Blue Ridge Reunion

by Mia Ross

  Paul had known this man since he was a toddler, and he couldn’t recall Hank ever stringing that many words together all at once. People would never cease to amaze him. The four of them chatted while they finished their coffee, and then he took the men on a tour so they’d have a sense of what they’d be getting themselves into if they signed up.

  As they moved from the office into the hallway locker area, he felt his pulse spike as he was suddenly seized with an unfamiliar case of nerves. What if they thought he’d taken on more than even three men could handle? They hadn’t commented on his idea of making furniture by hand or the wisdom of reopening a business that had been shuttered for ten years. Come to think of it, they hadn’t said much beyond how nice the front room looked. It didn’t bode well for what was coming next.

  With his hand on the handle of the sliding door, he warned, “It’s not pretty, but I think you’ll get an idea of what I’ve got in mind.”

  “We’re not here to judge you, son,” Joe assured him with an encouraging wink. “Now, open the door and let’s see what kinda mess you’ve made in there.”

  Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Paul yanked the rolling door to the side and let them walk in ahead of him. He didn’t want to annoy them by hanging over their shoulders or trailing after them the way he had when he was a kid, asking question after question until they’d finally shooed him off with a few coins for a soda from the machine.

  Where was that vintage dispenser, anyway? Paul wondered. It was nearly as old as Granddad, and if he could get it working again, it’d make a unique conversation piece for visitors. Listen to him, he thought with a grin. Chelsea’s sermon about appealing to customers was already rubbing off on him.

  “I’ve hit my limit,” he confided while they examined his handiwork. “I could really use your help.”

  “When you called yesterday, you said you wanna make furniture the old-fashioned way.” When Paul nodded, Joe looked perplexed. “Why?”

  For what felt like the millionth time, he explained his idea to someone who clearly thought he was nuts. To his surprise, Hank humphed and said, “That oughta work. City folks love country things.”

  “They sure do,” Paul agreed, thrilled to finally be speaking with someone who could follow his logic. He’d never have guessed it would be his grandfather’s brusque foreman, but at this point he’d take any support he could get. “I’m hoping to have some rockers and benches ready in time for the holiday shopping season.”

  “These days, that’s October,” Joe pointed out with a scowl. “No way the three of us can do all that.”

  “Well, Jason’s on his way here from Oregon. I haven’t asked him, but he might be able to stay awhile and pitch in to get things running.”

  “Son, you could have a dozen brothers coming in from all over the map, wouldn’t make no difference. For what you got in mind, in the time your granddaddy has left, you’re gonna need more’n four of us.”

  He had a point, Paul recognized, and he decided to trust these two experienced pros. “How many more?”

  The two put their balding heads together and muttered back and forth. When they were satisfied, Hank said, “Six off the old crew, two for the floor and four for carpentry.”

  “We’ll be back with ’em Monday morning,” Joe clarified.

  Paul was astounded. These were men who’d left behind hard working lives and were enjoying their retirement. Then he realized he’d forgotten one very important detail. “I can’t pay you guys much until we start making a profit.”

  They traded a look, and Hank said, “Then we’ll do it for free.”

  “Seriously?” When they nodded, he pressed, “You really think they’ll all come and work for nothing?”

  Without hesitation, they spoke as if they were one person. “For Will.”

  A lump suddenly formed in his throat, and Paul swallowed hard to keep his emotions in check. On their own, they’d repeated the same vow he and Chelsea had made to each other, and hearing it from two of his grandfather’s former employees emphasized how well loved and respected Will Barrett was in the town his family had built from the ground up.

  Once he trusted himself to speak normally, Paul echoed them. “For Will.”

  Chapter Six

  A delivery truck pulled up outside, and Chelsea met the driver on the front porch. Boyd wasn’t happy about being barricaded in the office, so he jumped up on the settee and woofed his opinion through the window while Daisy blinked at the activity out front, her ears perked with curiosity.

  Chuckling, the driver nodded toward them. “That’s quite the pair you’ve got there.”

  “Yeah, they’re something else.” Eyeing the large box he held, she asked, “Is it heavy?”

  He hefted it as though it were filled with feathers. “Not bad, but I can bring it in for you if you want.”

  “That’d be great. Thank you.”

  She propped open the door for him, and from out of nowhere, Paul appeared. Wiping his hands on a rag, he took the carton from the driver. “It’s probably better if I take it from here. Hounds can be a little ornery about their space.”

  Boyd wasn’t the least bit ornery, unless you counted him growling at the trio of red squirrels that raced across the porch every morning. Even then, Chelsea couldn’t blame him, because she was convinced those rodents had no reason to do it other than to torture the poor bloodhound trapped inside.

  Frowning at Paul’s blatantly male display, she stepped past him and signed the driver’s tablet. She handed him a tip and gave him her sweetest smile. “Thanks so much. Have a good day.”

  Grinning, he tipped his cap and sauntered back to his truck. When the door rolled shut and she was sure he couldn’t hear anything inside the millhouse, she turned to glare at Paul.

  The moron had the audacity to look baffled. “What?”

  “That was incredibly rude. ‘Hounds can be ornery about their space,’” she mocked. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Just being on the safe side.”

