Читать книгу Blue Ridge Reunion - Mia Ross - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWhen Chelsea was finished with her survey, she stopped in the millhouse to say goodbye to Paul. “Thanks for the tour. The loan committee will be meeting tomorrow, and I’ll make my presentation then. You should have an answer by midweek.”
Paul looked up from the doohickey he was oiling with a grim expression. “I can tell by your tone you don’t think we should get our hopes up.”
She did, but she was usually better at hiding her opinion from clients. Either he was unusually adept at reading her, or she was losing her touch. Whichever it was, she wasn’t thrilled to learn she’d let her emotions show. Hoping to ease the blow, she sat down on an overturned crate beside him. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. With the economy the way it is, projects like these are rejected more often than not.”
“But this one’s special,” he insisted, his dark eyes pleading with her for something she couldn’t give him. “There was nothing around here until my family built this mill. That has to count for something.”
Unfortunately, there were hundreds of villages just like it scattered throughout the country, fading from memory because they weren’t deemed important enough to save. But she couldn’t bear to tell him that, so she hedged. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises. You need to understand that.”
“Sure,” he breathed, his shoulders lifting and then drooping with a heavy sigh.
The defeated pose was far removed from the arrogant sports star she remembered from high school, and she felt her heart going out to him. Firmly, she put a stop to that and reminded herself this was a business proposition. Where money was concerned, she had to keep a cool head at all times. She was on pace to be the youngest vice president in the long history of Shenandoah Bank and Trust, and she had no intention of losing sight of her goal when she had it within her grasp. Because, quite honestly, she had few friends outside of work and an almost nonexistent social life. Without her career, she was nothing.
“I’ll get back to Roanoke and start processing your files,” she said as she stood. “Have a good day.”
“You, too,” he muttered without looking up. Chelsea decided that was the best she could expect considering she’d just crushed his dreams, so she headed for the door. She was on the porch when he called out her name.
She backtracked, and he gave her a sheepish grin as he got to his feet. “That’s no way to treat a lady, and I apologize. Let me walk you to your car.”
“You don’t—”
“Yeah, I do. If Mom found out I booted you outta here, she’d tan my hide.”
Chelsea wouldn’t be talking to anyone else before leaving town, so there was little chance of his mother learning about their awkward reunion. Then again, she mused while they strode outside, this was Barrett’s Mill. Someone had probably noticed her on the road and begun spreading the word that she’d come back, however briefly. The idea tickled her for some reason, and while she normally detested anyone poking their nose into her affairs, she had to laugh.
“What?” Paul asked, glancing around to see what had amused her.
“Just thinking about how this place never changes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I like most about it.”
Bewildered by his attitude, she didn’t bother to hide her reaction. “Really? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“Sure, but that’s part of its charm.” Leaning against a gnarled old oak, he folded his arms and gave her the same wide-open country-boy grin he’d worn all through high school. “I’ve lived lots of places, but I always come back here because it’s home.”
“This is my first visit since we graduated,” she blurted without thinking.
“Doesn’t surprise me any,” he said with a frown. “Even when we were kids, you wanted more than you could find here.”
“There’s a big, fascinating world out there.”
Studying her for a long moment, he murmured, “But you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet. Why is that?”
His perceptiveness unnerved her almost as much as his appallingly blunt—and highly personal—question. She’d usually ignore such an intrusion, but she didn’t want him thinking for even one second that he’d rattled her. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Just curious. Have a good trip back.”
This time she didn’t linger out of politeness but opened the driver’s door and gratefully sank into the buttery leather seat. Eager to leave the mill and its aggravating caretaker behind, she angrily punched the button to start the engine.
Nothing.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she reset the electronic fob and tried the button again, with the same result. The dealer had done a full service on this car just last week, and now it wouldn’t start when she was in the absolute middle of nowhere? Could this day possibly get any worse?
The answer to that question loomed in her window, and for a few immature seconds, she ignored Paul’s irritating presence. Then she realized she was being ridiculous and hit the control to lower the window. It wouldn’t work, of course, and she reluctantly climbed out of her worthless car to face the music.
“Problem?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“It won’t start, as you can see. You’re good with mechanical things,” she said hopefully. “Could you please take a look?”
“Well, since you said ‘please,’ I’ll give it a shot. Pop the hood.”
She did as he asked, standing helplessly while he pushed it open and peered inside. The baffled look on his face spoke volumes, and he gave a long, dubious whistle. “You need a computer to talk to a car like this. Fred Morgan might be able to get it running, though.”
“Great. Let’s call him.”
Squinting up at the sky, Paul shook his head. “We could, but it’s lunchtime, and he’ll be at The Whistlestop. We’ll find him there.”
Chelsea didn’t like what he was implying. They’d had a few nice moments, but otherwise the man grated on her every nerve. She hadn’t planned on spending any more time with him than strictly necessary. “We?”
“I’m headed there anyway, so I can give you a ride. Unless you’d rather walk.” Angling his head, he gave her high heels an uncertain look.
