by Mia Ross
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 c
onvincing 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 coul
dn’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.”