the property—and Paul. It’s her chance to prove herself to her boss, and Chelsea won’t let Paul stand in her way. Paul would do anything to restore the mill for his ailing grandfather. Even allow the lovely Chelsea to help. Together, they just might build something beautiful…a happily-ever-after.
Barrett’s Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love.
“Whattaya say, partner? Wanna go make nice?”
He glanced down at Boyd. His canine buddy was stretched out in a patch of late-morning sunlight.
Groveling really shouldn’t be all that tough for him, but because she was brighter than most, she’d see right through his usual I’m-just-a-guy approach. That meant he’d have to go with the truth.
Hoping to appear contrite, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged down the steps. In the yard, he intercepted Chelsea.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
“For being out of line. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
MIA ROSS
loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at www.miaross.com (http://www.miaross.com).
Blue Ridge Reunion
Mia Ross
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in
due season we will reap, if we do not give up.
—Galatians 6:9
For Mom and Dad
Acknowledgments (#ulink_fde4f10f-f854-5d30-aba9-da58500412b0)
To the very talented folks who help me make my books everything they can be: Elaine Spencer,
Melissa Endlich and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired.
More thanks to the gang at Seekerville
(www.seekerville.net), a great place to hang out
with readers—and writers.
Thanks to RL for your insights
into the banking world—and for the lunch.
Contents
Cover (#u4299c415-a18e-56cc-b1fd-64993421d753)
Back Cover Text (#u9d1cb56a-ec62-5356-aba5-c9de7982e28c)
Introduction (#u4fae58da-c4b7-58f2-b3ae-7a11896ef122)
About the Author (#u33d3096d-65fd-5c33-915d-49a53cd1f0ad)
Title Page (#u8c174111-91b7-5e6a-868b-2aba4aef1ad3)
Bible Verse (#uccce95fc-7e09-5000-8b83-972b0ff35f1f)
Dedication (#u318514a9-d9f4-55df-b410-ab83c7584b5c)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_761dcc07-b41e-5bd9-8ba5-4659ed4f7a9e)
Chapter One (#ulink_840d78b9-5224-5174-a863-ffd16b67e419)
Chapter Two (#ulink_0b390a72-1fba-5b3b-9e79-1074c879b235)
Chapter Three (#ulink_375b7461-3579-514f-8d5a-9269662ee854)
Chapter Four (#ulink_119cfb20-a13f-5147-8f94-058e1f9e5815)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_da5a1bfa-79ca-5600-84ac-e60dbb1b7fca)
Chelsea Barnes really hated Mondays.
Especially Mondays like this, when the July sunshine and warm breeze tempted her to stay home from work and enjoy the beautiful summer day. But her father had taught her that people who played hooky never amounted to anything, so she refocused on the narrow two-lane road. Following it as it meandered under the leafy canopy of oaks, she kept an eye out for the turnoff she needed. Around a bend, she located the weathered sign dangling from one rusty hook: Barrett’s Sawmill, est. 1866.
She drove slowly down the pitted track, avoiding the largest ruts and hoping the pinging gravel didn’t take too much paint off her darling convertible. At the other end, she pulled up alongside a beat-up red pickup with the sawmill’s faded logo stenciled on the driver’s door. It was so old she wouldn’t be surprised to discover it had rolled off the assembly line when Henry Ford was still in charge.
Seeing it here was odd, she thought as she stepped from her car. While reading through the loan application file, she’d gotten the impression the property had been abandoned since the Barretts closed down their bankrupt company ten years ago. She surveyed the place with a glance but didn’t notice anyone. What she did see was the millhouse, stubbornly clinging to the bank of the creek that once powered its waterwheel and looking every minute of its considerable age.
Deciding it was best to get this over with quickly, she shouted, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Her greeting unleashed an unmistakable baying, and a huge red bloodhound came bounding from a nearby grove of trees, ears flapping as he made a beeline for Chelsea.
He wasn’t snarling or showing his teeth, but she’d rather not find out the hard way that he wasn’t friendly. Keeping her eyes fixed on him, she retreated to her car and fumbled behind her for the door handle.
Unable to locate it, she scrambled onto the hood. “Hello? A little help out here!”
No one appeared, but a commanding voice boomed from inside. “Boyd, that’s enough!”
Instantly, he dropped to a sitting position, wagging his tail on the ground while his tongue lolled from his mouth in a sloppy welcome. Reassured, Chelsea eased herself to the ground and looked up to find the dog’s owner strolling down the rickety porch steps toward the driveway. No, she groaned inwardly. She hadn’t seen him in ages, but she instantly recognized that cocky walk, those long, powerful legs and impossibly broad shoulders.
Paul Barrett. Valedictorian, captain of any team he played on, dream date of every cheerleader at Barrett’s Mill High School. In other words, the bane of her teenage existence.
What on earth was he doing here? Last she knew, he was in Kansas somewhere, doing whatever appealed to him at the time. It had never occurred to her that when her father had said his bank was doing a favor for the Barretts, Paul would be involved. Arrogant and unpredictable as a summer storm, here he was, smiling at her as though they were old friends. Which, of course, they weren’t.
But standing here in front of the rustic building, surrounded by acres of trees, she grudgingly admitted he’d gotten better looking over the years. When he smiled, that opinion only deepened. Then he started talking.
“Chelsea Lynn Barnes,” he drawled, his dark eyes crinkling as he squinted into the sun. “What’s a classy girl like you doin’ out here in the sticks?”
Just like that, her earlier annoyance returned, and she had to bite her tongue to keep back a sharp response. The fact that she’d been wondering the exact same thing had nothing whatsoever to do with her reaction. While her father had framed this trip as a personal favor to him, she couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that she’d drawn this assignment for no reason other than that she was the only one on his staff who knew how to get to this map-dot town buried in Virginia’s Blue Ridge mountains. Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself this was business and she had to maintain a professional demeanor. Even if it killed her.
Sliding a business card from the outside pocket of her slim briefcase, she replied, “I’m a commercial loan officer for Shenandoah Bank and Trust in Roanoke. I’m doing the property appraisal for the loan you requested.”
Next time, she vowed silently, she’d read a prospective client’s file more carefully. If she’d done that this morning, she could’ve braced herself to see Paul instead of getting blindsided like this.
He took the card and eyed her skeptically, then grinned. “What’s the punch line?”
People frequently did this to her, assuming she was too young to handle so much responsibility. With anyone else, she’d have taken the slight in stride. But Paul had rubbed her the wrong way from the day they’d been tossed into the same kindergarten class, seeming to delight in pushing her buttons.
She pulled herself up to her full height and gave him her coolest look. “I assure you, I’m well qualified to make financial recommendations to the bank.”
“Daddy’s bank.” Plunging grease-stained hands into the front pockets of jeans that had seen better days, he rocked back on the heels of his battered work boots. “How do you like working for him?”
No one had ever asked her that, probably because they assumed her current position was a cakewalk. Having known Theo Barnes all her life, she was better acquainted with his impossibly high standards than anyone. There were days when she wondered if she’d ever meet them, as either his daughter or his employee.
Shunting that grim thought aside, she said simply, “It’s going well.” Of course, her answer depended on which day you asked her. Today, for instance, she wasn’t all that crazy about it, but there was no way she was sharing that with Paul.
He gave her a long, assessing look that told her absolutely nothing about what was going through his mind. Not that she cared on a personal level, of course. It would just be nice to know so she could plan her next move and keep ahead of him. That was the mistake she’d made all through high school, she’d realized over the years. She’d never had the upper hand, and he’d beaten her out of more awards—twelve, to be precise—than he should have.
While they stared at each other, the wind ruffled his unruly brown hair, and she couldn’t help noticing the lighter streaks running through it. Judging by his tanned face, he still spent a lot of time outside, and he probably felt totally at home in these untamed acres of woods surrounding the mill. While she preferred well-groomed men with a sense of style, she couldn’t deny that Paul had his own raw appeal.
For other women, she amended quickly, yanking her errant thoughts back from where they had no business going. “Are you the new owner of the property?”
“Yup.”
He offered nothing more, and she decided that in the interest of preserving her sanity, it would be best to move things along. “Shall we get started outside?”
Humor twinkled in his eyes, joined by an aggravating smirk. “Yes, we shall.”
She picked up on his mocking tone and did her best to ignore the dig as he motioned her ahead of him. An hour, tops, and she was out of here. Then she’d stamp his loan request denied in bright red ink. Maybe she’d do it more than once, just to make a point.
Her father’s distinctive ringtone sounded in her bag, and she bit back a sigh before answering. “Hi, Dad. No, I didn’t get lost. In fact, I’m standing in front of the mill now.” She felt uncertainty beginning to creep in. She was twenty-seven, but having him check up on her this way made her feel ten again. “Of course. He’s right here.”
Something aggravatingly close to sympathy softened Paul’s rugged features as he took the phone from her. “Good morning, Theo. What can I do for you?” He listened, then replied, “This arrangement works fine for me. I’ve got no doubt Chelsea can handle whatever needs doing.”
The unexpected show of confidence meant a lot to her, and she mouthed, “Thank you.”
Winking at her, he waited for her father to finish whatever he was saying. “My family and I appreciate you giving us a shot. Take care.”
Thumbing the disconnect button, he handed the handset back to her. He didn’t say anything while she muted it and returned it to her bag. Embarrassed by her father’s call, she took out her camera and busied herself with the clasp on its case.
“So,” Paul began in a tone edged with sarcasm. “Your father hasn’t changed much.”
He’d put her exact thought into words, and she was torn between agreeing and scolding him. When she caught the humor in his eyes, she said, “I guess not.”
“Is he always that tough on you?”
“He’s tough on everyone,” she snapped. “I can’t expect special treatment because I’m the boss’s daughter.”
Paul held up his hands as if to fend off her temper. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It just surprises me that he doesn’t have more faith in you, is all. You’d think he’d know better than anyone how smart you are.”
She responded with a sharp, very unprofessional laugh. “Tell him that, would you?”
“Gimme your phone and I will.”
Judging by his somber expression, he was deadly serious. Despite their old rivalry, she was touched by the gesture, and she rewarded him with the genuine smile she rarely used during business hours. “That’s sweet of you, but I was only kidding.”
Bit by bit, that maddening grin returned. “Be honest now. Back in high school, did you ever think someday you’d be saying I was sweet?”
“Not in a million years.”
She admired how he’d shifted from kindness to teasing, clearly attempting to make her feel more at ease. As they smiled at each other, she recalled that he’d always had a way with people. Young, old, male, female, popular or not so much, it didn’t matter. Back then she’d envied him that skill, and now she recognized that her envy had tainted her memories of him. Standing in the warm sunshine with him, she appreciated his generosity more than she could say.
Before she could blurt out something she’d probably regret, she recentered her mind on work. That strategy had worked well throughout her career, and she gladly retreated into it now. “I need to document the condition of the property for your application. What’s first?”
While they toured the exterior, she began to worry there was nothing worth saving. The cobblestone bridge leading to the back entrance seemed fairly solid, but instinct warned her it would never pass a modern engineering inspection.
When she said as much, his answer surprised her. “Oh, that’s all solid steel underneath, and only twelve years old. I had it inspected last week, and it’s plenty strong enough for modern trucks to come in and out. The river rock’s just cemented on for looks.”
Impressed by his foresight, Chelsea made a note in the condition column. “I’ll need a copy of that report.”
“No problem.”
The mill itself was post-and-beam construction, built of oak from the nearby forest. But the roof appeared to be suspect, and everywhere she looked, significant pieces of the structure were either sagging or missing completely. Alongside the damaged areas hung fresh boards, which stood out from the weathered siding like hopeful signs of improvement.
Once they’d finished their circuit, Paul turned to her with an expectant look. “Whattya think?”
“I think you need a bulldozer and some condos right over there.”
When she pointed to the low hill overlooking Sterling Creek, for some reason he chuckled. “Not so fast. You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
She couldn’t imagine it would make a bit of difference in her assessment, but out of fairness, she tamped down her impatience to get back to civilization. “All right. Let’s have a look.”
The boards on the wide stairs were weathered gray and rocked under her designer heels with each step. The handrail wasn’t much help, but considering her odd reaction to seeing him again, she didn’t want to get too close by steadying herself on Paul’s shoulder. His dog rumbled past them, nearly knocking her down. When Paul reached out a hand to help her, she pulled out of range. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Stubborn as ever,” he muttered, adding something she didn’t quite catch. It was probably better that way.
The interior of the building was in slightly better shape, but not by much. On closer inspection, she noticed some of the belts on the antique equipment had been replaced, and the smell of oil and sawdust hung in the air. To the right of the door was what used to be a seating area. Now it was filled with a jumble of filthy equipment in various stages of repair.
On the other side was an office with a half door that stood open to the entryway. Inside she noticed a scarred but sturdy-looking table, a couple of mismatched chairs and an old settee covered in what she assumed was bloodhound fur. There wasn’t a hint of a computer, which didn’t surprise her in the least, but along the far wall stood a dusty row of filing cabinets that probably contained paperwork decades older than she was. In the corner near the window was a small woodstove that held an old boom box playing a mellow rock tune she recognized from high school dances.
When she spotted the air mattress and sleeping bag, she turned to Paul in amazement. “How long have you been living here?”
“About a month, off and on. I’m officially staying in town with my grandparents, but when I’m working late, Boyd and I crash here.”
The million-dollar question, she thought, was why? Since they’d never see each other again after today, she decided to ask. “Your father shut this place down ten years ago. Why are you trying to bring it back now?”
His expression dimmed a little, even though the sun was still shining gamely through the grimy paned windows. After a moment, he answered. “It’s for Granddad. He wants to see it up and running again, and that’s reason enough for me.”
The flicker of sadness in his eyes told her there was more to it than that, but she didn’t want to pry. She remembered Will Barrett as a kindhearted man who’d inherited an archaic family business rooted in another century. When it failed, she hadn’t been surprised, or even particularly sorry. But now she felt the very thing her father had warned her about before coming out here: sympathy.
In her memory, she heard him reminding her that sentiment had no place in the banking industry. She was here to do a job, not get wrapped up in someone else’s family problems. The bank—and more precisely, her father—was counting on her honest, objective appraisal before approving or rejecting this loan request. More than anything, she wanted to prove to him that she was capable of taking over the helm when he was ready to step down. That was what he’d planned for her all her life, and as his only child, she was determined to make it happen.
That meant playing the game by his rules, which didn’t include financing a business so far off the beaten path it couldn’t help but fail again. In spite of her personal opinion, she was touched by Paul’s willingness to take on a hopeless cause for his grandfather. Not for himself, or for money, but because Will had asked him to. Few people got through the composed demeanor she’d cultivated, but Paul’s direct, heartfelt explanation had come uncomfortably close to doing just that. What that meant she couldn’t say, but it was a disturbing feeling, and she fought it with every disciplined bone in her body.
“It looks like you’ve been making progress with the equipment.” Some things looked completely worn-out, but others were clearly fresh out of the box. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“Yeah.” Brightening, he strode past her to an old wooden lever. “I just finished this section, so I haven’t tested it yet. You might wanna cover your ears.”
Slinging her camera around her neck, she followed his suggestion. When she nodded that she was ready, Paul braced his hands on the lever and peered through a hole in the floor. Apparently satisfied, he gradually moved the handle from left to right, unleashing a metallic grinding noise.
“The door in the dam’s opening,” he explained loudly. “It lets water in from the creek to spin the wheel.”
She nodded again, looking down as water rushed in and over the paddles in the newly repaired waterwheel. Once it was spinning, Paul moved away from the lever and pulled a wooden handle on the far wall. It released the mechanics of the main saw, sending belts over pulleys, back and forth, to drive the blade. The noise was deafening, but the motion was even more remarkable. Once the contraption was in full gear, the entire building shook with the power created by a modest stream and a bunch of leather belts.
