by Mia Ross
“No doubt.” Pulling open the door, he said, “I guess we have some shopping to do.”
“Definitely. She needs something with a bell to wear and a litter box and a comfy bed to sleep in. And—”
She pulled up short when she saw Boyd already planted in front of the pet toys, eyeing them as if he were making his own list.
She traded a look with Paul, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t understand him, either.”
Laughing, she held Daisy up in front of the cat accessories to see if her new friend had a preference. She blinked in apparent confusion, and Chelsea laughed again. “I know. That’s how I feel when I go shopping in Paris. Too many choices.”
To narrow the selection a bit, she hooked three collars on her fingers, holding up one at a time. Daisy batted at a pink one with a silver bell that hung in the middle of an open heart rimmed in white rhinestones. While she knew the cat couldn’t hear the noise, the sparkles obviously appealed to her, so Chelsea chose it and a similar one done up in lavender.
Paul gave her a you’re-kidding look, and she explained, “A girl needs to have more than one of everything.”
“Uh-huh.” Following along, he watched in silence while she picked up several cat toys, balancing them in one hand and Daisy in the other. When she dropped a couple of things, he finally offered, “Would you like some help with those?”
“Yes, please.”
Shaking his head, he picked up the ones on the floor and took the others from her. “You know she doesn’t need all these, right? Most cats are happy with a Ping-Pong ball or some such thing.”
“Daisy’s going to be at work with me all day, so she’ll need something to do.” Around the corner, she stumbled on a display of crafts for animals. On a high peg, she spotted a quilted carrier with net sides and handles, done up in an adorable daisy print. Pointing, she asked, “Could you get that down for me, please?”
Paul obliged but had a question of his own. “Do you really think the mill office is a good place for a kitten?”
“I can’t leave her alone at the carriage house for hours on end,” Chelsea argued. “And the noise won’t bother her, so she won’t be scared when you fire up your power tools or the saws.”
“Yeah, about that,” he commented with a sigh. “I’m beginning to think I won’t be able to hit our deadline on my own. If I’m gonna have the mill running in time to actually make furniture this fall, I need to hire some help.”
“Did you have anyone in mind?” she asked while she pawed through a bin of squeaky toys shaped like everything from mice to birds. Even though Daisy wouldn’t be able to pick up the noise they made, the bright colors and various textures might be fun for her.
“Some of the guys who used to work for Dad and Granddad are still around, and no one knows the equipment better than they do.”
She picked up on an odd hitch in his usually confident voice and arched an eyebrow at him. “But?”
“Well, they’re retired, so they won’t want to mess up their finances by making too much extra money.”
“Meaning you want to pay them in cash, under the table?”
Relief flooded his rugged features, and he grinned. “I didn’t think a by-the-book accountant like you would approve.”
Time to nip this nonsense in the bud, she thought. In her sternest tone, she answered, “I don’t, and neither will the bank. Everything Barrett’s Mill Furniture does has to be completely aboveboard, or you’ll have trouble with the IRS down the road. Anyone you hire needs to provide standard documentation, just like they would for any other job, and have all the proper withholdings taken out. Don’t worry. I’ll get the files set up for you and then show you how to do it.”
“That sounds like a ton of work,” he complained with a grimace. “Can’t we just skip it for now?”
“No, we can’t. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.” He still looked unconvinced, so she came up with an analogy he might actually accept. “I know you like to toss out the game plan and improvise, but if you want Shenandoah Bank’s money, you have to play by the rules.”
They stared at each other for a while, neither willing to concede defeat. In spite of the fact that it was making her life more difficult, Chelsea couldn’t help admiring Paul’s creative approach to solving problems. If he could just bring himself to bend that iron will of his on occasion, he’d make a fabulous executive.
When those dark eyes lightened a bit, she knew she’d made her point. “All right, fine. We’ll do it your way.”
The right way, she was dying to add, then thought better of it. She’d won this round, and there was nothing to be gained from rubbing his nose in it. Instinct warned her they’d have many more run-ins over the summer. It would be smart to keep some of her sharper weapons under wraps until she really needed them.
* * *
“So she’s really staying, then?” Paul asked his grandmother at breakfast the next morning.
“Lila Donaldson told me Chelsea’s renting the studio apartment in their carriage house month to month,” Gram confirmed while she spooned scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Why?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
Pausing, his grandmother gave him the eye. “You be nice to that girl, Paul. She’s doing us a big favor with the bank, and we need that money.”
“I know,” he grumbled. “I wish it was someone else, that’s all.”
“Really?” Interest sparked in her eyes, and she sat down across from him. “Why is that?”
“She just bugs me. She always has.”
“Hmm...I wonder why?”
Judging by the look she was giving him, she thought she had the answer all figured out. “Before you start planning one of your fix-ups, I’m not interested. I’ve got enough to do without worrying about some woman.”
“We’re not talking about some woman,” she echoed with a smirk. “We’re talking about Chelsea Barnes, one of the sweetest, smartest girls I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Why you two never got along is beyond me.”
“Molly thinks we’re two stubborn mules pulling against each other.”
