Blue Ridge Reunion

by Mia Ross

“Sure.” Looking at his brother, he asked, “How ’bout you?”

  “Why not? It’ll be fun. Once we get some trees down, maybe we can do some logrolling in the creek.”

  Chelsea wasn’t sure about that one. “I’ve seen that on TV, and it looks pretty dangerous.”

  “Only if you’re Paul,” Jason retorted with a laugh. “Every time we do it, he ends up in the drink.”

  “That’s ’cause you cheat,” he snarled, his grin making it clear he didn’t really mind the ribbing all that much.

  “I don’t have to, since you’re so bad at it.”

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  Hooking his younger brother around the neck, Paul angled him away to inspect their precious load of hundred-year-old timber. As they strolled off, still harassing each other mercilessly, Chelsea shook her head and went back inside.

  At least in there, it would be quiet.

  * * *

  When Paul and Boyd pulled in, the old homestead was lit up like a hotel. Cars and pickups were parked up and down the tree-lined street, and he noticed a few neighbors hiking over on foot. Apparently the family gathering had morphed into an all-out party, Barrett-style.

  Perfect, he thought with a grin. This was what Gram and Granddad wanted, to enjoy his last few months on earth. He crammed his truck into a narrow opening beside the garage and caught his buddy’s collar before opening the door. “You can beg, but no stealing off people’s plates. Got it?”

  Boyd gave him one of those morose hound-dog looks, but he woofed in agreement, so Paul let him go and opened the door. Boyd was off like a shot, and Paul hoped he’d behave himself. Folks stood around the spacious backyard, chatting in groups while four grills made enough smoke and mouthwatering scents to bring in guests from all over town.

  Bruce Harkness was manning his portable smoker, trading gibes with anyone who approached him with an empty plate. Paul’s father, Tom, was flipping burgers on one grill while big brothers Greg and Connor were coaching a gaggle of kids in a chaotic Wiffle ball game in the side yard. Some genius had mounted Granddad’s huge flat-screen TV to the side of the garden shed, and dozens of lawn chairs were set up, ready for the pregame festivities.

  Chelsea’s picnic idea for the mill popped into his head, and Paul couldn’t keep back a smile. Apparently, the very disciplined accountant had a flair for public relations. It was enough to make a guy wonder what other talents might be lurking behind those sparkling green eyes.

  As if on cue from some unseen director, her convertible slowed out on the street, doubling back to take a spot a considerable distance from the house. Since this was his family’s bash, Paul figured he ought to be a good host and go greet her.

  As he strolled up the sidewalk, he had to admit he was eager to find out how they’d fare with each other away from their odd working situation. They’d been more or less thrown together, and the first week had gone as well as could be expected for two people who saw everything from completely opposite angles.

  Not that it mattered, he assured himself as he approached her car. Once the mill project was done, she’d go her way and he’d go his. But the remainder of that time would pass more smoothly if they could find a way to continue getting along.

  Waiting for her to get out, he offered a welcoming smile. “Hey, there. Glad you could make it.”

  She flashed him one of those amazing smiles that would knock him off his stride if he wasn’t careful. “From the look of things, this is the party of the year. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Pressing the button to pop the trunk, she lifted out a couple of gallon jugs of sweet tea. “I picked these up on my way, but they won’t be nearly enough. Should I go back and get more?”

  “Nah, we’ve got plenty.”

  Her bright expression faltered into a frown. “How stupid of me. Your mom and Olivia must make their own, and it’s probably way better than this. I wanted to bring something, and I couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “It wasn’t stupid. It was a thoughtful thing to do, and we appreciate it.” Adding a smile, he was pleased to see hers come back. He began walking toward the fun. “Where’s your furry roommate tonight?”

  “The Donaldsons adore her, so she’s hanging out with them.” Laughing, she said, “I’m still flabbergasted by how much Hank dotes on her. He never struck me as an animal person.”

  “Folks change as they get older. I know I have.”

  She slanted him a curious look, then gave him another, softer smile. “I guess we both have.”

