by Mia Ross
“For what?” she countered tartly. “Being you? Please.”
Sharp words leaped onto his tongue, and he sent up a quick prayer for patience. What he said to her right now would make or break this project, and he wasn’t averse to calling in a little divine help. “For being out of line. You obviously have a great life, and I had no right to talk to you that way. I hope you can forgive me.”
The change in her was remarkable. He’d braced himself for a scolding, but what he got instead was a slowly dawning smile. By the time it reached her eyes, he glimpsed a sparkle in them he’d never seen before. How many guys had gotten that view of her? he wondered briefly before slamming the door on his curiosity. He had no intention of going anywhere remotely personal with her, so there was no point in even asking the question.
“Thank you, Paul. That can’t have been easy for you to do, and I appreciate it. Believe it or not,” she added in a warmer tone, “I think your idea for this place has a lot of merit.”
“That’s good,” Paul stammered, unable to believe what he was hearing.
She gave him a nod, then got back to her measuring. While he appreciated her attempt to be encouraging, he was smart enough to realize it didn’t mean much in this situation. When it came to dollars and cents, banks were notoriously hard-hearted these days, which didn’t bode well for the Barretts.
It wasn’t himself he was worried about, Paul thought morosely. He’d failed before—plenty of times—and as Chelsea had so deftly noted, he had a knack for burying his mistakes and moving on.
But this time, he had to succeed. Knowing that scared him to death.
Chapter Two
When 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, l
ike 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.”