“Maybe.” She drew out the word as if considering it, then shook her head. “No, I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Don’t even go there,” he warned, pushing off from the table to stand. “Greg and Connor like being married, but being tied down isn’t my style. And even if it was,” he added before she could scold him, “I certainly wouldn’t pick some sassy, tightly wound accountant.”
“Sassy. I’d say that describes her perfectly.”
“Got that right.” Paul heard the frustration in his voice, and from the amused look his grandmother was giving him, he knew she’d caught it, too. “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Of course not, dear.”
Her indulgent tone only added to his aggravation, and he reminded himself she was interfering out of love, not some perverse desire to drive him insane. Whistling for Boyd, he leaned in and kissed her cheek the way he had ever since he could remember. “Thanks for the eggs. Don’t hold dinner for me, but tell Granddad I’ll be home in time for the Braves’ first pitch at seven.”
“They’re playing the Yankees tomorrow night, and the whole family’s coming over for it. You should invite Chelsea if she’s not busy,” she added in an offhand manner clearly meant to suggest it wasn’t a big deal to her.
Except he knew it was, and he didn’t have the heart to disappoint this woman who’d doted on him his entire life. She’d been through a lot recently, and if attempting to match him up with Chelsea made her happy, he wasn’t about to spoil her fun.
Pretending it was a huge concession, he gave in with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask her.”
“Good boy.” Patting one cheek, she stood on tiptoe to kiss the other. “Have a good day.”
That was the best part about being home again, Paul mused as he strolled out the door to his truck. When he left for work, there were people waiting at ho
me to greet him, caring about what happened to him while he was gone. He’d lost a chunk of the independence he’d enjoyed for so long, but it was a good trade for the love he’d gotten in return.
Glancing over at his copilot, he said, “Cross your fingers, buddy.”
The hound woofed in reply, and Paul turned the key in the ignition. After some sputtering, the engine churned to life and settled into a throaty rumble. It was after eight, and the small business district was buzzing. Obeying the speed limit of ten miles an hour, he had time to take in some of the everyday sights of his sleepy hometown. The parking spaces outside The Whistlestop were filled with cars, pickups and even a couple of tractors. As he drove past, he caught a whiff of hickory-smoked bacon and a blend of different kinds of coffee.
Bruce was setting the iron tables and chairs out front and stopped long enough to wave at Paul as he crept by. It was like that all the way down Main Street, and as he went, his mood steadily improved until he was smiling when he pulled in at the mill.
He was more than a little surprised to see Chelsea’s silver car already in the turnaround. She didn’t strike him as a morning person, so he couldn’t imagine what had gotten a city girl like her moving so early. He trotted up the steps with Boyd close on his heels, and the sparkling front windows on either side of the door caught his eye.
“Hey, did you wash the—”
He abruptly stopped when he saw what she’d done with his wreck of a front room.
Everything was different. To his right, there was now a sunny sitting area, with a rustic bench under the wide window and a table on either side. Framed photos of the mill through the years hung on the walls, and two mismatched chairs flanked a braided throw rug that pulled it all together. On the other side, the scarred office furniture was arranged in an L, tucked into the corner opposite the Dutch door. That left space for Boyd’s settee and a cabinet near the window. On top of that, a futuristic coffeemaker was brewing a cup of something that had a faintly nutty scent to it.
Glancing around for Chelsea, he found her on the floor holding Daisy in one arm while she mopped up water with a paper towel. “What happened?”
“Lila gave me some flowers for my desk, and while I was making coffee, Daisy started playing with them and knocked over the vase.” Pausing, she gave him an accusing look. “It’s going all over the place because this floor’s not level.”
“Tell me about it,” he replied with a chuckle. Tearing off a wad of towels, he joined her on the floor.
While they sopped up the mess, he noticed the subtle floral pattern in her ivory blouse accented the vibrant color of her eyes, making them look even greener than they actually were. Or maybe it was the wispy curls that had escaped her ponytail to frame the delicate features he hadn’t fully appreciated until this morning.
Startled by his new perspective, in self-defense, he stood and offered her a hand up. She was so independent he was stunned that she took it. But for some reason, knowing she’d allowed him to help her—just a little—made him smile. “I see you’ve been busy this morning.”
“Just a few touches here and there. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? It looks great. I’m a nuts-and-bolts kinda guy, so I don’t pay much attention to decorating and such. I’m glad you do.”
A pretty blush crept over her cheeks, and she cast her eyes down to the kitten batting at her earring. “Thank you.”
Her hushed response told him she wasn’t accustomed to hearing praise, which made no sense to him. “Chelsea?” When she met his eyes, he gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m not one to blow smoke at people. If I tell you something, I mean it. You did a great job in here, and I’m really grateful.”
“Okay.” After a couple of seconds, she gave him a tentative smile. “Most guys tell me how nice I look and stop there. I guess I’m not used to getting recognition for what I do instead of how I look.”
Beautiful as she was, Paul had no trouble believing that. But since she seemed so happy that he’d praised her accomplishments, he decided it was best to keep his admiring views on her looks to himself.