  Hoping to continue this warmer version of their usual banter, he said, “For the better.”

  That made her laugh, which had been his intent. Still, the carefree sound caught him off guard, and he felt an odd sensation deep in his chest. Fortunately, they’d arrived at the house, so he didn’t have a chance to ponder it any further. He’d learned that with women, when you examined things too closely, it could only lead to trouble. Something told him he’d have to watch his step with the new-and-improved Chelsea, or he’d wind up in over his head in no time flat.

  They hadn’t gotten two steps inside the yard before the kitchen door banged open and Gram came rushing onto the side porch. Normally she was calm and dignified, so her uncharacteristic exit worried him until he saw the delighted look on her face.

  “Chelsea!” Pulling her into a hug, Gram set her away, still beaming. “How wonderful of you to come. We know how busy you and Paul have been out at the mill.”

  He picked up on the not-so-subtle way she connected their names, and by the amused look on her face, so did Chelsea. She didn’t seem to mind, and he was surprised to find he didn’t, either. He must be more tired than he thought.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else tonight,” she replied in a fond tone. “This place is like a ghost town. Now I know it’s because everyone’s here.”

  Like the gracious Southern lady she was, Gram waved away the compliment. “Oh, just a little get-together for our friends. The Braves are playing the Yankees, you know.”

  Chelsea slid him a glance, eyes twinkling in fun. “It seems like I heard that somewhere.”

  “There’s some folks here you haven’t met,” Gram said, linking an arm through their guest’s. “Give those to Paul, and I’ll introduce you to the girls in the kitchen.”

  Taking that as his dismissal, he pretended to grumble but followed them into the house with a light step. From what he’d seen so far, this little shindig was a raging success.

  Then he got a look at his grandmother’s kitchen.

  It was a huge room, but chaos seemed to have taken over the normally orderly space. The flurry of female activity and voices, blended with the mix of various perfumes, would have been too much for a lot of men. But Paul resolutely held his ground, waiting for his mother to notice him.

  Born and raised in nearby Cambridge, Diane Barrett had always divided her time between her husband’s family in Barrett’s Mill and her own. She was the kind of person who took care of things, whether that meant raising her own five sons or caring for the countless kids who moved through the church teen centers she’d founded in both towns.

  “Chelsea!” she exclaimed, folding her into one of her famous hugs. “How have you been?”

  “Good, thanks.” Glancing around, she laughed. “It looks like you could use some help in here.”

  “This is nothing. You should see it during the holidays.” When she glanced up and saw Paul, her cheeks dimpled with the welcoming smile that always greeted him when he came home from wherever he’d been. “There’s my boy. There should be room for those in the second fridge on the back porch.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “When you’re done with that, I’ve got another job for you.”

  Her matter-of-fact tone made it clear it wasn’t a tough one, so Paul unloaded the tea and returned for his next assignment.

  “I wish we’d had that teen center when I was growing up,” Chelsea was saying. “It must be nice for those kids to have a plac
e to go instead of home to an empty house.”

  “For some of them, it’s a real godsend,” Mom agreed while she mixed macaroni salad in a tub large enough to wash a baby in. “Olivia used to enjoy coming in and mixing with the kids, but it’s harder for her to do that now.”

  “I send snacks in with Paul,” she added with a wistful smile. “I do miss seeing everyone, though.”

  This was the first he’d heard of it, and it hit him that she never left the house anymore. Caring for Granddad consumed every waking hour of her day. “I’ll stay with Granddad so you can go down there, Gram. Just tell me when.”

  “Thank you, honey. I’ll let you know.”

  But he knew she wouldn’t. Watching her unwrap plasticware to set in a large pan, he wished there was something he could do to help the stubborn, loving woman who’d adored him from the moment he was born. Even though she wasn’t sick herself, she was hurting in a way no one should have to endure. A problem solver by nature, he wasn’t used to feeling helpless.

  “You okay?” Chelsea murmured, rubbing his shoulder.

