Blue Ridge Reunion

by Mia Ross

  “It is. He’s a very capable young man, and I’ve made no secret how I feel about him, on both a professional and personal level.”

  Not long ago she would’ve agreed with him, at least on principle. But today she viewed Alex in a different light, and it wasn’t all that flattering. She couldn’t put a finger on what had changed, so she couldn’t explain it properly. Beyond that, she hated to disappoint the man who’d raised a teenage daughter on his own when the woman they’d both loved abandoned them.

  So, like the dutiful child she’d always been, she nodded. “I appreciate you looking out for my best interests, Dad.”

  “Always,” he assured her briskly. “As for housing, I’m sure you can find an acceptable place in Barrett’s Mill. Because this is a personal request, I’ll assume responsibility for your costs, of course.”

  Translation: if you do this for me, I’ll owe you a favor.

  It was the currency he traded in on a daily basis, to coerce people into doing what he wanted. In the end, he always got his way because no one had the guts to stand up to him and say no. That nagging whisper of warning grew louder, but Chelsea pointedly ignored it. He was the president of the bank, and although this arrangement was unconventional, it was the Barretts’ only hope.

  Not to mention her future vice presidency rested in his hands. If she went along, she’d be another step closer to her goal. If things went really well, she might even boot Alex from that coveted seat he’d charmed his way into. It was a win-win, so despite her lingering discomfort, she held out her hand. “We have a deal.”

  Chuckling, he accepted her gesture. “Of course we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late for golf with the mayor. If I don’t get there on time, he tees off without me and fudges on his score.”

  “Dad?” When he glanced back, she smiled. “Thank you for approving this project. I know it’s a little outside the box, and I appreciate you giving it a chance.”

  Giving her a confident grin, he left her there to digest what had just happened. She and Paul had a big job ahead of them, but Chelsea couldn’t help smiling. The next couple of months would be a lot of things, she mused as she made her way to her own office.

  Boring wouldn’t be one of them.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning started with a bang. Literally.

  One of the temporary support beams Paul had set up to hold a set of pulleys chose today to slide out of place, and he barely leaped out of the way in time. Boyd, whose rough history had left him pretty much immune to catastrophes, bolted through the side door and raced toward the creek.

  Paul couldn’t blame him. Working alone so far from town had its downside, he decided while he coughed up decade-old sawdust and headed out to the porch for some fresh air. He caught the sound of tires crunching down the lane and was astonished to see Chelsea’s convertible easing its way toward the mill. What was she doing back here? he wondered while he strolled out to meet her. At the most, he’d been expecting her to call sometime today to tell him his loan had been denied.

  He figured she wouldn’t come in person to deliver bad news, and his spirits lifted at the thought that somehow, despite everything stacked against him, he’d gotten the money he needed to reopen his family’s business.

  When she stepped from the car, Boyd galloped over to greet her, and she bent down to ruffle his big floppy ears. It was cute, and Paul couldn’t help smiling as he approached. “He really likes you.”

  “He’s a great dog,” she agreed, straightening to look Paul in the eye. “I wanted to come and tell you in person that your loan was approved.”

  He’d suspected that, but hearing her say it made him grin like a fool. “That’s amazing. What’d you say to them?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “I presented my assessment and your estimate of what it would take to finish. The risk was deemed to be manageable, so you have your funding.”

  Her carefully worded spiel sounded awkward to him, but he chose not to question it. The important thing, he reminded himself, was that he could finish the rehab and bring the mill back up to working speed. “Well, whatever you did, I’m glad to have your help. Gram and Granddad will be thrilled, not to mention the rest of the town.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she said politely.

  Her stiff attitude didn’t do much to ease his vague concerns, but he had no idea how to broach the subject with her. He didn’t want to borrow trouble, as his mother used to warn him about. Maybe Chelsea just wasn’t a morning person. “So, what’s next?”

  “I have several documents for you to sign. And some conditions to discuss with you.”

  There it was, he thought as he swallowed a sigh. Like a trained dolphin who wanted a treat, he’d have to jump through some ridiculous hoop or other. Probably more than one. Muting his usual knee-jerk protest when someone tried to tell him how to do his job, he dredged up an agreeable smile. “I’m sure we can work it out. Come on in and we’ll sort through everything.”

  Scrawling his name on the paperwork was the easy part. Once everything was completed in triplicate, Chelsea handed him his copy and stacked the others neatly in her briefcase before snapping it shut. This one was different from the one she’d brought the other day, with a zippered compartment he assumed held a slim laptop.

  When it dawned on him that she’d brought her computer, the reason for her hesitance became crystal clear, and he bit back a groan. “You’re gonna move in here and babysit me, aren’t you?”

  Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in shock. “How did you— Never mind,” she added quickly, shaking her head. “You’re right. I’ll be here to make sure the project stays on time and on budget. You need to be producing stock by the beginning of September, which isn’t that far away.”

  “I’ve never missed a deadline in my life,” he retorted. “I’ve got no plans to start now.”

  “Plans go awry sometimes,” she explained in a tone obviously meant to soothe his ego.

