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.
Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 Page 42