She’d been here on tours in elementary school, but now Chelsea saw more than the interesting mechanics of days gone by. She admired the genius behind the original design and the skill required to bring all that creaky equipment back up to speed. While Paul had completed only one of the four saw channels, it didn’t take much to envision the business in full operation, churning out lumber for furniture and flooring the way it once had.
After Paul powered everything down, she said, “This place used to be run by electricity. What made you decide to go back to waterpower?”
“Waterwheels are cool,” he answered with a little boy’s enthusiasm. “That’s how it was when Granddad was a kid, so I wanted it to be that way again.”
Again, she sensed there was more to tell, but she didn’t want to get sucked into the charming picture he was painting for her, so she opted to keep things strictly professional. “I have to admit, you’ve accomplished a lot in only a month.”
“That’s just the beginning. Like our business plan says, we want to start making custom furniture again, under the Barrett’s Mill name. Folks love having something unique, and that’s what we’ll give ’em. Everything will be ripped on the saws and handmade by our own carpenters, so no two pieces will be the same.”
“All those shop classes you took are finally coming in handy.”
He took her teasing with an easygoing grin. “Yeah, but I’ve also got a secret weapon.”
“What’s that?”
Glancing around as if he was checking for spies, he moved close enough that she picked up the scent of soap and hard work. It was a pleasant, masculine kind of smell, totally different from the overbearing colognes so many of her coworkers were convinced women loved. They reeked of trying way too hard, while Paul wasn’t trying at all. It set him apart from all the other men she knew, and she sternly dragged her wandering attention back to what he was saying.
“My brother Jason and I have been out in Oregon, working for a company that dredges old timber from river bottoms to be used in modern mills. Back in the day, they used to float trees down from the mountains, and a lot of the bigger ones sank. Some are over a hundred years old, and they’re buried in the mud, just waiting for someone to come along and salvage them. I worked out a deal with my old boss, and when we’re ready, Jason’s gonna bring a load of them here for us to use.”
“Is there really a market for that kind of thing?”
“Sure is. That timber’s been seasoning a long time, and once you dry it out, it makes great raw material.”
“And it has a story to go along with it,” she added, allowing herself a little smile. “People love a good story.”
“You got that right. But I’ve been doing this with my own money, and that ran out a couple weeks ago. We need some serious cash to get us back on track.”
His explanation tripped a switch in her mind, and things began falling into place. “Is that why you’re driving that old sawmill truck?”
“Yeah. When Boyd and I got back here, I sold my crew-cab pickup to a guy over in Cambridge. I really miss that truck,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what he paid me got me started here, so it was worth it.”
She was struck by his commitment to reviving the mill, and as she considered what he’d already accomplished on a shoestring budget, she realized his innovative idea just might fly. In the current era of mass-produced everything, people craved one-of-a-kind items that set them apart from the crowd. As Paul continued explaining the nuts and bolts to her, his eagerness began to erode her professional skepticism.
If his motivation had been purely profit, she would’ve remained pessimistic about his chances. But he’d sacrificed his beloved truck, which proved to her that money was no more important to him now than it had been years ago. Since the tireless effort he was putting in was inspired by the grandfather he adored, she knew Paul would do everything in his power to be successful.
When he finally stopped, she said, “You’d build your marketing strategy around the distinctive history of the town, I assume.”
He hesitated, and she knew she’d caught him on that one. True to form, though, he grinned. “I’ll leave that to the experts. My job is to give them something interesting to market.”
Good answer. Then again, the natural scholar and superjock she remembered from high school had always had a ready comeback for everything. The guy was a born salesman, but where the bank’s money was concerned, she wasn’t certain that what he was selling was worth buying into.
“It’s not up to me.” His cocky grin faded a bit, and she felt a prick of guilt for dashing his hopes. She felt an obligation to be honest with him, but reopening the shuttered business clearly meant a lot to him. Out of respect for his feelings, she softened her tone. “I’ll do my appraisal, then present it to the loan committee for their consideration. The notes and pictures I’m taking today will help them make a fair decision.”
“But you can sway them with the way you lay things out, right?”
The suddenly desperate edge to his voice didn’t jibe with the laid-back personality he’d displayed until now. It made her uncomfortable, and out of habit, she fell back on her usual detachment. “Sometimes. For now, I should get back to work.”
“Okay. I’ll be in here tinkering, so let me know if you need anything.”
As she resumed her assessment, she began to rethink her initial gut reaction. On paper, Barrett’s Sawmill was the worst kind of project the bank could take on. But having viewed it in person, she definitely saw potential in the old mill and its new owner.
The problem was, if Paul couldn’t turn a profit and defaulted on the loan, the loss would be a black mark against her. But if she championed his idea and he succeeded, she’d look like a financial whiz. Then she’d have a realistic shot at the vice president’s position opening up when the head of her department retired at the end of the year. This could be precisely what she needed to make a lasting impression on her father and move her one precious step closer to her ultimate goal of running the bank someday.
Cautious by nature, this was a thorny decision for her, but she was starting to believe the possible benefit just might outweigh the risk. The trick would be convincing a room full of ultraconservative bankers to agree with her.
* * *
Chelsea Barnes, Paul thought while he painstakingly sharpened an old saw blade one tooth at a time. Of all the people Theo Barnes could’ve sent to do this appraisal, who’d have guessed he’d choose his tightly wound daughter?
While his visitor poked around, taking electronic notes on her tablet and snapping pictures with a slick digital 35 mm camera, Paul tried not to watch her, but it was tough. Somewhere along the line, the crazy-smart bookworm that lingered in his adolescent memories had become one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met.
Not gorgeous like a model, he amended silently. She was too petite for that. But the gray suit and crisp white blouse she wore set off her expertly twisted auburn hair and vibrant green eyes to perfection. The earrings sparkling in the sunlight were obviously diamonds, and more studded the slender gold watch that had probably cost more than he made in a month. The two of them might’ve started out in the same tiny town, but they’d ended up at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.
As she prowled around his domain, those keen eyes didn’t seem to miss a thing, lighting with curiosity while she examined the machinery, narrowing when she glanced into the darkness beyond the production area.
“What’s back there?” she asked, pointing with her stylus.
“I call it the tomb,” he joked. “Even Boyd won’t go back there.”
Clearly unamused, she angled a look at him, one elegant brow lifted in reproach. “That’s nearly half your available floor space and will be included in the appraisal. If you don’t currently have it in your plans, we’ll want to invent a use for it before the board reviews your request.”
Paul couldn’t believe his ears. Was the ice princess of Barrett’s Mill High actually stepping down from her glacier to help a peasant? His attitude must have showed, because she turned to face him head-on.
She didn’t look happy. “Did I say something funny?”
“No. Why?”
“You were grinning,” she said haughtily, tilting her cute little nose in the air. “I’m totally serious about this. You should be, too.”
She’d been serious about everything when they were growing up, too, he recalled grimly. Always studying, never allowing anyone to discover if she had a lighter side. Chilled by her frosty glare, Paul decided that despite the smile she’d given him earlier, she hadn’t changed all that much. Not that it mattered to him either way. The only approval he needed from her was financial.
When Boyd ambled over to say hello to her, Paul warned, “Not now, boy. The lady has work to do.”
To his amazement, she crouched down and offered a delicate hand to the lumbering hound. “Oh, I can take a break. Boyd, is it?”
The big oaf woofed at her and collapsed onto his side in a shameless plea for a belly rub. With a quick laugh, she obliged. “There’s a good boy. How did you end up here, anyway?”
“You mean, with me?” Paul poked a little fun at himself, hoping to share in her suddenly generous mood. “He wandered into the logging camp I was working at, half-starved but friendly as could be. I shared a cheeseburger with him, and here we are.”
She gazed up at him with something he’d never expected to see from her in a million years: respect. “You saved his life. That’s amazing.”
Actually, Boyd had done more for Paul than the other way around, but he wasn’t comfortable telling her that. Instead, he shrugged. “He’s a great dog, and he deserved a chance.”
“But you’re the one who gave it to him,” she pressed, standing to look Paul squarely in the eye. He couldn’t imagine what might be going through that pretty head of hers right now, but he was fairly certain he was better off not knowing. In his experience, once you assumed you could determine what a woman was thinking, it was a sure sign you were headed for trouble.
Big trouble.
Hoping to appear nonchalant, he folded his arms and leaned against a support post. “So, any ideas for what I should claim I’m gonna do with that back room?”
After a moment, she replied, “It should be something that generates revenue aside from the furniture business. The idea is to broaden your appeal and be less at the mercy of the outside retail market. An area for woodworking classes or a gift shop that sells specialty items people can only get here or on your website, something like that.”
“Huh. I’ve done a lotta things in my life, but I’m not much of a teacher, and I wouldn’t even know where to start designing a website.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “what have you been doing?”
“Let’s see. When I was in Oklahoma, I worked in the oil fields. In Missouri, I did some long-haul trucking. In Colorado, I worked on an alpaca farm.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Word of advice—they might look cute, but they’re nasty when you rile ’em.” That got him a flicker of a grin, and he was pretty proud of himself. Until she gave him one of those troublemaker looks that made any guy with half a brain want to squirm.
“Maybe you know someone who could help you with the retail part,” she said with an odd glint in her eyes.
Crazy as it seemed, he wondered if she was fishing for details on his personal life. He wasn’t sure why she cared, but he decided to play along, just for fun.
Rubbing his chin, he pretended to consider her suggestion. “Maybe I do. Could be dangerous to ask her, though, seeing as the last time I saw her she was in Phoenix, tossing my stuff out a window and chucking a lamp at my head.”
That got him a withering feminine glare that made him feel about six inches tall. “I can’t begin to imagine why.”
Her response caught him off guard, and he bristled defensively, which was completely out of character for him. Most of the time, he couldn’t care less what other people thought of him. Why did this snippy woman’s opinion matter so much? “That’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?”
“Men are all the same,” she informed him, as if he needed the lesson and it was up to her to enlighten him. “You’re big teddy bears until something doesn’t go your way, then you’re on your way out the door. It’s a wonder any of you ever grow up enough to amount to anything.”
“Hey, she kicked me out.” He pointed to his chest for emphasis.
Chelsea’s eyes sparked like furious emeralds. “Did you ever ask her why?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she traded me in for a guy with a Porsche. When I called her a greedy gold digger, she didn’t take it well.” It still stung that what he’d had to offer her hadn’t been enough. The blow to his ego hadn’t quite healed, and he was determined to avoid a repeat performance.
“So you just walked out, packed up your truck and went to Oregon?” When he didn’t respond, she shook her head at him. “Same old Paul. Never happy with where you are, always looking over the horizon for something better.”
The fact that she was at least partially right didn’t help his suddenly sour mood. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still judging other people for taking risks you’d never even dream of. How’s that working for you?”
Dismissing him, she pivoted on one of her fancy shoes and went down a set of steps to the side yard where they used to unload the trucks. Paul stood there for a while, trying to get control of his boiling temper before he made the situation worse by charging after her to continue their...argument? No, that wasn’t quite it, he admitted as he watched her through a window. It had been more like sparring, each of them testing the other before squaring up to land their best punches.
Just like old times, he thought with a grimace. Her last name happened to come before his in the alphabet, so they’d often been teamed up for school projects. Their efforts had ended up being more competitions than collaborations, and although they’d scored well, every second they were forced to work together had been a teeth-grinding clash of wills. Now he needed her help or this restoration was dead in the water. Paul simply couldn’t let that happen.
After battling cancer for five years, Granddad’s fight was rapidly coming to an end, and all he wanted was to see his cherished mill up and running before he died. Paul had driven across the country to make sure that happened, which meant he had to man up and apologize to Chelsea for insulting her. Searching for inspiration, he glanced down at Boyd, who was stretched out in a patch of late-morning sunlight, his brow wrinkled with what could only be described as concern. More than once, it had flashed through Paul’s mind that his canine buddy was more sympathetic than a lot of people he knew.
“Whattya say, partner? Wanna go make nice for me?” Boyd let out a quiet groan, then closed his eyes to resume his nap. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothin’.”
Groveling really shouldn’t be all that tough for him, he reasoned as he followed after Chelsea. He’d begged forgiveness from so many women over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at it. But as he watched her with her rolling measuring stick and camera, so intent on her task that she didn’t appear to notice him, his gut warned him that this time would be different.
Because she was brighter than most, and she’d see right through his usual I’m-just-a-guy approach. That meant he’d have to go with the truth, which could be dicey when it came to the female species. But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself as he glanced back at the half-restored mill. It was about answering Granddad’s prayers to get the family business back in working order. If Paul had to eat a little humble pie in the meantime, it was best to choke it down as quickly as possible and watch his mouth from here on out.
Hoping to appear contrite, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged down the steps. In the yard, he intercepted Chelsea. Summoning every sad moment of his life into his expression, he kept it simple. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
Sharp words leaped onto his tongue, and he sent up a quick prayer for patience. What he said to her right now would make or break this project, and he wasn’t averse to calling in a little divine help. “For being out of line. You obviously have a great life, and I had no right to talk to you that way. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
“Thank you, Paul. That can’t have been easy for you to do, and I appreciate it. Believe it or not,” she added in a warmer tone, “I think your idea for this place has a lot of merit.”
“That’s good,” Paul stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.
She gave him a nod, then got back to her measuring. While he appreciated her attempt to be encouraging, he was smart enough to realize it didn’t mean much in this situation. When it came to dollars and cents, banks were notoriously hard-hearted these days, which didn’t bode well for the Barretts.
It wasn’t himself he was worried about, Paul thought morosely. He’d failed before—plenty of times—and as Chelsea had so deftly noted, he had a knack for burying his mistakes and moving on.
But this time, he had to succeed. Knowing that scared him to death.
Chapter Two (#ulink_a973bbde-be32-55da-ac85-2a80a04dfd4e)
When Chelsea was finished with her survey, she stopped in the millhouse to say goodbye to Paul. “Thanks for the tour. The loan committee will be meeting tomorrow, and I’ll make my presentation then. You should have an answer by midweek.”
Paul looked up from the doohickey he was oiling with a grim expression. “I can tell by your tone you don’t think we should get our hopes up.”
She did, but she was usually better at hiding her opinion from clients. Either he was unusually adept at reading her, or she was losing her touch. Whichever it was, she wasn’t thrilled to learn she’d let her emotions show. Hoping to ease the blow, she sat down on an overturned crate beside him. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. With the economy the way it is, projects like these are rejected more often than not.”
“But this one’s special,” he insisted, his dark eyes pleading with her for something she couldn’t give him. “There was nothing around here until my family built this mill. That has to count for something.”
Unfortunately, there were hundreds of villages just like it scattered throughout the country, fading from memory because they weren’t deemed important enough to save. But she couldn’t bear to tell him that, so she hedged. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises. You need to understand that.”
“Sure,” he breathed, his shoulders lifting and then drooping with a heavy sigh.
The defeated pose was far removed from the arrogant sports star she remembered from high school, and she felt her heart going out to him. Firmly, she put a stop to that and reminded herself this was a business proposition. Where money was concerned, she had to keep a cool head at all times. She was on pace to be the youngest vice president in the long history of Shenandoah Bank and Trust, and she had no intention of losing sight of her goal when she had it within her grasp. Because, quite honestly, she had few friends outside of work and an almost nonexistent social life. Without her career, she was nothing.
“I’ll get back to Roanoke and start processing your files,” she said as she stood. “Have a good day.”
“You, too,” he muttered without looking up. Chelsea decided that was the best she could expect considering she’d just crushed his dreams, so she headed for the door. She was on the porch when he called out her name.
She backtracked, and he gave her a sheepish grin as he got to his feet. “That’s no way to treat a lady, and I apologize. Let me walk you to your car.”