  Her eyes shifted to the collapsed column, then back to him, and angry as he was, he couldn’t help chuckling. “That’s structural, not financial.”

  “It’s not your call,” she said as she settled at the table and pulled out her computer. When she opened it, the machine greeted her with an upbeat chime, as if it couldn’t wait to get to work. “I’m here to keep things on track until the project’s finished. End of story.”

  That was what she thought. “You’re gonna drive back and forth every day to stand over my shoulder and count how many nails I use? That’s nuts.”

  Typing away, she replied, “Not that it should concern you, but I’m renting the Donaldsons’ carriage house while I’m here.”

  How did he not know that? Paul wondered in bewilderment. Now that he thought about it, Gram had tried to tell him something that morning while he was laboring to get his truck started. Maybe he should’ve listened more closely instead of dismissing the local gossip as having nothing to do with him.

  “In case you forgot, this isn’t the safest place to be right now,” he pointed out, feeling more desperate by the second. He didn’t know why he was so adamant that she not be here, but he could only guess it was because this infuriating woman had so blithely invaded his domain. Not to mention charming his dog.

  In response, she reached into a large bag and took out a regulation hard hat. Plunking it on her head, she gave him a triumphant smile and resumed tapping on her keyboard. He wasn’t crazy about the prospect of her dogging his every move, but apparently that was how things were going to work. He’d known enough women to recognize when he was beat, so he gave up his pointless argument and decided to make the best of the situation.

  Strolling into the office, he stood behind her to look over her shoulder. On the bright screen, he saw rows and rows of numbers, none of which made sense to him. The one thing he understood was that the red figures at the bottom were probably bad, and he frowned. “What’s all this?”

  “Your curren
t cash flow.” Pointing, she moved through columns until the totals finally turned black. “These are my projections based on your current situation and a reasonable estimate of your business leading up to the profitable holiday season. I always stay on the conservative side, so if things go well, the numbers could be even better.”

  Hearing optimism from this very businesslike woman made him grin. “I’ll double ’em.”

  Expecting to be scolded for his brashness, he was pleasantly surprised when she returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “I hope so, Paul. Really, I do.”

  With that encouragement, she turned her attention back to whatever formula she was concocting, and he took that as his cue to leave her alone and headed for the door. Chancing a quick look back, he couldn’t help noticing how the light caught the flecks of red in her hair and the fact that Boyd had returned and was now sprawled out under the table with his chin resting on the toes of her ivory shoes. Seeing as the bank insisted on having one of its bean counters ride herd over his business, at least they’d sent him one that was easy on the eyes.

  Paul recognized it could be dangerous to be thinking that way about Chelsea. They went at everything from different angles, and working together day after day was likely to be a never-ending challenge for both of them. It would be best if they kept things strictly professional. Of course, that would be a lot easier if she didn’t smell like a summer garden every time he walked by.

  Her phone rang, and he couldn’t miss the grimace on her face before she replaced it with a more positive expression. “Good morning, Alex. I’m just fine. How are you?”

  Paul gave her a what’s-up look, smothering a laugh as she rolled her eyes. Grabbing a pad and pen, he wrote, Not-so-secret admirer?

  She nodded and he went to one knee, one hand over his heart and the other held out to her in a melodramatic plea. Shaking her head, she spun the chair away from him and finished the short, mostly one-way conversation. When she hung up, he couldn’t resist yanking her chain a little. “Someone misses you, peaches.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Who is he? Not that I care or anything,” he amended hastily so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Just wondering if some lovesick banker’s gonna show up here and gum up the works.”

  “His name is Alex Gordon, and I doubt he could find this place with a GPS and a detailed map.”

  “Boyfriend?” It seemed unlikely given her reaction to his call, but Paul couldn’t resist asking.

  “Just a guy my father wants me to m—get to know better.”

  Interesting. “You were gonna say ‘marry,’ weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed in a frustrated huff. “Alex is a Harvard MBA, from a good family, and he’s in line for the same VP slot I’ve got my eye on.”

  “So you hate him.”

  “Of course not.” He stared back at her, and she finally caved in with a faint smirk. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “The same way you hated me in high school?”

  “Go away.”

  She shooed him off and refocused on her data entry, and Paul got the message that she didn’t want to discuss Alex. For some reason he was happy to hear she was single, though it shouldn’t matter either way to him. He and Chelsea would work together for a few weeks, then part company. If she was in a relationship—or not—made no difference to him.

  Putting those errant thoughts out of his head, Paul jammed the temporary beam back into place and secured it more tightly this time. His six-foot level told him it wasn’t even close to being square, but that was nothing new. The whole place had been built more or less by eye, and he suspected the original crew had rolled a marble to determine how straight things were. But the resurrected building would have to pass a modern inspection, so it had to be done right. Even if that meant wrestling the off-kilter structure into compliance with his bare hands.

  After plenty of measuring, sawing and drilling, the new support was in place, joined to the others with massive carriage bolts. Drenched in sweat, he stopped to wash the sawdust out of his throat. His large water bottle was empty, so he headed into the office to get another one from the fridge.

