Blue Ridge Reunion

by Mia Ross

  Not long ago, she’d have scoffed at such mundane conversation as being boring and unimportant. But sitting here with them, she gained an appreciation for her former classmates’ busy but simple lives. Married to their high school sweethearts, they were navigating the twists and turns of modern life, raising their children along the way. Normally she was content with the choice she’d made to focus on her career and delay having a family until it made more sense for her.

  But tonight, for the first time, she felt a trickle of doubt creeping into her well-laid plans. Why it had chosen now to appear, she couldn’t begin to explain, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  * * *

  When Paul pulled in at the mill, he had to look twice to be sure he wasn’t seeing things. There were several pickups parked next to Chelsea’s car, and through his open window he caught the scent of fresh coffee and snippets of laughing conversation. Excited by the prospect of company, Boyd scratched on his door until Paul leaned over to pop the handle for him. The hound made a beeline for the open front door, and Paul wished he could match the dog’s enthusiasm.

  Since starting this project, he’d been praying for God to send him some extra hands. Well, now he had them. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what to do with them, and he wished he had Chelsea’s flair for planning and organization. If he did, he’d be rushing inside like Boyd instead of dragging his feet every step of the way.

  He paused on the porch, searching for a way to go in without looking as though he was making an entrance. When Chelsea spotted him, she flashed him a bright, encouraging smile that made all his doubts fade into the background.

  “Morning, boss,” she said easily. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Taking the mug she offered him, he muttered, “Please don’t call me that.”

  Sympathy flooded her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by determination. “Someone has to be in charge, Paul. For better or worse, it’s you. Deal with it.”

  Taken aback by the harsh comment, he growled, “You learn that from your dad?”

  “Among other things.” Now the smile was back, and she patted his arm. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office trying to find a pen.”

  “You bought a dozen of ’em on Friday.” Then he figured it out and laughed. “Let me guess. Daisy hid them on you.”

  “The office isn’t that big. I can’t imagine where she hides them all.”

  Grinning, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and fished out a beat-up ballpoint. “Just don’t let your furry assistant get at it. It’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beaming her appreciation, she tucked the pen behind her ear. Paul followed the motion for some reason, and he noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual earrings. “No diamonds today?”

  Casting a look at the little crowd in the entryway, she shook her head. “They don’t seem appropriate for this job.”

  He was impressed that she’d considered how other people would view her fancy clothes and jewelry. Now that he got another look at her, he saw she’d played down everything, from her plain watch to her flat shoes. Even her hair, which was pulled back with a simple band instead of yanked into some fancy do most folks would see only on TV. Now, instead of resembling an executive in some cushy office, she looked like a regular person. A very pretty one.

  Since she’d made such an effort, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to share his opinion. “I like this look better anyway. It’s more you.”

  “Really?” Apparently, the response had popped out on its own, because she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re razzing me, aren’t you?”

  “Not a bit.” Her dubious frown made him want to rush in and reassure her, but he suspected she’d push away any attempt to make her feel better. Instead, he sipped his coffee and casually said, “I appreciate you making the place look so nice for the crew.”

  The compliment included redecorating the lobby as well as her appearance, and from her dawning smile, she realized that. She was sharp, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. But for once it didn’t bother him. In fact, now that he’d gotten used to her directness, he liked it. Maybe just a little too much.

  Before he could make a mess of their working relationship, he finished off his coffee and set the mug on a nearby table. Picking up the bag he’d brought in with him, he said, “Well, we’d best get to work. It’s bound to get noisy, so I brought you these.”

  When she pulled out the sound-canceling headphones, you’d have thought he’d brought her the crown jewels. “You bought these for me?”

  “Standard issue at a sawmill,” he explained. “We’ve all got ’em.”

  Gazing up at him, she gave him a look he couldn’t begin to describe. All he knew was it made him want to squirm. “You could’ve just told me to get some.”

  “I figured this was easier, since I know what kind of rating you need.”

  “That was very sweet of you, Paul.” Stepping in, she quickly kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  The spot her lips touched warmed instantly, and he felt the heat spreading with the grin that was taking over his face without his permission. “You’re welcome.”

  Touching his arm, she passed by in a cloud of summery scent that filled his head with soft, feminine sensations that had no place in his image of Chelsea. They were partners in this project, he reminded himself sternly. The restoration of the mill meant too much to his grandfather for Paul to lose sight of the end zone when he’d finally assembled the team they needed to push across the goal line.

  With that in mind, he shoved the brief encounter with Chelsea aside and turned to face his crew. They were eyeing him strangely, and Jason—idiot that he was—was making no attempt to disguise his curiosity.

  “Nice perks, being the boss and all,” he teased, eyes crinkling in fun. “Is that part of the benefits plan?”

  “Not for you.”

  When Paul registered the snarl in his voice, he did his best to laugh it off. His entire life, he’d never had a rival for a woman’s attention. Not that his younger brother was a threat or anything, seeing as Paul wasn’t interested in Chelsea that way to begin with.