“You don’t—”
“Yeah, I do. If Mom found out I booted you outta here, she’d tan my hide.”
Chelsea wouldn’t be talking to anyone else before leaving town, so there was little chance of his mother learning about their awkward reunion. Then again, she mused while they strode outside, this was Barrett’s Mill. Someone had probably noticed her on the road and begun spreading the word that she’d come back, however briefly. The idea tickled her for some reason, and while she normally detested anyone poking their nose into her affairs, she had to laugh.
“What?” Paul asked, glancing around to see what had amused her.
“Just thinking about how this place never changes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I like most about it.”
Bewildered by his attitude, she didn’t bother to hide her reaction. “Really? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“Sure, but that’s part of its charm.” Leaning against a gnarled old oak, he folded his arms and gave her the same wide-open country-boy grin he’d worn all through high school. “I’ve lived lots of places, but I always come back here because it’s home.”
“This is my first visit since we graduated,” she blurted without thinking.
“Doesn’t surprise me any,” he said with a frown. “Even when we were kids, you wanted more than you could find here.”
“There’s a big, fascinating world out there.”
Studying her for a long moment, he murmured, “But you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet. Why is that?”
His perceptiveness unnerved her almost as much as his appallingly blunt—and highly personal—question. She’d usually ignore such an intrusion, but she didn’t want him thinking for even one second that he’d rattled her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Just curious. Have a good trip back.”
This time she didn’t linger out of politeness but opened the driver’s door and gratefully sank into the buttery leather seat. Eager to leave the mill and its aggravating caretaker behind, she angrily punched the button to start the engine.
Nothing.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she reset the electronic fob and tried the button again, with the same result. The dealer had done a full service on this car just last week, and now it wouldn’t start when she was in the absolute middle of nowhere? Could this day possibly get any worse?
The answer to that question loomed in her window, and for a few immature seconds, she ignored Paul’s irritating presence. Then she realized she was being ridiculous and hit the control to lower the window. It wouldn’t work, of course, and she reluctantly climbed out of her worthless car to face the music.
“Problem?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“It won’t start, as you can see. You’re good with mechanical things,” she said hopefully. “Could you please take a look?”
“Well, since you said ‘please,’ I’ll give it a shot. Pop the hood.”
She did as he asked, standing helplessly while he pushed it open and peered inside. The baffled look on his face spoke volumes, and he gave a long, dubious whistle. “You need a computer to talk to a car like this. Fred Morgan might be able to get it running, though.”
“Great. Let’s call him.”
Squinting up at the sky, Paul shook his head. “We could, but it’s lunchtime, and he’ll be at The Whistlestop. We’ll find him there.”
Chelsea didn’t like what he was implying. They’d had a few nice moments, but otherwise the man grated on her every nerve. She hadn’t planned on spending any more time with him than strictly necessary. “We?”
“I’m headed there anyway, so I can give you a ride. Unless you’d rather walk.” Angling his head, he gave her high heels an uncertain look.
“Can’t you just send Fred out here? I mean, after you’ve both eaten,” she added so she didn’t sound quite so desperate.
“Are you serious?” Paul’s eyes roamed around the deserted property before settling on her. “There’s no way I’m leaving you out here alone. Boyd’s a great watchdog, but he’s not much in the protection department. He loves everyone he meets.”
Chelsea didn’t think anything would happen to her, but she yielded to the wisdom of what he was saying. These days, a girl couldn’t be too careful. So, since she was out of options, she decided to make the best of a bad situation. “All right, then. I appreciate the offer.”
“And lunch,” he said, motioning her toward his truck. “By the looks of that suit, you don’t eat near as much as you should.”
Appalled by his comment, she pulled up short. “Are you saying I’m too thin?”
“Got that right.” The dented passenger door groaned loudly as he opened it for her. “Some of Molly Harkness’s chicken and dumplings should do the trick.”
Oh, the Southern diet, Chelsea lamented. She loved the taste of fried anything smothered in gravy, but the effect it had on her waistline was another issue altogether. “I’ll just get a salad, thanks,” she announced as she sat on the threadbare seat.
“Over my dead body,” he grumbled, shutting the door and climbing in the other side. Raising an eyebrow at her, he crossed his fingers and turned the key. After a few tries, the cranky engine roared to life, and Paul circled the turnaround and headed for the main road.
“You’re not really going to try and tell me what to eat, are you?” she demanded.
“Somebody should.” Eyeing her in the rearview mirror, he shook his head. “When’s the last time you had a steak?”
She honestly couldn’t recall, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Instead, she disregarded the question and used the old-fashioned handle to roll her window down. A breeze scented with wild roses and honeysuckle drifted into the cab, and she took a deep breath of it. “It smells like summer, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” Pointing over to the right, he said, “I cleared a path along the creek last week. Boyd loves it, and it gives me a break from all that oil and sawdust.”
“That sounds nice.” Secretly, she envied him his flexible schedule. While he was working very hard, it was on his own terms, not dictated by someone else’s clock.
“My brothers and I used to have a lot of fun at that old swimming hole down at the other end,” Paul continued. “We’d grab some watermelons and a radio, then meet our friends there in the morning and not go home till dark. Those were some good times.”
His nostalgic rambling trailed off, and he tuned the radio to a local station. It was noon, and while the national anthem played, Chelsea realized she’d missed a lot by being so driven during high school. Friends, fun and lazy days at the swimming hole. If she’d known then what she knew now, she’d have enjoyed herself more.
“Chelsea,” Paul said gently, as if her silence made him uncomfortable. When she met his eyes, he went on. “Not everything here was bad, y’know.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” she corrected him. “I said it was limited.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s the world treating you these days?”
“Fine.” That got her a skeptical look, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Okay, it’s tough. But I’ll figure it out.”
Eventually.
“When you do, clue me in, would ya?”
“Like you’d ever need help from me,” she scoffed. “Mr. Valedictorian and MVP of everything.”
“That was a long time ago,” he reminded her in a somber tone. “A lot’s changed since then.”
The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”
After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”
She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”
“Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”
“And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”
“Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”
“Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”
“Well, now, that explains a lot.”
As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.
Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.
Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.
“Who did the new sign?” she asked.
“No idea. Ask Molly.”
Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.
Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”
Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”
Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”
Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile. “Yes, ma’am. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, peachy, like always.” After giving her a warm hug, Molly assessed her with disdain. “What? They don’t feed you up there in Roanoke?”
“Not like this.” Chelsea paused for a long sniff. “What’ve you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea the entire village was in on this. The fact that so many people stood behind the mill put a whole different spin on it for her, giving her a glimpse into the pressure Paul must feel to make the project successful. Beyond that, his application had become more to her than debits and credits on a ledger sheet. “Ultimately, the board makes the decision, so I can’t promise anything. But I’ll do my best.”
“God bless you both.” After placing a hand on her shoulder and the other on Paul’s, he returned to his meal.
“Well, that was awkward,” Chelsea murmured as she and Paul seated themselves on opposite sides of the tiny booth.
Already nose-deep in the menu, he asked, “Why?”
Sensing that he hadn’t strayed as far from their Christian upbringing as she had, she wisely kept her mouth shut. But he was still the same old Paul, and he eyed her suspiciously. Setting down his menu, he folded his well-muscled forearms on top and leaned in with a slight grin. “You’re not tight with the big guy anymore?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” she chided, relenting when his grin widened into a you-can’t-fool-me look. “All right, you nailed me on that one. Happy?”
“Immensely. Most women baffle me, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s kinda nice.”
“I’ve changed plenty,” she insisted as Molly showed up with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “You’re exactly the same, though.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Arguing again?” Molly teased, pulling an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “It feels like old times, seeing you kids in my place. What’ll you have?”
“How ’bout some barbecue?” Paul suggested with a questioning look at Chelsea. “If you want, we can get one chicken and one pork and split ’em.”
What did she care? With all the trouble he was causing her, she’d have boatloads of pent-up aggravation for working off the calories at the gym later. “Sure, with coleslaw. And double fries with gravy,” she added impulsively.
Beaming proudly, Molly patted her back. “Good for you, hon. You only go around once, so you might as well eat what you want. These’ll be out shortly.”
“Before you go, I was wondering who did your new sign. It’s really unique.”
“Jenna Reed blew into town a few months back,” Molly explained. “She’s one of those traveling-artist types, y’know, the kind who sell their stuff at a roadside stand. Anyway, she came in here one day and asked if I knew anyone who was looking for some new signage.”
“And you hired her,” Paul guessed. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The girl needed to pay her rent, and our old plaque was falling off the hooks. She didn’t charge much, and we get all kinds of compliments about it. I’d say we got the better end of the bargain.”
“That sign at the mill is way past its prime,” Chelsea told Paul. “You might want to contact Jenna and see if she can help you out. You really need a logo to brand your products and marketing materials.”
“Great idea.” Grabbing a napkin, he borrowed Molly’s pen and wrote down the woman’s info. Once she’d gone, he refolded his arms and leaned closer. “You’ve always been a by-the-numbers type. Where’d you pick up your eye for artistic stuff?”
That he’d noticed the change, and obviously approved of it, gave her shaky ego a pleasant little boost. The fact that those deep brown eyes were twinkling at her had nothing to do with it, of course, but it was nice to be recognized for something she’d done rather than how pretty she looked. She got her fill of that at the bank, and it was refreshing to be praised for stepping out of her usual realm of expertise.
“Marketing’s always interested me,” she confided for the very first time. Even her father didn’t know, because to him, banking was the only industry worth pursuing. “I like analyzing the unique aspects of a company and figuring out how to play them up to their best advantage.”
“Like earlier, when you asked about my plans for promoting the mill,” he said as he filled their glasses with tea. “Do you do that often?”
“Never.” Hearing the edge to her tone, she did her best to dial it back. “Our clients aren’t interested in my opinion on that kind of thing. They hire experts for that.”
“Your mom was a real creative lady. You must’ve gotten your talent from her.”
The mention of her long-absent mother hit Chelsea like a bucket of ice water, and she felt herself stiffen in self-defense. She recognized that it was absurd to tense up that way, but it was reflexive and she simply couldn’t help it. Hoping to disguise her reaction, she shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to her. “Probably.”
“Where is she these days?”
“Australia, with husband number four.” Or was it Austria? It had been months since her last email, and she honestly couldn’t recall where Mom had said they were living now.
“Cool place. You should go visit her when you get a chance.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Chelsea spat with more venom than she’d intended. Swallowing some tea, she went on. “Beyond that, I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. After the divorce, she and Dad could hardly look at each other without snarling.”
In truth, they’d been like that her entire life, and the breakup of their marriage had been a relief for all of them. Paul seemed to sense that, because the look on his face shifted from polite interest to genuine sympathy. Considering the fact that they’d been wrangling all morning, his compassion touched her deeply. In her fast-paced world, people flew past each other with a quick greeting, seldom pausing for a meaningful conversation. Something told her if she wanted to keep talking, he’d go right on listening, nodding and encouraging until she was finished. Part of her longed to do just that, but logic took over, reminding her the last thing she needed was to allow herself to become personally involved with a potential client. Especially this one.
He’d be easier to dismiss if he were still the same arrogant jock she knew years ago. The kind, caring man who’d taken his place was a temptation any woman with a pulse would have a hard time resisting.
* * *
Chelsea twisted in her seat to survey the crowd. “I don’t see Fred anywhere.”
“Must be out somewhere helping somebody else. I’ll give him a call after we order.” As if on cue, his cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Gram. I can take it outside if you want.”
The sudden worry that creased his forehead reinforced her hunch that there was more to the mill project than he’d claimed, and she waved away his offer. “No, go ahead.”
“Hey, there. What’s up with my favorite girl today?” Listening for a few moments, his frown hardened with determination. “Is that right? Well, put the nurse on.” Another pause. “I realize you’re the professional here, but Will’s an eighty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know how much longer he’s got. If he wants barbecue ribs, he should have ’em. Yes, I take full responsibility for disobeying doctor’s orders. You’re welcome.”
Will Barrett was dying.
Reality struck her with the force of a physical blow, and Chelsea felt her heart seize in her chest. Too shocked for words, she gasped something even she couldn’t understand. Part shock, part sob, it was all she could manage, and Paul held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“Gram, we’re good to go, and I’ll bring a meal for you, too.” Checking the desserts board, he asked, “Rhubarb pie or triple berry? Got it. See ya soon.”
Closing his phone, he clasped it in his hands, staring down at the maze place mat on the table in front of him. All the bravado seemed to have drained out of him, and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh. The anguish on his face tugged at Chelsea’s closely guarded heart, and she searched for some comforting words. None came to mind, but she couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer this way.
Even though she’d resolved to remain objective about this unusual assignment, it had suddenly become very personal. Reaching over, she rested her hand over both of his, wishing there was something more she could do.
Chapter Three (#ulink_321e96e5-2c79-57cf-ab98-257da64807ae)
When he looked up, Paul noticed tears shining in Chelsea’s eyes. Considering the fact that they’d been sparring with each other most of the morning, it seemed odd that she’d feel sorry for him. But the way he was feeling right now, he’d take any sympathy she cared to offer him.
“The doctors can’t do anything more for Granddad’s cancer,” he explained, “and he’s accepted that he’s not gonna beat it this time. The last thing he wants before he goes is to see the mill up and running again. Well, that and some Whistlestop barbecue,” he added with a wry grin.
“Is that why you’re staying with them instead of at your parents’ place over in Cambridge?”
“Yeah. Mom and my sisters-in-law take turns dropping by during the days, but we all feel better knowing someone’s around if Gram needs a hand at night.”
Swallowing some tea, she said, “I’d like to stop in and see them, if you don’t mind giving me a ride over there.”
Seeing as she was in such a hurry to get back, he was stunned that she was willing to delay her trip. Stunned and more than a little impressed. Maybe the ice princess had a heart after all, he thought with a grin. “Don’t mind a bit. They’ve been feeling a little cooped up lately, and I’m sure they’d love to see you. Then we’ll track down Fred and get your car back on the road.”
“Thanks.” Swirling her straw around, she asked, “Is it true all the banks around here turned you down?”
“Yup,” he replied, popping a saltine into his mouth. “They said it’s ’cause the only collateral I have is the mill, and it’s not enough to make up for me not knowing the first thing about running a business.”
“And if Shenandoah Bank turns you down? What then?”
“I don’t wanna think about it.” When a waitress arrived with their order, he added the take-out meals to their tab and turned the conversation to a more positive subject. “So, tell me what’s been going on with you. Senior year you were voted most likely to be the first woman president. Have you picked your running mate yet?”
She laughed, which had been his intent. It was a shame to see those incredible eyes filled with anything but joy. “Why? Are you interested in the job?”
“Not a chance.” Forking up some of the chicken from her platter, he plopped it onto his and did the opposite with his pork. “I’d be a terror in those meetings, knocking heads together all day long.”
“Interesting strategy. They might actually accomplish something that way.” Munching a gravy-smothered fry, she hummed in appreciation. “I forgot how much I love this kind of food.”
“We can get some for you to take back, if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be making up for this on the treadmill for the next week as it is.”
“Your call.”
They chatted their way through lunch, and Paul couldn’t help admiring the classy woman seated opposite him. He’d never been interested in her before, but for some reason, now he was captivated. The problem was, she was too smart for her own good, and out of respect for his sanity, he made it a policy to avoid women like her. They were way too much work.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be friendly. Not that he’d try to charm her into helping him out with the bank or anything, but it couldn’t hurt to be nice. The old flies-and-honey saying popped into his mind, and he grinned. He was pretty sure Chelsea would object to being compared to insects of any kind.
“What?” she demanded with a frown. “Have I got sauce on my chin or something?”
“No, I was just thinking about how funny it is we reconnected after all these years.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny ironic?”