“Can’t you just send Fred out here? I mean, after you’ve both eaten,” she added so she didn’t sound quite so desperate.
“Are you serious?” Paul’s eyes roamed around the deserted property before settling on her. “There’s no way I’m leaving you out here alone. Boyd’s a great watchdog, but he’s not much in the protection department. He loves everyone he meets.”
Chelsea didn’t think anything would happen to her, but she yielded to the wisdom of what he was saying. These days, a girl couldn’t be too careful. So, since she was out of options, she decided to make the best of a bad situation. “All right, then. I appreciate the offer.”
“And lunch,” he said, motioning her toward his truck. “By the looks of that suit, you don’t eat near as much as you should.”
Appalled by his comment, she pulled up short. “Are you saying I’m too thin?”
“Got that right.” The dented passenger door groaned loudly as he opened it for her. “Some of Molly Harkness’s chicken and dumplings should do the trick.”
Oh, the Southern diet, Chelsea lamented. She loved the taste of fried anything smothered in gravy, but the effect it had on her waistline was another issue altogether. “I’ll just get a salad, thanks,” she announced as she sat on the threadbare seat.
“Over my dead body,” he grumbled, shutting the door and climbing in the other side. Raising an eyebrow at her, he crossed his fingers and turned the key. After a few tries, the cranky engine roared to life, and Paul circled the turnaround and headed for the main road.
“You’re not really going to try and tell me what to eat, are you?” she demanded.
“Somebody should.” Eyeing her in the rearview mirror, he shook his head. “When’s the last time you had a steak?”
She honestly couldn’t recall, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Instead, she disregarded the question and used the old-fashioned handle to roll her window down. A breeze scented with wild roses and honeysuckle drifted into the cab, and she took a deep breath of it. “It smells like summer, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” Pointing over to the right, he said, “I cleared a path along the creek last week. Boyd loves it, and it gives me a break from all that oil and sawdust.”
“That sounds nice.” Secretly, she envied him his flexible schedule. While he was working very hard, it was on his own terms, not dictated by someone else’s clock.
“My brothers and I used to have a lot of fun at that old swimming hole down at the other end,” Paul continued. “We’d grab some watermelons and a radio, then meet our friends there in the morning and not go home till dark. Those were some good times.”
His nostalgic rambling trailed off, and he tuned the radio to a local station. It was noon, and while the national anthem played, Chelsea realized she’d missed a lot by being so driven during high school. Friends, fun and lazy days at the swimming hole. If she’d known then what she knew now, she’d have enjoyed herself more.
“Chelsea,” Paul said gently, as if her silence made him uncomfortable. When she met his eyes, he went on. “Not everything here was bad, y’know.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” she corrected him. “I said it was limited.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s the world treating you these days?”
“Fine.” That got her a skeptical look, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Okay, it’s tough. But I’ll figure it out.”
Eventually.
“When you do, clue me in, would ya?”
“Like you’d ever need help from me,” she scoffed. “Mr. Valedictorian and MVP of everything.”
“That was a long time ago,” he reminded her in a somber tone. “A lot’s changed since then.”
The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”
After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”
She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”
“Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”
“And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”
“Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”
“Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”
“Well, now, that explains a lot.”
As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.
Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.
Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.
“Who did the new sign?” she asked.
“No idea. Ask Molly.”
Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.
Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”
Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”
Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”
Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile. “Yes, ma’am. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, peachy, like always.” After giving her a warm hug, Molly assessed her with disdain. “What? They don’t feed you up there in Roanoke?”
“Not like this.” Chelsea paused for a long sniff. “What’ve you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea the entire village was in on this. The fact that so many people stood behind the mill put a whole different spin on it for her, giving her a glimpse into the pressure Paul must feel to make the project successful. Beyond that, his application had become more to her than debits and credits on a ledger sheet. “Ultimately, the board makes the decision, so I can’t promise anything. But I’ll do my best.”
“God bless you both.” After placing a hand on her shoulder and the other on Paul’s, he returned to his meal.
“Well, that was awkward,” Chelsea murmured as she and Paul seated themselves on opposite sides of the tiny booth.
Already nose-deep in the menu, he asked, “Why?”
Sensing that he hadn’t strayed as far from their Christian upbringing as she had, she wisely kept her mouth shut. But he was still the same old Paul, and he eyed her suspiciously. Setting down his menu, he folded his well-muscled forearms on top and leaned in with a slight grin. “You’re not tight with the big guy anymore?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” she chided, relenting when his grin widened into a you-can’t-fool-me look. “All right, you nailed me on that one. Happy?”
“Immensely. Most women baffle me, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s kinda nice.”
“I’ve changed plenty,” she insisted as Molly showed up with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “You’re exactly the same, though.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Arguing again?” Molly teased, pulling an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “It feels like old times, seeing you kids in my place. What’ll you have?”
“How ’bout some barbecue?” Paul suggested with a questioning look at Chelsea. “If you want, we can get one chicken and one pork and split ’em.”
What did she care? With all the trouble he was causing her, she’d have boatloads of pent-up aggravation for working off the calories at the gym later. “Sure, with coleslaw. And double fries with gravy,” she added impulsively.
