by Mia Ross
“It’s nice to be missed, I guess.”
Scott cringed at the hesitance he noticed in his voice, but Paul ignored it and eyed the slender pieces of wood he’d carried over. “Whatcha got there?”
“Original slats from the homestead kitchen,” Scott explained, holding them on the palms of his hands so Paul could get a better look. “The other night, you said you’ve got some scrap oak piling up over here. I’m hoping it’s a decent match.”
“And free,” he filled in with a grin. “Right?”
“Well, no,” Scott stammered, caught off guard by the unexpected response. “I can pay you for it.”
“Your money’s no good here,” Paul corrected him, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a big-brother gesture. They began walking toward the mill house, and he added, “I’m glad you came by. I’ve got a job that’s beyond me, and I could use your help.”
Two people in one day, Scott mused, three if he counted Jenna. For someone who’d gotten used to getting by completely on his own, this helping-hand thing would take some getting used to. “With what?”
“You know Chelsea and I bought the old Garrison house on Ingram Street.”
“Can’t imagine why,” he scoffed. “That place has been on its last legs for years.”
“It’s a project, that’s for sure,” Paul agreed with a chuckle. “The thing is, I’m good with furniture, garden benches, things like that. I’m not much for built-in stuff, and Chelsea’s got her heart set on re-creating the breakfront that used to be in our dining room. She has this vision in her head of us hosting everyone there during the holidays, and she says it won’t be right without that piece there the way it should be.”
“What happened to the original?”
“Went to auction years ago to help pay off Mr. Garrison’s medical bills. It’s probably in some rich guy’s mansion in Roanoke now.”
That struck Scott the wrong way, and when they stopped near the front steps leading up into the mill office, he scowled. “I get tired of people tearing things apart and only taking what they want. Fix it or leave it alone. Don’t take only the parts you want and leave the rest behind to rot.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they could be misconstrued by anyone with half a brain. He hadn’t meant to spin a metaphor about himself, but somehow he’d managed it anyway.
“That’s how we feel about it, too,” Paul told him, his dark eyes glittering with the same appreciation for the home’s past. “So, whattya think?”
“I’d rather take a look at it before I start making promises,” Scot hedged. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any pictures?”
“No, but the rest of the woodwork in the house looks original,” a female voice suggested from the porch. Scott looked up to find Paul’s wife, Chelsea, in the doorway, a sleeping orange tiger cat cradled in her arms like a child. “You might be able to get some ideas from that.”
Scott was intrigued by the idea, but he’d learned the hard way that going out on a limb had the very real potential for ending in disaster. While failing on his own wasn’t the worst thing in the world, he was hesitant to ruin Paul and Chelsea’s dining room. He was pretty sure they didn’t want that, either.
After he and Paul joined her on the porch, Scott said, “Historical restoration isn’t exactly my specialty. You’d do better to find a pro.”
“Pros are expensive,” Chelsea reminded him in a firm but sweet tone that probably worked wonders on his stubborn older brother. “Not to mention, booked up for a year in advance. I want the buffet done in time for us to have the whole family at our place for Christmas.”
Scott opened his mouth to ask her why, and then it hit him. How she was holding her cat, the way Paul was standing behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You’re having a baby, aren’t you?”
“Told you he was sharp,” her husband said with a chuckle. “We’re telling the family Friday night at Gram’s. Act surprised,” he added with a stern look.
“No problem.” Scott leaned against one of the roof supports, gazing over at the happy couple. Crossing his arms, he tried to envision them as parents and was surprised to find it wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. “I probably won’t be over the shock by then, anyway. Congratulations, by the way.”
Even to his own ears, the good wishes sounded like a lame afterthought, and he tried to come up with a way to smooth over his misstep. The gesture was totally out of character for him, but he forced himself to embrace them both. It felt stiff and awkward to him, but in the end he was glad he’d made the effort.
Chelsea gave him a warm smile and said, “I picked up sandwiches for the crew, and there are some left in the fridge if you want them.”
“Really? That must mean Jason’s not here,” he joked.
“He had lunch in town with Amy today,” she explained. “The newlyweds are trying to agree on paint colors for the kitchen he just finished. Are you hungry?”
“Us Barrett boys are always hungry,” he informed her as he opened the door and stepped back to let them go through.
“Yeah,” she replied with a raised eyebrow for Paul. “Tell me about it.”
Chapter Five
Scott was totally out of nails.
He couldn’t believe it, but then realized he’d used the last of them cobbling the sad excuse for a roof back together. Once he started taking inventory, he discovered he was dangerously low on a lot of other things. Including money.
The fund Granddad had set up for restoring the chapel was administered by an old lawyer friend of his who was currently out of town visiting his daughter and her family. While he’d told Scott to call him anytime, Scott didn’t want to interrupt his family visit to ask him for a check to cover the supplies he needed. The same man was in charge of doling out money for his living expenses, which left Scott with the cash he had in his wallet until he could get more.