“Both.” Holding up his glass, he said, “To old enemies getting a fresh start.”
“We weren’t enemies, really,” she corrected him with a little grin. “More like rivals who were going after the same things from different directions.”
“To old rivals, then. I pity anyone dumb enough to try to keep you from getting what you want.”
“That I can drink to,” she agreed, clinking glasses to seal the toast.
Paul heard another click and glanced over to find Molly standing in the middle of the dining room with a digital camera in her hand. “That’s a good one.”
“For what?” Chelsea asked, apparently as confused as Paul was.
“For my collection.” Pointing to a collage made up of old, fading photos, she explained, “I’ve been adding in new pictures of the people up there, like a history album of the town.”
Playing along, Paul faked a horrified gasp. “We’re not really in that, are we?”
“Of course you are.”
Plucking one from the wall, she handed the picture to him, and he angled it so Chelsea could see, too. Sure enough, there they were, perched on stools at the lunch counter, deep in a debate about something or other. You could tell because Paul was waving his hands and grinning while Chelsea glared at him with the kind of look that could freeze Sterling Creek in the dead of summer. Between them were two melting sundaes, forgotten in their quest to win the latest in a series of arguments that had lasted from junior high straight through to graduation.
“It’s one of my favorites.” Molly took the photo back and gave them each a warm smile. “Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve worked out if you two could quit beating on each other long enough to realize how much alike you are.”
They both laughed, and Paul echoed, “Alike? Ya gotta be kidding.”
“I’m deadly serious. You’re smart as anything and stubborn as a pair of mules. Imagine what you could accomplish if you put aside your pride and pull in the same direction for a change.”
With that, she turned and left them staring at each other. If he was reading her expression accurately, Paul was fairly confident that Chelsea was as horrified by that idea as he was. Then Molly’s words registered more clearly. “Did you notice how she said that?”
Eyes wide with shock, Chelsea nodded. “She didn’t say ‘accomplished,’ as if she was referring to what happened in the past. She made it sound like we should work together now and see how it goes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her smoothly. “Everyone’s got an opinion about this mill project. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
While they both continued eating, Paul was careful not to let Chelsea catch him glancing over at her. Because, despite what he’d said just a few moments ago, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Molly was right. With his technical know-how and her business sense, he and Chelsea would make a great team. Having her on his side would definitely improve the chances of his wild idea succeeding.
Unfortunately, his male instincts warned him that any partnership with this by-the-books accountant would drive him completely over the edge. Then again, working with a woman instead of dating her would be a refreshing change for him. At least he wouldn’t end up getting tossed out of his own apartment into the rain.
* * *
“What a wonderful surprise!” Olivia Barrett exclaimed, folding Chelsea into a warm hug. It was the second one she’d gotten today, and this one felt just as good as the first. To be welcomed back after so many years away felt amazing.
“I was in town, so I wanted to stop by and see you two,” she explained with a hesitant peek into the dining room. All the antique furniture was pushed to one side, opening up space for a hospital bed. “Is this a good time?”
“It’s always a good time for company.” The shadows beneath her brown eyes spoke of many sleepless nights, but the determined glimmer said she was making the best of their difficult situation. “Folks come tiptoeing in here like Will’s already laid out for his funeral. It makes me crazy.”
“Well, we’re here to fix that,” her grandson informed her, holding up two take-out bags printed with The Whistlestop’s trolley logo.
“We could smell it when you were coming up the walk. I’ll get some plates.”
“In here,” he replied, wiggling the bags. “No dishes for you to wash, so you can just relax and enjoy your lunch.”
“My boy,” she cooed, grasping his chin for a fond shake. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite?”
When she turned to lead them into the dining room, Paul whispered to Chelsea, “She says that to all of us.”
Thanks to him, Chelsea was laughing when she saw Will Barrett. His pale face broke into a bright smile, and though he looked achingly frail, he greeted her in the strong baritone voice that used to ring out from the church choir every Sunday. “Marvelous to see you, Chelsea. Come in. Come in.”
His hand trembled as he motioned her to the armchair beside his bed, and she sank into it as unexpected emotions clogged her throat. Paul had warned her his grandfather was dying, but she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of what that meant. Though it was tucked behind a leafy ficus, she noticed an IV pole holding a bag of dripping medication. Looking from it to Will, the sympathy in his eyes caught her even more off guard.
“I know,” he said simply, patting her hand with his. “It’s not easy, but we’re making the best of things.”
“Why are you here instead of in a hospital?” she blurted without thinking first. When she realized what she’d done, she felt herself reddening in embarrassment.
Will chased off her discomfort with a faint laugh. “All that poking and prodding was making me downright ornery. And the food.” Condemning it with a sour face, he continued, “I’m happier here, and now Olivia can be comfortable at home instead of driving back and forth to a place full of sick people.”
“Gram came down with pneumonia a few weeks ago,” Paul explained, pulling some dining chairs over so they could all sit near Will. Winking at her, he added, “Personally, I think she was just looking for an excuse to stay in bed and do crossword puzzles all day.”
“Oh, you,” she protested, playfully smacking the back of his head.
A few weeks, Chelsea mused while Olivia dished up barbecue for Will and then herself. The time frame rang a bell, and she turned to Paul with newfound respect. “Is that why you came back from Oregon?”
“Mostly I missed Gram’s peach cobbler. It’s still the best I ever had.”
“I could never keep this one full,” she said with an adoring look at him. “The whole time he was growing up, the more I cooked, the more he ate.”
“Hey, I’m the middle kid. I had to keep getting bigger so they wouldn’t all pound me.”
“Are your brothers still around?” Chelsea asked.
His eyes darkened to near black, but he quickly masked his reaction with a grin. “Most of ’em. Connor and Greg live over in Cambridge with their families, and Jason’s busy loading up my secret weapon for the mill.”
“What about Scott?”
Dead silence. It felt as if something had sucked all the air out of the room, and Chelsea wished she could disappear from sight under the old floorboards.
“Scott’s still finding his way,” Olivia answered quietly. “Lemonade, dear?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Deciding not to risk any more blunders, Chelsea sipped her cool drink and listened to the Barretts discuss the goings-on around the town she’d left behind so long ago. While they talked, she gained a fresh appreciation for the commitment Paul had made, seemingly without a second thought.
His vision for the mill seemed long-term, which meant he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. He probably had a life out West, but he was forsaking that to be where he was needed most. Sitting here in this sunny room, being entertained by the local gossip, she was struck by a random thought that rattled her right down to her toes.
This was love.
This was what it meant to put someone else before yourself, to value their happiness and well-being as much as you did your own. While Chelsea had always admired and respected her father, as a teenager she’d accepted that his one-track mind was focused on making his bank as profitable as possible. These days they worked in the same building, but they seldom shared moments like this one. To her knowledge, Theo Barnes had never eaten takeout from paper plates and debated whether the new highway project was a good use of county funds or a complete waste of money.
While she was considering that, Paul’s phone rang, and he checked the screen. “Fred,” he told her, hitting the answer button. “Hey, there. Thanks for getting back to me. Chelsea Barnes is in town, and her fancy new car won’t start. It’s at the mill, and I’m hoping you can help us out so she can get back to Roanoke sometime today.” He glanced up at the antique schoolhouse clock on the wall. “Half hour’s fine. See ya then.”
Chelsea was perplexed by their short exchange. Granted, she wasn’t Miss Fix-It, but from what she’d heard, Paul hadn’t offered the mechanic the slightest bit of useful information. “You didn’t tell him a thing. How does he know what to bring?”
“I said ‘fancy’ and ‘new,’” Paul pointed out matter-of-factly. “He’ll know.”
“But—”
“Do you always hassle people who’re trying to help you?”
Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair and cocked his head in a pose that made her think of Boyd when she’d met him that morning. The idea of Paul beginning to resemble his canine friend was more amusing than it should have been, and she couldn’t help smiling.
“That’s so much better,” he praised her with a wide grin. “You really oughta smile more often. It looks good on you.”
Maybe when her career started improving, she’d be able to follow his cavalier—and slightly chauvinistic—advice. But she was where she was, and until she clawed her way up to where she wanted to be, she’d be sticking to the serious route. Since she had no intention of sharing the reasons for her attitude with him or anyone else, she forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”
“Ouch,” he replied with a chuckle. “That’s a mind-your-own-business brush-off if ever I heard one. Anything you wanna tell me?”
Not in this lifetime, she wanted to shoot back. Of course, a Southern lady never spoke to anyone that way, so she settled for “No.”
He gave her a long, dubious look before standing. “Then we should head out to meet Fred. He’ll get you back on the road in no time.”
“So nice to see you, dear.” Olivia stood and embraced Chelsea again. “Be sure to come by for a visit next time you’re in town.”
“And bring more barbecue,” Will added eagerly.
That wasn’t likely to happen, but Chelsea forced a smile and managed to say her goodbyes without a hitch in her voice. As she and Paul walked through the kitchen, she hated to think of how disappointed his grandparents would be when the bank got a good look at the figures on Paul’s loan application and turned him down flat.
Outside, she took in the view of a neighborhood that hadn’t changed much since her childhood. Sturdy homes, old but well cared for, lined the street like sentinels from another time. Standing by the truck, she inhaled the scent of gardens overflowing with gardenias and roses, with the exotic aroma of jasmine mixed in for effect. “Mmm...that smells good.”
Paul sniffed quickly and shrugged. “I guess so. I’m here all the time, so I guess I don’t notice it anymore.”
“I don’t remember this part of town being so pretty. It’s really nice.”
Closing her door, he balanced his hands on the window frame and gave her a long, slow smile. “Yeah, it is.”
For a few moments, they gazed at each other through the open window, almost as if they’d never met before. In a way, she realized, that was true. The brash football captain and the shy bookworm they’d once been existed in the past, and the people who’d replaced them were all but strangers.
Could they become more than that? a tiny voice in her head wondered.
She pushed the thought firmly back into the depths of her brain, where it belonged. Getting to the top of her profession was her only goal right now, and she couldn’t afford any distractions, no matter how handsome they might be.
Paul’s pensive look gave way to the nonchalant one he’d been wearing most of the day. On their way out into the country, they drove beneath enormous trees that had withstood the devastating war that had left so much of Virginia stripped and in ruins. Both sides had done their share of damage, and men had returned to a barren wasteland begging for redemption.
With the need for lumber so high, Gideon Barrett and his two surviving brothers sank their meager fortunes into constructing a mill to turn the area’s plentiful trees into raw material for new houses, stores, even railroad ties.
In its way, the mill had saved the ravaged town from fading into oblivion. It seemed fitting, somehow, that the residents were fighting to save the landmark business that had given rise to the village they called home. Beyond that, she knew helping the Barretts was the right thing to do.
Tossing aside her pledge to remain cautiously neutral, she said, “Okay, I’m on board. It won’t be easy, but I’ll figure out a way to get you the money you need for your furniture business. You have my word on it.”
Sliding her an incredulous look, he asked, “Did I miss something? What happened to the numbers not adding up and all?”
“They still don’t, and I have a hunch they never will. It would be a unique operation, and there’s nothing in the area to compare it to.”
“Which means we can’t prove it’s a profitable idea.”
He’d all but admitted this wasn’t his area of expertise, but she had to give him credit—he caught on fast. “Exactly.”
“You’re the logical type,” he pressed, obviously still confused. “Formulas and algorithms, they’re your thing. What changed your mind?”
Sighing, she met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m doing it for Will.”
“So’m I.” Paul’s grim expression brightened into the crooked grin she remembered from high school. “Looks like we’ve finally got something in common. If Molly finds out, she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
After resisting his many charms all morning, Chelsea eased up on her well-honed discipline and gave him a genuine smile. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_45140371-f5c1-57b9-9edb-87024627af9c)
Chelsea spent several hours framing Paul’s proposal in as positive a light as she could manage without actually inventing facts. To avoid creating the impression that she was somehow personally invested in the project, she called it Barrett’s Mill Restoration and played up the potential she’d observed during her tour. Five minutes before her presentation, she was still tinkering with the conclusion, choosing her words carefully to ensure they’d leave a lasting impression on her very pragmatic audience.
“A one-of-a-kind enterprise like this will fill a small but lucrative niche in the furniture market,” she stated with confidence, clicking through slides of projections alternated with the most flattering photos from the property. “Barrett’s Mill Furniture isn’t a new venture, but rather the relaunch of an old, well-established business rooted in the Blue Ridge area. The product line will meet the desire of modern customers to feel connected to the nostalgia of days gone by. Backing this unique project would not only benefit Shenandoah Bank and Trust in the profit column, but gain us a valuable reputation as a firm that recognizes potential and invests in the future of our customers.”
When she was finished, Chelsea set down the projector remote and took her seat midway down the polished conference table. Hoping to appear calm, she folded her hands in front of her upright tablet and waited.
Twelve pairs of eyes blinked at each other, roaming around the gathering but studiously avoiding her. Then, almost in unison, they all turned to the man seated in the place of honor at the head of the table. Her father was wearing a thoughtful expression, but from a lifetime of experience, she knew that didn’t mean a thing. As a child, she’d quickly learned it was the normal, relaxed position of a handsome face that disguised a shrewd mind and gave away nothing.
As the silence stretched beyond thirty seconds, Theo Barnes let out a low chuckle. “Not all at once, now. We need to keep this civilized.”
Nervous laughter flitted around the posh conference room, trailing off when he turned his dark eyes on her. At work, she wasn’t his daughter, simply another bright employee charging her way up the corporate ladder, and he treated her accordingly. “You think this is a sound idea?”
Direct and precise, she reminded herself. He responded best to confident answers, even when he disagreed. “Yes, I do.”
“And the numbers?”
“Bear me out, as you can see.”
To prove her point, she pulled up the projection that showed Paul’s business breaking even in two years and turning a profit within three. They were shaded toward the optimistic end of the spectrum, but having witnessed how committed he was to making the mill work, she had no doubt he’d find a way to honor his obligation to the bank. Nodding, her father swiveled his gaze around the committee, silently asking for their input.
“Chelsea, I have to say, I’m very impressed,” said Alex Gordon, a good-looking colleague who dressed like a younger version of her father. Seated to his right in the heir-apparent chair that should have been hers, he gave her a smile that held more than a hint of personal admiration. “Your attention to detail is impeccable, as always.”
“Thank you.”
But you’re not getting a third date, she added silently. Two had been more than enough, thank you very much. Her dad was convinced Alex was the financial genius of his generation, and in her saner moments, she acknowledged he was just the kind of man she was looking for. Polished and self-assured, he shared her interest in all things logical. There just wasn’t a spark between them, at least not for her. Which was probably for the best, because as her father’s hand-chosen protégé, Alex pushed every one of Chelsea’s competitive buttons.
And she had a lot of them.
Now that the discussion had begun, one loan officer questioned her calculations, which Chelsea assured him were accurate. Another doubted the ability of such an out-of-the-way business to earn enough money to repay their loan. She patiently reminded him that the online component would minimize any disadvantage caused by the mill’s remote location. On and on it went, and by the time they were done, she’d been pummeled for nearly half an hour.
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Mia Ross
Building A New StartChelsea Barnes never expected to see her high school rival, golden boy Paul Barrett, again. But when Paul applies for a loan to renovate his family's historic mill, it's Chelsea who the bank sends to her tiny hometown to assess the property–and Paul. It's her chance to prove herself to her boss, and Chelsea won't let Paul stand in her way. Paul would do anything to restore the mill for his ailing grandfather. Even allow the lovely Chelsea to help. Together, they just might build something beautiful…a happily-ever-after.Barrett's Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love.