Beaming proudly, Molly patted her back. “Good for you, hon. You only go around once, so you might as well eat what you want. These’ll be out shortly.”
“Before you go, I was wondering who did your new sign. It’s really unique.”
“Jenna Reed blew into town a few months back,” Molly explained. “She’s one of those traveling-artist types, y’know, the kind who sell their stuff at a roadside stand. Anyway, she came in here one day and asked if I knew anyone who was looking for some new signage.”
“And you hired her,” Paul guessed. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The girl needed to pay her rent, and our old plaque was falling off the hooks. She didn’t charge much, and we get all kinds of compliments about it. I’d say we got the better end of the bargain.”
“That sign at the mill is way past its prime,” Chelsea told Paul. “You might want to contact Jenna and see if she can help you out. You really need a logo to brand your products and marketing materials.”
“Great idea.” Grabbing a napkin, he borrowed Molly’s pen and wrote down the woman’s info. Once she’d gone, he refolded his arms and leaned closer. “You’ve always been a by-the-numbers type. Where’d you pick up your eye for artistic stuff?”
That he’d noticed the change, and obviously approved of it, gave her shaky ego a pleasant little boost. The fact that those deep brown eyes were twinkling at her had nothing to do with it, of course, but it was nice to be recognized for something she’d done rather than how pretty she looked. She got her fill of that at the bank, and it was refreshing to be praised for stepping out of her usual realm of expertise.
“Marketing’s always interested me,” she confided for the very first time. Even her father didn’t know, because to him, banking was the only industry worth pursuing. “I like analyzing the unique aspects of a company and figuring out how to play them up to their best advantage.”
“Like earlier, when you asked about my plans for promoting the mill,” he said as he filled their glasses with tea. “Do you do that often?”
“Never.” Hearing the edge to her tone, she did her best to dial it back. “Our clients aren’t interested in my opinion on that kind of thing. They hire experts for that.”
“Your mom was a real creative lady. You must’ve gotten your talent from her.”
The mention of her long-absent mother hit Chelsea like a bucket of ice water, and she felt herself stiffen in self-defense. She recognized that it was absurd to tense up that way, but it was reflexive and she simply couldn’t help it. Hoping to disguise her reaction, she shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to her. “Probably.”
“Where is she these days?”
“Australia, with husband number four.” Or was it Austria? It had been months since her last email, and she honestly couldn’t recall where Mom had said they were living now.
“Cool place. You should go visit her when you get a chance.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Chelsea spat with more venom than she’d intended. Swallowing some tea, she went on. “Beyond that, I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. After the divorce, she and Dad could hardly look at each other without snarling.”
In truth, they’d been like that her entire life, and the breakup of their marriage had been a relief for all of them. Paul seemed to sense that, because the look on his face shifted from polite interest to genuine sympathy. Considering the fact that they’d been wrangling all morning, his compassion touched her deeply. In her fast-paced world, people flew past each other with a quick greeting, seldom pausing for a meaningful conversation. Something told her if she wanted to keep talking, he’d go right on listening, nodding and encouraging until she was finished. Part of her longed to do just that, but logic took over, reminding her the last thing she needed was to allow herself to become personally involved with a potential client. Especially this one.
He’d be easier to dismiss if he were still the same arrogant jock she knew years ago. The kind, caring man who’d taken his place was a temptation any woman with a pulse would have a hard time resisting.
* * *
Chelsea twisted in her seat to survey the crowd. “I don’t see Fred anywhere.”
“Must be out somewhere helping somebody else. I’ll give him a call after we order.” As if on cue, his cell phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Gram. I can take it outside if you want.”
The sudden worry that creased his forehead reinforced her hunch that there was more to the mill project than he’d claimed, and she waved away his offer. “No, go ahead.”
“Hey, there. What’s up with my favorite girl today?” Listening for a few moments, his frown hardened with determination. “Is that right? Well, put the nurse on.” Another pause. “I realize you’re the professional here, but Will’s an eighty-five-year-old man who doesn’t know how much longer he’s got. If he wants barbecue ribs, he should have ’em. Yes, I take full responsibility for disobeying doctor’s orders. You’re welcome.”
Will Barrett was dying.
Reality struck her with the force of a physical blow, and Chelsea felt her heart seize in her chest. Too shocked for words, she gasped something even she couldn’t understand. Part shock, part sob, it was all she could manage, and Paul held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“Gram, we’re good to go, and I’ll bring a meal for you, too.” Checking the desserts board, he asked, “Rhubarb pie or triple berry? Got it. See ya soon.”
Closing his phone, he clasped it in his hands, staring down at the maze place mat on the table in front of him. All the bravado seemed to have drained out of him, and he closed his eyes with a weary sigh. The anguish on his face tugged at Chelsea’s closely guarded heart, and she searched for some comforting words. None came to mind, but she couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer this way.
Even though she’d resolved to remain objective about this unusual assignment, it had suddenly become very personal. Reaching over, she rested her hand over both of his, wishing there was something more she could do.