  He nearly brushed her off, until he caught the sympathy in her eyes. They’d spent a lot of time together the past few days, and she’d become more attuned to his feelings than most of the women he’d dated. Frowning, he shook his head. “Not really, but thanks for asking.”

  “I’ll think of a way to get her in to see the kids,” Chelsea promised. “I think it would really do her some good.”

  “She won’t leave Granddad.”

  That got him a sly smile and a wink. “Then I’ll come up with some other way to get her a break. I’m good with details.”

  Having seen her in action, he didn’t doubt she’d find a way to make good on her promise. As she sauntered away to join the crew making hamburgers, his mother popped in to take her place. Very quietly, she said, “Will needs some help getting outside, but he won’t let your dad or Jason do it.”

  “And you’re thinking he’ll go along if I ask him, is that it?” When she nodded hopefully, he chuckled. “Do I look like Houdini?”

  “Oh, you’ll think of something,” she answered breezily. “Maybe Chelsea will have an idea.”

  “She’s got plenty of those,” he muttered, “but none of ’em are gonna do me any good with Granddad.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out on your own. Thanks, honey.”

  Patting his cheek, she hustled off as one of the women shrieked her name. After confirming the crisis wasn’t fire related, Paul left the kitchen and went around the house up to the front porch steps. By the time he got there, he had a plan, and he whistled for Boyd.

  His reliable buddy came bounding up to him, and Paul stopped him with a hand in the air. “Be quiet and wait here, okay?”

  Seeming to sense something was up, the dog obediently sat and wagged his long tail. As a rule, Paul couldn’t say for certain that the dog actually understood him, but this time he couldn’t explain it any other way. Leaving Boyd on the porch, he entered the dining room, leaving the screen door ajar behind him.

  “Hey, Granddad,” he said easily, looking around the large room. “Have you seen Boyd?”

  Wearing a Braves jersey and cap, Will was sitting in a straight-backed chair, obviously trying to catch his breath after hauling himself out of bed. When he simply shook his head, Paul’s heart lurched in a way he knew he’d never get used to. It hurt him to see his strong, stoic grandfather reduced to such a weak state, but he got a firm grip on his emotions so they wouldn’t show. For Will, the worst thing anyone could do was feel sorry for him.

  So Paul resolutely charged ahead. “There’s so many people here, I’m afraid he’ll get trampled. Could you help me look for him?”

  The thought of a dog being harmed got Granddad’s attention, and he straightened up in the chair. “Of course. Just give me a minute.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  Paul began whistling, and right on cue, Boyd came trotting into the house, a telltale smear of mustard on his nose. He bumped Paul’s knee, then sat politely in front of Granddad.

  “Hey, here he is.” Keeping up the ruse, he patted the dog’s head. “How was your snack?”

  Woofing, he rolled his tongue out of his mouth in approval of the food, making them both laugh.

  “I had a dog like you when I was a boy,” Granddad commented with a nostalgic smile. “We named him Casey, because Casey Stengel was our favorite baseball player.”

  “I remember you telling us about that old hound. He’s buried out back, right?”

  “Under a sugar maple tree. He liked to roll in honeysuckle, so we planted that bush out there for him.” His eyes misted a bit, then cleared when they met Paul’s. “I know your mother sent you in here to help me outside, so let’s get it over with. Just make it look good, all right?”

  “How ’bout we carry one of those coolers sitting on the front porch? You hold the handle on one side and lean on me. I’ll do the rest.” His grandfather thanked him in a faint voice, and Paul summoned an encouraging smile. “No problem. You used to carry me when I was little. Now it’s my turn.”

  “You’re a good boy,” Granddad told him in a rough voice. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  “Don’t worry,” Paul assured him with a grin. “I don’t.”

  That got him a watery laugh, and he waited while his grandfather collected himself. When he gave a firm nod, Paul put an arm around his back and got him steady on his feet. The cooler trick probably didn’t fool anyone, and when they showed up in the backyard with it, folks casually gave them a little extra room to pass by.