Building A New Start
Chelsea Barnes never expected to see her high school rival, golden boy Paul Barrett, again. But when Paul applies for a loan to renovate his family’s historic mill, it’s Chelsea who the bank sends to her tiny hometown to assess the property—and Paul. It’s her chance to prove herself to her boss, and Chelsea won’t let Paul stand in her way. Paul would do anything to restore the mill for his ailing grandfather. Even allow the lovely Chelsea to help. Together, they just might build something beautiful…a happily-ever-after.
Barrett’s Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love.
“Whattaya say, partner? Wanna go make nice?”
He glanced down at Boyd. His canine buddy was stretched out in a patch of late-morning sunlight.
Groveling really shouldn’t be all that tough for him, but because she was brighter than most, she’d see right through his usual I’m-just-a-guy approach. That meant he’d have to go with the truth.
Hoping to appear contrite, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged down the steps. In the yard, he intercepted Chelsea.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
“For being out of line. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
MIA ROSS
loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at www.miaross.com (http://www.miaross.com).
Blue Ridge Reunion
Mia Ross
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in
due season we will reap, if we do not give up.
—Galatians 6:9
For Mom and Dad
Acknowledgments (#ulink_fde4f10f-f854-5d30-aba9-da58500412b0)
To the very talented folks who help me make my books everything they can be: Elaine Spencer,
Melissa Endlich and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired.
More thanks to the gang at Seekerville
(www.seekerville.net), a great place to hang out
with readers—and writers.
Thanks to RL for your insights
into the banking world—and for the lunch.
Contents
Cover (#u4299c415-a18e-56cc-b1fd-64993421d753)
Back Cover Text (#u9d1cb56a-ec62-5356-aba5-c9de7982e28c)
Introduction (#u4fae58da-c4b7-58f2-b3ae-7a11896ef122)
About the Author (#u33d3096d-65fd-5c33-915d-49a53cd1f0ad)
Title Page (#u8c174111-91b7-5e6a-868b-2aba4aef1ad3)
Bible Verse (#uccce95fc-7e09-5000-8b83-972b0ff35f1f)
Dedication (#u318514a9-d9f4-55df-b410-ab83c7584b5c)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_761dcc07-b41e-5bd9-8ba5-4659ed4f7a9e)
Chapter One (#ulink_840d78b9-5224-5174-a863-ffd16b67e419)
Chapter Two (#ulink_0b390a72-1fba-5b3b-9e79-1074c879b235)
Chapter Three (#ulink_375b7461-3579-514f-8d5a-9269662ee854)
Chapter Four (#ulink_119cfb20-a13f-5147-8f94-058e1f9e5815)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_da5a1bfa-79ca-5600-84ac-e60dbb1b7fca)
Chelsea Barnes really hated Mondays.
Especially Mondays like this, when the July sunshine and warm breeze tempted her to stay home from work and enjoy the beautiful summer day. But her father had taught her that people who played hooky never amounted to anything, so she refocused on the narrow two-lane road. Following it as it meandered under the leafy canopy of oaks, she kept an eye out for the turnoff she needed. Around a bend, she located the weathered sign dangling from one rusty hook: Barrett’s Sawmill, est. 1866.
She drove slowly down the pitted track, avoiding the largest ruts and hoping the pinging gravel didn’t take too much paint off her darling convertible. At the other end, she pulled up alongside a beat-up red pickup with the sawmill’s faded logo stenciled on the driver’s door. It was so old she wouldn’t be surprised to discover it had rolled off the assembly line when Henry Ford was still in charge.
Seeing it here was odd, she thought as she stepped from her car. While reading through the loan application file, she’d gotten the impression the property had been abandoned since the Barretts closed down their bankrupt company ten years ago. She surveyed the place with a glance but didn’t notice anyone. What she did see was the millhouse, stubbornly clinging to the bank of the creek that once powered its waterwheel and looking every minute of its considerable age.
Deciding it was best to get this over with quickly, she shouted, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Her greeting unleashed an unmistakable baying, and a huge red bloodhound came bounding from a nearby grove of trees, ears flapping as he made a beeline for Chelsea.
He wasn’t snarling or showing his teeth, but she’d rather not find out the hard way that he wasn’t friendly. Keeping her eyes fixed on him, she retreated to her car and fumbled behind her for the door handle.
Unable to locate it, she scrambled onto the hood. “Hello? A little help out here!”
No one appeared, but a commanding voice boomed from inside. “Boyd, that’s enough!”
Instantly, he dropped to a sitting position, wagging his tail on the ground while his tongue lolled from his mouth in a sloppy welcome. Reassured, Chelsea eased herself to the ground and looked up to find the dog’s owner strolling down the rickety porch steps toward the driveway. No, she groaned inwardly. She hadn’t seen him in ages, but she instantly recognized that cocky walk, those long, powerful legs and impossibly broad shoulders.
Paul Barrett. Valedictorian, captain of any team he played on, dream date of every cheerleader at Barrett’s Mill High School. In other words, the bane of her teenage existence.
What on earth was he doing here? Last she knew, he was in Kansas somewhere, doing whatever appealed to him at the time. It had never occurred to her that when her father had said his bank was doing a favor for the Barretts, Paul would be involved. Arrogant and unpredictable as a summer storm, here he was, smiling at her as though they were old friends. Which, of course, they weren’t.
But standing here in front of the rustic building, surrounded by acres of trees, she grudgingly admitted he’d gotten better looking over the years. When he smiled, that opinion only deepened. Then he started talking.
“Chelsea Lynn Barnes,” he drawled, his dark eyes crinkling as he squinted into the sun. “What’s a classy girl like you doin’ out here in the sticks?”
Just like that, her earlier annoyance returned, and she had to bite her tongue to keep back a sharp response. The fact that she’d been wondering the exact same thing had nothing whatsoever to do with her reaction. While her father had framed this trip as a personal favor to him, she couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that she’d drawn this assignment for no reason other than that she was the only one on his staff who knew how to get to this map-dot town buried in Virginia’s Blue Ridge mountains. Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself this was business and she had to maintain a professional demeanor. Even if it killed her.
Sliding a business card from the outside pocket of her slim briefcase, she replied, “I’m a commercial loan officer for Shenandoah Bank and Trust in Roanoke. I’m doing the property appraisal for the loan you requested.”
Next time, she vowed silently, she’d read a prospective client’s file more carefully. If she’d done that this morning, she could’ve braced herself to see Paul instead of getting blindsided like this.
He took the card and eyed her skeptically, then grinned. “What’s the punch line?”
People frequently did this to her, assuming she was too young to handle so much responsibility. With anyone else, she’d have taken the slight in stride. But Paul had rubbed her the wrong way from the day they’d been tossed into the same kindergarten class, seeming to delight in pushing her buttons.
She pulled herself up to her full height and gave him her coolest look. “I assure you, I’m well qualified to make financial recommendations to the bank.”
“Daddy’s bank.” Plunging grease-stained hands into the front pockets of jeans that had seen better days, he rocked back on the heels of his battered work boots. “How do you like working for him?”
No one had ever asked her that, probably because they assumed her current position was a cakewalk. Having known Theo Barnes all her life, she was better acquainted with his impossibly high standards than anyone. There were days when she wondered if she’d ever meet them, as either his daughter or his employee.
Shunting that grim thought aside, she said simply, “It’s going well.” Of course, her answer depended on which day you asked her. Today, for instance, she wasn’t all that crazy about it, but there was no way she was sharing that with Paul.
He gave her a long, assessing look that told her absolutely nothing about what was going through his mind. Not that she cared on a personal level, of course. It would just be nice to know so she could plan her next move and keep ahead of him. That was the mistake she’d made all through high school, she’d realized over the years. She’d never had the upper hand, and he’d beaten her out of more awards—twelve, to be precise—than he should have.
While they stared at each other, the wind ruffled his unruly brown hair, and she couldn’t help noticing the lighter streaks running through it. Judging by his tanned face, he still spent a lot of time outside, and he probably felt totally at home in these untamed acres of woods surrounding the mill. While she preferred well-groomed men with a sense of style, she couldn’t deny that Paul had his own raw appeal.
For other women, she amended quickly, yanking her errant thoughts back from where they had no business going. “Are you the new owner of the property?”
“Yup.”
He offered nothing more, and she decided that in the interest of preserving her sanity, it would be best to move things along. “Shall we get started outside?”
Humor twinkled in his eyes, joined by an aggravating smirk. “Yes, we shall.”
She picked up on his mocking tone and did her best to ignore the dig as he motioned her ahead of him. An hour, tops, and she was out of here. Then she’d stamp his loan request denied in bright red ink. Maybe she’d do it more than once, just to make a point.
Her father’s distinctive ringtone sounded in her bag, and she bit back a sigh before answering. “Hi, Dad. No, I didn’t get lost. In fact, I’m standing in front of the mill now.” She felt uncertainty beginning to creep in. She was twenty-seven, but having him check up on her this way made her feel ten again. “Of course. He’s right here.”
Something aggravatingly close to sympathy softened Paul’s rugged features as he took the phone from her. “Good morning, Theo. What can I do for you?” He listened, then replied, “This arrangement works fine for me. I’ve got no doubt Chelsea can handle whatever needs doing.”
The unexpected show of confidence meant a lot to her, and she mouthed, “Thank you.”
Winking at her, he waited for her father to finish whatever he was saying. “My family and I appreciate you giving us a shot. Take care.”
Thumbing the disconnect button, he handed the handset back to her. He didn’t say anything while she muted it and returned it to her bag. Embarrassed by her father’s call, she took out her camera and busied herself with the clasp on its case.
“So,” Paul began in a tone edged with sarcasm. “Your father hasn’t changed much.”
He’d put her exact thought into words, and she was torn between agreeing and scolding him. When she caught the humor in his eyes, she said, “I guess not.”
“Is he always that tough on you?”
“He’s tough on everyone,” she snapped. “I can’t expect special treatment because I’m the boss’s daughter.”
Paul held up his hands as if to fend off her temper. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It just surprises me that he doesn’t have more faith in you, is all. You’d think he’d know better than anyone how smart you are.”
She responded with a sharp, very unprofessional laugh. “Tell him that, would you?”
“Gimme your phone and I will.”
Judging by his somber expression, he was deadly serious. Despite their old rivalry, she was touched by the gesture, and she rewarded him with the genuine smile she rarely used during business hours. “That’s sweet of you, but I was only kidding.”
Bit by bit, that maddening grin returned. “Be honest now. Back in high school, did you ever think someday you’d be saying I was sweet?”
“Not in a million years.”
She admired how he’d shifted from kindness to teasing, clearly attempting to make her feel more at ease. As they smiled at each other, she recalled that he’d always had a way with people. Young, old, male, female, popular or not so much, it didn’t matter. Back then she’d envied him that skill, and now she recognized that her envy had tainted her memories of him. Standing in the warm sunshine with him, she appreciated his generosity more than she could say.
Before she could blurt out something she’d probably regret, she recentered her mind on work. That strategy had worked well throughout her career, and she gladly retreated into it now. “I need to document the condition of the property for your application. What’s first?”
While they toured the exterior, she began to worry there was nothing worth saving. The cobblestone bridge leading to the back entrance seemed fairly solid, but instinct warned her it would never pass a modern engineering inspection.
When she said as much, his answer surprised her. “Oh, that’s all solid steel underneath, and only twelve years old. I had it inspected last week, and it’s plenty strong enough for modern trucks to come in and out. The river rock’s just cemented on for looks.”
Impressed by his foresight, Chelsea made a note in the condition column. “I’ll need a copy of that report.”
“No problem.”
The mill itself was post-and-beam construction, built of oak from the nearby forest. But the roof appeared to be suspect, and everywhere she looked, significant pieces of the structure were either sagging or missing completely. Alongside the damaged areas hung fresh boards, which stood out from the weathered siding like hopeful signs of improvement.
Once they’d finished their circuit, Paul turned to her with an expectant look. “Whattya think?”
“I think you need a bulldozer and some condos right over there.”
When she pointed to the low hill overlooking Sterling Creek, for some reason he chuckled. “Not so fast. You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
She couldn’t imagine it would make a bit of difference in her assessment, but out of fairness, she tamped down her impatience to get back to civilization. “All right. Let’s have a look.”
The boards on the wide stairs were weathered gray and rocked under her designer heels with each step. The handrail wasn’t much help, but considering her odd reaction to seeing him again, she didn’t want to get too close by steadying herself on Paul’s shoulder. His dog rumbled past them, nearly knocking her down. When Paul reached out a hand to help her, she pulled out of range. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Stubborn as ever,” he muttered, adding something she didn’t quite catch. It was probably better that way.
The interior of the building was in slightly better shape, but not by much. On closer inspection, she noticed some of the belts on the antique equipment had been replaced, and the smell of oil and sawdust hung in the air. To the right of the door was what used to be a seating area. Now it was filled with a jumble of filthy equipment in various stages of repair.
On the other side was an office with a half door that stood open to the entryway. Inside she noticed a scarred but sturdy-looking table, a couple of mismatched chairs and an old settee covered in what she assumed was bloodhound fur. There wasn’t a hint of a computer, which didn’t surprise her in the least, but along the far wall stood a dusty row of filing cabinets that probably contained paperwork decades older than she was. In the corner near the window was a small woodstove that held an old boom box playing a mellow rock tune she recognized from high school dances.
When she spotted the air mattress and sleeping bag, she turned to Paul in amazement. “How long have you been living here?”
“About a month, off and on. I’m officially staying in town with my grandparents, but when I’m working late, Boyd and I crash here.”
The million-dollar question, she thought, was why? Since they’d never see each other again after today, she decided to ask. “Your father shut this place down ten years ago. Why are you trying to bring it back now?”
His expression dimmed a little, even though the sun was still shining gamely through the grimy paned windows. After a moment, he answered. “It’s for Granddad. He wants to see it up and running again, and that’s reason enough for me.”
The flicker of sadness in his eyes told her there was more to it than that, but she didn’t want to pry. She remembered Will Barrett as a kindhearted man who’d inherited an archaic family business rooted in another century. When it failed, she hadn’t been surprised, or even particularly sorry. But now she felt the very thing her father had warned her about before coming out here: sympathy.
In her memory, she heard him reminding her that sentiment had no place in the banking industry. She was here to do a job, not get wrapped up in someone else’s family problems. The bank—and more precisely, her father—was counting on her honest, objective appraisal before approving or rejecting this loan request. More than anything, she wanted to prove to him that she was capable of taking over the helm when he was ready to step down. That was what he’d planned for her all her life, and as his only child, she was determined to make it happen.
That meant playing the game by his rules, which didn’t include financing a business so far off the beaten path it couldn’t help but fail again. In spite of her personal opinion, she was touched by Paul’s willingness to take on a hopeless cause for his grandfather. Not for himself, or for money, but because Will had asked him to. Few people got through the composed demeanor she’d cultivated, but Paul’s direct, heartfelt explanation had come uncomfortably close to doing just that. What that meant she couldn’t say, but it was a disturbing feeling, and she fought it with every disciplined bone in her body.
“It looks like you’ve been making progress with the equipment.” Some things looked completely worn-out, but others were clearly fresh out of the box. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“Yeah.” Brightening, he strode past her to an old wooden lever. “I just finished this section, so I haven’t tested it yet. You might wanna cover your ears.”
Slinging her camera around her neck, she followed his suggestion. When she nodded that she was ready, Paul braced his hands on the lever and peered through a hole in the floor. Apparently satisfied, he gradually moved the handle from left to right, unleashing a metallic grinding noise.
“The door in the dam’s opening,” he explained loudly. “It lets water in from the creek to spin the wheel.”
She nodded again, looking down as water rushed in and over the paddles in the newly repaired waterwheel. Once it was spinning, Paul moved away from the lever and pulled a wooden handle on the far wall. It released the mechanics of the main saw, sending belts over pulleys, back and forth, to drive the blade. The noise was deafening, but the motion was even more remarkable. Once the contraption was in full gear, the entire building shook with the power created by a modest stream and a bunch of leather belts.