  Boyd was gone, but Chelsea was immersed in something that was putting a troubling pucker between those stunning green eyes of hers. She didn’t seem to hear him come in, so he paused in the doorway and made some noise to avoid startling her.

  When she glanced up, the worry clouding her delicate features made him take a step back. “Something wrong?”

  “We need to do an inventory,” she replied in the kind of tone usually reserved for reporters covering natural disasters.

  The look that followed made it clear she expected him to respond with equal seriousness, but in his experience, no one had ever died from lack of counting stuff on a shelf. Especially considering the fact that the stuff on his shelves had been there for years, untouched and gathering dust. Who cared?

  Since there didn’t seem to be an actual emergency, he walked in and headed for the small fridge where her snappy briefcase was sitting. The elegant leather bag looked out of place in the rough-hewn office. Much like its owner, he thought with a grin. “When you say ‘we,’ you mean me, right?”

  “I can help, but I’m not familiar with what you stock here. It’ll probably go best if we do it together.”

  “And faster,” he said, getting an urgent nod in reply. When the significance of that hit him, he groaned. “You wanna do it now, don’t you?”

  “I can’t finish these forms until we know exactly what you’ve got on hand and how much it’s worth. Depending on the value, it could make a difference in the valuation of the property. I did an estimate, but it needs to be confirmed with actual data.”

  “Because?”

  “A higher value decreases the risk to the bank because they can sell the contents to help recoup their losses if you default on the loan.”

  “That won’t happen,” he insisted, motioning around him with the frosty bottle. “I won’t let it.”

  “Of course not, but financial types need facts to support their decisions. As I’m sure you figured out when you applied to those other banks, everyone’s nervous about lending money to new businesses these days. I’m just making sure we account for every dime of value this place has going for it.”

  She wasn’t just saying that to appease him. He could see in her eyes that she truly believed those words. Knowing she had so much faith in him made his chest swell with pride. “I appreciate that. Since I don’t have a clue what you just said, let me know what you need and I’ll do my best to play along.”

  “I’m not playing,” she informed him curtly, bringing to mind the prickly girl he’d known in high school. “I’m reinforcing. And trust me, you need every bit of it you can get.”

  The warm, fuzzy sensation he’d felt a few seconds ago evaporated into disdain. Being a follow-your-gut kind of guy, her devotion to numbers baffled him. “Why do you say that?”

  Standing, she faced him squarely with the calm, cool demeanor he recalled from debate class. “Historical projects like this turn into quicksand like that.” Snapping her fingers, she continued, “Termites, inferior engineering, whatever you can possibly think of goes wrong, and often you find problems no one even dreamed of. Before you know it, your budget doubles long before you finish, and a six-month project takes a year or more. I’m trying to guard against that happening to you.”

  To him, he echoed with curiosity. Not to the mill, but to him personally. Slight as it was, the deviation from her all-business attitude made him wonder if she was really as objective about all this as she claimed.

  None of his concern, he cautioned himself as he took another swig of water and recapped the bottle. He’d treat this like their school assignments, working with her because he didn’t have a choice. Two months wasn’t all that long, he reasoned. Surely he could maneuver around her strict requirements until September. Then, once he’d proved the business was solid, she could go back
to her office in Roanoke.

  After returning his water to the fridge, he motioned toward the door. “The stockroom’s in back. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  While she grabbed her tablet and plastic stylus, it dawned on Paul that they’d just agreed on something. Again. While the realization didn’t settle well with him, he figured it’d make things easier if they were on the same page once in a while, so he let it slide.

  He led her through the tomb and opened the new combination lock he’d put on the storage area. “There’s some dangerous things in here, so I replaced the old padlock in case someone wandered in here after hours.”

  She gave him a shrewd look. “So the fact that you couldn’t find the key had nothing to do with it?”

  “Have I told you how much I missed that smart-aleck mouth of yours?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.” The tumblers clicked into place, and he slid the bar free of its metal loop. “Wonder why that is?”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught her response and had to laugh. “Did you just stick your tongue out at me?”

  “Oh, don’t act so shocked,” she informed him haughtily. “I’m sure you get that all the time.”

  Since she was right, he decided to give her this one. The door hung from a rusty track, and the wheels screeched in protest while he wrestled the solid oak panel open.

  He snapped on the overhead lights, and she made a disapproving noise. “Was it always this bad?”

  “Pretty much. Us Barretts are sawyers and carpenters, not interior decorators.”

  The small space was crammed to the gills with saw blades, a large assortment of mismatched tools and more than a few contraptions Granddad had made himself to maintain the sawmill. An entire rack was filled with boxes of various sizes. A few had labels, but most of them were a mystery.

  Chelsea pinned him with a horrified look. “How do you know what’s in here?”

  “If I need something, I hunt around for a while. If it’s not here, I don’t have it.” At first, he’d made a list as he went through each day, running by Stegall’s Hardware on his way back into town at night. Then he’d run out of money, and by necessity he’d made do with what he had on hand. Since admitting that would make him sound pathetic, he kept it to himself.