  He said it with a completely straight face, and Chelsea waited for one of those aggravating grins. When it never surfaced, she realized he truly believed what he’d just told her.

  It wasn’t the first time a guy’s behavior had bewildered her, she mused, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Since it wasn’t that big a deal, she let it go and focused on her new purchase. “What do you think?”

  Angling his head to look at the photo on the box, he said, “Looks like a tree covered in carpet.”

  “It’s a playhouse for Daisy,” Chelsea explained while she pried one end open. “She can sharpen her claws on it or climb on it, or hang out in the cubbies for a nap.”

  “This for the cat who prefers an old adding machine and paper roll to every toy you bought her at the vet’s.”

  Chelsea had discovered that completely by accident when she was testing the archaic equipment to see if it still worked. Daisy had launched herself at it, obviously fascinated with the vibration of the dried-out printing mechanism and the motion of the paper. Because it wasn’t good for anything else, it had become the kitten’s favorite toy. Go figure.

  “This is different,” she argued, opening the Dutch door to drag the playhouse into her office. “She’ll love it.”

  While the door was open, her mischievous pet dashed straight into the empty box. Scrambling around inside, Daisy lunged through the open end and back in, making so much noise Boyd came out to investigate. He quickly discovered he couldn’t fit inside, but he sniffed at the pile of bubble wrap. Lying on top of it, he rolled around on his back, making the plastic squeak against the old floorboards.

  “At least they like the box,” Paul commented in a wry tone.

  Making a face, she gave in to the animals’ opinions and dragged the packaging into her office, cat and all. Boyd was close on her heels when the sound of a large truck rumbling down the lane detoured him from the office and to the screen door.

  Through the window,
she saw a long, high-sided flatbed filled with logs, easing its way down the rutted path toward the mill. When the horn echoed through the clearing, Boyd began howling, circling Paul’s legs with an urgent let’s-go kind of dance.

  “Jason’s here,” Paul announced, opening the front door to let his dog race out ahead of him.

  Chelsea remembered the youngest Barrett as a quiet boy whose two great loves were baseball and whittling. Now he was expertly maneuvering the biggest truck she’d ever seen onto a bridge scarcely wide enough to hold it. How he managed that was beyond her, and she was impressed with how deftly he handled the mammoth load.

  Paul directed him into the empty yard and motioned for him to park. When Jason stepped down from the cab, Boyd threw himself at the tall lumberjack, jumping and barking with such excitement he brought to mind a child greeting a favorite uncle. The two brothers embraced each other warmly, standing side by side as Chelsea joined them.

  “What a great surprise!” Jason exclaimed with a swift hug for her. “Paul didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

  For some reason, it irked her that Paul hadn’t seen fit to mention her involvement in the project to his brother. After their conversation the other day, she’d assumed he shared her view that they were in this thing together. Clearly, he considered this a Barrett family endeavor, and her presence didn’t merit any attention.

  Putting aside her annoyance, she replied in her most syrupy voice, “Oh, he’s been so busy it must’ve slipped his mind. How was your trip?”

  “Fine. Long.” Motioning toward the road with his thumb, he added, “I left Hobey sacked out at Mom and Dad’s. He’s getting some sleep, then taking the rig back in the morning.”

  Chelsea watched as understanding dawned in Paul’s eyes. “You’re staying?”

  “You said you could use some more hands.” Holding up two covered in scars, he grinned. “How ’bout these?”

  Obviously astounded by the generous offer, Paul pulled his brother into a bear hug that would have crushed a smaller man. Grasping Jason by the shoulders, he held him at arm’s length and simply said, “Thank you.”

  Chelsea still had trouble believing Paul was making such a sacrifice for his grandfather. That Jason was following along made her a little misty, which was highly unprofessional. She was grateful they were too focused on each other to notice.

  That didn’t last long, though. Paul looked from Jason to her and said, “Since you’re both here, Gram wanted me to invite you to the house tonight. The Braves are playing the Yankees, so everyone’s coming over to watch the game.”

  It didn’t escape Chelsea’s notice that he was careful to make it clear Olivia had made the gesture herself. While she and Paul were hardly best friends, Chelsea had sensed a thawing of their old chill during the week and had assumed he felt the same way. Now she realized she’d been mistaken, and for some odd reason, it bothered her. A lot.

  “Thanks, but it’s been a long week,” she said politely. “I think I’ll just stay in tonight.”

  Paul looked as if she’d suggested flying to the moon that evening. “On a Friday night in the summer? You’re kidding, right?”

  His goading only made her angrier, and she struggled to keep her composure in front of his brother. “No, I’m not.”

  He traded a look with Jason, who smoothly said, “I’m kinda kinked up from the trip. Think I’ll take a walk and stretch my legs.”

  Boyd’s sharp ears picked up on the walk comment and he loped over to follow Jason out to the creek path Paul had cleared. When they were out of earshot, Paul turned to her with a frown. “Something wrong?”

  “Of course not.”