She’d been here on tours in elementary school, but now Chelsea saw more than the interesting mechanics of days gone by. She admired the genius behind the original design and the skill required to bring all that creaky equipment back up to speed. While Paul had completed only one of the four saw channels, it didn’t take much to envision the business in full operation, churning out lumber for furniture and flooring the way it once had.
After Paul powered everything down, she said, “This place used to be run by electricity. What made you decide to go back to waterpower?”
“Waterwheels are cool,” he answered with a little boy’s enthusiasm. “That’s how it was when Granddad was a kid, so I wanted it to be that way again.”
Again, she sensed there was more to tell, but she didn’t want to get sucked into the charming picture he was painting for her, so she opted to keep things strictly professional. “I have to admit, you’ve accomplished a lot in only a month.”
“That’s just the beginning. Like our business plan says, we want to start making custom furniture again, under the Barrett’s Mill name. Folks love having something unique, and that’s what we’ll give ’em. Everything will be ripped on the saws and handmade by our own carpenters, so no two pieces will be the same.”
“All those shop classes you took are finally coming in handy.”
He took her teasing with an easygoing grin. “Yeah, but I’ve also got a secret weapon.”
“What’s that?”
Glancing around as if he was checking for spies, he moved close enough that she picked up the scent of soap and hard work. It was a pleasant, masculine kind of smell, totally different from the overbearing colognes so many of her coworkers were convinced women loved. They reeked of trying way too hard, while Paul wasn’t trying at all. It set him apart from all the other men she knew, and she sternly dragged her wandering attention back to what he was saying.
“My brother Jason and I have been out in Oregon, working for a company that dredges old timber from river bottoms to be used in modern mills. Back in the day, they used to float trees down from the mountains, and a lot of the bigger ones sank. Some are over a hundred years old, and they’re buried in the mud, just waiting for someone to come along and salvage them. I worked out a deal with my old boss, and when we’re ready, Jason’s gonna bring a load of them here for us to use.”
“Is there really a market for that kind of thing?”
“Sure is. That timber’s been seasoning a long time, and once you dry it out, it makes great raw material.”
“And it has a story to go along with it,” she added, allowing herself a little smile. “People love a good story.”
“You got that right. But I’ve been doing this with my own money, and that ran out a couple weeks ago. We need some serious cash to get us back on track.”
His explanation tripped a switch in her mind, and things began falling into place. “Is that why you’re driving that old sawmill truck?”
“Yeah. When Boyd and I got back here, I sold my crew-cab pickup to a guy over in Cambridge. I really miss that truck,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what he paid me got me started here, so it was worth it.”
She was struck by his commitment to reviving the mill, and as she considered what he’d already accomplished on a shoestring budget, she realized his innovative idea just might fly. In the current era of mass-produced everything, people craved one-of-a-kind items that set them apart from the crowd. As Paul continued explaining the nuts and bolts to her, his eagerness began to erode her professional skepticism.
If his motivation had been purely profit, she would’ve remained pessimistic about his chances. But he’d sacrificed his beloved truck, which proved to her that money was no more important to him now than it had been years ago. Since the tireless effort he was putting in was inspired by the grandfather he adored, she knew Paul would do everything in his power to be successful.
When he finally stopped, she said, “You’d build your marketing strategy around the distinctive history of the town, I assume.”
He hesitated, and she knew she’d caught him on that one. True to form, though, he grinned. “I’ll leave that to the experts. My job is to give them something interesting to market.”
Good answer. Then again, the natural scholar and superjock she remembered from high school had always had a ready comeback for everything. The guy was a born salesman, but where the bank’s money was concerned, she wasn’t certain that what he was selling was worth buying into.
“It’s not up to me.” His cocky grin faded a bit, and she felt a prick of guilt for dashing his hopes. She felt an obligation to be honest with him, but reopening the shuttered business clearly meant a lot to him. Out of respect for his feelings, she softened her tone. “I’ll do my appraisal, then present it to the loan committee for their consideration. The notes and pictures I’m taking today will help them make a fair decision.”
“But you can sway them with the way you lay things out, right?”
The suddenly desperate edge to his voice didn’t jibe with the laid-back personality he’d displayed until now. It made her uncomfortable, and out of habit, she fell back on her usual detachment. “Sometimes. For now, I should get back to work.”
“Okay. I’ll be in here tinkering, so let me know if you need anything.”
As she resumed her assessment, she began to rethink her initial gut reaction. On paper, Barrett’s Sawmill was the worst kind of project the bank could take on. But having viewed it in person, she definitely saw potential in the old mill and its new owner.
The problem was, if Paul couldn’t turn a profit and defaulted on the loan, the loss would be a black mark against her. But if she championed his idea and he succeeded, she’d look like a financial whiz. Then she’d have a realistic shot at the vice president’s position opening up when the head of her department retired at the end of the year. This could be precisely what she needed to make a lasting impression on her father and move her one precious step closer to her ultimate goal of running the bank someday.
Cautious by nature, this was a thorny decision for her, but she was starting to believe the possible benefit just might outweigh the risk. The trick would be convincing a room full of ultraconservative bankers to agree with her.
* * *
Chelsea Barnes, Paul thought while he painstakingly sharpened an old saw blade one tooth at a time. Of all the people Theo Barnes could’ve sent to do this appraisal, who’d have guessed he’d choose his tightly wound daughter?
While his visitor poked around, taking electronic notes on her tablet and snapping pictures with a slick digital 35 mm camera, Paul tried not to watch her, but it was tough. Somewhere along the line, the crazy-smart bookworm that lingered in his adolescent memories had become one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met.
Not gorgeous like a model, he amended silently. She was too petite for that. But the gray suit and crisp white blouse she wore set off her expertly twisted auburn hair and vibrant green eyes to perfection. The earrings sparkling in the sunlight were obviously diamonds, and more studded the slender gold watch that had probably cost more than he made in a month. The two of them might’ve started out in the same tiny town, but they’d ended up at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.
As she prowled around his domain, those keen eyes didn’t seem to miss a thing, lighting with curiosity while she examined the machinery, narrowing when she glanced into the darkness beyond the production area.
“What’s back there?” she asked, pointing with her stylus.
“I call it the tomb,” he joked. “Even Boyd won’t go back there.”
Clearly unamused, she angled a look at him, one elegant brow lifted in reproach. “That’s nearly half your available floor space and will be included in the appraisal. If you don’t currently have it in your plans, we’ll want to invent a use for it before the board reviews your request.”
Paul couldn’t believe his ears. Was the ice princess of Barrett’s Mill High actually stepping down from her glacier to help a peasant? His attitude must have showed, because she turned to face him head-on.
She didn’t look happy. “Did I say something funny?”
“No. Why?”
“You were grinning,” she said haughtily, tilting her cute little nose in the air. “I’m totally serious about this. You should be, too.”
She’d been serious about everything when they were growing up, too, he recalled grimly. Always studying, never allowing anyone to discover if she had a lighter side. Chilled by her frosty glare, Paul decided that despite the smile she’d given him earlier, she hadn’t changed all that much. Not that it mattered to him either way. The only approval he needed from her was financial.
When Boyd ambled over to say hello to her, Paul warned, “Not now, boy. The lady has work to do.”
To his amazement, she crouched down and offered a delicate hand to the lumbering hound. “Oh, I can take a break. Boyd, is it?”
The big oaf woofed at her and collapsed onto his side in a shameless plea for a belly rub. With a quick laugh, she obliged. “There’s a good boy. How did you end up here, anyway?”
“You mean, with me?” Paul poked a little fun at himself, hoping to share in her suddenly generous mood. “He wandered into the logging camp I was working at, half-starved but friendly as could be. I shared a cheeseburger with him, and here we are.”
She gazed up at him with something he’d never expected to see from her in a million years: respect. “You saved his life. That’s amazing.”
Actually, Boyd had done more for Paul than the other way around, but he wasn’t comfortable telling her that. Instead, he shrugged. “He’s a great dog, and he deserved a chance.”
“But you’re the one who gave it to him,” she pressed, standing to look Paul squarely in the eye. He couldn’t imagine what might be going through that pretty head of hers right now, but he was fairly certain he was better off not knowing. In his experience, once you assumed you could determine what a woman was thinking, it was a sure sign you were headed for trouble.
Big trouble.
Hoping to appear nonchalant, he folded his arms and leaned against a support post. “So, any ideas for what I should claim I’m gonna do with that back room?”
After a moment, she replied, “It should be something that generates revenue aside from the furniture business. The idea is to broaden your appeal and be less at the mercy of the outside retail market. An area for woodworking classes or a gift shop that sells specialty items people can only get here or on your website, something like that.”
“Huh. I’ve done a lotta things in my life, but I’m not much of a teacher, and I wouldn’t even know where to start designing a website.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “what have you been doing?”
“Let’s see. When I was in Oklahoma, I worked in the oil fields. In Missouri, I did some long-haul trucking. In Colorado, I worked on an alpaca farm.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Word of advice—they might look cute, but they’re nasty when you rile ’em.” That got him a flicker of a grin, and he was pretty proud of himself. Until she gave him one of those troublemaker looks that made any guy with half a brain want to squirm.
“Maybe you know someone who could help you with the retail part,” she said with an odd glint in her eyes.
Crazy as it seemed, he wondered if she was fishing for details on his personal life. He wasn’t sure why she cared, but he decided to play along, just for fun.
Rubbing his chin, he pretended to consider her suggestion. “Maybe I do. Could be dangerous to ask her, though, seeing as the last time I saw her she was in Phoenix, tossing my stuff out a window and chucking a lamp at my head.”
That got him a withering feminine glare that made him feel about six inches tall. “I can’t begin to imagine why.”
Her response caught him off guard, and he bristled defensively, which was completely out of character for him. Most of the time, he couldn’t care less what other people thought of him. Why did this snippy woman’s opinion matter so much? “That’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?”
“Men are all the same,” she informed him, as if he needed the lesson and it was up to her to enlighten him. “You’re big teddy bears until something doesn’t go your way, then you’re on your way out the door. It’s a wonder any of you ever grow up enough to amount to anything.”
“Hey, she kicked me out.” He pointed to his chest for emphasis.
Chelsea’s eyes sparked like furious emeralds. “Did you ever ask her why?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she traded me in for a guy with a Porsche. When I called her a greedy gold digger, she didn’t take it well.” It still stung that what he’d had to offer her hadn’t been enough. The blow to his ego hadn’t quite healed, and he was determined to avoid a repeat performance.
“So you just walked out, packed up your truck and went to Oregon?” When he didn’t respond, she shook her head at him. “Same old Paul. Never happy with where you are, always looking over the horizon for something better.”
The fact that she was at least partially right didn’t help his suddenly sour mood. “You haven’t changed, either. You’re still judging other people for taking risks you’d never even dream of. How’s that working for you?”
Dismissing him, she pivoted on one of her fancy shoes and went down a set of steps to the side yard where they used to unload the trucks. Paul stood there for a while, trying to get control of his boiling temper before he made the situation worse by charging after her to continue their...argument? No, that wasn’t quite it, he admitted as he watched her through a window. It had been more like sparring, each of them testing the other before squaring up to land their best punches.
Just like old times, he thought with a grimace. Her last name happened to come before his in the alphabet, so they’d often been teamed up for school projects. Their efforts had ended up being more competitions than collaborations, and although they’d scored well, every second they were forced to work together had been a teeth-grinding clash of wills. Now he needed her help or this restoration was dead in the water. Paul simply couldn’t let that happen.
After battling cancer for five years, Granddad’s fight was rapidly coming to an end, and all he wanted was to see his cherished mill up and running before he died. Paul had driven across the country to make sure that happened, which meant he had to man up and apologize to Chelsea for insulting her. Searching for inspiration, he glanced down at Boyd, who was stretched out in a patch of late-morning sunlight, his brow wrinkled with what could only be described as concern. More than once, it had flashed through Paul’s mind that his canine buddy was more sympathetic than a lot of people he knew.
“Whattya say, partner? Wanna go make nice for me?” Boyd let out a quiet groan, then closed his eyes to resume his nap. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothin’.”
Groveling really shouldn’t be all that tough for him, he reasoned as he followed after Chelsea. He’d begged forgiveness from so many women over the years, he’d gotten pretty good at it. But as he watched her with her rolling measuring stick and camera, so intent on her task that she didn’t appear to notice him, his gut warned him that this time would be different.
Because she was brighter than most, and she’d see right through his usual I’m-just-a-guy approach. That meant he’d have to go with the truth, which could be dicey when it came to the female species. But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself as he glanced back at the half-restored mill. It was about answering Granddad’s prayers to get the family business back in working order. If Paul had to eat a little humble pie in the meantime, it was best to choke it down as quickly as possible and watch his mouth from here on out.
Hoping to appear contrite, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and trudged down the steps. In the yard, he intercepted Chelsea. Summoning every sad moment of his life into his expression, he kept it simple. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
Sharp words leaped onto his tongue, and he sent up a quick prayer for patience. What he said to her right now would make or break this project, and he wasn’t averse to calling in a little divine help. “For being out of line. You obviously have a great life, and I had no right to talk to you that way. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
“Thank you, Paul. That can’t have been easy for you to do, and I appreciate it. Believe it or not,” she added in a warmer tone, “I think your idea for this place has a lot of merit.”
“That’s good,” Paul stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.
She gave him a nod, then got back to her measuring. While he appreciated her attempt to be encouraging, he was smart enough to realize it didn’t mean much in this situation. When it came to dollars and cents, banks were notoriously hard-hearted these days, which didn’t bode well for the Barretts.
It wasn’t himself he was worried about, Paul thought morosely. He’d failed before—plenty of times—and as Chelsea had so deftly noted, he had a knack for burying his mistakes and moving on.
But this time, he had to succeed. Knowing that scared him to death.
Chapter Two (#ulink_a973bbde-be32-55da-ac85-2a80a04dfd4e)
When Chelsea was finished with her survey, she stopped in the millhouse to say goodbye to Paul. “Thanks for the tour. The loan committee will be meeting tomorrow, and I’ll make my presentation then. You should have an answer by midweek.”
Paul looked up from the doohickey he was oiling with a grim expression. “I can tell by your tone you don’t think we should get our hopes up.”
She did, but she was usually better at hiding her opinion from clients. Either he was unusually adept at reading her, or she was losing her touch. Whichever it was, she wasn’t thrilled to learn she’d let her emotions show. Hoping to ease the blow, she sat down on an overturned crate beside him. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. With the economy the way it is, projects like these are rejected more often than not.”
“But this one’s special,” he insisted, his dark eyes pleading with her for something she couldn’t give him. “There was nothing around here until my family built this mill. That has to count for something.”
Unfortunately, there were hundreds of villages just like it scattered throughout the country, fading from memory because they weren’t deemed important enough to save. But she couldn’t bear to tell him that, so she hedged. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises. You need to understand that.”
“Sure,” he breathed, his shoulders lifting and then drooping with a heavy sigh.
The defeated pose was far removed from the arrogant sports star she remembered from high school, and she felt her heart going out to him. Firmly, she put a stop to that and reminded herself this was a business proposition. Where money was concerned, she had to keep a cool head at all times. She was on pace to be the youngest vice president in the long history of Shenandoah Bank and Trust, and she had no intention of losing sight of her goal when she had it within her grasp. Because, quite honestly, she had few friends outside of work and an almost nonexistent social life. Without her career, she was nothing.
“I’ll get back to Roanoke and start processing your files,” she said as she stood. “Have a good day.”
“You, too,” he muttered without looking up. Chelsea decided that was the best she could expect considering she’d just crushed his dreams, so she headed for the door. She was on the porch when he called out her name.