  A couple of the older guys were chuckling to each other, and he decided it was best to nip their suspicions in the bud before they had a chance to mention them to their wives. Because once that happened, the incredibly efficient Barrett’s Mill gossip chain would make mincemeat of him.

  “All right, fun’s over. We’re all here to do a job, whether it’s in the mill or the office,” he stressed. “Hank, you were our last foreman, and I’d appreciate you taking that on again.”

  The man acknowledged the request with a single nod, but the pride shining in his eyes told Paul he’d made the right decision. “You all know what to do to get this place running like a top, so I’ll leave you to it. I don’t want you pushing yourselves too hard in this heat, so make sure you take a break once in a while. Any questions, I’ll be out clearing trees with Jason.”

  “You can count on us, boss,” Joe promised.

  Paul would prefer not to be referred to that way, but Chelsea’s words rang in his mind, and he forced a smile. “I never doubted that, but it’s good to hear.”

  With that, he snagged his troublemaking little brother around the throat and dragged him out front for some one-on-one chain-saw time.

  When they’d reached the woods, Jason stopped and set his chain saw down. “So, you wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

  “With what?”

  “You and Chelsea.” Paul was so stunned by his brother’s perceptiveness, he didn’t know how to respond.

  “She’s really getting to you, isn’t she?” Jason pressed.

  For a second, Paul debated playing dumb, then decided against it. Jason knew him better than anyone, and claiming ignorance would only delay the inevitable. “If you mean she’s driving me over the edge, then yes. I thought Mom and Gram were bad, but Chelsea’s the most stubborn, frustrating woman I
’ve ever met in my life.”

  “You forgot smart,” Jason goaded. “I mean, that’s what’s really bugging you, right?”

  Much as he hated to admit it, Jason had nailed the real problem dead-on. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he sighed. “I’ve dated some really beautiful women, but none of ’em could think their way out of a paper bag. Chelsea could tell you how it was made and figure out a way to make you want to buy one. The trouble is...”

  When he trailed off, Jason filled in the blank for him. “The trouble is, she’s going back to Roanoke soon, so you don’t have much time to make a move.”

  The urge to shove his brother back a few steps was almost overwhelming, but they were adults now, and at work besides. So Paul settled for a stern glare. “That’s not funny.”

  “Wow,” Jason said somberly. “You must really like her.”

  Paul suspected he was losing his mind, because the last thing he’d ever envisioned himself doing was asking anyone for advice on women. Then again, he wasn’t doing a bang-up job on his own. He’d been working side by side with Chelsea every day, and he hadn’t found the guts to tell her how he was feeling. Maybe, he mused with a frown, that was because he wasn’t exactly sure himself.

  “I guess you’re right,” he muttered. “Whattya think I should do?”

  After thinking a few seconds, Jason snapped his fingers. “Ask her to the reunion. You’re both going anyway, so you can make it sound like just two friends driving in together. Then see what happens.”

  “That’s not half-bad,” Paul acknowledged, feeling a hopeful spark flare inside him. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Patting his shoulder, Jason fired up his chain saw and headed for one of the trees they’d marked for felling. Given the chance to reconsider his plan, Paul was stunned to find he didn’t want to. Oh, man, he groaned silently. Was he in trouble now.

  * * *

  Before long, Chelsea had her new routine down pat. Paul was an early starter, but since Daisy woke her up before the neighbor’s rooster, she managed to get in half an hour earlier than he did and have some kind of breakfast laid out for his volunteer crew. Even though she saw proof of it every day, she still couldn’t believe they were all willing to put in so many hours of hard work for free.

  Raised by a man who could run a complete return-on-investment assessment in his head, offering something so valuable for nothing was a foreign concept to her. But she had to admit they really knew what they were doing, and they deserved some tangible recognition of their labor. Even if it was just doughnuts and coffee.

  Sitting down with her morning tea, she opened her email to find a message from Brenda Lattimore.

  Final count: 82. Need more chairs :(

  Chelsea typed back, No problem, then added an uncharacteristic smiley face.

  Most of her email was completely professional, but spending so much time with the outgoing Brenda and her chatty committee had given her a new perspective on the girls she’d viewed with such disdain in high school. Thanks to them, now she could see how her lonely teenage existence had been partly her own fault. Maybe if she’d made more of an effort to fit in with her classmates instead of looking down on them, she would’ve had more friends.

  Since she couldn’t go back and change her past, Chelsea had resolved to make her present more fun. Paul was an excellent role model for that, although she couldn’t envision herself ever being quite that laid-back. Still, there was always room for improvement, and she saw no harm in trying. For instance, she no longer checked her schedule a dozen times a day to make sure she was on track. Instead, she kept her to-do list short enough to memorize. It made life much easier.

  Sipping her tea, she looked around with a satisfied smile. Rustic hadn’t been the word for this place when she’d first arrived. Now the machinery hummed as if it had never been off-line, and people came and went with a regularity that would have been unthinkable when she did her initial site appraisal for the bank. It was a vibrant, interesting place, just the kind of spot folks would enjoy visiting for a few hours with their kids.