  Leaving it with the other drinks, Granddad made the few steps to his front-row seat on his own. It was a Braves director’s chair with Barrett embroidered on the back, and once he was seated, Boyd ambled over to settle down beside him like a furry guard.

  What a great dog, Paul thought as he went down the line putting together plates of food for the two of them. Of course, the fact that Boyd could count on Granddad sneaking him some food probably had something to do with his devotion.

  When Paul ran into Chelsea at the dessert table, she smiled at him. “Mission accomplished, I see.”

  He chuckled. “Boyd and I made it work.”

  Leaning closer, she murmured, “Helping someone without making them feel helpless is a real art. Good for you.”

  The comment made his chest swell with pride, and he couldn’t keep back a grin. “Thanks.” Then, without him realizing it, he heard himself ask, “Would you like to join us?”

  He had no idea what had possessed him to say that, but it was too late to take it back now. From her shocked expression, Chelsea was just as stunned by the invitation as he was.

  She recovered quickly, though, and rewarded him with one of her beautiful smiles. “That would be nice.”

  Relieved by her response, he grinned down at her. “Yeah, it would.”

  “Are we agreeing?” she teased, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Again?”

  Groaning, he replied, “Aw, man. I must be more tired than I thought.”

  “That or I’m wearing you down,” she tossed back as they made their way to their seats.

  On TV, a small band was playing the national anthem, and they stood until the song was over. While they got comfortable in their lawn chairs, the last thing she’d said echoed in Paul’s head, and he did his best to shake it free.

  Because if the beautiful and very intelligent Chelsea Barnes was beginning to wear him down, he was in big, big trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Chelsea spent most of Saturday running errands she’d been putting off while she got settled into her new position at the mill. So when Sunday morning rolled around, she was content to lounge in bed with Daisy purring next to her, listening to the quiet.

  Her rental cottage was tucked in behind the Donaldsons’ main house, which blocked most of the noise from the street. Because of that, the only sounds she heard were birds chattering back
and forth to each other from the trees and the occasional bark of a neighbor’s dog. It was a huge departure from the bustling nature of Roanoke, and it didn’t take her long to realize she liked it better. A lot better.

  Her hometown had always seemed too quiet, she mused while she stroked between the kitten’s perky ears. Her younger self had been eager to break free and see the world. Now that she had, she could appreciate the appeal of a slower pace that gave people time to enjoy things instead of rushing past them on their way somewhere else. She couldn’t imagine living here full-time, of course, but now that she’d accepted her circumstances, she was looking forward to spending the summer in Barrett’s Mill.

  The bells of the Crossroads Church chimed nine, and in the middle of a yawn, a stray thought entered her mind: she should go to church. It had been ages, but after the warm receptions she’d been getting all over town, she had no doubt Pastor Griggs would welcome her at his Sunday service.

  Inspired, she shifted Daisy onto the other pillow and got up. Clearly unconcerned, her tiny roommate curled into a ball and promptly went back to sleep.

  “At least I won’t have to worry about you missing me too much,” Chelsea murmured on her way into the bathroom. In the interest of time, instead of blow-drying, she spiraled her damp hair into a French twist and put on a summery dress and flats.

  By the time she headed out the door, her landlords were coming down their steps. She met them on the sidewalk with a smile. “Good morning. Mind if I join you?”

  “Not a bit,” Lila assured her, and they began a leisurely stroll toward the other end of the street. They met up with several others doing the same, and by the time she reached the little white chapel, Chelsea was pretty well caught up on the happenings around town. Working out at the mill, so far from the center of things, she was woefully out of touch, and she paid close attention to the latest news.

  “Ran off with her daughter’s boyfriend,” Fred Morgan’s wife, Helen, finished in a shocked tone. “The scandal of it would kill me, let me tell you.”

  Chelsea hadn’t caught who had done the running off, but another muted conversation floated in, and she registered the name as being one of her high school teachers. Scandal was the right word, for sure, she acknowledged with a grin.