She backtracked, and he gave her a sheepish grin as he got to his feet. “That’s no way to treat a lady, and I apologize. Let me walk you to your car.”
“You don’t—”
“Yeah, I do. If Mom found out I booted you outta here, she’d tan my hide.”
Chelsea wouldn’t be talking to anyone else before leaving town, so there was little chance of his mother learning about their awkward reunion. Then again, she mused while they strode outside, this was Barrett’s Mill. Someone had probably noticed her on the road and begun spreading the word that she’d come back, however briefly. The idea tickled her for some reason, and while she normally detested anyone poking their nose into her affairs, she had to laugh.
“What?” Paul asked, glancing around to see what had amused her.
“Just thinking about how this place never changes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I like most about it.”
Bewildered by his attitude, she didn’t bother to hide her reaction. “Really? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“Sure, but that’s part of its charm.” Leaning against a gnarled old oak, he folded his arms and gave her the same wide-open country-boy grin he’d worn all through high school. “I’ve lived lots of places, but I always come back here because it’s home.”
“This is my first visit since we graduated,” she blurted without thinking.
“Doesn’t surprise me any,” he said with a frown. “Even when we were kids, you wanted more than you could find here.”
“There’s a big, fascinating world out there.”
Studying her for a long moment, he murmured, “But you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet. Why is that?”
His perceptiveness unnerved her almost as much as his appallingly blunt—and highly personal—question. She’d usually ignore such an intrusion, but she didn’t want him thinking for even one second that he’d rattled her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Just curious. Have a good trip back.”
This time she didn’t linger out of politeness but opened the driver’s door and gratefully sank into the buttery leather seat. Eager to leave the mill and its aggravating caretaker behind, she angrily punched the button to start the engine.
Nothing.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she reset the electronic fob and tried the button again, with the same result. The dealer had done a full service on this car just last week, and now it wouldn’t start when she was in the absolute middle of nowhere? Could this day possibly get any worse?
The answer to that question loomed in her window, and for a few immature seconds, she ignored Paul’s irritating presence. Then she realized she was being ridiculous and hit the control to lower the window. It wouldn’t work, of course, and she reluctantly climbed out of her worthless car to face the music.
“Problem?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“It won’t start, as you can see. You’re good with mechanical things,” she said hopefully. “Could you please take a look?”
“Well, since you said ‘please,’ I’ll give it a shot. Pop the hood.”
She did as he asked, standing helplessly while he pushed it open and peered inside. The baffled look on his face spoke volumes, and he gave a long, dubious whistle. “You need a computer to talk to a car like this. Fred Morgan might be able to get it running, though.”
“Great. Let’s call him.”
Squinting up at the sky, Paul shook his head. “We could, but it’s lunchtime, and he’ll be at The Whistlestop. We’ll find him there.”
Chelsea didn’t like what he was implying. They’d had a few nice moments, but otherwise the man grated on her every nerve. She hadn’t planned on spending any more time with him than strictly necessary. “We?”
“I’m headed there anyway, so I can give you a ride. Unless you’d rather walk.” Angling his head, he gave her high heels an uncertain look.
“Can’t you just send Fred out here? I mean, after you’ve both eaten,” she added so she didn’t sound quite so desperate.
“Are you serious?” Paul’s eyes roamed around the deserted property before settling on her. “There’s no way I’m leaving you out here alone. Boyd’s a great watchdog, but he’s not much in the protection department. He loves everyone he meets.”
Chelsea didn’t think anything would happen to her, but she yielded to the wisdom of what he was saying. These days, a girl couldn’t be too careful. So, since she was out of options, she decided to make the best of a bad situation. “All right, then. I appreciate the offer.”
“And lunch,” he said, motioning her toward his truck. “By the looks of that suit, you don’t eat near as much as you should.”
Appalled by his comment, she pulled up short. “Are you saying I’m too thin?”
“Got that right.” The dented passenger door groaned loudly as he opened it for her. “Some of Molly Harkness’s chicken and dumplings should do the trick.”
Oh, the Southern diet, Chelsea lamented. She loved the taste of fried anything smothered in gravy, but the effect it had on her waistline was another issue altogether. “I’ll just get a salad, thanks,” she announced as she sat on the threadbare seat.
“Over my dead body,” he grumbled, shutting the door and climbing in the other side. Raising an eyebrow at her, he crossed his fingers and turned the key. After a few tries, the cranky engine roared to life, and Paul circled the turnaround and headed for the main road.
“You’re not really going to try and tell me what to eat, are you?” she demanded.
“Somebody should.” Eyeing her in the rearview mirror, he shook his head. “When’s the last time you had a steak?”
She honestly couldn’t recall, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Instead, she disregarded the question and used the old-fashioned handle to roll her window down. A breeze scented with wild roses and honeysuckle drifted into the cab, and she took a deep breath of it. “It smells like summer, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” Pointing over to the right, he said, “I cleared a path along the creek last week. Boyd loves it, and it gives me a break from all that oil and sawdust.”
“That sounds nice.” Secretly, she envied him his flexible schedule. While he was working very hard, it was on his own terms, not dictated by someone else’s clock.
“My brothers and I used to have a lot of fun at that old swimming hole down at the other end,” Paul continued. “We’d grab some watermelons and a radio, then meet our friends there in the morning and not go home till dark. Those were some good times.”
His nostalgic rambling trailed off, and he tuned the radio to a local station. It was noon, and while the national anthem played, Chelsea realized she’d missed a lot by being so driven during high school. Friends, fun and lazy days at the swimming hole. If she’d known then what she knew now, she’d have enjoyed herself more.
“Chelsea,” Paul said gently, as if her silence made him uncomfortable. When she met his eyes, he went on. “Not everything here was bad, y’know.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” she corrected him. “I said it was limited.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s the world treating you these days?”
“Fine.” That got her a skeptical look, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Okay, it’s tough. But I’ll figure it out.”
Eventually.
“When you do, clue me in, would ya?”
“Like you’d ever need help from me,” she scoffed. “Mr. Valedictorian and MVP of everything.”
“That was a long time ago,” he reminded her in a somber tone. “A lot’s changed since then.”
The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”
After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”
She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”
“Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”
“And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”
“Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”
“Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”
“Well, now, that explains a lot.”
As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.
Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.
Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.
“Who did the new sign?” she asked.
“No idea. Ask Molly.”
Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.
Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”
Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”
Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”
Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile. “Yes, ma’am. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, peachy, like always.” After giving her a warm hug, Molly assessed her with disdain. “What? They don’t feed you up there in Roanoke?”
“Not like this.” Chelsea paused for a long sniff. “What’ve you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea the entire village was in on this. The fact that so many people stood behind the mill put a whole different spin on it for her, giving her a glimpse into the pressure Paul must feel to make the project successful. Beyond that, his application had become more to her than debits and credits on a ledger sheet. “Ultimately, the board makes the decision, so I can’t promise anything. But I’ll do my best.”
“God bless you both.” After placing a hand on her shoulder and the other on Paul’s, he returned to his meal.
“Well, that was awkward,” Chelsea murmured as she and Paul seated themselves on opposite sides of the tiny booth.
Already nose-deep in the menu, he asked, “Why?”
Sensing that he hadn’t strayed as far from their Christian upbringing as she had, she wisely kept her mouth shut. But he was still the same old Paul, and he eyed her suspiciously. Setting down his menu, he folded his well-muscled forearms on top and leaned in with a slight grin. “You’re not tight with the big guy anymore?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” she chided, relenting when his grin widened into a you-can’t-fool-me look. “All right, you nailed me on that one. Happy?”
“Immensely. Most women baffle me, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s kinda nice.”
“I’ve changed plenty,” she insisted as Molly showed up with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “You’re exactly the same, though.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Arguing again?” Molly teased, pulling an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “It feels like old times, seeing you kids in my place. What’ll you have?”
“How ’bout some barbecue?” Paul suggested with a questioning look at Chelsea. “If you want, we can get one chicken and one pork and split ’em.”
What did she care? With all the trouble he was causing her, she’d have boatloads of pent-up aggravation for working off the calories at the gym later. “Sure, with coleslaw. And double fries with gravy,” she added impulsively.
Beaming proudly, Molly patted her back. “Good for you, hon. You only go around once, so you might as well eat what you want. These’ll be out shortly.”
“Before you go, I was wondering who did your new sign. It’s really unique.”
“Jenna Reed blew into town a few months back,” Molly explained. “She’s one of those traveling-artist types, y’know, the kind who sell their stuff at a roadside stand. Anyway, she came in here one day and asked if I knew anyone who was looking for some new signage.”
“And you hired her,” Paul guessed. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The girl needed to pay her rent, and our old plaque was falling off the hooks. She didn’t charge much, and we get all kinds of compliments about it. I’d say we got the better end of the bargain.”
“That sign at the mill is way past its prime,” Chelsea told Paul. “You might want to contact Jenna and see if she can help you out. You really need a logo to brand your products and marketing materials.”
“Great idea.” Grabbing a napkin, he borrowed Molly’s pen and wrote down the woman’s info. Once she’d gone, he refolded his arms and leaned closer. “You’ve always been a by-the-numbers type. Where’d you pick up your eye for artistic stuff?”
That he’d noticed the change, and obviously approved of it, gave her shaky ego a pleasant little boost. The fact that those deep brown eyes were twinkling at her had nothing to do with it, of course, but it was nice to be recognized for something she’d done rather than how pretty she looked. She got her fill of that at the bank, and it was refreshing to be praised for stepping out of her usual realm of expertise.
“Marketing’s always interested me,” she confided for the very first time. Even her father didn’t know, because to him, banking was the only industry worth pursuing. “I like analyzing the unique aspects of a company and figuring out how to play them up to their best advantage.”
“Like earlier, when you asked about my plans for promoting the mill,” he said as he filled their glasses with tea. “Do you do that often?”
“Never.” Hearing the edge to her tone, she did her best to dial it back. “Our clients aren’t interested in my opinion on that kind of thing. They hire experts for that.”
“Your mom was a real creative lady. You must’ve gotten your talent from her.”
The mention of her long-absent mother hit Chelsea like a bucket of ice water, and she felt herself stiffen in self-defense. She recognized that it was absurd to tense up that way, but it was reflexive and she simply couldn’t help it. Hoping to disguise her reaction, she shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to her. “Probably.”
“Where is she these days?”
“Australia, with husband number four.” Or was it Austria? It had been months since her last email, and she honestly couldn’t recall where Mom had said they were living now.
“Cool place. You should go visit her when you get a chance.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Chelsea spat with more venom than she’d intended. Swallowing some tea, she went on. “Beyond that, I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. After the divorce, she and Dad could hardly look at each other without snarling.”
In truth, they’d been like that her entire life, and the breakup of their marriage had been a relief for all of them. Paul seemed to sense that, because the look on his face shifted from polite interest to genuine sympathy. Considering the fact that they’d been wrangling all morning, his compassion touched her deeply. In her fast-paced world, people flew past each other with a quick greeting, seldom pausing for a meaningful conversation. Something told her if she wanted to keep talking, he’d go right on listening, nodding and encouraging until she was finished. Part of her longed to do just that, but logic took over, reminding her the last thing she needed was to allow herself to become personally involved with a potential client. Especially this one.
He’d be easier to dismiss if he were still the same arrogant jock she knew years ago. The kind, caring man who’d taken his place was a temptation any woman with a pulse would have a hard time resisting.
* * *
Chelsea twisted in her seat to survey the crowd. “I don’t see Fred anywhere.”
“Must be out somewhere helping somebody else. I’ll give him a call after we order.” As if on cue, his cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Gram. I can take it outside if you want.”
The sudden worry that creased his forehead reinforced her hunch that there was more to the mill project than he’d claimed, and she waved away his offer. “No, go ahead.”
“Hey, there. What’s up with my favorite girl today?” Listening for a few moments, his frown hardened with determination. “Is that right? Well, put the nurse on.” Another pause. “I realize you’re the professional here, but Will’s an eighty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know how much longer he’s got. If he wants barbecue ribs, he should have ’em. Yes, I take full responsibility for disobeying doctor’s orders. You’re welcome.”
Will Barrett was dying.
Reality struck her with the force of a physical blow, and Chelsea felt her heart seize in her chest. Too shocked for words, she gasped something even she couldn’t understand. Part shock, part sob, it was all she could manage, and Paul held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“Gram, we’re good to go, and I’ll bring a meal for you, too.” Checking the desserts board, he asked, “Rhubarb pie or triple berry? Got it. See ya soon.”
Closing his phone, he clasped it in his hands, staring down at the maze place mat on the table in front of him. All the bravado seemed to have drained out of him, and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh. The anguish on his face tugged at Chelsea’s closely guarded heart, and she searched for some comforting words. None came to mind, but she couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer this way.
Even though she’d resolved to remain objective about this unusual assignment, it had suddenly become very personal. Reaching over, she rested her hand over both of his, wishing there was something more she could do.
Chapter Three (#ulink_321e96e5-2c79-57cf-ab98-257da64807ae)
When he looked up, Paul noticed tears shining in Chelsea’s eyes. Considering the fact that they’d been sparring with each other most of the morning, it seemed odd that she’d feel sorry for him. But the way he was feeling right now, he’d take any sympathy she cared to offer him.
“The doctors can’t do anything more for Granddad’s cancer,” he explained, “and he’s accepted that he’s not gonna beat it this time. The last thing he wants before he goes is to see the mill up and running again. Well, that and some Whistlestop barbecue,” he added with a wry grin.
“Is that why you’re staying with them instead of at your parents’ place over in Cambridge?”
“Yeah. Mom and my sisters-in-law take turns dropping by during the days, but we all feel better knowing someone’s around if Gram needs a hand at night.”
Swallowing some tea, she said, “I’d like to stop in and see them, if you don’t mind giving me a ride over there.”
Seeing as she was in such a hurry to get back, he was stunned that she was willing to delay her trip. Stunned and more than a little impressed. Maybe the ice princess had a heart after all, he thought with a grin. “Don’t mind a bit. They’ve been feeling a little cooped up lately, and I’m sure they’d love to see you. Then we’ll track down Fred and get your car back on the road.”
“Thanks.” Swirling her straw around, she asked, “Is it true all the banks around here turned you down?”
“Yup,” he replied, popping a saltine into his mouth. “They said it’s ’cause the only collateral I have is the mill, and it’s not enough to make up for me not knowing the first thing about running a business.”
“And if Shenandoah Bank turns you down? What then?”
“I don’t wanna think about it.” When a waitress arrived with their order, he added the take-out meals to their tab and turned the conversation to a more positive subject. “So, tell me what’s been going on with you. Senior year you were voted most likely to be the first woman president. Have you picked your running mate yet?”
She laughed, which had been his intent. It was a shame to see those incredible eyes filled with anything but joy. “Why? Are you interested in the job?”
“Not a chance.” Forking up some of the chicken from her platter, he plopped it onto his and did the opposite with his pork. “I’d be a terror in those meetings, knocking heads together all day long.”
“Interesting strategy. They might actually accomplish something that way.” Munching a gravy-smothered fry, she hummed in appreciation. “I forgot how much I love this kind of food.”
“We can get some for you to take back, if you want.”
“No, thanks. I’ll be making up for this on the treadmill for the next week as it is.”
“Your call.”
They chatted their way through lunch, and Paul couldn’t help admiring the classy woman seated opposite him. He’d never been interested in her before, but for some reason, now he was captivated. The problem was, she was too smart for her own good, and out of respect for his sanity, he made it a policy to avoid women like her. They were way too much work.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be friendly. Not that he’d try to charm her into helping him out with the bank or anything, but it couldn’t hurt to be nice. The old flies-and-honey saying popped into his mind, and he grinned. He was pretty sure Chelsea would object to being compared to insects of any kind.
“What?” she demanded with a frown. “Have I got sauce on my chin or something?”