If he didn’t have something to do, he feared he’d lose his mind out here in the woods all alone. Inspiration struck, and he thumbed to the sawmill’s number on his phone. “Hi, Chelsea. Is Paul around?”
Apparently he was in the office because he came on the line within a couple of seconds. “What’s up, woodchuck?”
“Y’know, I hated that when we were kids,” he growled back.
Totally unfazed, his irritating big brother chuckled. “Yeah, I seem to recall that.”
Being mad about it was getting him absolutely nowhere, so he decided to chill out and get to the point. “I need some stuff here at the homestead, and I’m out of cash till Granddad’s lawyer comes back next week. I was hoping I could use the mill account at Stegall’s Hardware and then pay you back.”
“Sure, but you don’t have to reimburse me. It’s your money, too.”
“Are you sure? It’s not like I work at the mill,” Scott pointed out.
“You will if I need you,” Paul promised with another chuckle. “When the holidays roll around we get swamped with orders, and it’s all hands on deck.”
While it was masked with humor, Scott recognized what his brother was doing and couldn’t hold back a rare surge of hope. Swallowing to keep his voice steady, he asked, “Are you offering me a job?”
“If you want it. There’s always a spot for a good carpenter around here.”
Paul hadn’t phrased it like someone trying to bail out a family member who was down on his luck, Scott noted with gratitude. He’d spoken like a prospective employer who was always on the lookout for good people. If one of them happened to be named Barrett, that was fine. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Good. Don’t let that roof cave in while you’re up there, okay?”
“Gotcha,” he replied with a laugh. “Later.”
After making a quick list, Scott got the ancient tru
ck running on the fourth try and headed into town. At one end of the modest business district, he parked out front of Stegall’s Hardware and glanced around to see who else was out this morning. Fred Morgan drove past in his tow truck, raising a hand to Scott in greeting. People on the sidewalk outside the post office had varying reactions, though.
One couple smiled and returned his “good morning,” while their companions stared straight through him as if he wasn’t even there. They all knew his parents, and he’d gone to school with their kids right here in Barrett’s Mill. It was to be expected, he supposed, but the rejection still stung. Hoping for a better result, he pushed open the glass front door of the shop and went inside.
The store itself hadn’t changed much since his childhood. He used to come here with Dad and Granddad, admiring the saws and lathes, listening while they talked woodworking and construction with his grandfather’s old friend Joe Stegall. Today, a younger man stood beside the counter, an electronic gadget dangling from his belt and a polite smile frozen on his face. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” He extended his hand. “Scott Barrett.”
From the hesitant way the guy accepted his gesture, he knew perfectly well who Scott was. Nervously licking his lips, he said, “Alan Pullman. Nice to meet you.”
Clearly a lie, but there was nothing Scott could do about it, so he pulled out his list and did his best to sound friendly. “I’m working on the old house and chapel out on Mill Road. I’m hoping you’ve got all this stuff in stock.”
Alan scanned the list and nodded. “We should be able to fill this without a problem. Did you want everything delivered?”
“No, I’ll take it with me. I’ve got plenty of room in the truck.”
Again, the man hesitated, and Scott folded his hands in front of him, hoping to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Then it hit him what the problem was: Alan was working alone. If he went out back to fill the order that would leave Scott unsupervised with all those expensive tools.
It really wasn’t his fault, Scott had to admit. If their roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t trust an ex-con in his store, either. So he did something he seldom did with anyone. He tried to compromise. “Tell you what? Why don’t you bring it out, after all? I’ll be around all day.”
“That’ll work,” Alan agreed quickly. Stepping behind the counter, he began punching stock numbers into the computer. When he had a total, he asked, “How did you want to pay?”
“Paul said it was okay for me to use the mill account.”
Wrong answer. Alan’s helpful attitude imploded, and he eyed Scott suspiciously. “Really? He’s never done that for anyone before.”
“This is different. I’m his brother.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“You really think I’d try to rip off my family’s business?”
“I don’t know what you’d try,” Alan retorted. “But I do know you’re not on the approved list for charging to the account we have for Barrett’s Sawmill.”
Scott had taken more than enough of this pencil neck’s condescending attitude. It was a good thing there was a wide counter between them, or things might have gotten ugly. Still, he pulled himself up to his full height and leaned his hands on the glass case filled with knives of various sizes. It put them almost nose to nose, and he was just mean enough to be pleased when the other man shrank back in fear.
“There you are!” a familiar voice called out from the front door. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Did you forget you’re taking me to lunch?”
The woman had incredible timing, Scott thought as Jenna hustled over to join them. She’d broken through his furious haze, and out of respect for her, he wrestled his temper back under control and stood down. No doubt, he now owed her lunch, but considering she’d just saved him from making a complete fool of himself, he figured he was getting off cheap.
“Sorry about that. We’re almost finished here, I think,” he added, willing the clerk to agree with him. Fortunately, he did, but his wide-eyed nod clearly said Scott had made his point.