If he told her she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in months, she’d think he was just another one of those guys. He wanted Chelsea to know there was more to him than that. He just wasn’t sure why.
“By the way,” she continued, pointing to the small air conditioner humming in the window. “Did you come back last night to put that in?”
“Sure did. It gets pretty hot in there, and I didn’t want you or your furry assistants melting.”
“That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you.”
As if that wasn’t enough, she tacked on the most spectacular smile he’d ever seen in his life. He was fairly certain she’d gotten gifts way more expensive than his from guys who tooled around in upscale foreign cars, like the suit his ex had left him for. That memory still aggravated him, making Chelsea’s gratitude all the more meaningful to him.
Despite what he’d told his grandmother, he suspected it wouldn’t take much for Chelsea to get under his skin. Hoping to sound casual, he simply said, “You’re welcome.”
“I’d like to have a status meeting before you get started in back.”
Just like that, the sweetheart was gone, leaving him with the stern taskmaster he secretly feared. “Now?”
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Grumbling under his breath, he took the printout she handed him before sprawling out on the settee. As he glanced over numbers that meant almost nothing to him, he finally latched on to the bottom line. “That stuff in the storeroom was worth how much?”
“It adds up,” she agreed, plucking Daisy off the keyboard of her silver laptop to set her on the floor. Crumpling a piece of paper into a ball, she skipped it across the floor for the kitten to chase. “People often don’t realize how much they’ve got till they account for it all.”
Amazed by what had come of their seemingly endless counting, he grinned over at her. “And it’s neat as a pin, besides, with those shelves all sorted and labeled like that. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be tripping over boxes, trying to find what I’m looking for.”
Her smile had a glint of pride in it, but she didn’t chide him for doubting her. Instead, she went over to the coffeemaker and handed him a steaming mug of something that smelled like nuts and vanilla. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“Pleased? I’m totally psyched. You’re an organizational genius.” When she tipped her head with a suspicious look, he had to laugh. “Too much?”
She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, but she was still smiling. While he listened, she mapped out what they needed to do businesswise, leaving him in charge of the production end of things. He went along with her suggestions because they made sense, and she didn’t hassle him too much unless he floated an idea that was too far off the plan. Which, because he was himself, happened frequently.
The lady loved her spreadsheets, that was for sure, but he was surprised to find that her affinity for numbers complemented his more fluid style quite well. Except when they disagreed, and then it could get dicey. Like now, he thought as he heard a couple of cars pull up outside.
“Your reinforcements, I assume,” she commented smugly. “Hank and Lila insisted I join them for breakfast up at their house this morning, and I heard all about the little chat you had with him last night. He’s really excited about working here again.”
“That’s cool.” When Paul had put out the call for help, it had actually felt awkward to be asking. It hadn’t occurred to him that working part-time at the mill might be good for people who no longer had a lot to keep them occupied.
Apparently, Boyd’s ears were as sharp as ever, and he was pacing in front of the Dutch door, anxious to greet their visitors. After making sure Daisy was safely in Chelsea’s arms, Paul opened the door and closed it behind them as two older men tramped into the place where they’d worked for so many year
s.
Brothers-in-law Hank Donaldson and Joe Stegall had the well-worn look of men who’d spent a lot of time outside, putting in long hours at demanding jobs to make sure there was food on their families’ tables. While they stood in the entryway looking around, he kept quiet to let them absorb the changes he and Chelsea had made.
The two traded a long stare, then turned to Paul in slow-motion unison. Their timing was dead-on, making him wonder if they’d practiced it beforehand.
“It’ll do,” Hank acknowledged with a stiff nod.
“Whatcha got in mind for us to be doin’?” Joe asked, his eyes narrowed. Paul didn’t take that personally, since without the bifocals hanging from the cord around his neck, the man was blind as a bat.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Framed in the doorway, Chelsea gave them a queenly smile.
These two might not have been born in a mansion, but they’d been raised right. Both of them swept their grimy ball caps off their heads and returned her greeting.
“Would you like to have a seat while I get you some coffee?” she asked.
Apparently they hadn’t been expecting the royal treatment, and Paul smothered a grin as he motioned them into the sunny sitting area. When she appeared with two mugs, they took them from her with approving nods.
Hank glanced around, and his face cracked into a rare smile for his pretty tenant. “Looks nice in here.”
“Real homey,” Joe agreed, slurping the gourmet blend she’d brewed. “Good coffee, too.”
“There’s plenty more, so don’t be shy.”
Daisy appeared behind Chelsea, stopping in her tracks when she saw they had company. To Paul’s complete astonishment, the genetically gruff Hank leaned down and wiggled his fingers so she could see them. The kitten’s eyes widened with excitement, and she lunged toward him, batting at his fingers, the laces of his scarred steel-toed boots, even the frayed cuffs on his pants.
“Yup, she’s a real cutie,” he approved, tapping her nose with a gentle touch completely at odds with his rough appearance. “We met the other night, and she took to me right off. I know how it is not to be able to hear so good, so we get along just fine.”