“No, I was just thinking about how funny it is we reconnected after all these years.”
“Funny ha-ha or funny ironic?”
“Both.” Holding up his glass, he said, “To old enemies getting a fresh start.”
“We weren’t enemies, really,” she corrected him with a little grin. “More like rivals who were going after the same things from different directions.”
“To old rivals, then. I pity anyone dumb enough to try to keep you from getting what you want.”
“That I can drink to,” she agreed, clinking glasses to seal the toast.
Paul heard another click and glanced over to find Molly standing in the middle of the dining room with a digital camera in her hand. “That’s a good one.”
“For what?” Chelsea asked, apparently as confused as Paul was.
“For my collection.” Pointing to a collage made up of old, fading photos, she explained, “I’ve been adding in new pictures of the people up there, like a history album of the town.”
Playing along, Paul faked a horrified gasp. “We’re not really in that, are we?”
“Of course you are.”
Plucking one from the wall, she handed the picture to him, and he angled it so Chelsea could see, too. Sure enough, there they were, perched on stools at the lunch counter, deep in a debate about something or other. You could tell because Paul was waving his hands and grinning while Chelsea glared at him with the kind of look that could freeze Sterling Creek in the dead of summer. Between them were two melting sundaes, forgotten in their quest to win the latest in a series of arguments that had lasted from junior high straight through to graduation.
“It’s one of my favorites.” Molly took the photo back and gave them each a warm smile. “Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve worked out if you two could quit beating on each other long enough to realize how much alike you are.”
They both laughed, and Paul echoed, “Alike? Ya gotta be kidding.”
“I’m deadly serious. You’re smart as anything and stubborn as a pair of mules. Imagine what you could accomplish if you put aside your pride and pull in the same direction for a change.”
With that, she turned and left them staring at each other. If he was reading her expression accurately, Paul was fairly confident that Chelsea was as horrified by that idea as he was. Then Molly’s words registered more clearly. “Did you notice how she said that?”
Eyes wide with shock, Chelsea nodded. “She didn’t say ‘accomplished,’ as if she was referring to what happened in the past. She made it sound like we should work together now and see how it goes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured her smoothly. “Everyone’s got an opinion about this mill project. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
While they both continued eating, Paul was careful not to let Chelsea catch him glancing over at her. Because, despite what he’d said just a few moments ago, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Molly was right. With his technical know-how and her business sense, he and Chelsea would make a great team. Having her on his side would definitely improve the chances of his wild idea succeeding.
Unfortunately, his male instincts warned him that any partnership with this by-the-books accountant would drive him completely over the edge. Then again, working with a woman instead of dating her would be a refreshing change for him. At least he wouldn’t end up getting tossed out of his own apartment into the rain.
* * *
“What a wonderful surprise!” Olivia Barrett exclaimed, folding Chelsea into a warm hug. It was the second one she’d gotten today, and this one felt just as good as the first. To be welcomed back after so many years away felt amazing.
“I was in town, so I wanted to stop by and see you two,” she explained with a hesitant peek into the dining room. All the antique furniture was pushed to one side, opening up space for a hospital bed. “Is this a good time?”
“It’s always a good time for company.” The shadows beneath her brown eyes spoke of many sleepless nights, but the determined glimmer said she was making the best of their difficult situation. “Folks come tiptoeing in here like Will’s already laid out for his funeral. It makes me crazy.”
“Well, we’re here to fix that,” her grandson informed her, holding up two take-out bags printed with The Whistlestop’s trolley logo.
“We could smell it when you were coming up the walk. I’ll get some plates.”
“In here,” he replied, wiggling the bags. “No dishes for you to wash, so you can just relax and enjoy your lunch.”
“My boy,” she cooed, grasping his chin for a fond shake. “Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite?”
When she turned to lead them into the dining room, Paul whispered to Chelsea, “She says that to all of us.”
Thanks to him, Chelsea was laughing when she saw Will Barrett. His pale face broke into a bright smile, and though he looked achingly frail, he greeted her in the strong baritone voice that used to ring out from the church choir every Sunday. “Marvelous to see you, Chelsea. Come in. Come in.”
His hand trembled as he motioned her to the armchair beside his bed, and she sank into it as unexpected emotions clogged her throat. Paul had warned her his grandfather was dying, but she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of what that meant. Though it was tucked behind a leafy ficus, she noticed an IV pole holding a bag of dripping medication. Looking from it to Will, the sympathy in his eyes caught her even more off guard.
“I know,” he said simply, patting her hand with his. “It’s not easy, but we’re making the best of things.”
“Why are you here instead of in a hospital?” she blurted without thinking first. When she realized what she’d done, she felt herself reddening in embarrassment.
Will chased off her discomfort with a faint laugh. “All that poking and prodding was making me downright ornery. And the food.” Condemning it with a sour face, he continued, “I’m happier here, and now Olivia can be comfortable at home instead of driving back and forth to a place full of sick people.”
“Gram came down with pneumonia a few weeks ago,” Paul explained, pulling some dining chairs over so they could all sit near Will. Winking at her, he added, “Personally, I think she was just looking for an excuse to stay in bed and do crossword puzzles all day.”
“Oh, you,” she protested, playfully smacking the back of his head.
A few weeks, Chelsea mused while Olivia dished up barbecue for Will and then herself. The time frame rang a bell, and she turned to Paul with newfound respect. “Is that why you came back from Oregon?”
“Mostly I missed Gram’s peach cobbler. It’s still the best I ever had.”
“I could never keep this one full,” she said with an adoring look at him. “The whole time he was growing up, the more I cooked, the more he ate.”
“Hey, I’m the middle kid. I had to keep getting bigger so they wouldn’t all pound me.”
“Are your brothers still around?” Chelsea asked.
His eyes darkened to near black, but he quickly masked his reaction with a grin. “Most of ’em. Connor and Greg live over in Cambridge with their families, and Jason’s busy loading up my secret weapon for the mill.”
“What about Scott?”
Dead silence. It felt as if something had sucked all the air out of the room, and Chelsea wished she could disappear from sight under the old floorboards.
“Scott’s still finding his way,” Olivia answered quietly. “Lemonade, dear?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Deciding not to risk any more blunders, Chelsea sipped her cool drink and listened to the Barretts discuss the goings-on around the town she’d left behind so long ago. While they talked, she gained a fresh appreciation for the commitment Paul had made, seemingly without a second thought.
His vision for the mill seemed long-term, which meant he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. He probably had a life out West, but he was forsaking that to be where he was needed most. Sitting here in this sunny room, being entertained by the local gossip, she was struck by a random thought that rattled her right down to her toes.
This was love.
This was what it meant to put someone else before yourself, to value their happiness and well-being as much as you did your own. While Chelsea had always admired and respected her father, as a teenager she’d accepted that his one-track mind was focused on making his bank as profitable as possible. These days they worked in the same building, but they seldom shared moments like this one. To her knowledge, Theo Barnes had never eaten takeout from paper plates and debated whether the new highway project was a good use of county funds or a complete waste of money.
While she was considering that, Paul’s phone rang, and he checked the screen. “Fred,” he told her, hitting the answer button. “Hey, there. Thanks for getting back to me. Chelsea Barnes is in town, and her fancy new car won’t start. It’s at the mill, and I’m hoping you can help us out so she can get back to Roanoke sometime today.” He glanced up at the antique schoolhouse clock on the wall. “Half hour’s fine. See ya then.”
Chelsea was perplexed by their short exchange. Granted, she wasn’t Miss Fix-It, but from what she’d heard, Paul hadn’t offered the mechanic the slightest bit of useful information. “You didn’t tell him a thing. How does he know what to bring?”
“I said ‘fancy’ and ‘new,’” Paul pointed out matter-of-factly. “He’ll know.”
“But—”
“Do you always hassle people who’re trying to help you?”
Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair and cocked his head in a pose that made her think of Boyd when she’d met him that morning. The idea of Paul beginning to resemble his canine friend was more amusing than it should have been, and she couldn’t help smiling.
“That’s so much better,” he praised her with a wide grin. “You really oughta smile more often. It looks good on you.”
Maybe when her career started improving, she’d be able to follow his cavalier—and slightly chauvinistic—advice. But she was where she was, and until she clawed her way up to where she wanted to be, she’d be sticking to the serious route. Since she had no intention of sharing the reasons for her attitude with him or anyone else, she forced a polite smile. “Thank you.”
“Ouch,” he replied with a chuckle. “That’s a mind-your-own-business brush-off if ever I heard one. Anything you wanna tell me?”
Not in this lifetime, she wanted to shoot back. Of course, a Southern lady never spoke to anyone that way, so she settled for “No.”
He gave her a long, dubious look before standing. “Then we should head out to meet Fred. He’ll get you back on the road in no time.”
“So nice to see you, dear.” Olivia stood and embraced Chelsea again. “Be sure to come by for a visit next time you’re in town.”
“And bring more barbecue,” Will added eagerly.
That wasn’t likely to happen, but Chelsea forced a smile and managed to say her goodbyes without a hitch in her voice. As she and Paul walked through the kitchen, she hated to think of how disappointed his grandparents would be when the bank got a good look at the figures on Paul’s loan application and turned him down flat.
Outside, she took in the view of a neighborhood that hadn’t changed much since her childhood. Sturdy homes, old but well cared for, lined the street like sentinels from another time. Standing by the truck, she inhaled the scent of gardens overflowing with gardenias and roses, with the exotic aroma of jasmine mixed in for effect. “Mmm...that smells good.”
Paul sniffed quickly and shrugged. “I guess so. I’m here all the time, so I guess I don’t notice it anymore.”
“I don’t remember this part of town being so pretty. It’s really nice.”
Closing her door, he balanced his hands on the window frame and gave her a long, slow smile. “Yeah, it is.”
For a few moments, they gazed at each other through the open window, almost as if they’d never met before. In a way, she realized, that was true. The brash football captain and the shy bookworm they’d once been existed in the past, and the people who’d replaced them were all but strangers.
Could they become more than that? a tiny voice in her head wondered.
She pushed the thought firmly back into the depths of her brain, where it belonged. Getting to the top of her profession was her only goal right now, and she couldn’t afford any distractions, no matter how handsome they might be.
Paul’s pensive look gave way to the nonchalant one he’d been wearing most of the day. On their way out into the country, they drove beneath enormous trees that had withstood the devastating war that had left so much of Virginia stripped and in ruins. Both sides had done their share of damage, and men had returned to a barren wasteland begging for redemption.
With the need for lumber so high, Gideon Barrett and his two surviving brothers sank their meager fortunes into constructing a mill to turn the area’s plentiful trees into raw material for new houses, stores, even railroad ties.
In its way, the mill had saved the ravaged town from fading into oblivion. It seemed fitting, somehow, that the residents were fighting to save the landmark business that had given rise to the village they called home. Beyond that, she knew helping the Barretts was the right thing to do.
Tossing aside her pledge to remain cautiously neutral, she said, “Okay, I’m on board. It won’t be easy, but I’ll figure out a way to get you the money you need for your furniture business. You have my word on it.”
Sliding her an incredulous look, he asked, “Did I miss something? What happened to the numbers not adding up and all?”
“They still don’t, and I have a hunch they never will. It would be a unique operation, and there’s nothing in the area to compare it to.”
“Which means we can’t prove it’s a profitable idea.”
He’d all but admitted this wasn’t his area of expertise, but she had to give him credit—he caught on fast. “Exactly.”
“You’re the logical type,” he pressed, obviously still confused. “Formulas and algorithms, they’re your thing. What changed your mind?”
Sighing, she met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m doing it for Will.”
“So’m I.” Paul’s grim expression brightened into the crooked grin she remembered from high school. “Looks like we’ve finally got something in common. If Molly finds out, she’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
After resisting his many charms all morning, Chelsea eased up on her well-honed discipline and gave him a genuine smile. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_45140371-f5c1-57b9-9edb-87024627af9c)
Chelsea spent several hours framing Paul’s proposal in as positive a light as she could manage without actually inventing facts. To avoid creating the impression that she was somehow personally invested in the project, she called it Barrett’s Mill Restoration and played up the potential she’d observed during her tour. Five minutes before her presentation, she was still tinkering with the conclusion, choosing her words carefully to ensure they’d leave a lasting impression on her very pragmatic audience.
“A one-of-a-kind enterprise like this will fill a small but lucrative niche in the furniture market,” she stated with confidence, clicking through slides of projections alternated with the most flattering photos from the property. “Barrett’s Mill Furniture isn’t a new venture, but rather the relaunch of an old, well-established business rooted in the Blue Ridge area. The product line will meet the desire of modern customers to feel connected to the nostalgia of days gone by. Backing this unique project would not only benefit Shenandoah Bank and Trust in the profit column, but gain us a valuable reputation as a firm that recognizes potential and invests in the future of our customers.”
When she was finished, Chelsea set down the projector remote and took her seat midway down the polished conference table. Hoping to appear calm, she folded her hands in front of her upright tablet and waited.
Twelve pairs of eyes blinked at each other, roaming around the gathering but studiously avoiding her. Then, almost in unison, they all turned to the man seated in the place of honor at the head of the table. Her father was wearing a thoughtful expression, but from a lifetime of experience, she knew that didn’t mean a thing. As a child, she’d quickly learned it was the normal, relaxed position of a handsome face that disguised a shrewd mind and gave away nothing.
As the silence stretched beyond thirty seconds, Theo Barnes let out a low chuckle. “Not all at once, now. We need to keep this civilized.”
Nervous laughter flitted around the posh conference room, trailing off when he turned his dark eyes on her. At work, she wasn’t his daughter, simply another bright employee charging her way up the corporate ladder, and he treated her accordingly. “You think this is a sound idea?”
Direct and precise, she reminded herself. He responded best to confident answers, even when he disagreed. “Yes, I do.”
“And the numbers?”
“Bear me out, as you can see.”
To prove her point, she pulled up the projection that showed Paul’s business breaking even in two years and turning a profit within three. They were shaded toward the optimistic end of the spectrum, but having witnessed how committed he was to making the mill work, she had no doubt he’d find a way to honor his obligation to the bank. Nodding, her father swiveled his gaze around the committee, silently asking for their input.
“Chelsea, I have to say, I’m very impressed,” said Alex Gordon, a good-looking colleague who dressed like a younger version of her father. Seated to his right in the heir-apparent chair that should have been hers, he gave her a smile that held more than a hint of personal admiration. “Your attention to detail is impeccable, as always.”
“Thank you.”
But you’re not getting a third date, she added silently. Two had been more than enough, thank you very much. Her dad was convinced Alex was the financial genius of his generation, and in her saner moments, she acknowledged he was just the kind of man she was looking for. Polished and self-assured, he shared her interest in all things logical. There just wasn’t a spark between them, at least not for her. Which was probably for the best, because as her father’s hand-chosen protégé, Alex pushed every one of Chelsea’s competitive buttons.
And she had a lot of them.
Now that the discussion had begun, one loan officer questioned her calculations, which Chelsea assured him were accurate. Another doubted the ability of such an out-of-the-way business to earn enough money to repay their loan. She patiently reminded him that the online component would minimize any disadvantage caused by the mill’s remote location. On and on it went, and by the time they were done, she’d been pummeled for nearly half an hour.
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Mia Ross
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Building A New StartChelsea Barnes never expected to see her high school rival, golden boy Paul Barrett, again. But when Paul applies for a loan to renovate his family′s historic mill, it′s Chelsea who the bank sends to her tiny hometown to assess the property–and Paul. It′s her chance to prove herself to her boss, and Chelsea won′t let Paul stand in her way. Paul would do anything to restore the mill for his ailing grandfather. Even allow the lovely Chelsea to help. Together, they just might build something beautiful…a happily-ever-after.Barrett′s Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love.