“Good morning, Alan,” she chirped like a bluebird without a care in the world. “How’s Valerie doing these days?”
“Fine, thanks. What can I get you?”
Giving him a playful wink, she pointed at Scott’s list. “That’ll be enough for now. I forgot to eat breakfast, so I’m famished.”
“Those supplies are for you?”
“Well, not directly, but Scott and I are working on the chapel project together. Didn’t he mention that?” she asked in a tone sweet enough to keep a dentist in business for months.
“No, he didn’t. But he wanted to charge these materials to the mill account.”
She blinked in apparent confusion. Man, she was good.
“Is that a problem?” she asked innocently. “I mean, he’s a Barrett, isn’t he?”
“Well, yeah. But he’s not on the list.”
“Of course not,” Scott growled. “I just got back into town.”
“I’m sure you can straighten this out, Alan,” Jenna said, soothing Scott’s temper with a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you go call Paul from the office and get his authorization for this stuff? We’ll wait here.”
Alan’s eyes flicked apprehensively to Scott, who kept his voice low to avoid yelling in frustration. “I promise to keep my hands off the register.”
“I’m sorry,” the guy stammered. “It’s just—”
“Go make your call,” Jenna nudged, adding a smile for good measure. “He understands.”
When Alan had scampered away, Scott glowered at his defender. “For the record, I do not understand.”
Waving off his anger with a graceful sweep of her hand, she fixed him with a warning look. “You have to stop snarling at people. It just makes things tougher on you.”
“He’s a narrow-minded, intolerant, sanctimonious—”
“Ooh, good word. Let me write that one down.”
She started digging through her beat-up leather messenger bag and then angled an aggravating smirk up at him. This smart-aleck artist was getting on his last nerve, but she was going to an awful lot of trouble to lighten him up. He appreciated the effort she was making on his behalf, even though she probably was wasting her time. So he flipped over his list and gave her the pen from his pocket.
“Thanks. Now, how do you spell that?” While he rattled off the letters, she made quite a show of following along. When he finished, she held the paper out and stared at it with a quizzical look. “How ’bout that? It’s spelled just like it sounds.”
Scott burst into laughter. He couldn’t help it, especially when she gave him what he could only describe as a Cleopatra smile. Coy with more than a hint of mystery, it made him want to learn more about what made this enchanting woman tick.
A lot more.
Fortunately, Alan returned in time to derail that very dangerous train of thought.
“I honestly apologize for hassling you, Scott. Paul cleared everything up.”
Judging by the man’s pale complexion, Paul had done a good deal more than that, and Scott made a mental note to thank his big brother for having his back. There were advantages to being home, after all. Figuring the poor guy had taken enough of a beating, he opted to take the high road. Offering his hand again, he was relieved when Alan took it without pause. “No hard feelings.”
“It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
Alan’s previous condescension had given way to customer-service mode, and he asked, “When would you like these things delivered?”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna take the rest of today off, so tomorrow’s fine.”
What? Scott almost turned around to see who’d said those words, then realized he had. He didn
’t want to come across as some kind of lunatic, so he ignored Jenna’s shocked look and let the clerk finish his tallying in silence.
When they were outside the store, Jenna turned to him with a bewildered expression. “You’re taking today off? Seriously?”
“Something smells good at The Whistlestop,” he replied, avoiding the painfully obvious answer to her question. “That work for you?”
* * *
Looking across the street, Jenna skimmed the busy dining room at the landmark diner and came back to him with a dubious look. “You really think it’s a good idea for you to be going in there when it’s so crowded?”
“Gonna have to do it sooner or later,” he reasoned, ushering her across the street with a hand resting lightly on her back. “If you’re sitting with me, it might be almost tolerable.”
So, that was it, she thought sadly. He wanted her to accompany him as a shield, so folks wouldn’t be as hard on him as Alan Pullman had been. While she understood people’s reticence to welcome Scott back with open arms, part of her couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever be able to overcome his past and rebuild his life in this tiny, close-knit community. Maybe he had the right idea about starting fresh somewhere else. She’d certainly done it often enough.
When they reached the front door, he opened it and stood aside for her to go through. Just one more thing to miss when she left for the fair circuit, she thought wistfully. Unlike so many other places she’d been, around here people still took the time to be courteous to each other. Not that she wasn’t perfectly capable of opening her own doors, of course. It was just nice to be treated like a lady, even when she was dressed in threadbare denim and splotches of drying clay.
Dozens of eyes swung to them and Scott muttered, “Wonderful.”
“Now, don’t be that way. Folks always look up like that when someone comes inside. They’re curious about who’s here for lunch.”
“You mean nosy,” he corrected her darkly. “Probably trying to figure out what you’re doing hanging out with me.”
Chances were he was right, but she wasn’t about to let his pessimism ruin such a nice day. “I make it a rule not to eat with nasty people. It’s bad for my digestion. If you’re gonna stick with the doom-and-gloom routine, you can go sit over there.”