  Holding her gaze for a couple of intense seconds, he shook his head. “I’ve done this before, y’know. That’s the kind of look a woman puts on when she’s mad at me but doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  She didn’t appreciate being lumped in with the other women he’d known, but there was no way she was sharing that with him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.” He dragged that out in a skeptical drawl, then understanding glimmered in his eyes. “I didn’t ask you right, did I?” When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “I should’ve made it clear we’d all like to have you there tonight. I thought if I asked you, you’d say no. I’m sorry.”

  That he’d so quickly identified the problem was impressive, to say the least. Maybe the macho athlete she’d known in high school had actually become more sensitive over the years. She was pretty sure stranger things had happened, but she couldn’t come up with any examples just then.

  Since he appeared genuinely sorry, she decided to give him a break. “Apology accepted. Can I bring anything for the party?”

  “Just yourself. Mom, Gram and my sisters-in-law are handling everything else.” His relieved smile wavered a bit. “You won’t tell ’em I blew the invitation thing, will you?”

  “Just this once,” she teased. “But don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Loud whistling sounded from in back of the mill, an obvious attempt to let them know Jason was on his way back.

  Trading smiles with Paul, she said, “His timing is pretty good. Did he used to bug you and your dates in high school?”

  Paul groaned. “All the time. It wasn’t just me, though. He did it to all of us.”

  “So he’s had a lot of practice,” she commented as Jason trotted up the porch steps.

  “Too much.” Turning to his brother, Paul asked, “Ready to unload?”

  Glancing around, Jason frowned. “It’s just the two of us?”

  “And Chelsea.”

  Eyeing the mountain of logs braced in the truck, she shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere near that.”

  Paul gave her a cajoling look, and she answered with a glare of her own. They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither willing to give an inch. Finally, his face broke into a gotcha kind of smirk. “I’m just yankin’ your chain. None of us is gonna be on the ground while we unload.”

  Of course not, she realized, feeling foolish that she’d even briefly considered it a possibility. Jason didn’t say anything, but she noticed him shaking his head at them. She’d gotten accustomed to haggling with Paul over every little thing, and she barely noticed it anymore. In fact, she kind of enjoyed sparring with him, but she could only imagine what Jason thought of their antics.

  She stood on the porch, watching while the Barretts checked over the clamps holding the huge logs in place on either side of the oversize truck. When they were satisfied, Paul took some kind of remote box from the cab and retreated to stand beside her. Once Jason and Boyd had joined them, Paul did another visual sweep of the yard and nodded. “Okay, here we go.”

  “You sure you remember how to use that thing?” Jason needled like the irksome little brother she recalled from their childhood. Only now he loomed even larger than Paul and didn’t shrink from the scowl he got in reply. Instead, he raised his eyebrows in an innocent expression that made Paul grin.

  “Watch me.”

  With an expert touch on the controls, he fired up the crane mounted on the truck and lifted out the first log. It settled on the ground with barely a shiver, and she doubted he could do it again. But he did. Over and over, one at a time, until the entire payload was stacked in a neat pyramid of nineteenth-century oak. It was a remarkable feat, and while she wasn’t one to gush, she decided it called for some praise.

  Applauding the effort, she said, “Very nice. I wouldn’t have thought anyone could stack all that wood without wrecking something.”

  “That’s nothing,” Paul told her as he powered off the remote. “Wait till you see us strip the bark and rip the logs into lumber for the saws. That’s something you won’t want to miss.”

  He pointed at what appeared to be an outdoor version of the mill saws. The big difference was there was nothing around it, so they could slide in as big a tree as they wanted and guide it through the nasty-
looking blade that stood taller than her. The sight of it reminded her of those old movies where the damsel in distress was headed toward certain death and rescued by the hero just in time.

  That image led to another, more pragmatic one, and she wondered if they’d go for it. Only one way to find out, she decided, so she charged ahead. “Hey, I’ve got kind of a kooky idea.”

  Jason groaned, but Paul cushioned his reaction with an indulgent smile. “No, she’s good at this. Go ahead, Chelsea.”

  The compliment, quick but honest, thrilled her. All week, they’d been competing in a kind of tug-of-war, both of them motivated by their determination to do the best possible job they could. That Paul had noticed her contributions—and appreciated them—touched her in a way she experienced so rarely she could tally them on one hand.

  Buoyed by his support, she outlined her brainstorm. “We could invite people out here to watch you guys work. Most people have only read about lumberjacks, so it would be something new for them to see it for real.”

  “You mean like a carnival or something?” Jason asked.

  “More like a picnic for local residents who remember this as a working mill,” she clarified, glancing at Paul to gauge his opinion. His face told her nothing, but curiosity glimmered in his dark eyes, and she took that as a good sign. “We could do it as part of a grand reopening to announce the business is up and running again. We’d show people how you’re bringing this place back to life, and they’ll feel like they’re a part of it.”

  “While we’re at it, Jason and I could fell some trees,” Paul suggested, nodding out toward the overgrown lane. “We’ve gotta do something about widening that access road anyway. Might as well make it part of the show.”

  His response was more or less a stamp of approval on her idea, but Chelsea wasn’t one for assumptions. They got you into trouble, and she preferred to have official sign-off before she got too excited about something. “Does that mean you’re on board?”