  With that in mind, she opened the website she was designing and reviewed her progress. After a few false starts, she’d gotten the hang of the program and had the basics in place.

  One thing she didn’t like: the company logo. Paul wanted to use the wood-burning mark they put on their lumber, but it struck her as being too much like a brand cowboys used on cattle. The problem was, some long-ago Barrett had created it, and it would be a nice historical link between the original mill and its modern counterpart.

  She now had a solution to that, she thought, pulling up Jenna’s number on her contact list. When the artist answered, the grinding noise in the background nearly drowned her out. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we’ve got a bad connection.”

  “No, it’s my deburring machine. What can I do for you?”

  Since the woman didn’t seem inclined to shut the equipment off, Chelsea went on. “Amy Morgan and Molly Harkness recommended you to do some artwork for the sawmill. Are you taking on new projects these days?”

  “Every day,” she replied with a laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

  By the time Chelsea had finished outlining what she wanted, she was almost hoarse from shouting. But Jenna seemed totally unfazed by both the racket and the assignment, promising she’d have some drawings in a couple of days. “Email whatever visuals you have, and I’ll take it from there. ’Bye.”

  Chelsea wasn’t sure her goodbye got through, but she ended the call and pulled up the primitive graphics files she’d scanned and saved to her laptop. She’d just hit Send when she noticed Paul on the other side of the Dutch door, wearing a curious look and a dusting of powdered sugar from a leftover doughnut.

  “I could hear all that from out in the shop. Are your ears okay?”

  Playing along, she cupped her ear. “What?”

  “Did you just make a joke?” he asked, his jaw open in mock surprise.

  At least, she hoped it was. She’d hate to think she was so serious he believed she was incapable of making a simple joke. Judging by his grin, he was just ribbing her, and she relaxed. “I hired Jenna Reed to design our new signage and a banner for the website, so I was going over a few things with her.”

  “Great idea. Everyone’s gone for lunch, so it’s just us. Can I see what you’ve got so far?”

  Normally Chelsea didn’t share anything that wasn’t absolutely perfect. But this was Paul’s business, not hers, and while she wasn’t thrilled with showing him an incomplete product, she couldn’t come up with a good reason not to. “Sure. Come on in.”

  Peering over the door, he made sure Daisy wasn’t underfoot before pushing it open. Chelsea had to admit she loved how gently he treated her little friend. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d mentioned bringing Daisy to work, and he frequently played with her during his breaks. Then he’d take Boyd out for a run and bring the hound back worn-out and ready for a nap on the settee. Where Paul found that kind of energy baffled her, and she’d come to admire his seemingly endless stamina.

  He stood behind her, listening as she clicked through various areas of the site and explained how they’d work. She nutshelled her concept for their new logo, using the Barrett’s Mill brand as part of the design. The plan was to use it on everything from the roadside sign to mugs and caps they’d sell online and in their gift shop.

  “Granddad will be thrilled with that idea. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  Spinning in her chair, she faced him squarely. “This is the first time you’ve seen any of this. Don’t you want to make some changes?”

  He shrugged. “You’re way better at that kinda stuff than I am. Even if I thought your idea was kooky, I’d have gone with it ’cause you know what catches people’s eyes. But Granddad likes the old mark, so I appreciate you coming up with a way to use it. It’s a good compromise.”

  Come to think of
it, they’d been doing a lot of that during their partnership. While he read the history page, Chelsea reflected on those first difficult days, when they’d each been jockeying for position, trying to convince the other to see things their way. There was no denying things had changed between them, but when? And more important, how?

  She and Paul were the two most headstrong people she knew, but somehow they’d found ways to overcome their stubbornness and work together. Maybe, she mused with a smile, how it had come to be wasn’t important. What mattered was keeping it going until the project was finished.

  And then what?

  Her optimism faltered, and she busied herself straightening up her desk so Paul wouldn’t pick up on her shifting emotions. Unlike most men she’d known, he noticed things like that, and she didn’t want to be forced to come up with a plausible explanation for it. A quick peek showed her he was focused on the website and not on her, which was a relief.

  The problem was, she couldn’t ignore the way her stomach dropped every time she considered leaving sleepy Barrett’s Mill and returning to her demanding job in Roanoke. Here people valued her input and respected her opinion even if they didn’t necessarily agree with her. At the bank, she often felt that no matter how many hours she put in, they weren’t enough. Or her pace wasn’t fast enough, or any number of other flaws she wasn’t even aware of.

  Did she really want to go back to that? she wondered, wiggling a pencil while Daisy batted at the eraser. And if she didn’t, what on earth would she do instead?

  “You ever think of doing this kinda thing professionally?”

  Paul’s question jerked her out of her own head. When she realized he’d somehow picked up on what she’d been thinking, Chelsea turned to him in amazement. “What?”

  “You seem to really enjoy this creative stuff. More than that,” he continued, nodding to the neatly stacked set of printouts she’d moved aside to work on her sketches. “Maybe you should try doing more of it.”